Be Careful What You Wish For - [active/open]

[protagonized]

There's a moment you know

Bloomsbury - 2 January

The email had come completely out of the blue.

Dear Simon,

My name is Robert Richardson. I was recently contacted by a woman from Catholic Charities Washington, who passed along your contact information. I understand that you have been looking for your birth family for quite some time, and I think I can help. On September 3, 1993, my daughter gave birth to a baby boy at Saint Joseph Medical Center in Tacoma, Washington. She was only fifteen and decided that adoption was the best thing for her son. The documents she signed indicate that he was adopted by John O'Neill and Cynthia Braithwaite, and that they named him Simon.

If that information is correct, I believe you are my grandson.

I will be in London on a business trip from the 8th through the 16th of this month. I understand it's short notice, but I would like to meet you and your parents.

Looking forward to your reply,

Bob Richardson

Simon emerged from his room, white and shaking, to find Matt sprawled on the futon, blasting away imaginary terrorists on Simon's Xbox.

"...They found them," he said, looking utterly dazed. "They found my biological family. My birth mum's dad just emailed me and he's going to be here in a few days. He wants to meet."


You're fucked.

Going home - 9 January (01:17)

Well, dinner had been nice.

Simon still couldn't quite believe he'd met his grandfather--his real grandfather--and that he was tax attorney with a practice in Seattle. Whatever he'd imagined for his birth family, he hadn't thought it would be that mundane. He'd gotten to see pictures of his other family members, too, and that was what had really made the whole thing real to him. He recognized parts of himself in those faces, especially his mother's. The shared the same hair color, the same eyes, the same smile.

He wished he could have gotten to meet her.

That was the most disappointing part. With tears in his eyes, his grandfather had told them about her death in an automobile accident at the age of 19. There had been ice on the road and she took a curve too quickly. Her car hit a tree and she died instantly.

They were well into their third bottle of wine at that point. Simon had started to place hints, wondering if this was the side that he'd gotten his powers from, but either he'd been far too subtle or Bob had no idea and Simon eventually gave up. It was enough for him, for now. Now that he knew who his mother was, he could start working on trying to find his father.

In fact, Bob had started to indicate that might be in the stars. He and Simon's parents seemed to get along very well, and by the time they were on bottle number four, they were begging him to stay longer in London and he was inviting them all to Washington the next summer.

It was nearly midnight when they finally parted ways, agreeing that they needed to meet again before Bob finished his business in London and returned to the States. Simon hailed a cab and started stumbling home, more than halfway drunk and completely awed by what had just happened.

And then it all went sideways.

Simon got the text message at 1:17.

It was a picture of his mum, bloodied and bruised, with a large kitchen knife held under her neck. She was crying.

Come home, it read. Your parents are dying to see you. Calling the police is a very bad idea.

Simon dropped everything and started to run.

[OOC: Simon needs your character's help! He's running towards his parents' house in Westminster. If your character is out and about this evening, he'll try to get them to come help save his parents.]

Not an inch more room

Westminster - 9 January (02:01)

"And here's the little mutt now."

Bob Richardson had completely transformed. Gone was the mild-mannered attorney from Tacoma. He seemed larger now, stronger. He sneered at Simon, at his parents who were beaten and bloody on the floor, tied up with their clothing.

"I've just been telling your mom and dad about the other things I learned about you. I can't believe you managed to hide it from them. You're a little freak, just like your fucking father. C'mon, freak, and show your mommy and daddy what you can really do."

[ooc: I'm going to be posting threads in the comments with prompts to respond to.]

To self-destruct.

Somewhere in Westminster - 9 January (05:38)

Simon shivered in the cold. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, just that he'd started running and hadn't stopped until he couldn't run anymore. He was still only wearing the dressing gown his dad had handed him.

Dad. Oh god.

Mum and Dad couldn't even look at him, now that they'd seen what he really was. Now that they'd seen him rip a man's throat out. He was still covered in Richardson's blood. The stench made him gag, but there wasn't anything left in his stomach to lose. He pulled the dressing gown tighter around himself and sobbed. They all hated him now. Even Matt. Of course they did. He was just another mindless killer, like all the other monsters.

He was too wrapped up in his misery and self-pity to notice the footsteps approaching him.

Comments

[protagonized]

Simon looks up sharply and curls in on himself like a startled animal. He turns his head, squinting in the dim light for an escape route. Where is he, anyway? He can't remember how he got here.

He can only imagine how bad this looks. He's covered in blood, most of it not his, wearing only a thin cotton robe in near-freezing weather.

"N-nothing," he stammers, teeth chattering in the cold, and he knows it's the lousiest excuse for an excuse that he has.

[falsify]

Nothing? Really? Everyone should be extremely impressed that Eames doesn't just roll his eyes and leave, instead he takes off his jacket to offer it to Simon-- it'll be warmer than just some robe, even if it's probably way too big for him.

He keeps the concern in his voice, careful not to approach Simon. He doesn't want to end up having his hand bitten off or something. "Doesn't look like nothing," he says softly, watching Simon's face for anything that might be useful.

[protagonized]

Simon stares at the jacket like he doesn't quite know what it is. There's still something of the dog about the way he cocks his head slightly to the side, and he would probably be sniffing the stranger out of his nose weren't dripping snot as he continues to cry.

Finally, he takes the coat and drapes it over his shoulders. It doesn't fit very well--he's taller than the other man, and significantly less powerfully-built--but it's warm and that's all that matters.

"I was attacked," he says eventually. "Someone was trying to hurt my mum and dad, so I hurt him back."

[falsify]

Jesus, he hopes this kid doesn't get snot on his jacket.

"Is he..." Eames hesitates on the question, eyebrows raised like he can't bear to finish the thought. Somebody get this man an Oscar. Or a BAFTA at least. He looks Simon up and down and frowns as though looking for the right question to ask. "Are they okay?"

[protagonized]

Simon laughs hollowly. He knows what the man is trying not to ask.

"He's not going to be bothering my family again." Not after Simon's fangs had ripped through his jugular. He grips the jacket tighter, holding it with white knuckles.

"Physically, yes." They'd just seen their son transform into a white dog and kill a man. He doesn't imagine they want to see him ever again after that.

"It was my fault. He was looking for me."

[falsify]

"Why--" Eames stops and tilts his head, expression worried as much as curious. What could a little pup could do to draw this kind of ire, he wonders. Seems like an extreme reaction for shitting in someone's garden. "Did you do something?"

[protagonized]

Simon shakes his head. "I exist," he says softly. "He couldn't see beyond that." The family that Simon had wanted so desperately wanted him dead. Go figure.

"Th-thank you for the coat," he stammers eventually. "You can have it back now."

Please don't call the police. He had, after all, just confessed to murder.

[falsify]

So a shapeshifter in trouble because of what he is, he can do something with that. He waves a dismissive hand when Simon offers to return his coat-- if he's gonna keep the kid here talking, might as well let him stay a little warm.

"Are you still in trouble?" Eames asks, still watching Simon's face carefully, "someone like that... He must have friends, right?"

And if not, the fear that he does in and of itself may be useful.

[protagonized]

The last thing Simon needs is for his grandfather to have friends.

His eyes widen at the realization he probably does. Eames, you have your hook.

"He has a son...but..."

[falsify]

Now how does he spin this without coming on too strong and scaring the kid off? Eames frowns down at the ground between them, considering his options.

"What if..." Eames starts hesitantly and he looks up at Simon, "I might be able to help you."

[protagonized]

"Really?" Simon asks dubiously. Why would a stranger want to help him in the first place?

"I'm grateful, but...why would you help me? You don't know me, and I just told you I k-killed someone..."

[falsify]

"Somebody who threatened your family and hated you for what you are," Eames amends, "unless that was a lie?"

[protagonized]

Simon suddenly looks a little dubious under all that snot.

"It wasn't. Do you...know what I am?"

He isn't another hunter, is he?

[falsify]

"Process of elimination would suggest you're a shapeahifter?" He posits it as a question, as though he doesn't already know. Despite Simon's wariness, he'll not drop the concerned act just yet. Perhaps never. He doesn't need to be trusted, but just the suggestion that Eames may legitimately care could be useful on its own.

[protagonized]

Simon isn't expecting to be called out like that, and it shows on his face. He looks stunned, but shakes it off a moment later and takes a cautious sniff. He still can't tell for sure, but he does smell magic.

"You've got magic," he says eventually. "Witch or fae?"

[falsify]

Oh, he doesn't want to hear about the process of elimination? That's a shame, it's very good. Ah well. Eames' lips twitch briefly in a smile and he ducks his head, almost a remorseful gesture.

"Fae," he admits after a moment, expression questioning as he looks at Simon to see which way this is going to go for him.

[protagonized]

"What do you want from me?"

Simon has never really understood Gilbert Norrell's hatred of and obsession with the fae, but after seeing what they are capable of in his role as the world's most ineffective body guard back in October, he feels he has a right to be wary.

[falsify]

"What makes you think I want something from you?" He frowns, almost as though offended by the question, "I don't even know who you are."

[protagonized]

"I may be spending too much time around Gilbert Norrell," Simon admits, looking almost sheepish, "but I was at Lambeth a few months back. I know the fae don't like Daybreak very much, or those who help them."

[falsify]

"Is that a surprise?" Eames asks, eyebrow raised and making sure to keep just how much he loathes Daybreak out of his voice, "they've been trying their hardest to remove us from the city without once speaking to us like civilised people."

[protagonized]

The fae has a point, Simon realizes. He continues to look up at him, clutching his jacket and wondering where all this is going.

"You're probably right," he says, sounding exhausted. He's too cold and too traumatized to really care about supernatural politics right now.

"I should probably go before the police arrive." Maybe if he shifts into dog form he won't have to face any questions about why he's in a park, basically naked, right before dawn.

[falsify]

Eames nods and reaches to take his jacket back - no need to get in the nitty-gritty of things out here with a basically naked teenager. (Young adult? Whatever.) With the mention of police, it does occur to him that this whole scenario would look pretty strange to anyone who happens across them.

With his jacket back in his hands, Eames takes a business card out of the inside pocket and offers it to Simon. There's nothing identifying on it, just a phone number, but the plainness of it should be enough not to forget where it came from. "If you want to talk," he says, offering a gentle smile with it.