Timothé Ardouin

she could see he wasn’t completely comfortable with the compliment, but marlow didn’t let that affect anything - the complement was still well deserved and they didn’t regret giving it. the sketch, while still in the works, was awesome, and he deserved to know that. marlow enjoyed building other people up. there seemed to be a little surprise in his eyes at the question to join in on the hike, but he agreed regardless, marlow grinning from ear to ear. “yeah? awesome!” they stepped back as he slipped the sketch pad into his bag, marlow’s thumbs tucked into belt loops, rolling on the balls of their feet. “doesn’t have to be a long one. i just needed some fresh air, you know?” 

People who were excited never managed to make Tim excited in return, but he was always jealous of them. He wanted to want to do something too. Something that didn’t have a certain kind of results. Just something fun, easy, cheap, or in this case: costing absolutely nothing but time. “Okay, sure,” he said, he would really say yes to anything. Which was a problem, but right now, he thought it was great. Someone actually asking him along, him having the chance to get a completely distraction. He almost wanted to cry. “And yes, I know. Me too,” he admitted. 

    “Well, Tim—” Lydia pulled her knees to her chest and laughed, “I didn’t think about that so I’m praying to the food lords that they do. Trust me, there will be hell to pay if they make a fuss about the tacos.” She chuckled, half-joking, half-serious. “What’s your favorite kind of taco?” Lydia switched the subject a little, suddenly curious as to what preferences everyone had, “I honestly think I would be happy to have a tortilla filled with guac.”

He laughed a little, trying to imagine what kind of hell she was talking about, perhaps she would feed them sea water instead, or buy them a tomato. That was as far as his creativity went during this moment of heightened anxiety. “I don’t know, one with avocado, I guess? I don’t have taco’s very often.” He cooked often, but mostly French recipes, usually Ratatouille. And soup. “I would be incredibly happy to just have a tortilla. Or some cheese.” 

it wasn’t that marlow was oblivious to other people’s feelings - it was clear the guy was nervous, the way he shifted as they approached, the smile on his lips rather weak. but marlow was all about drawing people out of their shell, letting people get to know them, hoping it would clear up those anxieties. “ohhh sweet!” marlow dropped onto the log next to him, eyes focused on the sketch pad that was offered for them to see. “wow, that’s really good.” it was clearly just the start of something, but even then, it was obvious what it was going to become. marlow themselves had no real artistic skills, people as stick figures, trees as clouds attached to legs. this already looked away better than that. a nod when he asked if they were going for a walk, a nod from the brunette confirming it. “yeah. i needed some fresh air, a little something to clear the mind.” a smile touched marlow’s lips, head tilting. “you want to join?” inviting a stranger to join their hike? pretty on brand. “i’m marlow, by the way.” 

Tim bend in on himself a little, he didn’t do well with compliments, or any kind of kindness because he didn’t know how to react to it. It felt innocent, yet he felt like it was always a trap. If he acted too proud, he would be arrogant, but if he was too humble, he could be considered... well, a whole lot. So he figured it was a good idea to just smile. “Thank you,” he said. closing the sketchbook, then realising what their question meant. Had he just said yes? “Uhm, sure,” he said, he already felt as if there was no way back. He felt like saying no was going to come off as dismissive, and Tim was already low on social contacts. “Tim,” he said in response, smiling awkwardly. He put his sketchbook in his backpack and stood to join them. 

     Alec shrugged, pointing out that no report had been published. “We’ve only had  confirmation of certain things and that they are exploring all possibilities.” At least Alec wasn’t the only one terrible at pool, something he seemed to only get worse at as the years went on if that was possible. “The police don’t have a good track record with Fremont cases, anyway.” He shrugged, “They have more important people to worry about, so I don’t think we’ll ever hear what happened.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim said, he couldn’t see the flaw in that, and bowed his head a little. “I didn’t know that... uhm, about the bad track record. That’s not really... not very equal.” He didn’t like his choice of words in this case, but there really wasn’t much to do about it. “I mea... I’m pretty new here, didn’t think that that was something the police did in like... 2020.” 

“Oh – Hello!” Gale spoke, turning away from the window he had been peering through after having rang the doorbell numerous of times. Either he was being ignored or there really wasn’t anyone home. But where else would people be who were mourning their loved one? In the act however, he got caught by someone he heard a few steps behind him on the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he greeted them with a smile, not even embarrassed for having been spotted. “Do you live here? Or know where they are?” @elisabethstarters​

Tim stared awkwardly at the stranger who was peering into someone’s house and seemed a little suspicious. Or perhaps he was misreading the situation. He studied the other and raised his hand in greeting. “Uhm, no. But I guess they will be home soon.” Because he felt a sort of need to ensure the other wasn’t planning on breaking in or something. He figured else he might’ve called the people he was trying to visit...

SATURDAY, JUNE 6th, 2020. ALIBI, Port Elisabeth.

     “I’d rather not hear about it,” Alec groaned as he took a shot on the table, hitting the white ball and watching it smack into nothing but the edge. “Fuck—” The man stood up and moaned, stepping back from the table to let the next person take their go. “The McIvy’s have always been a disgusting family and all of them, aside from Alexander, are insufferable.” He paused, taking a swig from his beer. “Or were, in some cases.” The bias he had become accustomed to with was from loyalty to Hannah, an ironic thought given his actions a couple of years ago, but his own experience of her family had never been positive. “The old man was crazy, probably did it to himself.”

“Uhuh,” Tim said in response, waiting for his turn. He shouldn’t be in a bar, but he also didn’t want to be home alone. He had also been taught not to speak ill of the dead - and he figured that counted for those who had disappeared too - but the fact that the person he was playing against did make suggestions about the family of the diseased, made him feel even more awkward. He really didn’t know how to respond to that, and didn’t feel like it was his place to point out that it was very unkind to speak ill of the dead. “But if it was suicide, would they not have said so in the police report?” Tim asked. He wasn’t sure if that was the right question. He tried to hit one of the balls, but was hopeless in pool. So far he had lost five games. In one evening.

despite being as empathetic as they were, marlow was nothing if not resilient, and had learned a long time ago how to keep things from affecting them too deeply, especially when those things didn’t personally affect them. otherwise marlow would have been stricken by every other foster kid that came through their home growing up, a horrific past and story accompanying each of them. so what had happened over the last week was tragic, and marlow acknowledged that, felt for the families. but the brunette tried to not take those feelings to heart. 

still, fresh air and exercise were always welcome. not that marlow was a gym junkie — actually, they weren’t sure they’d ever actually been in a gym. but hiking, exploring the world? very much a pastime that marlow enjoyed. feet padded along the trail, before eyes spotted someone sitting by the shore. forever curious, the brunette made their way over to the stranger, smile on their lips. “hey. whatcha doing?” was marlow interrupting the other’s peace? perhaps, but if he told her to get lost, they’d respect that. until then…. friendly as ever. 

Loose your headphones, be open for a conversation. Tim had never gotten any professional help for his anxiety, but they had taught him some skills at the clinic, and he figured he should be using those, especially now. Because now more than ever, he wanted to not be in his head. To not be alone. He looked up and smiled at the stranger. He was wearing sweatpants himself, combat boots, and a light jacket. They seemed ready to go hiking. “Hey,” he said in response, rubbing one hand in the hopes of forcing the awkward tone from his voice and expression. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have a conversation with a stranger, it was mostly that Tim always thought people would expect the worst of him. They might see him sitting here and ask themselves if he was up to no good. “Drawing,” Tim responded, holding up his sketchbook. He had managed to jolt down the horizon, some outlines for the houses, and a couple of lines that suggested the trees. He hated how he held up the sketchbook because he felt like a little kid at the moment desperate for a compliment on his work. He knew his brain was overreacting, but he couldn’t pause those thoughts. “Are you going for a hike?” 

                       “You want the whole stack?” Margot motioned to the ‘I’m sorry’ card the patron held in his hand. At this point, she was sure he would come back around to buy the cards and flowers again. It was almost like a ritual at this point from what she had noticed. 

She had thought of the many different reasons for him to buy this many sorry flowers for could be. But in the end, her conclusion was nothing more than a theory. Over the weeks, she had become somewhat curious. Albeit, it was none of her business, nonetheless, her curiosity had peaked and she couldn’t hold herself back from asking the reason behind all the business she had been receiving from him. “You must’ve done something really terrible to be that sorry, huh?” 

“Uhm.” Tim looked at the cards, thought about it for a second, because he did buy them very often, then put them all back except for one. Which he placed on the counter, before looking up at the owner. He was confused by her question however, mostly because he didn’t make the link right away with that he had been here so often. Since all the apology flowers in the past had mostly gone to different people. “I, uhm, I don’t think it was that terrible. But I am not really good at like... apologising with words.” Or perhaps too good? 

Tim walked into the nursery checking his balance with nervous hands. He typed in his account number and got a pretty nice looking number back. More than enough to pay for another bouquet of flowers and one of those apology cards. His upstairs neighbour had gotten really mad at him the other day for playing his music too loudly and leaving it on when he went to do some grocery shopping. Tim had said sorry about nine-times, but the man had continued to yell at him. Since buying flowers had been his most used way to apologise to his parents, he had gotten used to the practice. 

And he had walked into Evergreen about once a week since he moved into Fremont. “Hi, uhm, I was wondering if you have some blue flowers?” he asked the owner of Evergreen - or at least he assumed she was the owner-, her name was Margot, he’d been in here far too often. He picked out one of the “I’m sorry” cards, and held it nervously in his hands.

“Good, good.. I’m glad,” she said, letting out the breath of air she’d been holding in. It wasn’t like giving advice to someone in distress was her strongest skillset, given her own life was such mess. She felt unqualified, mostly. None the less she gave the man a moment to breathe and settle down before she started gabbing again. “You seem a little, distressed.  Did something in particular happen to trigger you? Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help? Anyone I could call for you?,” she asked, stopping to take another breath of her own. She wasn’t sure if the break in speech pattern was because of fear or something else, either way she felt bad for the interrogation she just wasn’t sure what else to do other than give the man some space. “Again…sorry. You don’t have to answer, I just hate feeling helpless.” She sighed, taking another bottle from her purse, one that held something stronger than water. She took a few sips as she looked out at the water and closed her eyes as the vapors from the liquor burned down throat. In a moment of quiet reflection she wondered if the man was somehow tied to the missing but she kept her thoughts to herself. 

Tim slowly opened his eyes again, the water had helped, the honesty he received from the other had helped. He didn’t feel completely calm yet, however. His breathing was still a little ragged, and he felt cold and miserable. But it was better than a full-fledged panic attack. He didn’t like to talk about it, and clammed up a little when she started to ask questions, but felt himself steady when she expressed hating feeling helpless. It was a fairly normal reaction for Tim at times to change his behaviour to help others, while he had initially been the one needing help. Especially if his panic or anxiety frightened others. 

“N-no, it’s okay,” he said, smiling reluctantly. He didn’t feel like smiling, but he also wanted to make sure she didn’t worry too much. “I-I don’t go... uhm, large cr-crowds.. uhm... I p-panicked,” he tried, not sure if that made sense, but not able to form a full sentences on what he felt. He wasn’t sure who to call, who even to reach out to. He had been in Fremont for a year, and he still felt like the first person he could call for help would be his parents, who lived many many miles away, who would take a day or two to get to him. It made him feel both sad and aware of how much he had been isolating himself. Perhaps Sam would come to his rescue if he asked, or Justin might. He didn’t like to put August or June or Anni on the spot. He worried about Tommy’s reaction, and his parents would probably try to convince him to come back to Calgary. “I-I am trying to d-distract myself,” he said. Wrong sentence, everything he said was wrong. 

     There were times where she had been the drunken toddler and perhaps for a different occasion, she would’ve joined them. It just felt reckless given she has clients from eight o’clock the next morning and an important meeting at the hospital; there was nothing professional about turning up to work hungover. She looked over and chuckled, half-groaning as she sat herself up and kicked another bit of wood back into the water. “I’ve got a good eye—” She warned in comedic fashion, “Well… Gut, actually. It doesn’t usually fail me. I can feel a rat a mile off.” She shrugged, giving him a smile. “They damn well better be. Three of them are due at one of my classes tomorrow morning, so I’ll make them work it off.” Lydia chuckled.

Tim held his hands clapped together between his legs, and pushed his knees together when she said she had a good cut, and could feel out a rat from a mile off. He wondered, perhaps a little too much, if she could sense it in him too. He didn’t voice it however, he didn’t want people to know. He felt a small surge of panic, but managed to lighten it by focussing on her words and her chuckle. “They must trust you then,” he said, “and really like t-tacos. What if they don’t like tacos?” he asked. 

She took advantage of a red light to turn slightly his way, with a stern and motherly look on her eyes. Ever since Bobbie, Samantha had caught herself having a slightly more protective nature with other people than she had before. Essentially she still felt somewhat like herself, but some hardened edges had definitely softened over the last almost two years. “People are difficult here, I give you that. Most of them have a heart of gold but they feel very… protective about their community in a way that it’s always hard for them to see someone new as something good,” she turned forward once she heard a light honk behind her and steered the car along again. “Not that it excuses their behavior, but if you give it time, they’ll know, they’ll come around.”

Tim’s question caught her off guard and she wondered if that would ever be the case. She had moved to Fremont to run away from all the memories that pursued her in Myrtle Rock and while she had lovely memories in Fremont, it was also where her friend had disappeared, where so many other unforgettably bad things happened. Could she keep running forever? “Nah— I’ve moved there when I was 20 and Mrs. Beaumont fought for me,” maybe in the same way she was fighting for Tim, maybe? “I guess I’m a part of the community now and I’m sure that you will too, soon, there are good things too, you know? Some pretty good people, you just gotta be a little more open to see them and to meet them,” she shrugged lightly, parking at one of the spots. “You could not have given me the time of the day when we met and yet here we are.”

It wasn’t Tim’s first experience as an outsider, he had felt that way all of his life, but it was different in Fremont. It was a small community, tight, always together. He didn’t fault them for distrusting new people, personally he thought they were right, because Tim really was hiding something, and he feared they would understand they had been right about him all along. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to try and befriend them. It was just hard. Especially since there were still days when Tim didn’t even leave his apartment, just sat around, did some assignments, eat leftovers, watch some television, and roll back into bed. He was an extreme introvert, and the overall reaction from locals had given him even more reason to just... seclude himself. 

He smiled awkwardly when she mentioned their first couple of meetings. Tim knew that if it hadn’t been for Bobbie, he might’ve balked when Sam tried to talk with him. Which was not something he liked to admit. Technically he knew that people would not outright hate him from the get-go, most people at least, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling. Bobbie had liked him, and he had taken a chance with Sam because of Bobbie. “I believe they’re good people,” Tim said, as an answer, though he found it weird to be saying that. “And I think I get it to an extend. Maybe not completely since I’ve never been a part of a smaller community, but perhaps I can melt their resolve with my awkwardness,” he said with a self-aware smile as he stepped out of the car.

Tim was no longer sure how to go about life now, uncertainty hung in every part of Fremont, shock and confusion, sadness and grief. All of it was so grand he could almost touch it. It seemed like it had taken some shape or form, and while he knew none of the people who had gone missing, he could not ignore the feeling of impending doom. 

“You are good at guessing what I mean Tim. I like that so far about you. You seem like a pretty chill person.” August said and smiled at them. “But if I like you, I might play nice for you too.” The actress went on and winked at Tim playfully, already enjoying the company she and they were having. 

“Oh, that makes sense! I like the french version a lot. It’s super cool sounding. Ah, French-Canadian. I don’t speak French. Is that horrible? I think when I moved to LA when I was a teen it Americanized me too much.” 

When Tim mentioned “the thing happened” August tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean by that?” She asked him, just genuinely curious to know what he meant. “I grew up here in Whitview. My parents are actors and so am I. We came back here sometimes if we weren’t filming but from the time I was twelve I lived in LA.”

He smiled awkwardly, turning away a little, then nodding as he turned back. “So do you,” he said. “I think games are much more fun if nobody is holding you back,” Tim said. “Or... if you enjoy in your own way,” he added, sure of what he wanted to say, but not sure if it was coming out in the right way. He felt like he was possibly confusing her as much as he was confusing himself, but kept from expressing it in a different way. 

“Thank you,” he said, once again an awkward smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He really wasn’t very good with compliments. He picked up the first ball and looked at the ten pins. “French isn’t an easy language to learn, or even to hold on to,” he expressed. English was far easier. “Plus, I haven’t had to speak French on Elisabeth Island, yet, so maybe I don’t know how to speak French anymore either,” he added with a grin. 

Growing up in a French-Canadian family, Tim initially learned French, though he would recall both languages coming into his life at the same time, and thus often thinking in a mix of both. He went to an English school and while at home French was still the norm, he lost his accent fairly quickly as most of his hours were spend at school. His parents did not like his English-scented French, and made him work with an accent coach to distinguish between the two easier. He was reminded often that French was the language of his family, so his parents often dictated certain aspects of his social life to ensure that despite school he still hung out with enough French-speaking people. 

Somewhere along the line, Tim started to identify as non-binary. He had always known to an extend that biology as the physical representation of gender, and the mental one, did not have to be the same. He had one student in his class who was transgender, and had been at her side all through her high school years. It wasn’t until he came to the Clinic several years later that Tim acknowledged the term non-binaire as one that fit him best. He felt neither male nor female, just a person, he had long hair when he was younger, sometimes being referred to by female pronouns, and never having felt terrible in that position either. 

However, due to the nature of the French language, finding a way to express himself in his own language felt impossible, or at least too difficult for someone like Tim to want others to completely change their behaviour on his account. It was possible from an English perspective, they/them was already accepted as the best alternative, but still felt a bigger connection to his French heritage through his upbringing, and hated the idea of confusing his bilingual friends. Going by he/him and il/ils has given him some anxiety in the past, but Tim believes that people will always view him as a person regardless of his biological gender and his pronouns. 

August grinned and shrugged her shoulders, “I’ve been around this block more than a few times.” She mentioned, meaning about being in an out of AA groups, meetings or facilities. “I’m in the public eye as well so I kind of need to be under the radar.” She explained and offered him a seat next to her, smacking his back playfully and grinned. “Well I am very glad you are okay with losing because I don’t play nice for people who aren’t as good as I am.” August went on and put the score board on writing her name and Timothe’s name in it. “Is that out you spell your name? Most people spell it with a Y, right?” She asked as she bit her bottom lip unsure if that was the correct spelling or not. 

“Bowling, archery and golf. Kind of weird sports to do. Not the popular ones like softball or soccer. That kind of thing but I loved them. Oh, I’ve done some rock climbing too! You can find some great spots on the main land to go. What about you? Have you played any sports and how long have you been in Elisabeth? I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions. I’m merely just curious.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, so he chose his own meaning for now: that she had been to more than one AA meeting, group, anything. He wanted to tell her that he too had been in and out of those things, but he wasn’t sure how vague he could be without being obvious, so he left all of that for a less public place. “So you only play nice for people who are just as good or better than you?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Yes, mine is the French version,” he explained. “My family is French-Canadian, and it fits better with my last name,” he added.