king of serpents

“Right. Impeccable.” Evi bats back with a roll of her eyes, a sideways smile. Still, she can’t pretend that she doesn’t appreciate the business. It’s sort of scant these days – especially compared to mere months ago. But that was a different time, she reminds herself silently, fiercely. “Glad you like them.” The gardener replies before tiptoeing around her own request. Good thing she’s not dealing with one of the fae. Her emotions would probably topple right out. “Of course not. What kind of gardener do you take me for? My flowers come from a place of pure and wholesome motivations only.” Not at all true, and Evi sighs, about to launch into her line of questioning right here on the stoop. Luckily, she’s presented an invite. “That’d be great, actually. Ah… anything citrus is my preference, but I’m not picky.” She shrugs, shoe scuffing the ground once she’s leaned against the kitchen wall. “Anyway. If you’re looking for side work, I’ve got this… family I’d really like some… insight on.” Her own family, but that’s not necessary to share, even though it very well may come into light later. “Down in Pretoria. South Africa.” She specifies perhaps too quickly – after all, it is her hometown. “Just the basics. Current whereabouts, any recent headlines. Very recent. Within the last… year or two. Nothing too deep.” She’s got to tread lightly here. Don’t need those ghosts dug up. “Can’t offer anything more interesting than money, I’m afraid. But I’m willing to pay whatever you see fit.”

Reggie laughs, obviously amused by her claim of‘pure and wholesome motivations only’. He can’t say he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting someone with such motivations before. “I’ll take your words for it,” he lies, placing the orchid on the countertop. He nods as he goes through the fully stocked cupboard-- the vampire doesn’t need or use half of the stuff in there. He hires people to shop for grocery and decorate the apartment, simply for the pretense of normalcy. It humanizes him, and in his experience, other’s sympathy is something he can exploit to survive. He finds a pack of lemon ginger tea and starts the hot water on the stove. He looks back at her with this look that reads ‘girl, please’. “Evi, darling, you needn’t bribe me with flowers for my insight. I’m always happy to provide.” He offers her a soft, empty smile. “That sounds easy enough. Might I ask why, or any landmine to avoid?” He asks as he opens the fridge-- finds a small box of macaroons from the Sweet Spot. He puts some out on a floral plate and sets it on the counter for her. “Money’s not an issue for me, if I’m being perfectly honest...” He scratches his cheek. Money is useful, but it’s not the only currency he deals in. “Tell you what, I’ll do this one for free, for old time’s sake.” Sometimes one must show compassion-- because it sometimes returns in twofold. Call it an investment.

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.

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?” 

“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.  

With his stab wounds on the verge of being completely healed, Yuri was back to work and keeping busy. Being done with his early gym session, he was passing by Irving Plaza when he stumbled across a familiar face. “I should be saying that to you and your big ass mouth.” Yuri teasingly replied with a smirk. Looking around, the werewolf shook his head and shrugged, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he is. Approach me with caution man, who knows what he’ll do to if he caught me with you.” The youngest Sokolov grinned sheepishly as he flexed for the vampire, “Gas me up Reggie, keep the compliments going!” He immediately dropped his arms on his side and regained his composure. “Nah, it’s sobriety dude. I’ve been tryna stay clean. So far, so good, thanks for noticing. Anyways, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“My sweet, young little зайчик, I’ve been doing this even before your grandmother was born. Of course I’m still kicking.” Reginald flashes a sweet smile, raising his pretty floral mug for Yuri. “That big brute of your brother needs to learn some manners. Lethe is a small town. What if he bites a nice old lady?” He sighs dramatically with a disapproving shake of head. Unlike Nikolai, Yuri is much easier to deal with. Relatively speaking. “Huh, good for you, man. Keep up with the good work, I suppose.” He honestly didn’t expect sobriety from the werewolf, but like he said, good for a young man like Yuri. “Oh, you know, the usual. Out of the frying pan into the fire, dealing with fanatic hunters and some other dangerous people.” He replies casually, “any chance you and your brother are up for a hire? I could use some firepower-- though, from what I’ve heard, you two already got a handful.” 

His first thought is that his ears are acting up. It’s been decades since his turning and it seems like the injuries to his eardrums are never quite healed enough. Sam rubs his left ear, and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? It sounded a lot like Roshan to me, and not a lot of names can be mixed up with that,” he says with skepticism, eyeing the other man. Sam fishes out his ID from his pocket, hanging it from the tips of his fingers so the man can see. “This is the name they called, right? I didn’t mishear it? I’m old, my ears aren’t what they used to be, you know! I’m practically ancient.” His license, however, states his birth date as April 30th, 1953.

@reginald-roshan

Reginald raises a brow as the man turns around, takes a quick sidenote of the ear-rubbing. “It’s not a common name around here, yeah, tell me about it.” He lets out a lighthearted chuckle, shaking his head. He is somewhat surprised that how the man-- called Samir Roshan, apparently-- was quick to show him the ID. “Apparently I’m not the only one with that family name.”He shrugs before pulling out his passport, with the name Reginald Roshan, dated about 30 years ago. It was forged, of course, since he can’t exactly get a passport that says he was born... what, 700 years ago? He laughs as Samir calls himself old for living less than a century. “Wow, you were born in 1950s?” He feigns surprise, just because he can and this is amusing, to be honest. “They did say Roshan, sir.” He looks at the receptionist, giving a small shrug, “Hey, since you are so much older than me, I’ll let you go first.” 

Evi raises a brow at the compliment, far from taking it at face value. It only earns an eye roll, and she goes on. “Haven’t we all? Though I guess I barely hold up compared to most of you.” Forty years sounds like nothing compared to most of Lethe’s residents. Has felt longer, though, especially during the more tumultuous years of constant travel. Time passes with more ease here. She’ll give it that. “We didn’t exactly have much. Desperate times. Consider it a mark of trust that we asked you. Maybe misguided.” She smirks still, arms crossing as he tells his story. Evi’s head shakes. “Damn. When you screw up, you know how to do it with style. Wouldn’t want to be you right now.” What? It’s true. Blunt, maybe, but who are they to shirk honesty, at least around each other? “I don’t think I’ve got anything more important going on.” Evi counters, quick to catch onto the deflection. What? She’s curious. Surely he has more to divulge about his troubles. Her eyes roll as he goes on, the joke not passing over her. “Oh, he’s hardly prowling. Probably trying to charm some old biddies into trying something new if I could guess. And yes. We’ve seen some success.” A point of pride, isn’t it? The only thing worth priding herself over. “What sort of business are you dabbling in? This town isn’t exactly the type of place with a major market for fake passports.”

Reginald laughs lightly at her response. “You have no idea.” He never talks about how long he has lived, at least he doesn’t go into the details. It’s useful sometimes to give things vague. “Ooh, yeah, bad idea. Trusting moi? In this economy?” He places a hand on his chest and feigns surprise. “The only thing you can trust is that I’d get the job done.” He is at least honest about his untrustworthy nature, so that people can make an informed decision. “What can I say, you only live once. Might as well go out in the blaze of glory.” He has no plan on dying, ever, of course, but he would be damned if he can’t joke about that possibility. He raises a brow at her vague reply, but doesn’t pry. “Sounds a lot like prowling. What’s the place called again? Perhaps I could visit and try this famous something new.” He chuckles. “Oh, you wound me, Evi. Forging documents is just a side-gig for me, y’know. I mostly deal with information-- secrets and gossips. Lethe is full of those, so, plenty of business for me.” He explains. 

“Mr. Roshan?” Reginald rises to his feet at his name finally being called. Apparently he needed to file some forms for... taxes and all that shits. He lived outside of law for far too long and it makes no sense but whatever. When he walks up to the desk, however, another man cuts in front of him. He taps the other on the shoulder and clears his throat. “Um, excuse me, but I’m pretty sure they called me.” A fake name, but on paper it is his name. 

“Well, well, well. Look who’s not dead yet.” Reginald remarks flatly as he spots the Little Sokolov. Of course he knew the Sokolov Brothers were alive and relatively well. By ‘relatively well’ he means there are people still out there want them dead, as in they are not dead yet. “I’m guessing your brother is lurking about somewhere near? I knew I should have worn my escape sneakers.” He asks, since Nikolai Sokolov is... not a pleasant person and probably has several reasons to kill Reginald outright. “You look good, by the way. I mean, you always were a handsome bugger but you look... I dunno, healthier. New diet?” He says as he sips his tea as he measures the werewolf up and down.