REVENANT

If the apparent dead man getting between them thought he could stop Joseph from spitting in the guy’s face, he was dead wrong.

As usual in this kind of paranoia, Joseph immediately resorts to attempting to mind-read, to no avail. The hysteric man’s no problem; Joseph could tell he’s still thinking about trapping both himself (Joseph) and that werewolf girl in a basement. It’s the intervening man he can’t get. He’s no ordinary thoughtless man. Instead of feeling nothing, he feels outright blocked.

It finally occurs to Joseph that this man is a fellow lich.

Joseph doesn’t answer the lich’s question immediately. Was that necessary? Joseph would spit out read his thoughts! but he feared that the living man might suddenly change his own thoughts, or worse, purposely think of white noise. Instead, Joseph waits until the living man storms out.

Oh, how he stormed out in a fit.

“Joseph,” he huffed, straightening his jacket. “Did you bother read his thoughts at all, Mr. Police Guy? Or are you more concerned about his civility?”

Noah raises a brow at Joseph. That is an odd request. Why would he go out of his way to read other people’s thoughts? He does notice, however, the reaction of the other man at the ‘read his thoughts’. He doesn’t need to use his power to tell that this man acts as though he is guilty of something. He watches the man leaves in hurry, making a mental note to warn officers patrolling the street. “I don’t have the habit of reading other people’s private thoughts unless it is otherwise necessary. Especially because I am a Mr. Police Guy.” He replies calmly with a small sigh. Especially as a police officer, Noah takes extra caution in reading someone else’s mind. He can’t tell everything about a person or the situation based on a mere glimpse into their surface thoughts, and it is too easy to succumb to the error of prejudgment. If the man was guilty of something, it should be handled by a due process, not based on how he read the thoughts. “At any rate, I apologize if my respond seemed like an inaction on behalf of the police department. If you’d like to file a formal complaint and launch an investigation, I’d be more than happy to assist you.” He sighs as he offers a rather formal but sincere apology. “What I cannot do is acting solely based on assumption. I personally have been on the other side of that treatment many times, and I cannot in good conscience wish that upon someone else... however despicable that person may have been. I hope you could understand.” 

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.”

“I didn’t peg you for an optimist.” Noah remarks. With no condescension intended, believe it or not. He simply thought, considering the man‘s time in CIA, Nathan would be a jaded skeptic. But first impressions are not always accurate, as Noah once again realizes. “I’m sure someone will find an irony there...” He mutters to himself. Lethe is supposed to be a safe haven for people like him and Nathan. Instead, there are arsonists at large, witch hunters infiltrating the town, not to mention public menaces such as the Sokolovs or Emira Birsen roaming around. “That couldn’t have been an easy decision.” He sympathizes, thinking back to the time where he had to leave Nina. She may be his sister, but Noah has been her protector for decades-- he still is. He observes Nathan for a moment, trying to get a read on the man before agreeing to cooperate. He raises a brow at the man’s surprise in persuading him, and this other avenue, whatever that means. “I’m not an unreasonable man, Mr. Marchand. It’s simple-- trust is difficult to build, but easy to break.” He says, before curling up his lips into something of a smirk. “But something tells me you’ll somehow find a way to make it up to me.” Noah gives a firm handshake before laughing, “I don’t think many other species don’t bleed after being stabbed. I don’t know what you mean by interesting... but sure, we’ll go with that.”

He crosses his arms over the chest and leans against the desk again. “Maybe task force was a poor choice of word. It’s just you and I at the moment... My sister seems to have acquired some assistance of an... informant, but I do not trust him. Not that his information is unimportant or useless-- he simply is a conniving, two-faced, slippery bastard.” That probably is the worst comment Noor Ismail has ever made on someone. He frowns as if the simple act of thinking Reginald Roshan gives him a headache. “Currently the goal is to identify who in Lethe is connected with that cult and feeding the information to them. That means, we have to investigate citizens with outside connections.”

It’s two hours before his date, and Joseph is lollygagging at the Evening Primrose for no reason.

He walked around the restaurant aimlessly, popping a peppermint in his mouth while eavesdropping on everyone’s thoughts. God, people were stupid. Vapid, too. One girl – a werewolf, Joseph figured out – was terribly worried about her acne, for some reason. Across the table, a finely dressed grown man thought one too many gross thoughts about the werewolf girl in question. No matter where Joseph was in the world, he quickly found that some people were just downright disgusting. 

The finely dressed man had one thought about using his tie as a gag, to which Joseph responded by pushing the man’s cup of scalding hot coffee onto his lap as he passed the table.

The man jumped out of his seat. “What the fuck?!” Joseph felt no guilt, only anger and fear when the man grabbed him by the shoulder and threatened to pull him off balance. Immediately, Joseph smacked his hand away.

Big mistake. Any defiance only sent the man in a screaming fit.

Joseph didn’t give a fuck. Any sort of bitch fit about how it was all Joseph’s fault and any threat of I’ll fuck you up, kid gave way to the man’s blaring, angry thoughts of what he was missing: the sight of that werewolf girl as she paid her check and left the restaurant in a scurry. The man just kept screaming. Screaming and screaming until his voice went absolutely hoarse and his saliva splattered everywhere.

To which Joseph responded by spitting right in the man’s face.

Well, that escalated quickly. Noah thinks to himself as he sees a young man knocking over the coffee onto another man. He can almost hear his day-off being defenestrated. The man with hot coffee on his pants is understandably furious, but Noah could not just stand and watch him grabbing the boy by the shoulders. He puts himself between the two men and said, “sir, I need you to calm down.” His tone is polite to a point where it is off-putting, which is Noah for ‘you are only embarrassing yourself and I am judging you’. The young man spitting at the face of the screaming man is... well, less than ideal in defusing the situation. He spies the owner Hal Stewart peeking his head out from the kitchen and mouths ‘I’ve got it’. He turns to the young man, and immediately notices the telltale paleness and lack of breath. “And you, sir, was that really necessary? Did this man do something to you?” He asks with a breathless sigh. The screaming man now grabs Noah by the shoulder and demands, “who the hell are you? Get lost. I’m about to teach this brat some lesson!” To that, Noah glances over the shoulder with daggers in his eyes, and replies “any other day it’d be Deputy Chief Ismail, Lethe PD, but today I’m just a concerned citizen. Now, would you be so kind to take a step back and refrain from any lesson teaching? Your behaviour is most unbecoming of a grown man.” He turns his attention back to the young man asks, “sir, what’d be your name?”

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.”

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. 

“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.”

“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.

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?”

Noah notices the subtle change of expression on Cece at the mention of his sister dearest, and offers her a small smile. “Don’t worry, Nina is quite preoccupied.” He reassures her. He doubts either two of them would be comfortable with each other. Noah likes to think that he adjusted swimmingly with the undeath, He was never indulgent on things like good food or other pleasure, so he doesn’t miss them that much. The part that hurt, just a tiny bit, was how his family was quick to remove him from Nina’s life. “My pleasure,” he says. He can read her surface thoughts-- it isn’t pity he harbors, but grief that he will lose a dear friend, and guilt on his own indolence. He supposes he had hoped that her conditions would magically get better, and tried not to think about the reality. Catching her wish to brush it aside as a joke, he replies in a jokingly haughty manner, “well... you look radiant, despite everything.” As he looks at Cece, his eyes bottle the kind of vulnerability he doesn’t show to many, the kind of hurt he conceals beneath his well-crafted mask. He can’t feel pains no more, but the fact that his old friend is dying, and that there is nothing he can do, still edges its way in. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.” He says with a breathless sigh, turning his eyes away. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t have to explain. After a moment of silence, he replies. “I... actually work for the police here, believe it or not. You’re looking at Deputy Chief Ismail... although it is a joke of a position,” he mutters the last part under the breath. He would not dare to say his actual thoughts out loud to others but... it’s Cece. He can be honest with her. “So what are you doing in a town like this?”

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.

“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.