THE FINEST CAT BURGLAR IN ALL OF BROMLEY.

"WHO are you?"

"Where did you come from?"

"That's a nice outfit."

"I love your bag, where did you get it?"

"I feel as though I'm not prepared for this."

"Oh my gosh! I know who you are!"

"I love seeing new places and meeting new people."

"Can you NOT stare?"

"Do you have the time?"

"Are you talking to me?"

"Do I know you?"

"Can you help me out?"

"What did you say?"

"Excuse me."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What is going on, here?"

"Are you an angel?"

"Have we met before?"

"Who am I? Are you sure you want to know?"

"Have you seen anything so beautiful?"

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

"I'm not buying whatever you're selling."

"Freeze!"

"What is with the weather?"

"Moon sure is bright tonight."

"What'll you have?"

"I didn't ask for you."

                it’s  mostly  likely  an  odd  sight,  sitting  on  the  couch  with  hands  folded  neatly  like  a  child.   the  interior  of  the  institute  was…  cozy  in  a  particularly  english  way.   london  was  strange  compared  to  the  eastern  coast  of  america  which  they  had  become  accustomed.   it’s  rather  warm  inside  but  they  keep  the  thick  woolen  coat  on.   anemia  made  it  so  body  heat  was  difficult  enough  to  regulate.

the  tea  is  accepted  with  a  small  nod,  gingerly  holding  it  in  their  lap.   gaze  flicks  between  the  clipboard  and  the  man  himself,  still  unsure  of  his  name.   they  scrunch  up   their  nose  and  pull  out  the  notepad  again.   “   i’m not quite sure what you mean.   ”   a  lie.   they   are  well  aware  of  what  the  man  expects  to  hear,  but  telling  the  truth  would  not  help  either  of  them.   “   you want me to share what exactly?   ”   head  tilts  on  an  angle  as  they  watch  the  man’s  expression.   the  itch  resurfaces  at  the  back  of  their  mind  but  it’s  quickly  kicked  to  the  side.   lying  was  part  of  their  nature  now.   making  the  lie  convincing  was  what  mattered,  and  with  this  institute’s  focus  on  unusual  things,  skimming  around  the  truth  of  the  project  would  be  difficult.

“   well, you’re here..." tim gestures to the surrounding area, the place he'd began to resent. a paycheck was a paycheck, even if the paycheck came laced with guilt. "so i figure there’s something that happened. something spooky that goes bump in the night? usually we start with a name and we use a tape recorder, but i don’t think you speak, which is fine. hate those things anyway.    ”

tim sits across from the stranger, realizing he never really introduced himself. he used to wear a little name badge, but he'd given up wearing uniform a short time ago. if he can't get fired, why would he even bother wearing a name tag? sometimes he wondered why he even took statements from people when jon was busy. it's not like this was his job.

the way the other sits doesn't put him off at all, he had interacting and spoken to all sorts of individuals over his short time at the archives. loud, quiet, confident, prissy, shaky, greedy... there was no shortage of odd individuals who visited, and even less of those who worked for them.

Unsure what to answer, Claire bit down her lip as she thought. Generally lying was not a good thing, but sometimes necessary. She knew that all too well. Besides, it seemed that the other was regretting that he had lied. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Perhaps there’s still time to tell the truth? Better to come clean now than later?” 

Tim thought about it for a while, tapping his foot. He put his hand to his forehead, wondering why he was just sharing information with this person as if he knew her that well. However, if she were willing to listen to him... Not many people did, nowadays.

Tim looked at the man like he just said the most ridiculous thing ever, and that’s because he sort of did. It wasn’t exactly as if it was untrue, he supposed, but such a pessimistic way of seeing life... It struck him, more than he’d like to admit. For a while now, he’d felt like he was doing everything he could to try to stay young. The truth was, he was reaching 30, and he was starting to get kind of insecure about it. What about his stunning good looks? The man in front of him seemed to be even older than him. Yikes!  

“Well, probably like the rest of us.” Tim offered her a mug of coffee, noting how this woman was taller than him. It was rare that anyone was taller than him, so it was always a pleasant surprise. Maybe that shouldn’t have been his first thought, but he was used to cryptic and sad statements from strangers. He wasn’t used to people being taller than him.

Tim nodded a bit at as she spoke to him. That, he could understand. It had been a while since he had slept, and not for a lack of trying. Every time he closed his eyes and finally started to drift to sleep, he had nightmares. At least he was lucky, others had spoken of seeing Jon in their sleep. He just saw the same thing. His brother. That clown. Every time he opened his eyes and were awake, it was a nightmare. 

        “Mm.  People fit new information into concepts they’ve already got.  You know, if it sucks blood like a vampire and quacks like a vampire…  Leech monster doesn’t have the same brand recognition.”  Despite the surreal subject matter, Gerard’s tone is dry and thoughtful.  If he notices how taken aback Tim is by him starting a conversation, it doesn’t show.

        “You know, I’ve always thought we should put a plaque up over the couch.  Commemorate his years of service stomping vamps, and all.”  He’s 90% sure that Trevor the Tramp isn’t actually dead, and 78% sure that he saw the geezer himself behind a Tesco last week, but still.  It’s the thought that counts, right?

        “Really feel like a tasteful ‘this spot marks the death of’ sort of job would lend the place some gravitas,”  he continues, and it’s just barely possible that he’s joking.  “Hm.  Tell you what, if I get one made and put it up, d’you think Jon would notice?”

       "Gravitas, ah? You have a point." Admittedly, Tim was pleasantly surprised at the jokes that Gerard actually was telling. Maybe he should have tried talking to him earlier. He pulled a book from the shelves, with almost no intention of reading it at this time. It was important to the case, but right now he was in the middle of a conversation. Jon could wait. 

       “You know, I’m actually a bit back and forth on that one.” He leaned against the wall, flipping through the book as he talked. “There’s a 50/50 chance, with only two outcomes as the result.”

           He holds up a finger. “One, Jon doesn’t notice, he comes to work and goes straight to his office and reads his little papers. We all think it’s funny for roughly 6 months, and then completely forget about it. Another year from now, Jon notices the plaque. He comes in, mad at me, obviously, and you get off completely scot free. Oh, that Tim, always making a fool of me during this job.” 

they only vaguely understood the purpose of this place. researching into… strange phenomena. events that could not be explained by the logical mind. while some might classify them as one of these, they did not feel they belong to the same group as fear driven hallucinations. there was an explanation for their existence, though it lay in the classified hands of the government.

their head tilted at the mention of a statement. did the man think they had come here to share? the phone call they received mentioned that someone else had come here and told them about an encounter with a shapechanger. the lyrebird most likely, if this institute had managed to track them down as a person of interest. fist clenches as that itch surfaces, the thrumming of blood like a second pulse. if he tried digging too deep, asking too many questions, lukas could deal with him. show him why the truth is better left unknown.

hands moved to form signs but paused. it was likely that he did not know sign language. instead, they removed a small notepad from their coat pocket and scrawled out a short message. tapping on his shoulder, notepad is turned towards tim. “ tea would be nice ” is scrawled out in tight lettering. they suddenly jerked the notepad back to add another note, “ thank you ”

it was true, tim didn’t know sign language. he had always wanted to learn, but had never really gotten around to it. he doesn’t mind being tapped though, never been one who was very touch averse, and looks down at the piece of paper. ah, they must not talk much. he gestures to a room for the stranger to sit down, “ just stay right here, i can help you out. i promise, it’ll be the best cup of tea you’ve ever had. ”

there’s a nice couch in the room, and tim neglects to comment that not too long ago a man had laid down on it and died after giving his statement about vampires. he thought it was odd that they’d never gotten rid of the couch, but was silenced with talk of budgets and spreadsheets and he had honestly stopped paying attention.

he leaves the room, requesting and getting a cup of tea from martin (who has it prepped in record time) and comes back. he holds out the cup to the other, a clipboard tucked under his arm. he figures they'll be communicating through writing for the most part, which might make this easier. he may ask for the other's paper.