December 10th

The first thing Cris did, regardless of the cigarette smoldering in his mouth, was to cross the room and close the window. He hadn't left it open wide, but the air outside finally had the bite of Winter to it, icing the room with the scent of impending snow. Moments later, his witchlight stone flared to life within a net of scarred fingers and he put it on the desk. Wherever Nicholas was, he surely had left fur all over the place. "I did not think that you'd like to speak about this so publically." Leaning against the desk, he pulls out the only drawer and unfolds his gear to locate the treasure trove of objects he's been accumulating. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

Lenore lingers by the door feeling oddly unsure about following him to the desk. Uncertainty turns to disgust, her stomach knotting that she would question going near Cris even if the last ten minutes or so had left her more than confused. Silent footsteps wrapped only in black knit socks follow him to the desk just long enough and close enough to carefully set the box of white kitten cupcakes he gifted her down. "I don't know what we're speaking about to be able to determine if I would care one way or another." A black and blue shadow gliding the short distance to turn and seat herself on the edge of the bed nearby. "It's okay, I think." Feeling bad she made me him apologetic stacks with the other negative emotions brewing within her.

"You will." Coming up with the small sheet of paper. Three words, ten numbers. In possession of no such aversion to proximity, he follows her to the bed and takes the seat at her right, offering her the paper. "I met someone two nights ago. A man. A shifter. Who claimed to be your cousin. He gave me this, to pass along to the shifter he smelled on me, to ask if they've seen her."

Hazel eyes track him from the desk to his seat beside her, a glance is only spared to the paper before his words gather all of her attention. The confusion on her features grows, interrupted by a dry exhale. "I don't know of any cousins." She didn't know of any other relatives aside from her parents. "Seen her...?" Her mind is muddled with everything Cris is saying and she's positive there has to be some sort of mistake. Thin fingers reach out to take the piece of paper from him, so careful it looks like she?s taking a shard of glass from him that could cut her with one wrong move. Flipping the paper over she scans the swooping handwriting, fingers tightening by time she reads the second word. "No." The paper is dropped to the floor and she shakes her hand as if she?s been burned by it, pointing down at it accusingly. "Who is he? How does he know my name? How did he find me?" Questions pour out of her and more could easily follow by she chokes them back only allowing one more to croak out to Cris. "What does he want with me?"

He waits. All he can do in this situation is wait, in fact. She speaks and he says nothing and when she takes the paper, he pulls back his hand, finishing off the cigarette in his grasp and stubbing it out on his Marked bootheel. He had expected nothing less than that reaction from her. He lets the echo of her questions fade, gaze trained down on the paper at their feet. "He said his name was Andrew Reid and that he is your cousin. The son of your father's brother." Forearms to knees, he folds his hands. "This is where the accounts become muddled. According to Andrew, your parents have claimed that you've run away from them and have never told the rest of their family. He only found out about your disappearance a year or so ago and he is looking for you now for the reason of mending the rift between his father and yours." Head turns, he looks over her profile. Blue on white with a long nose and full lips. "But I know none of his stories of your parents to be true. If this man is legitimate, he has been told nothing of the truth of the situation. I could not deny that I've been in contact with one of his kind. He could smell it on me, but he does not know who you are, and I've told him nothing about you." Pause. "He's the same shade of eyes you have."

"Andrew Reid." The name tastes as foreign on her tongue as her own would by now, her gaze dropping down to the paper and feet pulling away from it like it would attempt to grab her any moment to drag her kicking and screaming to the past. "My Father never told me he had a brother. I didn't know anyone aside from my parents, even before I began shifting. He never talked about any other family members. Not brothers or even his parents." It's when Cris tells her of the twist Andrew relayed on past events that she looks more hurt than frightened. "I didn't run away. Maybe I should have, or could have. I... They did horrible things and I never ran away. I was pulled out of school, hidden, locked away, threatened... and I was stupid and I stayed because I hoped if I just did what they wanted and I was quiet that maybe they could learn to be okay with me." Her voice cracks, a shaking hand going over her mouth. "I never ran until it was made clear they preferred me dead. I wouldn't run away." The words are captured between her fingertips as she processes the rest of what Cris says, shining eyes reflecting the blue of the witchlight so brightly it makes her look otherworldly. "I can smell other Shifters, yes. And I mark you constantly so I'm not surprised. I never thought... Does he?" Her frown is still covered by her fingers but the pinch of her brows makes it clear. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"I know." These two words repeated after every sentence, every pause, to the point that they do not seem like words anymore and he must say something else. He puts his arm around her shoulders, drawing her blue head to rest against his lips, gaze on the wall beyond her. Her family was incredibly... odd. Awkward. Messed up seemed too kind a generalization. There was something very wrong here. "Neither do I," speaking against her hair. "I could not keep from feeling this man has another reason for being here. You've been missing since you were ten. No one would embark on such a fool's errand for something so simple as reconciliation." Fingertips find an easy rhythm of scratches at her temple. "Unless he simply meant to escape it all. I could not ask any in depth questions without giving your identity away."

With his arm around her shoulders it's easy to feel her shaking like a leaf even though her skin was as warm as ever beneath his touch. Every now and then her back jumps and shoulders lurch with a sniffle but other than that she's motionless and heavy against him. "I don't know. I've never heard of him or his Father. He could be lying for all I know but... what's the point? I'm no one worth finding. I'm..." Tentatively a toe scoots the paper on the floor along, turning it so she can read it like maybe she forgot her own name after all these years. "Lenore Abigail Reid." Tongue lapping at the inside of her teeth and lips, an uncomfortable coating left behind. "Thank you..." Glancing up at him. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this, having to listen to a stranger talk about... But I'm thankful it was you. You're smart and brave and if he had to talk to someone about me, I'm glad it was you."

"That is what I can't understand. If your father and his were related, your abilities would naturally flow through you veins. It must have been something they were expecting to manifest in you." Lifts his chin to settle it upon her hair. "So then why was it that they got rid of you? Andrew's parents knew. He seemed at peace with himself, proud of it even. In a way that I've not seen since Alicante." He lets her finish, her compliments and kind words bringing a sharper exhale, meant to be a chuckle. "I'm glad it was me too. Had he asked anyone else, I'm sure that they would have pointed him directly to you without fail."

"They both were surprised from what I can remember. My Mother screamed the first time she saw me shift. Over time she came up with so many theories and possibilities of how it happened, what was wrong with me, how I became possessed by such an evil ability." Brows knit. "My Father was quiet that night. He was always just... agreeing with her, anything she said." Brows rise when he speaks of Andrew's pride, head lifting just enough to peer at him without disturbing him. "Was he nice? You said you don't trust him. Did... he look like me? Aside from his eyes?" Fear left an icy chill in her veins but it was difficult to not be curious about someone who was supposedly related to her roaming around RhyDin.

Slight tilt of his head in thought. If her father had wanted to keep his bloodline a secret from her mother... "He was polite. He speaks well. He is blond. And he's a picture of you when you were young that he presented to me, asking if I've seen you." Smoothing his palm back over her hair, he breathes in its scent. Warm and soft against his face, and lets his eyes close. "Lenore, was it your mother or your father that thought up all of the cruel punishments for you to endure?"

Small nods at each point. Polite, speaks well, the mention of blonde makes her smirk but talk of a picture makes eyes widen and she lifts her head to look at him more closely. "You saw a picture of me? Or supposedly of me, we're not even sure if he's telling the truth, are we?" She's actually asking because she's not sure how she's to feel. She looks confused, wanting to believe yet it all seemed so impossible. She returns to leaning against him, tucking her head beneath his chin because it was safe, warm, and soothed her. "My Mother was much more vocal. I think she blamed herself. I think she was mad at herself that she wanted to have a child and it grew up to be a monster and she had no way to explain it to my Father who always seemed so disappointed and disgusted. He supported her in it all though."

"I've no doubts that he is legitimately looking for you. This photo was of you. I could tell. You've the same smile." He nods against her head, assuming that he was already right by the time she had answered. A theory had begun to form in his mind, but without basis, without further information from Andrew, all of it was just a wild hope that he held in his heart that it was not both her parents that wanted to see her die. "I do not trust him. But I believe him."

Her silence drags on and when she spoke again it?s quiet, thoughtful. "So he went to my parents... beginning a year ago... but they said I ran away. He took it upon himself to find me- I can't believe they could fib so plainly. They lied to his face." Brows puckering. "It must have been a very old picture because I don't think I ever smiled after I began shifting." The train of thought was jagged and unpredictable, starting and stopping and going off the tracks but it was hard to keep her head straight about it all. "I... feel like I want to meet him. But I'm worried." Her face tucks further against his neck, warm breath and lips burying against the marked column of skin.

"From what he said, neither he nor his family had any idea you were gone. They've been estranged." Pressing his jaw to her crown as she nestles in against him. They could be talking about anything, curled up close like this. "You were a child, younger than I in the photos you've seen of me. Seven, eight... If you'd like to, he's given me the number with which to contact him. I trust that you'd rather not meet him alone."

"Well he's got a leg up on me considering I didn't know he existed." Something finally clicks and she blinks, a soft exhale against him. "And he's a shape-shifter, like me. A relative and a shifter. A family member." The words don't feel right passing between her teeth. "That makes sense, those were the last happy moments with my parents." A sharp inhale and shake of her head. "No. Not alone. Please. I don't even know what I'm to say to him, what I'm supposed to do or what he wants from me. But I have to at least see him."

He had an idea about that, as well, but like many things, he would keep it close and quiet. "I won't let you see him alone. I promise." Beyond that, he does not know what else he can say. The finer points of their conversation were things that were lost in translation, things that didn't pertain to the bigger picture. How they looked at each other, studied each other, how difficult it really was to talk about her like she was absolutely nothing to him. "Tell me when, and I will make the call."

"Thank you." The promise meant a lot to her and managed to make the upcoming meeting somewhat easier to digest though not by much. Her frown gets buried against him. "I think... I just need a day or two. I don't know why, but I feel like I do. Then you can call him, tell him the shifter you know will meet him. I don't... think I want him to know about me until I see him... face to face." A small shake of her head and she drew away, leaning down to pick up the piece of paper she dropped to clutch it in her hand. "I don't even know if I'm going about this the right way. I never thought I would see someone related to me. I didn't think I had anyone other than my parents."

"All the time you need, take it." He passes three kisses to her hair and sits back when she does, lifting his hand to the place on his neck that she'd made her home for the past twenty minutes. Gaze swerves to her hand, with the paper. "I would be lying to you if I said I'd any clue what to do. The notion of an extended family is rather foreign to me. I would not be able to give you the advice you need." Though something clicks in his mind. "But...perhaps you can remember your own? To Zynnara. And see if you feel that it applies to your situation now."

She nods and stares down at the paper. It would be cruel to demand advice from him when the situation was so odd that she was sure no one would know where to begin. His presence, assurance, and help were more than enough. He mentions her own advice and brows rise, hazel eyes moving aside to him and it takes her a moment to remember what he's talking about. "If I remember correctly... I told her family is important. Blood is blood. It isn't something to dismiss so easily because..." A deep inhale and slow exhale. "I said I would be thankful to have the chance she did, to find relatives I didn't know about." Attention moves down to the paper in hand, fingers crinkling the edges and smoothing them in a repeated manner. "Do you like it?" Tapping a nail to the paper, to her name. "Do you like the way it sounds?"

Turning on the bed enough to face her, listening while she speaks. The more she says, the broader his smile gets. "If you still agree with your own words, then that is all the guidance you need. It seems you've already made your decision, even before you knew you have to make it." Attention stolen by the crinkling and the movements of her fingers. Brows rise. "Your name?" This time he really does chuckle. "Were you afraid I'd dislike it?"

The broader his smile gets the more she smirks at him, head lowering to look at him from beneath her lashes. "You have a point. Or I had a point. A point has been made." Eyes narrow at him playfully when he chuckles and she counters this by stubbornly scooting closer to him until she seats herself in his lap. She fits so she sits. "I wasn't entirely afraid you would dislike it, I just... wasn't sure if you would like the sound of it." Squints. She doesn't know what it matters but she looks down at the paper again with a sigh. "I don't like my middle name. Reid isn't so bad, all things considered, but I don't like my middle name." Going so far as scratching her nail at the ink on paper like she could just erase it from history if she tried hard enough.

"Are they not the same thing?" Moving how he could, where he needed to, to accommodate her smaller body. The Warmth runes had begun to fade, he could feel the cool air sink into his skin when he shucked his coat half on, half off the bed. His arms go around her, one looping her hips, the other draped behind her neck. "I like it. I've wanted to know it for some time. Why don't you like Abigail? There's nothing wrong with that name."

"Maybe." They are and she knows it but there's no point in focusing on that possibility since he already said he likes it. The piece of paper is worked into his pants pocket between them then she drapes herself against him, curling herself even smaller against him within his arms and radiating a plethora of heat compared to the chill lingering around them. "Abigail is my Mother's name. She went by Abby when she was younger, Gail as she got older. I just..." Shrugging and settling her head against his shoulder. "My Father's name is Lawrence." Not usually one to spill useless details about herself but if there was ever a time to tonight seemed fitting. "We lived in Pike... in Ohio. The most unremarkable town around. Which is probably why my parents liked it."

In the dark, the shadows, behind her head, his smile hides. His pleasure is short lived, visually anyway, still feeling that secret thrill in his core at the things he's learning. He always wanted to ask, but continuously denied himself the opportunity. "They liked unremarkable things? That explains several things."

She?s not sure how she felt about the sharing of details. Is something about this supposed to be therapeutic? Is she actually making a huge mistake and bringing down carefully built walls that kept her from the atrocities of her youth? Either way, his gentle prodding makes it feel like sharing with him is safe. He had told her so much as it was that it only seemed fair although not demanded. "What things? But from what I remember, yes. We lived in a very normal house, in a very normal town, with very normal neighbors, and I went to a very normal school, my Dad worked... some sort of normal job. I don't even remember what exactly. My Mother stayed home to tend to me after school. It was all very... normal."

Normal, normal, normal. His earlier theory was crumbling apart, piece by piece. "Their aversion to you." Hands tighten in their respective holds upon her, around her shoulder and hip. Cheek slides across her hair, his mouth lingering where he feels the curve of her hidden ear. "Were you happy...?"

"Aversion." The delicate way he put it, so gentle, it made her smile. His hands tighten across her and her body arches, not in an attempt to escape but to meet his hold then settle beneath it. Her smile remains though it's much sadder now and she's thankful he can't see it even if the pain works its way into her voice and she can't stop it. "I was before. When I didn't know any better and neither did they. I was happy when they liked me and they liked me when I was normal."

"You said that they've never spoken of any other family to you. You were never visited by family, you never went to see anyone?" Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his gaze. A fluffy cat with a squashed face leaping up onto the desk, sniffing at the glowing stone that had been carelessly left alone.

"My Mother's Mother passed away before I was born and she didn't know her Father. That is the only relative I've ever heard spoken about and that was even sparingly. No relatives came to visit and we never went to visit any. We never spoke of my Father's side of the family and... I wasn't inclined to ask. My Father wasn't awful to me when I was younger but he was... a gruff man in general. A man of few words. My Mother was much warmer until I began shifting. She was scared... maybe felt betrayed." Brows knit, her gaze on Nicholas but the cat wasn't the one making her ponder so hard. "It's odd to talk about them like this."

Absorbing what he tells her, gaze still locked on the cat that had, by now, started to try and lick the stone. After each lick, the cat recoils, then it begins pawing. The white-blue glow skitters back and forth. "I think I understand a bit more of this situation. But if you'd rather stop, you need not tell me any more."

A little click of teeth and tongue at Nicholas trying to get him to stop playing with the stone. "That's not your toy." The cat couldn?t care less what Lenore had to say and he continues on like he heard nothing. With a roll of her eyes she tips her head back enough to nudge her nose to Cris' cheek. "I'm alright. It's just odd. I spent so long trying to forget them like ghosts but... they're real. They're out there. They have names. They are people. Parents. My Parents. And... they are liars, apparently." A little frown then shrug. "At least one of us understands. You're doing better than I ever did or am. I... don't know what else to share but... you can always ask... if you want." It put a chill in her spine, the invitation for questions. He might not even take her up on the offer but it still managed to make her feel vulnerable.

Adamas was a sturdy material. It stood up against demons, blood and poisons. It could deal with the abuse of a cat. "I'm only able to see things unseen because I've lived the life that I have. I was fortunate enough to be born into the Shadow World, knowing the truth behind it all from the very beginning. There was never a time where I was unable to accept it." Pressing his mouth to her hair, in response to her invitation. "Would you like me to tell you what I think?"

Maybe she's just a little jealous that she often has the same urge to bat around the witchlight but she manages to restrain herself and not do it. No fair. Her head tips back further, looking at his face while he explains his life in the Shadow World. She settles against him once more like cozying up for a bedtime story rather than a theory, just in time to get the kiss to her hair. "Yes please, I would like to know what you think." She's not looking to distract him but her arms encircle his waist, fingertips finding a strip of bare flesh between his shirt and the top of his pants to knead patiently.

She might not be looking to do it, but she does. But at least it brings his focus back down to her, instead of the cat across the room. Straightens his spine, much like she did earlier, drawing himself further against her, inviting the gentle touch to his skin. "I think...something happened in your family. What that something is, I do not know. But somewhere in history, something caused a rift between them. As per your account, your father preferred things mundane," mundane, not normal, "he began a family with a mundane. My guess is that he hoped that he would not pass on his blood to their children. It seems like he was running from something." If any of that made sense. "He most likely never told your mother about himself. She might believe that her husband is a mundane, as she is. I'm not sure what prompted Andrew now, and not earlier, to mend this rift and to find you---but I think at least meeting with him and letting him know he is not chasing a ghost would be a wise decision."

A further press of fingertips returns to a gentle kneading. Idle while listening to him explain his theory. By the end of it all her eyes are wide, lips parted in gentle surprise. "So it's possible that my Father was fully aware of shape-shifters. He knew what was happening to me when I began shifting and..." That hurt expression returns. "He was upset that I was tainted... by his own blood... his own doing..." Somehow that made everything worse in her mind and her next few inhales were strained, her chest feeling like it had a stone settled upon it that made it difficult for her to properly catch her breath. When it comes to his suggestion to meet Andrew all she can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

She'd agreed to listen, and he'd marched through his own theory without thinking about the weight that it would put on her. The words were out now, he could not take them back. Her shifts against him bring his gaze down. He tightens his arms around her smaller body, knuckles now covered in blue instead of all their scars, finding the warmth at the side of her neck. "I'm sorry... I was thinking aloud."

The shake of her head that follows his apology comes quickly, instantly, even if she couldn't get the words out to accompany the gesture right away since she was still having a hard time breathing properly. Instead of each breath being hard to get she was trying to keep them steady, to not lose herself to hysterics over it all. "Don't apologize. I asked, I said it was okay. I wanted your insight and I got it. It's not going to get any easier from here. Talking to Andrew isn't going to be all sunshine and flowers, I'm sure."

"As morbid as this no doubt will sound...I like that there might be a reason. That your parents did not simply wake up one day and decide that they did not like the fact that they'd a daughter with abilities they could not explain." He tucks his face as far into the crook of her neck, into her hair as he can get. "It may be worse now that they'd the knowledge of this and still they chose to cast you out... But you've more than you thought you had now, in another small group of relatives. Who will not only understand you and accept you."

Lips thinned taking that into account. "It's okay to feel like that. Silver linings and all, I guess. Or possibilities. Reasoning. I don't know. I thought I exhausted all of these thoughts over the years and come to find out I didn't even begin to know what was happening." One hand stays pressed into the small of his back and the other lifts to cradle her palm against the back of his head lightly, fingers combing through his short dark locks. "I've had plenty more than I ever imagined I could since coming to RhyDin. I look forward to talking to Andrew, I am curious as to what he has to say, but... I'm trying to not get my hopes up. I feel like... family members, family like me, someone here, related to me and just like me and he has gone out of his way to seek me out. It feels too good to be true. Which... often means it's not."

On a long, drawn out exhale, he leans back with her until he feels the soft expanse of the mattress against his back. The reassurance of her small weight against him, on him, was a good enough distraction from the clatter of the witchlight stone across the floor, the cat chasing after it. And the solemn tone of her voice. "I do not trust him, still. But I believe him to be telling the truth. And I think you will benefit from at least speaking with him. I will be there with you, listening to every word."

This is a move she can agree with and she adjusts herself accordingly to settle atop him like she does night after night, just barely curled and clutching him tenderly. "You'll be unbiased. You'll be honest to me when all is said and done. I trust you, Crispin." Fingers work their way through his hair in a careful pet. "No matter what happens, I have you." And that above all else satisfies her.

"Not...unbiased. Honest, yes. But my loyalty is to you." Turning his head against her hand, swallowing as a parade of goosebumps speckle his throat after her touch. "So, yes. No matter what happens, you'll have me."

((Thank you to Crispin))