December 7th

The local tea shop is much more Andrew?s scene compared to the Inn further down the street, although he's already come to terms that if he would like this trip to be a success he'll have to venture that way sooner than later considering he?s the only soul within these walls aside from the woman working behind the counter. For now he's seated in a tall chair tucked into the corner of the main room, his grey wool jacket slung over the back of it and a brown leather messenger bag sitting at his feet. In one hand he has a white chipped mug of steaming whiskey spiked coffee, in the other a black tablet which holds his attention.

Crispin only ever had two reasons to visit the tea shop. Though one now was obsolete, the other managed to involve the same individual. Slipping in, barely disturbing the bell above the door and bootheels silent on the stone floor, he heads toward the back counter, hands hidden in the pockets of his leather coat.

A barely disturbed bell, but it doesn't take much to draw Andrew?s attention and hazel eyes lift towards the newest patron. Automatically thin lips curl into an almost wolfish smile and his tablet lowers to his lap. "Ah, Cris. So nice to see you." Like they were old friends that went way back and not absolute strangers who had only barely exchanged names between long bouts of silent staring at one another mostly orchestrated by Andrew the previous night at the Inn.

Coming up a bit short, though he does not let surprise deter him from his path. Just as soon as dark brows rise they lower again over frozen green eyes, recognition like lightning through them. "Andrew. I... yes. A pleasure. I think." At the counter now, he put his hip against it. "Were you in need of something?"

"You think?" Cris' uncertainty doesn?t throw him off and he's ever smiling. "I have my coffee and then some so I'm set, thank you. But now that I think about it I realize I'm in need of giving you an apology. I hope I didn't unsettle you last night at the Inn. I had a few questions looming in the shadows of my mind and I believe I came across wrong rather than voicing them to clear up my confusion. For that I'm sorry."

That hadn't been what Cris meant. But he did not see the need to clarify. He puts in a short order for the waitress to fill: a dozen red velvet cupcakes and a large tea. Once she had bustled away, he turns again to face Andrew, lifting one hand. He'd freed them to find a well-worn wallet. "You did nothing of the sort. Confused me, yes. But it takes more than confusion to unsettle me." Though he wasn't feeling too good about these impending queries. "What do you think I can help you with?"

"Of course, confused." Andrew lifts his mug for a thoughtful sip of coffee like he needs the time to put his thoughts together and these questions haven't been circling his brain since first coming across Cris. "Well, Cris. You smell strongly of a shape-shifter but that's not the case, is it? You're not. I don't know what you are but you're not a shifter. So perhaps you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of the shifters you surround yourself with so I can ask them a few questions?"

He can nearly feel a puzzle piece clicking together in his mind. No mundane ever had eyes that clear and was blind to the world and its intricacies. So he was either more than what he seemed, or something else entirely. "I'm curious... If you've such an advanced sense of smell, could you not simply use that to track down these people you wish to question on your own? Why involve anyone else and allow them the opportunity to tip off your quarry?"

"Tip off my quarry." Tsks after repeating the words. "You make it sound like I'm ruthlessly hunting them down or my target in question." Licking his lips with distaste at the word. "I'm merely on a search and I thought it more polite to go through proper means. Perhaps it's not entirely proper to go by your scent, but you'll have to excuse me. I've been at this for some time and I have to use what leads I can get. Other than that I would like to think I'm being polite instead of some..." Waves his hand, searching the air for the right phrase. "Senseless animal." The wolf-like smile returns.

There was something slick about this man. Like a tongue down his spine, wet and cool and unwanted. The cupcakes come first, in a neat, white box. Cris puts down enough money to cover them. "My apologies. When I've come in contact with detectives in the past, they never fail to liken themselves to hunters. I made an assumption. Perhaps if you'll tell me what it is you want with whomever you think I can direct you toward, I may further understand how I can help you."

"A detective? You give me too much credit. If I had skills like that I would like to think I would have solved this mystery ages ago." His mug is set on the table beside him so he can lift his bag into his lap, the tablet is put inside and he searches through while he speaks. "I am looking for a relative. What makes the search difficult is that she was very young when she ran away from home and I have never personally met her. I have no leads, no idea if she goes by her given name, and I'm honestly not sure if she's even still alive. I do know that she is a shape-shifter. My Father told me of RhyDin throughout the years as a place where many different kinds come together. I figured if there are shape-shifters here then perhaps they have seen her."

A picture is pulled from his bag, certainly not taken care of with the way it's crinkled and stained but it's still possible to make it out. He holds it out to Cris with a shrug. In the picture is a young girl, pale and lanky sitting in the grass on a summer day wearing a purple sundress and laughing. Bright hazel eyes, her nose just a little too pointed for her face, and light blonde waves of hair pouring over her shoulders.

"A relative?" And this man thought that he, Cris could help with that. Depending on how good his sense of smell really was, this whole entire discussion could just be a ploy. A pleasant exchanging of niceties to bring down guards, to gather further information from body language and eye contact. Or lack thereof. Fortunately for him, a pensive frown is one of only three default expressions. He takes the offered picture and turns it around, and the furrow between his brows deepens a bit. So long, for so long he had wondered what she looked like with her natural hair color. And now, the first time he's ever seen it, he can do nothing but hand the photo back to Andrew. He takes his tea from the waitress next and pops the cap to let the steam escape. "If that is the only photo you have of her, I wish you great luck in your search. You must realize she will not look like that now, even were you to find her."

"A cousin. I've only heard about her from my Father, very little as we never had contact with her family who lived cross state." He takes the picture back and gives a low laugh. "First you give me too much credit as a detective and now you think me an idiot. I'm aware she'll look different." Turning the picture to look it over. "She's eight in this picture. Her parents didn't have any after eight to give me even though she didn't run away until she was ten or so. So I have a wildly out of date picture and a name which has proven to be a drop in an ocean, but I'm a stubborn man. That is what brings us around to the beginning. If you could point me in the direction of the shape-shifters or shifter you surround yourself with, or even orchestrate a meeting yourself if that will make you feel more at ease, I would be in your debt. I only want to show them the picture and ask if they have heard of her. Shifters tend to gravitate towards their own kind so if she passed through here it's not entirely impossible she didn't bump into one of them. At least that's what my optimistic side says."

"I wished you luck and agreed with you on assumptions you've already made." Bringing his tea up for a sip. "Were I of the desire to call you an idiot, I would have." He takes in each point Andrew makes, scratching with his free hand against the hidden line of his left collarbone, weighing his options. Too many questions in one direction or the other would be less than ideal. He tries another path. "How long have you been searching for her?"

Hands lift in surrender, lips thinning into a smile before he's returning the picture to his bag which is settled onto the floor. "I would say a year, give or take. I decided to bridge the gap between my Father and his brother and instead was met with all of this. I assumed I would be meeting my Aunt, Uncle, and cousin only to find out she vanished years ago without a trace and we were never told." Reclining into his chair he brings his mug around for a sip. "Does your lack of answer imply you will not help me?"

Only a year. A bridged gap, a divided family. Though, that did not seem to make sense given what he knew of Lenore's parents. If her whole entire family was part of this, then what had gotten to her parents to get them to dump her unceremoniously into a river? "I did not say that. But I'm in a position to be responsible for this individual whom you say you can smell all over me. I do not take that responsibility lightly." Taking his tea, and his cupcakes, he moves to join Andrew at his table. He motions to the empty chair nearby in question.

His laugh is dry with a certain edge to it but he gestures to the seat in offering anyway. "I have admitted that I don't know what you are exactly, unlike anything that I've ever come across in my travels, but you make it sound like you are in charge of protecting this shifter." His laughter continues. "Shape-shifters don't need anyone to be responsible for them aside from their own kind and their family. More importantly, I would not bring any harm to a fellow shifter if that's what you're worried about."

Taking the offered seat with a nod of gratitude, the man's words striking inside of his core like a gong and again it takes a bit more effort to keep his frown from turning into something else. Cupcakes set down, he keeps his tea in hand. "I assure you, that would be true were I the one to be directing you toward an elf, a pixie, a human or a lamp. If I'm to point you in a direction, it would not sit well with me were I to be directing danger to its target." Gesturing to Andrew. "You understand."

"I understand what you're saying but it still doesn't sit with me. Unless my sense of smell has been skewed by this town," Points at Cris. "Your friend is a shifter. One, I realize now by the way you speak. I am no danger to a shifter. My Mother and Father have instilled a strong sense of pride of our kind in me and that is not something a year abroad will change. But if you are so worried about your friend... do they realize you speak of them like this? Like they're so delicate? Anyway, if you're so worried about them I could always pass the name along through you. If they've heard of her, fantastic, you can call me. If not? I look for other shape-shifters in this town and thank you for listening to my story." He's already pulling a small notepad and pen from his bag.

Head tilts to the side. Andrew's deduction does not strike him one way or the other. He can no more hide Lenore's scent on him than he can shave his own skin off. That much of this conversational volley had already been decided the first instant the man had inhaled around him. "I speak of all my friends this way. Friendship is not a level easily reached with me, and therefore once one has reached it, I give them the utmost care." Brows rise at the offer, though another thought occurs to him soon afterward. He weighs his options a second time during another long swallow of tea. He tastes berries; blue and black and something milky mixed within. "I think that would be wise. And let them decide whether or not a meeting with you would be the right choice."

Understanding and approval warm Andrew's expression briefly but not for long and the wolfish slash of a smile returns. "Loyalty is something I can appreciate." Quick sweeping handwriting moves across the piece of paper then it is ripped out of the notepad and held out to Cris. Lenore Abigail Reid. Below that is a phone number. "I assure you and them that I will not be much of a bother. If she's been here she might have mentioned where she was going next. Maybe she's never been here at all. I'm going to continue searching out other shape-shifters in the area but so far you are the only one who has smelled like one to me and you aren't one at all." Sympathy briefly touches his features, there and gone.

Finally, something he feels like he can connect with this man on. Outward hostilities were never his style. He more than preferred to gather as much information as he could and strike later. Were he ever to strike at all. The benefit of long limbs shows in the way he easily accepts the paper, his arm stretched across the table, scarred fingers pinching the small page, turning it round. His sleeve rides back with the motion and the thick eye with its swirled iris is revealed across the bones of his right hand. Gaze swerves repeatedly over the name and the number, committing it to memory, repeating it in his mind and testing the sound of it. Briefly wonders if it's wrong how pleased he is to discover new things about the woman he spent his time with. And not from her own lips, from a stranger's. Were the situation reversed... "No, I am not one at all." Brief glance upward. "Thank you for providing this. I know it must seem awkward."

With the paper taken from him he draws his own willowy limb back so it can join its pair in cradling his mug of coffee. "You're doing me a favor, Cris. This town and that piece of paper feel like the closest I've been so far so I'm enjoying the moment before my possible lead gets buried. Awkward is not a word I would use to describe any of this, though I would not slight you for feeling that way considering a stranger has picked you out as a helping hand all because of the way you smell." Gestures with his mug. "That is awkward."

"Are you prepared for the worst?" Tucking the small piece of paper into his coat, in the same pocket he keeps his stele. Long and deep. "You've been on this path for over a year, and she's been missing for----roughly ten. There's more than a fair chance that you're chasing a ghost at this point. Is mending a broken family worth that risk?"

"I try to be but I don't think it's entirely possible to be fully prepared for the worst until you're faced with it instead of only imagining it during too quiet moments and before you fall asleep at night. I know the mission sounds absurd, but I told you that loyalty is something I can relate to. She is my family whether I've met her or not. More importantly she's a shape-shifter. Ten years is a long time, the worst could have happened to her as you say but ten years is also long enough that whatever it was that made her leave could be mended and she is afraid to come back. Or maybe she doesn't realize she has something to come back to." Waves his hand. "The mending of families was what started this, but it is not what drives me. Her parents wanted little to do with me. They answered my questions, gave me what I needed, but... I don't think they liked being reminded of her. They said it took them a long time to heal and I was opening old wounds but if I wanted to try they would not stop me." Rests his hand around his mug again. "I don't think they wanted to get their hopes up, but I did not go there knowing their family was not whole."

Legs cross beneath the table, Cris eases a bit more into his chair, at an angle, and fingers the cardboard sleeve meant to keep his tea from burning him. Lenore would not lie to him. There were things untold happening behind the scenes, and he was getting the feeling that this man did not know the whole story. Or what he did know was out of order. But it was not his place to fill him in. "You thought she was still with them?"

When Cris' posture relaxes Andrew's does as well though only by sinking further into his seat. Even while relaxed it always seems something is tightened within him, on guard. "I did, as did my parents. They know little more than I do about her family. They were made aware she is a shape-shifter but nothing aside from that. My Father and his brother have not seen eye to eye for many years but I assumed as the parents of a shifter that something must have changed. Unfortunately, she had left home throughout the years and they did not tell us." Tilts his head. "I apologize, I should not burden you with all of this. You've helped enough agreeing to pass her name along to your friend so I should not continue to weigh you down with my family history. As you said before, I'm chasing a ghost for all I know." The remainder of his coffee is drained and the empty mug is set down on the table with a click.

Something about this did not make sense. If Lenore's father and Andrew's were brothers, surely they knew what she would become, what abilities she would have. Did they just expect them to be repressed? Did they hope she would not have them? Were they truly related at all? Andrew's apology draws him from his reverie, his frown, by now, quite dark. He smoothes its depth and shakes his head. "Think nothing of it. I asked. The more that I know, the better I will be able to inform them."

"All the same, I doubt the amount of discord in my family will help them remember whether or not they've seen a blonde shifter around town." His notepad and pen are put in his bag before shutting it. "If they do have any questions you can send them my way and I'll answer them to the best of my ability. For now I think I should take my leave to follow another possible lead. As enjoyable as it is I'm not going to get anywhere sitting here drinking coffee."

"You never know what you'll need to offer as incentive." Sipping again from his tea, he nods along with Andrew's decision to leave. He would not be leaving for some time yet. As honest as this man seemed, Cris did not trust him completely. "Good luck."

"If they would like to feed on my strife as payment for information you let me know." Rising to his feet the thin cut of his smile returns. "How long have you known this shifter anyway? Do you make habit of hanging around our kind?" The questions give him time to pull out his wool coat and casually button it.

Half smile as grim Andrew's. "I do not make it a habit, but it comes with my own racial station. It's hard to say how long I've known them. Even I forget, sometimes."

"And what racial station is that?" The bag is hefted and the strap goes over his head then across his chest but learning what scent lies beneath all that obvious shifter is tempting enough to keep him in place. Cris' bad memory gets no reply aside from a dry smirk.

"Nephilim." A fraction of the pride in his gaze comes through in his voice. It was something he could not fight against. What are you? was always a question to be answered with square shoulders and locked eye contact.

The thin smile widens. "Another thing we have in common." Of course not being Nephilim but the pride they take in what they are. "Never heard of it, but you make me believe I should have." Andrew is on the move to the door calling back without looking over his shoulder. "Keep in touch, Cris." The words are punctuated with the ringing of the bell as he departs.

((Thank you to Crispin))