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@noah-ismail

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@noah-ismail
It started, as most things do, with a phone call.Â
Something that was supposed to be so very mundane, just dotting his Iâs and crossing his Tâs. While he wasnât the main mind behind the 2021 Spring Equinox gala, Gil very much had something of a heavy hand in it. It tended to happen when you were the only reputable event planner in town. Or, rather; the only event planner in town. Heâd take it. Just one phone call. One bloody phone call. There he sat at his desk with his business phone in hand chatting it up with his liaison for the gala. The other half of the planning posse. Shooting the shit. Pen moving idly across his notes to take down the odd detail or two, check off his lists.Â
Done and done.Â
Just a quick question, just a little wonderâwhy? Because he was scheduled to meet with a member of the security force today to confirm the details. The kind of details that were better shared via word of mouth. Not to be trusted in written words, lest it fall into the wrong hands. Lethe seemed to be a town of very little evil; too many second chances handed out to those seeking sanctuary (guilty) but you never could be too careful. Words he lived by. Heâd just wanted to know a little bit about the person he was meeting, to put his best foot forward so to speak.Â
âHeâs a good bloke,â the other had said âStandup, real dedicated to his job. Bit of a workaholic reallyâIâm sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire there, ha!â Gil shared in the laugh âGoes by Noah, or just play it safe and stick with Deputy; maybe Deputy Ismail if youâre feeling generous.âÂ
Gil absolutely was feeling generous. All fifty shades of it. Nobody told him he was going to be meeting with a badge. He grits his teeth, smiling to an empty room. A pleasant hum of acknowledgement âDeputy Ismail it is then,â he says pleased as punch that his voice comes out unbothered âAnything else I should know?â
As if considering what next to say, the other mirrors his hum from earlier âWell, nothing an upstanding bloke like yourself should worry about.â
âSo weâre two peas in a pod then?â Gil offers.
Another guffaw from the other âDonât know if Iâd go quite that far mate,â but thereâs a hint of mirth in his tone that shows he appreciates the joke âJust donât try to pull the wool over his eyes, yeah?â
One brow inches upwards of its own regard. Curious. He clicks his tongue in mock offense âIâm a businessman Mike,â to which Mike simply scoffs âOkay, Iâm a professional; why would I ever dream of pulling any sort of stunt on the good deputy.â
âYeah, yeah youâre a right saintâyouâre good people, but you ainât that good Gil,â Mike returns then sighs before continuing as though the next words cause him great pain to speak âHeâs a Lich.âÂ
Gil, Finch; freezes.Â
Shoulders tense, mouth suddenly dry; hand gripping the phone tight tight that he fears that the little device will shatter in his hand. He only just manages to swallow a pained moan, teeth biting down on one closed fist to choke back the noise while little half-moons appear in his flesh.
A goddamn, fucking Lich.Â
Mike clearly takes his sudden bout of silence for something else and clears his throat âThat ainâtâŚlike, going to be a problem with you is it?â he sounds uncertain but alsoâŚoffended âYouâre not one of those zed heads are yaâ?âÂ
It takes Gil a moment to reply as he clears his throat âNoâŚno itâs notâŚthe wholeâŚundead thing,â he sighs âJustâŚdonât have much experience with âem is all.â
Which was about as far from the truthâughâas it could be. Mike uh-huhs him and Gil can only snort âWould he buy that?â he asks âYou know what? Nevermind. Donât worry about bringing him a coffee or anything, they donât tend to eat anythinâ. Youâll have to butter him up some other wayâtake care man, better you than me, and good luck!â
Yeah, good luck.Â
So here he was, at the station dressed in his professional best. Not his best suit, not even his third bestâhe may not lean into his wallet as heavily as he used to (can never be too careful was right) but he still knew how to dress to impress. Which was about the only thing he had going for him currently. That, and his current pleasant reputation around town. He was going in blind, only had the manâs name scrawled in pen; no faceâdonât forget that heâs a Lich, better bite your tongue on all your lies.
Gilroy Twain was a lie on two legs. Could dress himself up however pretty he liked, didnât change the fact. He resists the urge to comb his fingers through his hair, to disturb the carefully styled tresses and instead restlessly clicks his pen from where he waits. Great, he was nervous; there goes that professional facade. He sits ramrod straight, a little uncomfortably so; with his briefcase in his lap. So often he feels like the wolf among sheep, but now as he sits waiting to be waved in by the desk sergeant; he feels like sheep that wandered into the wolfâs den.Â
Did a rough sketch of his face hang on a wall somewhere within these halls? Did Finch populate a list of FBIâs most wanted hereâdid someone within this building dream of catching him and making it big. Ugh. Something twisted and turned inside of him, like a caged bird desperate to escape. Wings hammering against his ribcage. He swallows. He hadnât been lying (for once) when he said he had few experiences with Lichkind. When you build an empire on a web of secrets, you tend to avoid the sort of folk that can sniff you out. Would Deputy Ismailâs radar start going buckwild the moment he walked in? The moment he offered his trademark smile and a handshake with a how do you do?
âMr.Twain?â the desk sergeant speaks up, bringing him back to the present (a truly horrid place to be really) âThe deputy is ready for you.â she goes right back to her work, leaving him to his own devices where he scrambles to his feet with a polite nod and a thank you maâam tossed her way before he walks by.Â
A brief knock, one more deep breath and he straightens his tie once again before he heads on in. Warm smile painted on his face âGood afternoon Deputy Ismail,â he says by way of greeting whilst gently closing the door behind himself once he enters âIâm the event planner for the upcoming gala, nameâs Gilroy Twain,â he crosses over and offers his free hand out towards the other âPleasure to meet yaâ and thanks for letting me come by rather than doing this over email.â
Even if he really, really wished this was being done over email.Â
He doesnât let himself look too much, to observe or stare. If he spitballed it, he wagered they were around the same age. Ish. Didnât Lichkind stay at the age they passed? What did he know. For all he knew the guy could be a couple hundred and still look fine. Gilroy knew better than to even ask. This was strictly professional, no need to let his eyes wander; to let himself get distracted. Not when alarm bells were going off in his mind and he felt he was toeing the edge of very, very tall cliff.
âMind if I grab a seat real quick, or would you prefer I stand?â
As always, unsurprisingly, all the paperwork for permits and handling the security fell on Deputy Chief Ismail. Ever since Patrick left the force, Noah has been in charge of... well, pretty much most of the actual work of the chief. It made sense at first, since he was the highest ranking officer below Patrick, and then he was the interim chief. When they elected the new chief, though, Noah expected him to take over... But no, that never happened. Now Noah, on top of his usual duty as the deputy chief, attends the PR strategy meetings, drafts the official statements, processes/organizes the paperwork and handles the organization of public events... and then asks the chief to just sign the paper (and he always has to bring the second copy because you would think the man would know where to sign). Lucky for the Lethe PD, Noah has experiences in handling public events and PR from working as the head of security for Foresight Co..Â
In all honesty, Noah does not mind the work-- someone has to handle them... and all due respect, he highly doubts that the chief is cut out for the inter-agency diplomacy. What bothers him is... well, the fact that the Council has elected to hold the gala despite the surrounding circumstances and the past failure. Both the Council and the police have more to lose than to gain from holding such a big public event right now. The police is already at their maximum capacity for processing and investigating the fire at the local bar Terranceâs. The owner Terrance Bradshaw was thoroughly furious, and from what Noah could tell, the man believes in some kind of biblical punishments... and lest they forget what happened at the gala two years ago-- the death of the previous chief of police, a group of werewolves from outside the town attacking the town... to call it a disaster would be a great understatement.
Unfortunately, his job is to protect and serve, not to question or decide what is best for the town. And Noah would rather deal with the endless paperwork and assigning security at the gala than argue with a group of dubious politicians.Â
As the final stage of the preparation, Noah invited the event planner to the station to discuss the security details. It was more of a professional courtesy than necessity, since the security force will be there to ensure the safety of citizens no matter what. But then again, Noah Ismail would be a corpse without his courtesy.
Noah rises from his seat at the knock, buttoning his impeccable suit jacket out of habit. He offers a professional, polished smile he always wears at work. âGood afternoon, Mr. Twain,â He greets as he shakes the hand firmly. No âplease, just call me Noahâ, because what is this? An informal soiree? No, this is a business meeting. âThe pleasure is all mine. Thank you for coming by-- we cannot afford to discuss such crucial details over emails, especially in this trying time... I hope you could understand.âÂ
He lets out a soft chuckle at Gilroyâs question-- as if it is acceptable to keep oneâs guest standing during the meeting. âPlease, have a seat.â He gestures the chair in front of his almost obsessively clean desk. He spends his lunch hours tidying up the office. He opens the drawer and retrieves a few files. Unbuttoning his jacket, he sits down and laces his fingers together. His trained eyes silently study Gilroy Twain. Nothing out of ordinary aside from the expected nervousness. âMy apologies for making you come down to the station. I understand that this isnât exactly... the most sociable environment, but one cannot be too careful in protecting sensitive information.â He explains as he grabs a rather out-of-place tin can from the side. âWould you care for a saltwater taffy?â He offers, extending the can full of candies. Just because he canât eat, it doesnât mean he should punish his guests.Â
âSo, about the security issues,â he starts, opening the file in front of him, âfirst of all, we need eyes on the venue, specifically on any possible entry and exit points. We entertained the idea of surveillance cameras but there have been concerns on privacy and... well, how the public might respond to it. Currently weâve reached a compromise of assigning undercover officers within the staff and guests. Your opinion on the matter as an event planner would be most appreciated.âÂ
âAnd then there is the matter of special response teams. We fear two worst case scenarios: the arsonists targeting the gala itself; or them using the gala as a distraction. Especially on the former scenario, we would need a space to accommodate the response team within the venue. Would it be possible to secure such location in the manor?âÂ
Date: 5/21/2021 Time:Â late morning Location:Â a bench in a spot of your choosing around town Status: open
Theyâd offered him a room in the inn upon his âofficialâ discovery. Well, it was implied that he was to stay there and not make a fuss about things, to be a nice complacent little shade because the species itself scared the bejesus out of most people. Lachlan was pissed enough that even death didnât free him of having to sleep and he certainly wasnât going to sleep there, around strangers. So he snuck out, claimed he was going to take a walk to settle himself, and then refused to go back. He had lived on the streets since before he could remember, how hard could it be? Not too hard, he found, provided people left him alone. Lachlan realized that yes, he was a man walking about still in a bloodied suit who had issues staying solid, but he couldnât quite understand why this bothered the inhabitants of Lethe so badly. He had given up trying to apply logic to it in the wee hours of the morning, only to be startled awake what seemed like a second later by some idiot. He flailed, trying to take a swing at the stranger, and then that sent him sinking INTO the bench, of all things. It took a moment of cussing to get to his feet again, by which point he was well and truly pissed. âIs it fecking necessary to prod at me? Iâm not knackered, Iâm not melted, just a man trying to get some shut eye here and there. What dâyou want?â
Noah ended up spending the better part of the night double-checking and reorganizing the security details of the gala. He was completely fine with continuing his day from there, since he doesnât need to sleep anyway, but Sergeant Caldwell basically kicked him out of the station, (âwe canât pay your overtime anymore,â she said.) On his way back to the apartment to get changed so that he can return to investigating the witch hunters in town, he notices a man sleeping on a bench... Wait, is that blood? He rushes up to the man, trying to check the pulse. âSir, are you--â he stops himself as the man jumps, sinks into the bench as if it was not there. He takes a few steps back as the man continues to flail. Noah immediately can tell that this man is a shade since he received briefings on them. âMy apologies, sir, but your... attire had me worriedâ he gestures at the blood on the suits, âand technically you canât sleep out here as per the town ordinance... In my understanding, the town has offered temporary lodging to all shades. Might I ask why were you sleeping on a bench?â
notleftalive¡:
If the apparent dead man getting between them thought he could stop Joseph from spitting in the guyâs 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 manâs no problem; Joseph could tell heâs still thinking about trapping both himself (Joseph) and that werewolf girl in a basement. Itâs the intervening man he canât get. Heâs 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 doesnât answer the lichâs 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.
âJoseph,â he huffed, straightening his jacket. âDid you bother read his thoughts at all, Mr. Police Guy? Or are you more concerned about his civility?â
Noah raises a brow at Joseph. That is an odd request. Why would he go out of his way to read other peopleâs thoughts? He does notice, however, the reaction of the other man at the âread his thoughtsâ. He doesnât 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. âI donât have the habit of reading other peopleâs private thoughts unless it is otherwise necessary. Especially because I am a Mr. Police Guy.â He replies calmly with a small sigh. Especially as a police officer, Noah takes extra caution in reading someone elseâs mind. He canât 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. âAt any rate, I apologize if my respond seemed like an inaction on behalf of the police department. If youâd like to file a formal complaint and launch an investigation, Iâd be more than happy to assist you.â He sighs as he offers a rather formal but sincere apology. âWhat 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.âÂ

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nathanmarchand¡:
Nathan grimaces. âLast time was a mistake, I apologize for it, but it doesnât change my hopes of things going better this time around.â Itâs too much to hope that Noah will let the past go, but heâll cross his fingers and give it a few more weeks. He blinks, a little surprised. âUh, yes, two of them. Not here in town, I left them in New York. Didnât think there would be a day that I thought leaving them there was safer,â he says, looking weary for a moment as he runs a hand over his face. Itâs 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. âI didnât 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. Iâm a glass half full kind of guy.â 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. âLich, yeah? You arenât breaking my fingers like a vampire, but much too cold to be anything else. Never met one, thisâll be interesting.â Then, as if he hadnât spoken, he asks, âWho else is on this, uh, unofficial and unsanctioned task force? I wonât make any moves without prearranging something with you, but all the same, Iâd like to know if Iâm wasting my time on a lead.â
âI didnât peg you for an optimist.â Noah remarks. With no condescension intended, believe it or not. He simply thought, considering the manâs time in CIA, Nathan would be a jaded skeptic. But first impressions are not always accurate, as Noah once again realizes. âIâm sure someone will find an irony there...â 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. âThat couldnât have been an easy decision.â 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 manâs surprise in persuading him, and this other avenue, whatever that means. âIâm not an unreasonable man, Mr. Marchand. Itâs simple-- trust is difficult to build, but easy to break.â He says, before curling up his lips into something of a smirk. âBut something tells me youâll somehow find a way to make it up to me.â Noah gives a firm handshake before laughing, âI donât think many other species donât bleed after being stabbed. I donât know what you mean by interesting... but sure, weâll go with that.â
He crosses his arms over the chest and leans against the desk again. âMaybe task force was a poor choice of word. Itâs 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.â 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. âCurrently 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.â
notleftalive¡:
Itâs 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 everyoneâs thoughts. God, people were stupid. Vapid, too. One girl â a werewolf, Joseph figured out â 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.Â
The finely dressed man had one thought about using his tie as a gag, to which Joseph responded by pushing the manâs cup of scalding hot coffee onto his lap as he passed the table.
The man jumped out of his seat. âWhat the fuck?!â 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 didnât give a fuck. Any sort of bitch fit about how it was all Josephâs fault and any threat of Iâll fuck you up, kid gave way to the manâs 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 manâs 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, âsir, I need you to calm down.â His tone is polite to a point where it is off-putting, which is Noah for âyou are only embarrassing yourself and I am judging youâ. 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 âIâve got itâ. He turns to the young man, and immediately notices the telltale paleness and lack of breath. âAnd you, sir, was that really necessary? Did this man do something to you?â He asks with a breathless sigh. The screaming man now grabs Noah by the shoulder and demands, âwho the hell are you? Get lost. Iâm about to teach this brat some lesson!â To that, Noah glances over the shoulder with daggers in his eyes, and replies âany other day itâd be Deputy Chief Ismail, Lethe PD, but today Iâm 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.â He turns his attention back to the young man asks, âsir, whatâd be your name?â

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Date:Â 9 May 2021 Time:Â 3:55 PM Location:Â Evening PrimroseÂ
Noah sits on the corner booth of the rustic diner, reading the newspaper. To his left is a pile of shopping bags from different stores around the town. Itâs been a while since he had a peaceful Sunday afternoon, and Noah has decided to make it a shopping day with his sister-- he needs some new summer attires. Nina left after finishing her afternoon tea, and Noah stayed to have some quiet, alone time. He looks up from the paper, however, when he hears the sound of altercation in the diner. He neatly folds the paper and goes over to the source of the noise. âHi, terribly sorry to interfere, but is everything okay?â He asks politely, looking at the both parties of the argument.Â
nathanmarchand¡:
He only smiles at the question, feeling as though a response will only further antagonize him. âLetâs 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.â Heâs used to running around, collecting information and people alike, but Nathan doesnât 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 didnât get this far running away at the first professional denial. âWe are. Perceptive enough to know that two heads are better than one, yes?â Relief hits him and he waits until heâs 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. âI 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⌠arenât ideal odds, but I have faced worse for far less important reasons.â He thinks he can leave it there, that he neednât explain too much further, but in the spirit of honesty, he ventures more, if only a little. Itâs important to him that this isnât an attempt at glory, or a job, or anything short of doing the right thing. Nathan lifts his chin, raising a brow in question. âIf 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. Iâm not going anywhere, Ismail.â
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 wouldnât be the only one dealing with this stubborn man. âPlease forgive my skepticism considering how things went down last time.â Noah replies with a look that reads âI will be the judge of thatâ. He knows it isnât fair to judge the person solely on the first impression, and from what he can tell, Nathan doesnât 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. âYou have a daughter?â he asks, somewhat surprised. Itâs not like he doesnât believe Nathan. It was just unexpected... He grunts at the loaded âsurely you understandâ. Thatâs cheating. He canât really argue with âprotecting the loved onesâ. Noah had hoped Nathan to turn out as a selfish prick so that he can hate the man all he wants. â...fine, if you must insist,â he sighs again, âI suppose you can be an asset as much as you are...â he stops himself from making a stupid rhyme, calling Nathan an arsehat. âa relentless bullhead. At least this way, we have an understanding and hopefully, you wonât make a mistake of disturbing my investigation.â He stands up straight and extends his hand for a shake. âWelcome aboard, Mr. Marchand. You are now a member of the unofficial, unsanctioned task force against witch hunters.â He says, not bothering to hide his sarcastic side.Â
nathanmarchand¡:
âWorth the interruption if we can get on the same page. You donât exactly take appointment, Iâve been trying for several days.â Figures Noah isnât the type to enjoy humor, it makes him miss investigations with Cecilia back in the day. Noah isnât the first difficult and mildly exasperating person to work with though, and he wonât be the last. âAnd I appreciate that you saw things from my perspective even a little so I didnât spend time in a cell. I donât know if it would have held for long, your court system is a little strange. Antique, even, is that how it usually is?â He doesnât understand this about the town. Whenever he walks around, Nathan feels like heâs gone back in time. âI didnât see the stab, I just saw some random person shoving someone to the ground. Your uniform could use some work,â he says, shaking his head. âLook, Iâm 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. Iâll be investigating one way or another, I figure Iâd rather work with you than against you.â
âWhich part of Iâm absolutely busy did you not understand?â Noah asks pointedly. âAgain, there is no page for you to get on, Mr. Marchand.â 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. âWould you like to try that theory of yours?â Noah flashes the best, masterpiece smile of his, which is British for âpiss offâ. âAnd if you have any grievance with the legal system, you could go talk to Councilman Stewart.â He turns his attention back to the paper at hands, expense reports, shift assignments and such. âAnd here I thought, the CIA trained their personnel to be perceptive.â 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... âYouâre a stubborn one, arenât you? Very well.â He sighs, even though no breath comes out, as a force of habit. âCould you close the door, please?â 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. âThis 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 wonât 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?â Say no, he thinks to himself. Please be selfish, so that I can dislike you.
date: 20 April 2021 location: lethe police department time: mid-morning status: closed with @noah-ismailâ
âI didnât realize once we caught the other guy â Novak â that he was such a small fry,â he says as a greeting, inviting himself into the chair on the other side of Noahâs desk. They arenât friends, not entirely, but he hardly wants to be enemies with the police for a misunderstanding. âDoing well? You donât look freshly stabbed today.â Given the first time they met, Nathan feels like heâs allowed some humor. He leans forward, regarding Noah with lessening humor on his face. âNot 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 canât if people like him are running around. How can I help?â
Noah looks up with no particular expression, just sheer amount of exhaustion, stress and unadulterated judgment. âOh, no, by all mean, come on in please. Itâs not like Iâm absolutely busy.â He drawls as Nathan Marchand invites himself in without knocking or asking first. He canât say they had great first expressions on each other. âWe?â He repeats. âThere is no we here, Mr. Marchand. I didnât arrest you for obstruction only because Novak was brought into custody eventually.â 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. âYes, good thing that you wonât be jumping in and punch me again for getting stabbed.â He mutters, rubbing his forehead, wondering if liches can grow new wrinkles up there. What kind of moisturizer should liches use? âMr. Marchand, do you realize that you are not a part of the law enforcement in this town?â He asks pointedly.
ceciliamercer¡:
It might be terrible to say that sheâs relieved to hear the other Ismails didnât follow suit⌠but she is. That is until the mention of Nina. Shit. Well, itâs better than the entire cohort, maybe, but stillâŚÂ âDefinitely less eyes.â Thatâs a fact, so itâs 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. âGood to know. My mom always said⌠um.â How do the words rush out so easily? Especially in the wake of the recent news? Mired in that, Cece just shakes her head. âShe said something similar.â 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. Itâs only when sheâs managed to stifle the bleeding herself that she realizes Noahâs standing in wait, holding out a handkerchief. Ever the gentleman. âUm⌠thank you.â She mutters, though her bloodied fingers donât reach out to take it. His comment on apologies makes her blink hard. How quickly sheâd forgotten. âRight. Right.â 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. âYeah, well⌠same body, same hybridity, right?â 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. âDonât worry, though. Havenât dabbled in any more security.â Clearly, she hadnât been great at it the first time. âBut you, um⌠what have you been up to, um, here in Lethe?â
Noah notices the subtle change of expression on Cece at the mention of his sister dearest, and offers her a small smile. âDonât worry, Nina is quite preoccupied.â 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 doesnât miss them that much. The part that hurt, just a tiny bit, was how his family was quick to remove him from Ninaâs life. âMy pleasure,â he says. He can read her surface thoughts-- it isnât 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, âwell... you look radiant, despite everything.â As he looks at Cece, his eyes bottle the kind of vulnerability he doesnât show to many, the kind of hurt he conceals beneath his well-crafted mask. He canât 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. âYou know thatâs not what Iâm worried about.â He says with a breathless sigh, turning his eyes away. He doesnât explain. He doesnât have to explain. After a moment of silence, he replies. âI... actually work for the police here, believe it or not. Youâre looking at Deputy Chief Ismail... although it is a joke of a position,â he mutters the last part under the breath. He would not dare to say his actual thoughts out loud to others but... itâs Cece. He can be honest with her. âSo what are you doing in a town like this?â

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ceciliamercer¡:
God, they really had been close, hadnât 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. âIn the flesh,â she manages to joke past the lump in her throat, the dizzy spin in her head. âShit, let me help ââ But heâs stooping down to pick the dropped items already, and Cecilia can only cringe, taking a step back. âYeah, right. Right. How long have you been in Lethe? Is it, um, is it just you? Or the whole family?â God, Nina Ismail in a town like this? Thatâd be a sight to see. Not to say Lethe isnât something to be proud of. Itâs her hometown, after all. She just canât see the same pride coming from the Ismail heiress. âOh. Well. Sorry about that.â As if sheâd murdered him herself. Has she forgotten how to speak? âThe dying, I mean. Thatâs, um, Iâm sure it was unpleasant. But⌠good that you came back.â So sheâs 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, wasnât it, to assume sheâd never see him again? Consequences always caught up. Especially around here, it would seem. âBusyâs, uh, busyâs good. Thatâs good. YouâreâŚâ She gestures to the badge she only notices now, worn on his hip. âYouâre with the police? Hey, thatâs â thatâs great. Congrats.â 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. âMe? Iâm fine, yeah. All good.â Thatâs 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. âShit. Um. I mean â yeah, uh, sorry.â A palm raises to cover her bleeding nose from sight, and she turns to fish tissues from her pocket, forever on hand. âHey, at least Iâm consistent,â Cece jokes, her laugh tight and breathless. After all, this was how it went, wasnât it? Her health issues had cost her her job. As they had so many things.
âThat you are. Canât say I expected to see you here.â 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. âIsmails? As if they would willing leave their seat of power.â There is a salty hint of sneer in his voice. âItâs just me and Nina. We had a... bit of complication, so she is enjoying her indefinite vacation here. Less eyes.â 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. âIn all honesty, I donât remember much. I was gone and then I was back. I canât say Iâd recommend it to anyone, though.â 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 doesnât feel like his place to ask. Not anymore. He canât help but wonder, is this how itâs going to be? Asking awkwardly about how each other has been, filling the gaps with the cursory âgood, goodâ and âIâm happy for youâ. Their connection has frayed and is barely holding on. âThank you. And itâs good to see you, Cece. What brought you--â 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. âNo apologies, remember?â He reminds her, how he used to say she shouldnât apologize... even when he was letting her go. It wasnât her fault. Nina, as always, persevered. âSo I suppose your health is not getting better, huh?â he asks with a sad smile.