i. (26, bisexual) freshly graduated from law school, guy is on the verge of landing a promising intership with a new york firm when he gets recruited into a mysterious secret organization that seems to know his every move. drawn in by the initial promise of money, he starts to unravel a thread that leads him to his biological mother, presumed dead. she was a talamasca agent herself, but ended up running away — leaving him alone to grow up with his foster parents, the anatoles, paid by the talamasca to take him in.

ii. average height (180 cm), dark brown and slightly curly hair. the most striking feature is perhaps his eyes: big baby blues, very expressive, prone to watering. FC: nicholas denton

iii. the boy is mostly unremarkable, save for one very peculiar ability: he can hear other people's (and vampire's) thoughts. this caused guy to grow up mostly isolated from his peers, and to fiercely attempt to silence the assault of thoughts and emotions coming from others. his favourite method is prescription pills, namely citalopram. they work just enough to make him feel less on the brink of insanity. his skills are unhoned, clumsy, but guy has been able to use to his advantage more than once, gauging people's intentions, subtly changing his attitude accordingly.

VERSE ROUTES,

default: he is sent to london with little to no training, tasked with getting closer to a particular vampire named jasper, who has successfully infiltrated the london branch of the talamasca. canon divergences are welcome and available for plotting

the cafe isn't crowded, and it's blissfully sunny outside, which are the two main reason why guy chooses to indulge in the luxury of occupying a seat instead of taking his order to go like usual.  guy is careful when picking public spaces. has to be, when too many people around him could give him a headache without even opening their mouths.

'' what is this? ''   guy frowns, guarded, suspicious.  he tries to avoid sounding overly snappish, but he can't help a little ugliness coloring his voice whenever he feels cornered. he doesn't know the man, hasn't seen him in any of the files the talamasca has handed him — he would remember, he is good with that. that doesn't make the uneasiness go away.   '' who are you? ''

his coffee is going cold.  he still hasn't touched the note, neatly folded on the table and placed in front of him in such a deliberate way that tells him this can't be a mistake. he crosses his arms, blue eyes boring into the other man's face, chin tilted up. steady, demanding answers. 

'' what? ''   his footing slips, metaphorically, and there's only empty space to greet him.  a missed step. heart wrenching free fall lasting for a second. he breathes from his too dry mouth, as if he is running and not just sitting in a hotel lobby, a drink in front of him  (whiskey, untouched)  and danger pressing in close in the form of blonde hair and unsettling blue eyes.   '' no. no, i— ''

he hadn't meant to let her inside his mind, but his shielding is still mediocre at best and guy can feel her now; she is sinking in, surely itching to rummage without bothering to be gentle and rake her nails all over.  it's inelegant, desperate, but he tries to push her out with everything he has.

'' you've made your point. let's both stay out of each other's minds. ''

only guy's own attempt had been useless.  too much noise, too many threads going every which way for him to grasp more than a few scattered crumbs.

the theatre is just a few buildings from his rented apartment, which makes it easy and convenient for guy to slip inside at night, well past working hours.  it has become a habit, something he does almost every night to escape his insomnia;  so far, no one has caught him red handed.

but that's not entirely true, is it? he has felt it, the distinct and cold impression of someone — or something — watching him from the shadows.  that hasn't stopped him, which probably speaks loudly about his preservation instincts. no, he has come back in the dead of night, the clock pushing 3:15, to sit in his usual spot at the edge of the stage, feet dangling, heel tapping against the wood. very much on purpose. very much insistent, annoying, trying to get attention. it's a dangerous game, especially because he knows exactly what lurks at night now, so he can't even claim ignorance, but it's one he doesn't stop playing. oh, his heartbeat thumps furiously in his chest the whole time, but he doesn't get up and leave.

the voice comes from behind, so guy has to turn his head and angle his torso to be able to see the extremely tall figure staring at him from center stage.  not human, obviously.

'' yeah? well, that's— ''   guy, about to say something really stupid  (that's not very impressive), gets distracted.  he rises to his feet, brow slightly furrowed as he looks at the vampire intently. he doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he still catches— not thoughts, exactly, just vague residue, little morsels of emotions there on the surface. and new words are out of his mouth before he can think to bite his tongue.

'' why are you so sad? '' it's soft, almost a whisper, but it holds more curiosity than pity.