when we are done

date: may 21, 2021 time: 10:03 pm location: church

Anticipating eyes glanced up from her phone’s screen and towards the door of the club after Reyna read a “here” blue bubble, only to find someone who didn’t match what she was expecting. Panic arose within the lamia as she quickly turned back around on the stool, attempting to recollect her memories from the prior night. Her planned date didn’t look anything like she remembered from the night before, but then again the girl was too wasted to even perceive reality as it was. Without giving him enough time to walk over to her, Reyna hopped off the stool and dove straight into an already occupied booth in the VIP section. Her first priority was removing access to text messages of him asking her where she was, and her attempt to do so succeeded when she dropped her phone into the booth occupant’s drink on the table. “I’ll buy you two new ones,” was her apology for soiling their drink. “Just hide me and talk to me like we’re having the best night in our life,” Reyna requested through gritted teeth as she slid down in the booth, trying to remove herself from visible sight from the other people in the club. “Enjoying your night so far? Music’s popping, isn’t it?”

The clack of her shoes on the floor doesn’t catch his attention - not unusual to hear movement, after all - but her phone falling into his drink? The drink he didn’t really want to have, but could hardly refuse when someone else bought it? Hard to not notice and Nathan lifts his head, raising a brow. “Two new ones on top of getting a new phone? You truly are desperate to avoid someone,” he notes, leaning back in the booth with a grin on his face. “Bad date, shitty friends, or an annoying ex? Can’t imagine you’ll escape some of those so easily.” The answer doesn’t really matter, Nathan is good at playing a part regardless, but every bit of information helps. He’s got time to waste on curiosity thankfully. His mark isn’t here yet, he thinks, even if he knows it’s only a matter of time before the fool shows up. He casts a slight look around as he nudges his cup to the edge of the table with her phone inside. “Most people just turn it off, but shall you be leaving it there? And I don’t need a new drink, not unless you’re planning on drinking both of them. I’ve had my fill for the night, I’m waiting on a friend to show up,” he says, shrugging, though he can’t really consider this guy his friend. An acquaintance he met the other week, yes, but certainly not his friend, even if he has to act it for a couple days until the man coughs up a lead in his investigation.

Noah narrows his eyes, unquestionably judging this man who had the audacity to walk into his office without an appointment and demand cooperation. Who does that? Nathan Marchand, apparently. He does relish the petty joy of thinking that he wouldn’t be the only one dealing with this stubborn man. “Please forgive my skepticism considering how things went down last time.” Noah replies with a look that reads ‘I will be the judge of that’. He knows it isn’t fair to judge the person solely on the first impression, and from what he can tell, Nathan doesn’t harbor any ill intention. The man just wants to help. Still, Noor Ismail is not above pettiness, and he does get irritable when people get in his way. “You have a daughter?” he asks, somewhat surprised. It’s not like he doesn’t believe Nathan. It was just unexpected… He grunts at the loaded ‘surely you understand’. That’s cheating. He can’t really argue with ‘protecting the loved ones’. Noah had hoped Nathan to turn out as a selfish prick so that he can hate the man all he wants. “…fine, if you must insist,” he sighs again, “I suppose you can be an asset as much as you are…” he stops himself from making a stupid rhyme, calling Nathan an arsehat. “a relentless bullhead. At least this way, we have an understanding and hopefully, you won’t make a mistake of disturbing my investigation.” He stands up straight and extends his hand for a shake. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Marchand. You are now a member of the unofficial, unsanctioned task force against witch hunters.” He says, not bothering to hide his sarcastic side. 

Nathan grimaces. “Last time was a mistake, I apologize for it, but it doesn’t change my hopes of things going better this time around.” It’s too much to hope that Noah will let the past go, but he’ll cross his fingers and give it a few more weeks. He blinks, a little surprised. “Uh, yes, two of them. Not here in town, I left them in New York. Didn’t think there would be a day that I thought leaving them there was safer,” he says, looking weary for a moment as he runs a hand over his face. It’s no small relief for Noah Ismail to say yes, and he tries not to let it show, failing, because a large part of him thought he would have to persuade him longer. Or try another avenue. “I didn’t get where I am by mucking up investigations like a bull in a shop, I prefer to have gotten it out of the way ahead of time in this case. I’m a glass half full kind of guy.” Nathan shakes his hand, brow raising at the coldness of his hand. His head tilts, as if considering whether he wants to ask the question, and then continues on curiously. “Lich, yeah? You aren’t breaking my fingers like a vampire, but much too cold to be anything else. Never met one, this’ll be interesting.” Then, as if he hadn’t spoken, he asks, “Who else is on this, uh, unofficial and unsanctioned task force? I won’t make any moves without prearranging something with you, but all the same, I’d like to know if I’m wasting my time on a lead.”

Reggie flashes his trademark brazen grin. “You know it.” Running away and making his problems someone else’s have been his M.O. since, well, he was turned, basically. It’s a force of habit at this point. “Yes, but please kindly note the emphasis on technically. You were extremely difficult to blackmail– all I’ve got was your favorite cafe. How do you not even have a parking ticket? Kind of boring to research.” says him in his typical theatrical antics. There was, of course, more he dug up on Nathan Marchand, but he doesn’t need to reveal his cards here and now. “Bad things always happen, Nathan, and I’m just a man who knows them before they happen.” He shrugs casually, somewhat relieved that the ex-CIA will kick his ass in the middle of the street. “If you must know, I am here as an informant, as always. The real question is, what are you doing here?” 

Nathan rolls his eyes. “Have you considered that you can only run for so long? The ground is going to get thin and there won’t be anywhere left, seems to me like you should be looking for something better.” Immortals give him a headache, no matter how well intended they were -- though he doesn’t think Reggie did much of anything for anyone except himself. He pinches the bridge  of his nose. “I am sorry my habits of being an upstanding citizen with some respect for laws and the knowledge to not flagrantly break them is boring for you. The Marines kick that out of you in boot camp,” he says, only somewhat sarcastic, hand dropping and stance shifting, attempting to look non-threatening. “Informant for who? And I thought someone who works in information would know I’m here for a family matter.” It’s no secret, after all, even if family matters take on many forms. Aurélie is a family matter, and so is looking for a safe place for his kids.

Generally people are caught off guard by Gabe’s knack for walking too quietly or the fact that they vaguely remember seeing him at a funeral once long ago. He can handle that. What he can’t handle is the one-two punch of facts that the man, Nathan by the look of the file he’d grabbed, throws at him. Tío ? Files? No, this is far too weird for his day, he needs…well, he needs to read past the first few lines on these files for one thing. Nathan Marchand. Ah. “Right, let’s back up a tad here. You’ve the same last name as my wife, you look vaguely like her family, and you know things about me that I don’t quite understand how you’ve learned. That’s the very weird bit of this meeting on my end, mate.” Gabe said, craning a tad to see that blood was seeping through the back of the man’s shirt. So he wasn’t just here to freak Gabe out. Right then. “You need that cleaned up and stitched and I need some answers before my brain explodes. That sound like a fair trade? Let me get the bits and bobs I need and you get that shirt off before it adheres to the wound.” Gathering items would at least keep his hands busy for a time, give him a moment to think. Still didn’t change the fact that he had a wound to fix up by the time he rolled the cart over, but it helped. “You said tío, so my wife is your aunt? Correct?”

His eyes lift upwards, somewhat wondering if there’s another doctor here to treat him who doesn’t miss the arrival of one of his wife’s relatives. Time to meet with Aurélie more often than he does, clearly. “Have you been working a lot lately?” he asks, feeling a chill creep into his limbs. “Explains how you didn’t know before now. Tía is easily distracted, too, as you know.” Stitches were his thought too, so it’s nice to know he’s still sound of mine. A little, given the way he grimaces as he tries to take the shirt off and settles for ripping it down the front rather than trying to stretch his arm above his head, which is impossible. Nathan waits impatiently, unconcerned about his shirtless state except for the way the cold air feels on his wound. He tries not to twitch too much, but shifts slightly as Gabriel returns with his little cart of pointy objects, thread, and general healing supplies. “You have done stitches before, correct? On someone alive?” From what he remembers on the little bit of a file they have for Gabriel Meadowes, he owned the funeral home, and he isn’t quite sure when Gabriel made the transition from there to nurse. Nor living to dead, but that’s another question for another time. “She is my Abuelo Abel’s sister which makes her my tía abuela. My great-aunt,” he clarifies, at once unsure about how much his tía has told this man about her family. Nathan knows little of them or their relationship, either. “How did you meet her? Obviously this is not a family story anyone on my side knows given I’m the only one who knows she is still alive. Suppose one of us should know something of it.”

It’s the fact that she didn’t realize that burns her ass. Not the fact that he waltzed into the rented garage like he had been invited or the look on his face, which just adds fuel to that fire scorching her hindquarters. “Take a break, people. Go… I don’t fucking know, get lunch. Ginny, take my card with you.” Gemma barked at her freshly minted ‘team’, who seemed more surprised by the generosity than her tone of voice or the shock on her face. They froze like startled deer, then Gemma made shooing motions that sent them filing out the door. This was not a ‘share with the group’ conversation, in her opinion. “What the fuck, Marchand! Do you know how many background checks I did on you? And none of them dredged up the fact you aren’t human. Absolute fucking bullshit, I swear…” She said once the room was just her and Nathan. Safe, to some extent. Well, safer than previously. Oh there he went, psychoanalyzing her to her face again. That at least was familiar, if the rest of him seem alien in the moment with this bombshell dropped. “Before you go digging, and don’t lie, I know you will, I’m Fae. The councilwoman is my sister. I’m…listen, we don’t really count ages the same where I come from.” Gemma said before he could open his mouth again, arms crossed in front of her chest. Oh, he drove her nuts, this man. And yet of everyone else she’d bumped into in this town, she counted him high on the list of those she trusted. Still, reciprocity was expected. “So, secrets guy, what are you actually? And why are you inviting yourself to this supposedly secret task force? They stop hiring underwear models in your age group?”

Her people leave with cursory looks in his direction which he supposes is his karma for the theatrics. Worth it, still. Nathan raises a brow, somewhat amused at the notion any background checks will dredge things up like this. “Supernaturals are buried deeper than anything, no one wants that leaking out if someone gets a sudden urge for honesty. Only my handler and their higher-up know about mine,” he explains with sympathy. Nathan remembers during his first few weeks his thrill at being the only supernatural until his run in with her husband and the introduction to the few people like him the CIA employed. There’s an abandoned stool from one of her teammates and Nathan heads over to it, perched on the edge as he listens. “Fae, huh? I was leaning lamia, but fae tick some of the same boxes with that. Longevity, energy manipulation, so on. Didn’t see the sister thing, though I couldn’t find much on Sundara anyway. How old are you really then? I finally have the freedom to ask without blowing my cover.” The immortal ones are strange. Not his favorite supernatural, a shame when he seems to be making friends with exclusively them. Nathan offered a patient smile. At least she wasn’t trying to kill him, though he doesn’t entirely dismiss the possibility. “Shifter. Not as flashy, but fortunately comes with its own advantages.” He responds to her snark with just a shrug. “I’ve got connections still. I want to help out, make this place safe, all those heroic things people hate to hear and love to say. Does it matter?”

FULL NAME: Nathan Santiago Marchand NICKNAME(S): Nate DATE OF BIRTH: 17 January 1981 NATIONALITY: American OCCUPATION: CIA / Consultant RELIGION: Atheist GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender ORIENTATION: Biromantic ETHNICITY: Spanish, French SPECIES: Shifter

II. APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Oscar Isaac HEIGHT: 5′9″ WEIGHT: 150 lbs HAIR COLOR: Black EYE COLOR: Dark Brown DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous SCARS: too many to list TATTOOS: None PIERCINGS: None

III. BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Las Vegas, Nevada. Later: New York City, New York..  CURRENT RESIDENCE: Lethe, Washington, USA FINANCIAL STATUS: Middle class EDUCATION LEVEL: Masters in Foreign Studies. 

IV. RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Santiago De León (deceased in December of 1995). Clotilde Aurélie Marchand. SIBLINGS: Isabela Marchand, Emilio Marchand, David Marchand, Alejandro Marchand FAMILY: Mila Marchand (daughter: born 14 May 2006. adopted 24 May 2006). Carmen Marchand (daughter: born 01 January 2015. adopted February 1, 2015.). Claire Marchand (married Spring 2001. Divorced Autumn 2015. Deceased Spring 2016.) PET(S): Mila has a cat named Geoff. But given she doesn’t live in Lethe with Nathan right this moment, he has none.

V. PERSONALITY

MYERS-BRIGGS: ENFJ-A ENNEATYPE: Type 3, the Achiever MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin ELEMENT: Fire SIN: Envy VIRTUE: Patience SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Spanish, French

VI. FAVORITES

The question certainly doesn’t prompt the best of memories. But these are the facts of her life, and so Aurélie does her best to try not to shy away from them. “Twenty-three.” She replies simply, with a shrug and a smile that could possibly be deemed sad. But, really, she’s past mourning. “Looking back, I realize I was essentially still a child. I was only nineteen when I ran off to the resistance. My mama, your bisabuela, she forbade me to go. Told me I would die out there. I told her she was a pessimist and that I was fighting for the greater good. Look at me now.” It’s certainly a sad smile now. Memories of her last true conversation with her mother tend to do that. “Mother knows best, no? She was right. I was shot by the Nazis. From what I hear, it is a miracle that my turning took.” The mention of Daniel just earns a hum, brown eyes looking out the window for a moment. They draw back at his laugh, and she mirrors it, her grin more genuine now. “Yes, even without the looks I would know you are a Marchand. We’re not the meek and passive sort. It is noble of you to want a change for your girls. What would you change, if you could?” Aurélie knows part of the answer to her next question before she even says it aloud, having just mentioned those Marchand genes they share. “What prompted you into this line of work? I assume you started before the children. But why stay?” She’d stayed in the job so long because she only had herself to answer to. No family, no children to speak of. She’s not sure she could’ve managed it if she’d had them – no, in fact, she knows she couldn’t. It’s commendable dedication. She’s about to say as much when mentions of her unfortunate ex husband stop that thought in its tracks. Aurélie does manage a laugh at what seems like a joke. “If only.” She merely murmurs, gaze out that window again before she turns to face her nephew fully with a weary sigh. “I hate that I have brought him into your lives. It was our mistake, his and mine. You should not have to pay the consequences. But he works in extremes. Still, I cannot just… kill the man.” Even if she had once.

Making her sad isn’t his goal, and Nathan almost regrets asking. Almost. He can’t help it, he’s hearing pieces of family members he thought mere pictures on the wall. He half-smiles. “Do you believe in an afterlife? Bisabuela knows, she forgives, she loves - Abuelo Abel says they didn’t forget you. I think they’d be happy you survived.” He doesn’t know if that helps or hurts more, he certainly has no real understanding of the way Aurélie’s mind works yet, but he knows it’s necessary to say. Nathan considers her question with a noise of thought, arms crossing. “Besides the obvious? Precautions to know people like that won’t roam free, actions rather than passive platitudes. Vague things that I cannot do here, my connections matter little in this place,” he says with a huff of annoyance. He blinks in surprise, and he realizes for all their talks, she might now know a lot about his family. “I have not told you about my father, have I? He was on the run from his clan, living a half life with us and half-life with them. When he died, we were terrified that one of us would be like him, that as a shifter are only ending would be like that.” He doesn’t specify how he and his siblings found him, or the fear that stayed with them for days afterwards, even if his heart skips a beat at the thought. With a sigh, Nathan continues on. “I am the only shifter of my siblings and they did not... like that. Too other, too scary. We were all in the dark about this world. I decided I didn’t want to be anymore. I can help people like me now, but mostly I won’t be caught off guard again.” Their conversation has gone too... south for them to return to the levity, and it makes it all the easier to think about Daniel Bisset and his crimes. Nathan grits his teeth, but then shrugs. “I am not paying any price for his presence. It seems to me that you are the one suffering. You cannot kill the man, no, I wouldn’t recommend that option right this moment, but surely there are other avenues to explore?”

It’s not bleeding much, but any injury on the back is awful to treat and it’s just deep enough to need stitches. This is the only reason Nathan relents to the inevitable and heads to the hospital, tight-lipped on how he got his injuries short of an accident. “You work here?” he asks blankly when he spots the taller man and recognizes him from the photos in Aurélie’s house. For all the months he’d know his tía, he’s managed to not speak with her husband, differing schedules and all. And a healthy dose of avoiding him, not sure if he particularly wants to meet the man Abel had spoken to all these years. “Do you not own Avalon then? The files they have on you are wrong, I’ll have to adjust that,” he muses, watching the man thoughtfully, his injuries mostly forgotten with this... surprise. “It is very weird to meet you. Forgive me if I don’t call you tío as I should.” It’s too much to call him family yet, he doesn’t know him enough. Doesn’t help that the man, while quite taller than him, looks far too young to be his uncle, even if Aurélie is equally too young to be his aunt.

He hears the rumors about a Gemma Sundara in town long before he hears about her heading some security team, but he doesn’t quite believe it until he’s walking into the garage. Nathan frowns, hands in his pockets. “This is all very secretive, I know, so I’m a little offended you didn’t seek me out. I am the secrets guy after all,” he says as a greeting once there’s a lull in conversation long enough for him to announce himself. Only one person seems to startle at his presence, and either the rest noticed his arrival or hide their surprise. He waits, patient, as the group calls a break and only then approaches her, wary of the reception he’ll receive. This is the first time he’s spoken to her with nearly all his cards on the table, after all. “Guess there’s no going back to pretending to be human - this is long overdue, isn’t it?” Not that he’d thought her human in that sense since their second meeting, but he merely continues on, curiosity in his tone. “Truth be told, I didn’t think you gravitated to supernatural havens, you always seemed to prefer the anonymity of the human world.

Date: 1 May 2021 Time: 01:45 PM Location: In front of Evening Primrose

“So… should I start running or are you cool with me now?” Reginald asks with his eyebrow hooked upward. He knew that Nathan Marchand was in town– knowing stuff like that is a part of his job– but he wasn’t entirely sure how the lawman feels about his presence in Lethe. He might have done some damage to the CIA in the past. “No hard feelings? ‘cause I technically didn’t screw you over, which is a pretty important detail in my humble opinion.” He points out, but half-ready to break into a sprint.  

Lunch is all he wants. Spotting Reginald makes him want to cross the street and leave the vampire to be someone else’s problem, but Nathan visibly gathers himself. No can do, he’ll have to face him, he can’t avoid him forever. “Running is your style, isn’t it?” he remarks with some sharpness, arms crossing. “Your stunt cost me a lead and an agent, I’d say that counts as screwing me over, too. The fact that you’re here can only mean something bad is happening, or about to happen, which one is it?” Nathan’s brow arches as he speaks, unable to imagine the man coming to town unless it was to save his own skin - and somehow bringing the rest of them down while he escapes in the dust.

“Which part of I’m absolutely busy did you not understand?” Noah asks pointedly. “Again, there is no page for you to get on, Mr. Marchand.” He sighs. Although he did not have the greatest first impression of Nathan Marchand, that is not the only reason Noah is reluctant to deal with this man. He knows the type– law enforcement, assertive, self-assured. Sure, some of those qualities could be considered attractive, dealing with them in a professional setting is a different story. “Would you like to try that theory of yours?” Noah flashes the best, masterpiece smile of his, which is British for ‘piss off’. “And if you have any grievance with the legal system, you could go talk to Councilman Stewart.” He turns his attention back to the paper at hands, expense reports, shift assignments and such. “And here I thought, the CIA trained their personnel to be perceptive.” Noah mutters to himself before deciding to give it a rest. At the end of the day, this man came to his office (without an appointment, but still) looking for a way to help… “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you? Very well.” He sighs, even though no breath comes out, as a force of habit. “Could you close the door, please?” He asks as he gets up to his feet and shuts the blinds of his office. He leans against the desk with his arms crossed. “This is not… a department-wise investigation yet, so I cannot hire you as a consultant. While I will endeavor to protect you during the investigation, the Lethe PD won’t be able to provide you any benefit or protection. Do you understand? Chances are, Mr. Marchand, there is nothing for you to gain here. Do you still want to help?” Say no, he thinks to himself. Please be selfish, so that I can dislike you.

He only smiles at the question, feeling as though a response will only further antagonize him. “Let’s not waste either of our time trying to test out my theories, we have better things to do. I... am not familiar with Councilman Stewart, but I will seek him out later, too, thank you for the recommendation.” He’s used to running around, collecting information and people alike, but Nathan doesn’t relish trying to find this Stewart and asking him why this system is such a headache. Nathan waits, patient, because Noah sees the words as a dismissal, but Nathan didn’t get this far running away at the first professional denial. “We are. Perceptive enough to know that two heads are better than one, yes?” Relief hits him and he waits until he’s got his back to the other man closing the door to let it show. When he returns to his seat, his elbows are resting on his knees, professionalism in place as he listens. When he finishes, Nathan regards him for a long moment, solemn. “I am not doing this for something to gain, nor is this altruism on my part. No, I have more to gain than you think and these... aren’t ideal odds, but I have faced worse for far less important reasons.” He thinks he can leave it there, that he needn’t explain too much further, but in the spirit of honesty, he ventures more, if only a little. It’s important to him that this isn’t an attempt at glory, or a job, or anything short of doing the right thing. Nathan lifts his chin, raising a brow in question. “If my daughter turns out to be a witch, how can I look her in the eye knowing these people are here? Surely you understand why I want this place safe, you must have loved one here, too. I’m not going anywhere, Ismail.”

Aurélie raises a brow at her nephew’s confession but it’s hardly a judgmental expression. “You cannot tell now, I promise you that. Those two girls adore you. And I assume that they have you wrapped around a finger.” She smiles knowingly, not needing an answer. Family is family, after all. There’s a pang of something at his mention of a changed life, but it’s familiar and old. Dreams long gone. “I can only imagine how much they changed things for you.” And truly, that’s all she can do: imagine. But she’s far past feeling sorry for herself. No, she’s all smiles, every bit of the expression genuine. “What is stopping you?” As soon as the words escape her mouth, she sighs. Of course. She’s not so self-centered as to assume it’s all a matter of her, but really, it’d be foolish to pretend that the ghost that haunts her doesn’t do the same to her family. “She does.” A genuine safe haven. Not… this. The mention of the curtain gets a genuine laugh out of her. Rare, these days, but children will do that sort of thing. “You do not know what she is?” She knows, of course, of the adoption. But to be so blind on the topic… well. “That is troubling.” It doesn’t need to be said, but it slips out. Troubling, too, is the question. It’s one they both know will not have an easy answer, and so Aurélie takes a moment to give a sigh, leaning back in her seat in order to choose her words carefully before speaking them aloud. “I want to tell you that it is.” She does. Truly. “But I am not so naive, and I am hardly going to encourage you to put your girls into harms way because I want to turn a blind eye.” Another moment of thought and she shrugs. “Really, though, without the trouble that my… unfortunate marital choice has caused…” That’s an understatement. “I do think that the town has its merits. I came here seeking sanctuary for myself, tu sais. It was not until Daniel that I felt that truly infringed upon. And whose fault is that but mine?” 

A fissure of relief spreads through him, and he shoots his aunt a grateful smile. Nathan doesn’t want his kids to know there was a time where he would have said no to having them, not when he can hardly imagine a life without them. “I like to think the things I’d do for them, I would do for anyone, but that isn’t true, I would do far more for them,” he replies, softly, eyes swiveling to his aunt. It occurs to him in all their talks, he has no idea how old she was when she died. Much younger than him, he thinks with a tilt of his head. “How old were you when you changed?” He tries for careful wording, but he thinks it might be pointless; this isn’t a topic they can tiptoe over. Not one Nathan feels he has a right to ask about, either, even if it hits him more and more that she’s so much younger than him and will continue to look so when his own kids are old and grey. Not a life he would wish on anyone. “You think Daniel is the only thing stopping me? No, he is a factor, but I have read up on this town and it’s troubles, I do not know if I can bring them here without knowing something is being done to stop it, or playing my part to fix it.” For a second, he almost leaves it there, but instead he laughs, continuing, gentle. “Never been a fan of sitting on the sidelines, really, I think we have that in common.” It’s strange to imagine they are related, that they are family, that everything he’s going through is something she, on some level, understands. He’s gotten used to keeping secrets from relatives, it’s a weight off his shoulders to speak openly. “The records for supernatural adoptions are scarce, I am lucky to have contacts or it would be less easy, but Mila and Carmen were sealed records. I only have a vague idea of their origins.” Vague meaning he has a rough idea of where someone left them, but little beyond that. He waits for Aurélie to gather her thoughts, frowning as he does. He knows what she’ll say, even if he wishes she could tell him something false. “This is not the first time I have been away from them for weeks or months at a time. My job has always required a great deal of travel, and I will put up with the distance from them if it means keeping them safe.” But he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like missing anymore of their lives than he already is. “Perhaps once we find something to nail Daniel to the wall - metaphorically, not physically - then I can revisit the issue. I know they would like to meet you.” Nathan raises a brow, silently wondering if he should push on the topic of Daniel, and decides to test his luck. “You cannot blame yourself for him, tía, he is a grown man who makes his own choices. They were terrible ones, too.”

Noah looks up with no particular expression, just sheer amount of exhaustion, stress and unadulterated judgment. “Oh, no, by all mean, come on in please. It’s not like I’m absolutely busy.” He drawls as Nathan Marchand invites himself in without knocking or asking first.  He can’t say they had great first expressions on each other. “We?” He repeats. “There is no we here, Mr. Marchand. I didn’t arrest you for obstruction only because Novak was brought into custody eventually.” He emphasizes his words which is totally unbecoming of him, a gentleman of proper breeding, but Noah is not exactly happy to see this man. “Yes, good thing that you won’t be jumping in and punch me again for getting stabbed.” He mutters, rubbing his forehead, wondering if liches can grow new wrinkles up there. What kind of moisturizer should liches use? “Mr. Marchand, do you realize that you are not a part of the law enforcement in this town?” He asks pointedly.

"Worth the interruption if we can get on the same page. You don’t exactly take appointment, I’ve been trying for several days.” Figures Noah isn’t the type to enjoy humor, it makes him miss investigations with Cecilia back in the day. Noah isn’t the first difficult and mildly exasperating person to work with though, and he won’t be the last. “And I appreciate that you saw things from my perspective even a little so I didn’t spend time in a cell. I don’t know if it would have held for long, your court system is a little strange. Antique, even, is that how it usually is?” He doesn’t understand this about the town. Whenever he walks around, Nathan feels like he’s gone back in time. “I didn’t see the stab, I just saw some random person shoving someone to the ground. Your uniform could use some work,” he says, shaking his head. “Look, I’m not here to fight you, and yes, I am quite aware of that. I want to help still. I have connections, and I can be an asset to you. I’ll be investigating one way or another, I figure I’d rather work with you than against you.”

“I didn’t realize once we caught the other guy -- Novak -- that he was such a small fry,” he says as a greeting, inviting himself into the chair on the other side of Noah’s desk. They aren’t friends, not entirely, but he hardly wants to be enemies with the police for a misunderstanding. “Doing well? You don’t look freshly stabbed today.” Given the first time they met, Nathan feels like he’s allowed some humor. He leans forward, regarding Noah with lessening humor on his face. “Not sure how you feel about someone jumping in on your investigation, but I have kids that need to be in this town before long and they can’t if people like him are running around. How can I help?”

Date: April 25th 2021 Time: 5:20 PM Location: Nathan’s house

@nathanmarchand​

“Talk to you soon!” Aurélie chirps toward the phone screen before Nathan bids his farewell and the girls’ faces disappear. It’s an interesting way to meet one’s family, via a phone screen, but Aurélie truly has no complaints. Really, she’s happy to be meeting them at all. “They are such wonderful girls, Nathan. You must be very proud.” It’s a genuine compliment, delivered with a smile. How nice it is to be reminded that the Marchand family carries on, even if it looks different from how she recalls it. Speaking of unexpected appearances – the expression on her nephew’s face furrows her brow, and Aurélie feels her mouth quirk. “You miss them.” It is not a question so much as a statement. Free of judgment, of course. She understands. “Have you ever considered bringing them to town?” As soon as she says it, she can feel the irony. After all, here she is, jumping at her own shadow thanks to the looming fear of a vengeful ex husband. Hardly seems like an ideal environment to bring children into. “Mila, is she aware of…” How does one phrase this? “The… supernatural aspect, I suppose. Of the town, of herself. I imagine it is strange, having to teach your child something like that… though there are worse ways to inherit that sort of thing.” Dying, for instance. No, this scenario is definitely preferable. 

He commits the smiles on the girl’s faces to memory. It’s hard being apart from them and while he knows they are in safe hands with his mother, it’s nice to have proof once in a while. “I didn’t want kids initially,” Nathan confesses, spinning his phone around on his palm. He heaves a sigh, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table. “Didn’t seem feasible with work and I could hardly leave them to my wife the entire time, but she was persistent and I admit, I wanted a family, too. I can’t imagine my life without them in it now.” His smile is amused, head tilted her way. “Am I so obvious? I miss so much of their lives already. I would bring them here, if I could. I should soon, Mila is showing signs of her talents, she deserves to have a safe place to learn them.” But is this a safe place? He leans back against the couch, shooting her a somewhat wry look. Aurélie is one of the reasons he didn’t bring them here from the beginning -- he had little idea what to expect from this long absent relative. The other is, of course, the man trying to kill her. “She lit a curtain on fire a year ago and I had to explain a lot of things then. Since then, she enjoys doing research on it, I think she’s hoping to be a witch. Fire doesn’t narrow our options much, though.” Nathan can agree with that. He’s pleased his kids will come across this world in a way that is less bloodied than Aurélie’s and less terrifying than his own. “Think this town is a good place for kids, though? Minus the obvious issue.”