Taking Initiative [Fforde]

[Marisol]

{wearing}

“The Undead are Amongst Us!”

It was something out of a bad horror film that Mariah and Logan both liked to watch. The tabloid that had been discarded on the sidewalk of Serpentine had Marisol scoffing before she knelt down to pick it up. She didn’t know what to think. Her business in town had been affected - boarded up before it even took off the ground. Luckily, she’d started the agency outside of Harper Rock and taking over Logan’s agencies had been easy (although, she knew having Mariah as a thrall and being able to force her to sign some things over had helped.) She didn’t understand the technicalities of everything that had happened within the city, why the zombies had gotten out. CrowNet, she knew, was generally a bunch of rumors and she hadn’t bothered to check it. Despite this, one thing was certain - she knew that humans were suffering and so were businesses.

Her honey colored eyes took in the appearance of the bar and tattoo parlor. She wondered if her sire’s business had suffered any. The streets were clear that night, so far. But it was quiet, too quiet, really for her liking. There were clubs, businesses right up the road, a casino. Balling up the piece of trash, Marisol entered the building and tossed it into the nearest bin. Her gaze searched for a familiar face inside, pleased to see that there were some regulars inside. Her preferred faces, however, were nowhere to be seen. Charlie had gone off to Scotland, Ysmir was off doing whatever Ysmir did, and Rhett had gone off to Arizona. Every now and then, she sent an occasional email - in reality she was checking to see if Hudson had made a reappearance and wasn’t causing hell for the man again. Mariah kept an eye on Beckett and Renard for her, and she reached out mentally to ensure that they were inspired during their training on the regular.

Marisol’s tongue rolled over her teeth as she made her way to the bar, leaning forward to rest her forearms against the countertop. She ordered her usual, a glass of Denbies white - she’d harassed Jesse enough to get her one of the bottles, so she knew she might as well finish it off. “Is there anything going on tonight?” Marisol called over to a group of soldiers who lifted their eyebrows at her. An english accent, a curvy body. She knew what glistened behind their eyes until her hand went to rest on the colt resting on her hip. “Preferably of the zombie outbreak, any news of a cure, or at least the ability to contain them better, variety?” Their expressions told her all she needed to know. No, there was no ideas past the rumors of nuclear use. If they were in the United States, she could see it happening, but the Canadian government weren’t as quick to fight fire with violence - even with the increased military presence about.

“I don’t suppose anyone would be interested in forming a less trigger happy crowd of patrols? Might cut back on the bloodiness of things.” Attention disappeared from her as the military men turned back to their beers. The lack of enthusiasm had Marisol narrowing her eyes, but she took a sip from her wine glass and waited. It didn't surprise her when Mariah entered the establishment soon after - she didn't bother asking her thrall. She knew at least the two of them could start something. Reaching into her pocket, she sent out a text message to her family and then onto Fforde CrowNet. Perhaps someone would be interested there.

[Arauchia]

WEARING

Chia was late for work. Again.

However, she could not be bothered to care at this exact moment. She was fangs deep in the neck of a beautiful honey skinned brunette she had chatted up while they were waiting on the train at Bullwood. During the ride to Wickbridge, the two women had made small talk about the current state of the city. This woman was confidently unafraid of the zombies, insisting that she could outsmart and out run them. Though she admitted to carrying a pistol to keep her safe, just in case. Chia regaled the woman with a few stories of her own zombie encounters, giving enough of an impression to sound like she was one of the militia members. The ploy worked, allowing Chia to lead the woman into a park to continue their chat. Twenty minutes later, her new friend had encouraged Chia to sit down on a bench and then climbed into the Spaniards lap. As Chia greedily drank from her evening's date she almost felt bad for interrupting the make-out session. However, she was confident the woman wouldn't remember anything and they might cross paths again.

When she had had her fill, Chia sealed the wound and laid the brunette down on the bench to sleep it off. A hand reached up to wipe the blood remnants from her lips with the back of her sleeve before getting up and heading off in the direction of Serpentine. If Jesse ever inquired as to why she was frequently tardy to work, Chia would merely explain that it was better for business that she came to work on a full stomach. Chia quickly walked the few blocks from the park to Serpentine, entering the building through the rear entrance near the stock room. Chia stowed her bag away in her locker then made her way out into the main bar area.

It seemed to be a quiet night so far. Mostly regulars with some soldiers just getting off shift from the nearby QZ. As she made her way to her post near the bar, a simple nod of greeting was given to the bartender while she set up to watch the crowd She heard a voice call out to one off the groups of soldiers, asking if there was anything going on. Violet eyes moved to inspect the soldiers, before moving to locate the person who was talking at them to no avail. Much to her chagrin, Chia noticed the brunette as Marisol. She had seen this childe of Jesse's around the house, but they had never really talked very much.

As Marisol continued her train of thought, a bemused look appeared on the Spaniards features. That might have been the best idea she had heard all night. Clean out the zombies while calming the general populace? Sounded like a great way to lessen the likelihood of humans hunting vampires, and not the other way around. "Sounds like a good time if you ask me, chica." Chia commented as she gave a hint of a wave at the Brit.

[Ursula Wolfe]

It had been some time since she had visited the Fforde page, she wasn't big into chatting online before, now she just didn't feel it as much. That being said, the raven haired walking plague had noticed a call to action that had been posted by a member of the family she did not recognize. It was a something she wouldn't mind doing, though only Jesse new that she agreed with him about the rift, the wider, the better. Still, it would be difficult to live if the army decided that the city was a lost cause and blew it to kingdom come because of the zombies and other creatures that couldn't be controlled.

She got off her motorcycle and pulled her helmet off. Her long black hair shimmered in the moonlight and the red highlights showed under the streetlights. Clad in her usual red leather jacket and her black leather pants, she set the helmet on her bike and started into the business that Jesse had started. The place seemed to have grown since she had been in there last. The pain of the tattoos he gave her still made her skin tingle. Licking red rose colored lips, she took a breath once she stepped inside.

The scent soothed her pained soul and she knew one day she would need Jesse to mark her again. Her icy gaze took in the people as she stepped further in, her red leather pumps making minimal sound on the hard wood floor. That is when she caught the last bit of one woman's comment. "I actually don't mind the blood, the zombies are annoying though."

[Renard]

[Hair + Contacts & Outfit]

An Hour Ago

“YOU MOTHER ******, YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE ME LATE FOR WORK!”

Renard was enraged. Just your average Tuesday, right? The Killer belonged to that class of people who drove way too fast, who liked to cut in and out of traffic, use medians and road shoulders as if they were part of the road, and who cursed like a sailor whenever someone slowed him down. Like now. When he was on a one way street through a narrow space between two sky high buildings. He couldn’t get around the car in front of him, and it was taking forever to turn out onto a proper road. Even with numerous chances to do so. Renard did not look impressed. The whole thing started with a spark of displeasure and ended with his features twisting into a not very subtle scowl. Beside him, in the passenger seat of his tar black 1970 Chevy Cheville was his boyfriend. It was Take your Boyfriend to Work day. Which was just a made up way of saying that he much preferred for Beck to hang out around Serpentine while he was helping tattoo than leaving his lover to his own devices.

Something about being needy or possessive or some **** like that.

He shoved the door open, and grabbed his faithful bat from the backseat - the one which had been wrapped in razor wire. “Okay, you son of a ****.” He hissed as he slid around the front of his muscle car. He glanced back towards the cherry red leather interior, where Beck sat, so he could mouth an ‘I love you’ to the man before he gripped his bat in both hands and swang it hard enough that it crashed into a tail light, shattering it immediately. That seemed to wake the man in the 2015 luxury car right up, and he peeled away before Renard could get the other light.

That’s right, *****. He then made his way back to his car, tossing his bat back into place. Seconds later, his engine roared to life like a lion, and tore off towards Serpentine. With. Of course. Beck telling him he was being a ******* asshole. It was already shaping up to be a beautiful night.

Now

“Yeah, we have a special going on right now. For every proof of a zombie kill you bring in, we’ll give you a small, free tattoo or scar to mark the occasion.” Of course, Ren wasn’t certified to do scarification, so if that was what the client wanted, he was going to have to refer them to someone else. But. He was working on fixing that. It just required a specialized licence.

“Sweet. Let me take a look at some options and get back to you.”

Renard handed off a small booklet with suitably simple and small designs which would look good if they were stacked one on top of the other, like diamonds, stars, tears, and the letter ‘x’. Really a person could request whatever they wanted as long as long as it wasn’t too extravagant, if only because the service was totally free and too much expended in supplies could be bad for business. However, the promotion was doing a pretty spectacular job of attracting repeat customers and even fresh blood - people who came in with their friends and got ensnared by one of the designs they saw.

Serpentine was huge, so Ren didn’t immediately see Marisol when she entered. As the client slipped off to take a seat and flip through things, Ren husked after him “Give me a poke when you’re done, and we’ll get you all set up.” He was trying to be sociable. Nice even. It did not come natural to him, but he took his job very seriously. And it was at that he could hear the woman’s familiar voice. He listened in as he drew closer to the bar, where he could make out some new patrons who were relaxing.

If the idea was to pull together a team that wasn’t trigger happy, he probably didn’t have a place in the crew. His own feelings about the zombies were pretty straight forward. Free target practice. Sure, they were a bit of a hindrance on local businesses, but that only mattered if people let it. Ingenuity. Promotions. Protecting turf. Innovation. If people wanted to be successful, they needed to figure their **** out instead of either running away screaming or expecting the government to fix it. At least that was his (not so humbly stated) opinion.

There were deeper implications of course. The spread of the rift. And when it came to that, his feelings were equally clear. Good. He didn’t care if it made humanity more frightened of his kind. What good was being a vampire if your only motivation was to devalue yourself to the point where you were like everyone else? Life was a rat race for everyone except those who were at the very top. And the way to ensure you didn’t end up at the bottom? **** the system. **** the system so hard it knew who was boss.

“Hola, chica.” He said to Arauchia as she entered. That was all he said for the moment. Better to listen to what other people were going to say before chiming in with his views on the matter. Sometimes it paid to not have his opinions out in the open all of the time. Then he nodded to Marisol, as a greeting. There was a new face he felt like he should have known (by instinct) but which he did not recognize. And he found himself looking for Jesse to clarify who she was. Or Beck, who was nicer than he was. More apt to make a good first impression.

[Beckett]

WEARING

Renard yelled. Beckett winced.

It wasn’t uncommon for the Necromancer to zone out, withdraw into his own little world and swirl of thoughts that prevented him from being fully present in reality. It had been a theme for years, beginning in the later stages of his father’s disease when his death was imminent, when doctor’s finally said the words ‘There’s nothing more that we can do.’ In preparation for the loss, he had closed himself off in more ways than one and most people had been content to allow him that space. The once outgoing teenager’s personality shifted dramatically, creating a heavily guarded fortress in the process. Only those closest to him, Renard in particular, would demand he give them that attention by firing at those walls until they came crumbling down. The only difference between Ren and the rest was that he never actually left and simply let the wall be rebuilt around him. Like it or not, he was there to stay.

There wasn’t even the option to ask what the hell his boyfriend’s problem was before the man was out of the car, grabbing that ridiculous bat in the process. Beck knew it would be useless to try and stop it, so he simply sunk low into the leather seat, propping his head up with a hand as his elbow dropped to the armrest on the door. He didn’t miss that sentiment coming his way, nor did he acknowledge it. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, the way Renard turned on that car’s tail light. And then the source of the fellow vampire’s rage was gone, which was really for the best. Had someone gotten out, blood would have spilled.

Without shifting from his position, Beckett glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eye as he climbed back into the front seat. ”You’re such a ******* asshole.” he muttered, ignoring the almost chipper way in which Renard went about pulling out for the sake of getting to Serpentine on time. Hell, even his car sounded like an asshole.

.::..::..::.

He was supposed to be at Serpentine. He should have been there, and he had been...for about half an hour. What Renard didn’t realize wouldn’t hurt him, and Beck had yet to receive the angry phone call of ‘Where are the **** are you at?!’ It wasn’t like he’d gone very far, but one could only hang around for so long before boredom set it. He’d spent his whole life on the move, constantly involved in some kind of activity and sitting still had never been his strong suit. Serpentine was big enough that Beck could have claimed to be anywhere out of sight and gotten away with it, so he wasn’t too worried about any excuses. Of course, if anyone was capable of calling him out on his ********, it was Ren.

It wasn’t like he’d left for long, either. After a few months, he felt he knew the city fairly well, but there was always something going on to keep things interesting. The latest zombie outbreak was just a portion of that. So, he took a walk and got some fresh air. He successfully managed to ignore the tremor of his hand by stuffing it into his pocket. The frequency had increased, but the intensity had remained a constant. It had crossed his mind once or twice to try and contact the doctor he’d sought out by coming to Harper Rock, but what would be the point? His body hardly worked the way it was meant to, anymore, and he doubted he’d respond to any medications. But, there was that nagging worry, the voice in the back of his head. ’What if it keeps getting worse?’ Was he stuck, his mind suspended in a state of decay that would have eventually led to his death? Or, would his mind continue to do just that until it finally debilitated him to the point that there was nothing left?

In that case, being turned into a vampire was pretty ******* unlucky.

The vibration of his phone signaled an incoming notification, and so he pulled it free. Marisol’s name flashed on the screen. Something about zombies and being at Serpentine. So much for my escape… he thought to himself as he turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come. Sol had become a constant in the recent months, especially in the weeks since Rhett had jetted off to...wherever it was he went. No one had asked her to, but the woman had made it a priority to check in on Beck and Ren whenever she had the chance, or she would send Mariah out. Either way, she kept tabs on them and he liked her company. She had a feistiness to her that he could appreciate and that his “sire” seemed to overlook. But, then...he didn’t know their relationship like that and he really didn’t want to. His own relationship was complicated enough without trying to work through someone else’s, thank you.

He hadn’t made it all that far, so the trip back to Serpentine was a quick one. As he walked through the door, he scanned over the various faces searching for the woman in question. And she wasn’t hard to find when a growing number of Fforde were situated near the bar. Beck made his way over, and without any preamble as to why he was just walking in, dragged Renard in for a kiss. It was relatively tame, rated PG-13 for the sake of their audience. At the very least, it would distract his boyfriend enough to prevent a round of twenty questions. As he pulled back, he winked at the man and then turned his attention to Sol and Arauchia with a grin. ”Ladies.” His muted green gaze turned to the unknown woman of the group and his head tipped. ”’fraid I don’t know you. But, it’s a pleasure, I’m sure.”

[Jesse Fforde]

WEARING

For five minutes of his life, Jesse Fforde had been insufferably clingy. There were things he’d tried to force in a ‘family’ that hadn’t wanted it; closeness, sociability. He’d wanted always to come home to a thriving community of Fforde vampires, to be able to sit around and chat to them for hours on end. The lair had been set up for such gatherings, plenty of places to sleep and to live so that company was always a given. Things had changed, however, and there were curses that Jesse had rid himself of. Although he’d got his voice back, he often wished he hadn’t. He’d regressed in every other way, why couldn’t his voice go, too?

Long story short, Jesse Fforde was a loner. He would stop and chat if there were people around, and he did thoroughly enjoy their company, too. But he did not try to force them to stay. He didn’t try to force them to come home at the end of every day. Although he would check in, it wasn’t nightly. And it wouldn’t always be obvious that he was checking in, but he did. He paid attention.

He’d already greeted Renard that night, when the man had come in for work; he’d greeted Beckett, too, his gaze sweeping both men to make sure they were both all in one piece. And he was glad for Renard, too – with his particularly off-putting aura, Jesse wasn’t great at the front counter. His thrall, Laya, often manned the counter; she was far more approachable than the prickly Necromancer, and she was optimistic and happy to boot. But, even Laya needed nights off, or was busy elsewhere.

Jesse was out in his office when he heard them. Head down, concentrating on a sketch he was working on for a client, he wasn’t paying any attention to his phone. The music faded before moving into another song, and in the silent break he became aware of the familiar voices and accents drifting through from the bar. Though he didn’t immediately get up – calm, Jesse finished what he was doing before the chair rolled backwards and he stretched his arms up over his head. The bones cracked. He’d been hunched over his work for… how long, now? Too long.

He stood and wandered out to the front of the studio; there was a client there, flipping through a folder. They looked up as they detected the movement and almost looked as if they wanted to jump out of their skin at the sight of Jesse. Jesse, who merely winked, smirked, and wandered through the door separating the bar from the studio. He slipped in behind the bar and said nothing as he retrieved a glass and a bottle of locally sourced blood – a new supplier, this kind more refined – from the temperature-controlled cabinet beside the fridge. The group of soldiers all turned to watch him, warily. Another customer shifted from their position at the end of the bar and moved to a booth around the corner.

**** the zombies. Jesse himself was bad for business.

[Marisol]

First there was Mariah, and then there was Arauchia. Marisol gave the spaniard a nod in greeting as she waited for more to show up. As a businesswoman herself, she didn't like the creatures that had started to show up. Honey brown eyes fell upon the face of a woman shortly after, someone she recognized from Logan's phone - but she didn't know her name. Her scent was enough for Marisol to know what she needed to, that she was a member of Fforde. A member of their family. "The bloodiness of things makes it hard for the city to thrive. Citizens are leaving, soon it'll be a wasteland."

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

Vaguely, she wondered what Logan would think of all of this. Her first 'master', the one whom had brought her into this hell. He'd stripped away that confusion long before she'd been turned by Jesse. In the back of her mind, a voice told her he'd be enjoying every ounce of it. Between the increased crime rate and his own murderous tendencies, it could only potentially escalate. A frown played across her lips as she considered it. Briefly, her mind drifted to Rhett. It didn't last long before the memory of Hudson popped in, and her gaze lifted to Renard, and then Beckett, before she shoved the thoughts into a box.

"Renard, Beckett." She greeted the men in return, a smile playing across her features. She was genuinely glad to see them still around, especially after Beckett's untimely turning - and the way it had happened. She couldn't imagine the idea of learning your sire wasn't your sire, and had a second personality. Granted, even Marisol herself had enough issue trying to sort out the two - it'd helped, really, to take note of the mannerisms. Towards the end before he'd left, however, she'd begun to wonder who was the real Rhett; the kind man she'd begun to fall for, or the loud, obnoxious douche she'd sent swarms of insects after.

Her light colored eyes moved towards the soldiers as she waited for anyone else to speak up. To join them. Instead, the men seemed more preoccupied with their beers until Jesse joined them. The sight of her sire had them shifting. Marisol couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I have no idea how these men are supposed to protect our streets when they can't even handle an unsettling aura." She muttered under her breath before brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"I believe we could potentially make it interesting. I have a high powered automatic that I don't use. Whomever brings the most ears back may have it?"

[Arauchia]

Violet eyes inspected each of the people who were joining the conversation. The first that joined was someone who she had never seen. However, the manner in which the people that arrived later reacted to her presence seemed to suggest that the woman was one of the extended family. Then came the lover boys with their night and day dispositions. While Beckett joined them straightaway, she watched as Renard attended to a client that was visiting the parlour. She would be sure to ask Ren about his tattooing skills later on as she needed some of her aging ink touched up and added on to.

"Hola amigos," she said softly in greeting to them both as her attention shifted to the strong presence she felt behind her. "Evening bossman." She didn't need to turn to know that was Jesse joining them all. From the moment she materialized in his home, Chia had noticed that her adoptive sire had a presence that she a likened to a suffocating darkness. It wasn't off putting to her, but she noticed that the humans immediately shirked away when he appeared from his office is. Perhaps that was why she was endeared towards him. She was a predator too and was unashamed of her true nature.

Once it seemed like there were no more stragglers joining them, Marisol started to make a proposition. The family member who outperformed the militia but he largest margin was going to become the proud new owner of a very nice handgun. Now this was her kind of event. But what were the rules? How long did they have to take down flesh bags? "Is there a time limit? or do we just go with a whoever has a set amount to you first wins?" Chia inquired as she gave an appraising glance to the soldiers that were taking up space at the table. "Maybe we should ask those putas what their quota is for a night and we should double it." She hiked her thumb in the direction of the soldiers as she spoke, then waited to see what Marisol's terms were for the friendly competition.

[Ursula Wolfe]

While she had to agree that most of the mortals of the city shied away from anything bloody, that didn't change Ursula's thoughts on not minding blood. Granted, blood now had a strange affect on her, driving her hunger that she had never paid much attention to before she left to something that couldn't be ignored now. She leaned against the counter, looking at the women she didn't know, and so many others that joined in as well. No one from the family she left seemed to be awake. Other than Jesse.

Speak of the devil and he should appear... or rather... think of him. Her eyes, back to their clear blue, locked on the male she saw more as her sire than the creature that created her. She took a relaxing breath and watched him for a moment later before her attention was once more drawn to the women. One seemed intent on making a contest of the killing of the zombies, and that reminded her of something that happened in the past, but she didn't remember the exactness of it all. She missed her sisters.

Her eyes wandered to Jesse again and then back to the women, her eyes flowing the one's over to the soldiers. She had a point. They aren't nearly inept enough to really take care of the zombie problem. Licking her red lips, she shifted her eyes back to the women and looked as if she wanted to say something but these new people, they put her off talking. Her eyes shifted back to Jesse. He was the only one she would speak for now.

She wasn't normally a wallflower, but he was her only connection to the past now. Her sisters were gods knows where, and these other people, they were all Jesse's as she was, but really. She no longer felt part of the family.

[Renard]

Renard caught sight of Beckett wandering back through the doors of Serpentine, and his gaze immediately narrowed, like a hawk who had just picked up on the location of prey. In fact, his instincts themselves were telling him to dive down, and sink his talons in. Which was to say that he was about a half step away from doing something really stupid. Which probably honestly wouldn’t have surprised anyone, because Ren and Beck bickered about as much as any high-functioning yet dysfunctional relationship reasonably could. Anger was a flame in his crown that made his short hair feel hot, and made one of the veins in his temple bulge. Before he knew exactly what he was doing, he was making his way closer, his lips parted so that he could say something. Naturally, right as he was about to speak, a mouth was stuffed against his and he looked a little like he was trying to eat his boyfriend. His lips slid shut in response.

Alright. Fair play. He could tell when Beck was trying to distract him, and he was more than happy to be distracted. So rather than berate or question, he instead fell silent. He’d pulled his leather jacket off shortly after getting through the front door, so he leaned a bare arm right into Beck’s body. Pale fingertips crept with the dexterity of spider legs across a lower back before his digits curled over a hip so he could yank the other man against his side while Beck...did his thing. The thing where he was nice to people, and they all chatted and such. Renard never had been very good at all of that stuff.

They were soon joined by Jesse, who was more of a presence than a voice. There had been a while after Ren had taken the job at Serpentine when he’d been pretty sure the head of their bloodline was some sort of mute. Eventually, almost by surprise, Jesse had spoken properly to him one day, and Renard had very nearly lost his mind in confusion. Later, it had occurred to the Killer that Jesse was just pulling his leg. ******* with him.

He had yet to construct a counter-prank. But he would one day, and it would be EPIC.

He offered little nods of greeting to those who recognized him, and a spare one for Jesse when the man got close enough. He noticed, while Arauchia and Marisol were talking, that the one who hadn’t introduced herself stayed pretty quiet. Reserved. Maybe she also wasn’t much of a talker.

Too bad for her Ren had the tact of a rampaging bull.

Well. The first step was to contribute, he figured. So he peeled away from Beck, and pointed to one of the soldiers who presumably worked with the Militia. “Hey, you.”

The man gave him a deer in the headlights look, and pointed to himself in question.

“Yeah. Why don’t you get off your *** and tell one of these beautiful ladies all about your job? You’re a man in UNIFORM. You are meant to be hitting on any pretty thing with a skirt and a nice set of…” He glanced towards Marisol and Arauchia, thinking better of continuing that line of thought, though he discreetly (not at all discreetly) emphasized his chest with his hands.

Black brows rose as if to say ‘You get me?’ “You know. Impress them with talk of how many monsters you’ve taken out. Put on the charm. I swear, not a ******* ounce of charisma.” Rather than end strong, he just rambled on in what might have been real or faux-annoyance, gesturing for the soldier to do SOMETHING. Hopefully that would help with the whole competition or contest thing. Renard suspected there was no way to stop the zombies. After all. As long as people were dying, the undead would just continue to rise - that had become clear pretty early on. However, keeping the undead away from Serpentine was reasonably worthwhile (assuming Jesse even cared about that), and Ren himself wasn’t about to turn down a chance to crack some skulls and set some **** on fire.

Yeah! Fire!

He was already in a more pleasant mood thinking of it.

Which brought him around to the quiet lady. At first he stared at Ursula, which was probably more creepy than intended. He was just trying to think of what to say, and his brain hadn’t quite caught up to his stride. Much the way his head seemed to never catch up to his mouth. “And you.” He said, by way of greeting. “I can’t help but get the feeling I’ve seen you around before.” He extended a hand between them. “I’m Renard Sutton.” He half twisted to point with his other hand. “That asshole over there is Beckett Sutton. I’d say he’s my property, but he doesn’t like it when I do that, so we’ll suffice to say I love him deeply.” Something about that greeting didn’t seem quite right. “Nice to meet you.” There. He’d Beckeffied it