Damian M.

"So, they're safely in Victoria. I think they're living on savings, but there's enough, with everything to go for a while. And your dad's writing some memoirs and possibly some war stories for publication. I think your mother got into a china painting class," Mervin says.

He's fond of Damian. Admittedly, the first time they met was when Damian was extremely apologetic for being sick as a dog from whatever they'd shot him up with. Yvette was talking about maybe having Damian on the ship doing the math for route calculations, since he doesn't have a bad head for the numbers. At least if Paris got troubled, which it seemed to when the weather got hot.

Personally, if Damian was his cousin, he'd have him living with someone with a medical background and he'd be trying to arrange some kind of friendly ear to listen, but - Damian's still doing that uncanny thing of giving you his full and entire attention every time you ask a question. Like he's forgetting that he's free.

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citizendamian

"That doesn't sound too bad. I was afraid they'd be -" Damian trails off mid sentence. "I did miss out on what was happening near the end there."

Last he heard, on the cargo ship, his dad was talking about getting employed again by the Lorena company. Just - waiting for the inspector to get through. He wasn't sure where they were standing now and - it wasn't his job right now, was it?

"I feel kind of like I'm being a bad son, not worrying more than I am about them." Damian flashes a half smile at Mervin. "But you and your family are kind of - oh! Yvette!"

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"We're not getting along the best," Mervin agrees, and then grins as Yvette gives Damian a firm hug. "Hey, Moore. Nice to see you."

"And you," she says. "The walk's not bad, so I thought I'd join you for a while, on the way to the cafe. I had the oddest thing happen while I was having lunch."

The story took a while, interrupted by some people with posters and pamphlets crossing the street. "Summing it up, I guess - I've got a poison pen writer of some sort, and this group of people, supposedly, who want to figure out what's going on. Due to shared troublemakers kind of things. I suggested we talk again. And the guy - he seemed all right. Tired, I'd say, but we're tired too, aren't we?"

And well, if she's watching the crowd a little more alertly to see if there's trouble about to start, chalk it up to nerves.

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Trouble's not exactly about to START, though there's some involved inside, of a more mundane sort than usual. Arno's in the middle of an argument, and even though he's winning it, he's still kind of annoyed to be dealing with the issue again.

"Look, you can't host commercials between scenes. It breaks down too much of the performance for everyone. Between acts is one thing..." He's heaving a sigh, turning as the door opens and his gaze centers on Yvette and the people she's brought along today. Worth a chance at conversation? Probably, so he's striding over, giving them a nod.

"Ah, Bonjour, and we meet again, Mademoiselle. And you've brought friends to witness the performance." He adds, tones extremely wry there. "I take it you'd like privacy again? Let me find you somewhere to sit."

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"That would be lovely," Yvette says with a smile. "I saw that there was quiche today, and the kitchen has a deft hand with pastry."

Her companions are - well - there's a pilot, and obviously one, since he still has the clips on his boots for magnets if the ship had issues. He looks to be probably First Nations and there's a Canadian hint to his French.

The other guy frankly looks like he'd do for ordering something from the dessert end of things and drowning it in cream. A bit thin, slightly messy hair, and a faint tremble in his right hand. He was holding Yvette's hand with his left as they got near the door, but he's settled for kind of hanging in the middle of the group. "Perfor -" the guy starts to say, and then probably gets a good view of the preparations on stage. Oddly enough, it's the dropcloth with the shadows of the performers on it that's catching his attention the most.

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"Yeeees..." Arno glances toward the stage and half snorts, half sighs. "We've got space for groups who want to put things on too. This week's particular show is... I think it's a metaphor for the revolution, or for peace triumphing over the machine of war..." He shakes his head a little.

"But yes, we do have quiche, the cafe creme tends to be a favorite, but if you've not been around Paris long, it MAY be a little strong, I've been told that today's cheese is excellent..." Arno's saying as he leads them around to one of the more private booths where the noise won't be too much. "will this work out?"

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"Perfectly," the pilot offers and mostly subtly touches the jumpy guy's elbow and then his hand.

It does seem welcome at least since the guy kind of shakes himself before sliding in to take a seat closer to the window. "The special looked fine?" he's pitching that at Yvette.

"And the cheese. And I suspect if you inquire they can find something to go with the cafe creme." Yvette takes her seat. "I'll try the quiche, since I know Mervin will want to steal some."

"Some," Mervin offers with a grin. "The salad option sounds good to me. Victoria didn't have a lot of greens options when I was down there if you didn't want to face turnips."

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citizendamian

"Turnips aren't terrible as a concept?" Damian tries. And - puts up with Yvette ordering some kind of cookies that he could swear were called cat tongues or something like that and quietly eats too much cheese, butter and bread while his coffee cools a little. The special has some kind of crispy potatoes and mussels, and well - he's ended up with some extra potatoes from Mervin and a tiny bit of Yvette's quiche.

The play is - well - dramatic, and Mervin's not making fun of the "street wise" character's lingo (which at least to his ears doesn't sound entirely right.) Still - it's - he's half watching a third of the play using Mervin's arm as a shield for when he's not up for it. "So when were you planning on telling me about the creepy emails?" he asks Yvette.

"Frankly, I wanted to wait longer, since they still seemed willing to be purely text based stuff," Yvette says. "But the owner of this place apparently heard rumors and wanted to get involved."

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Good. Arno prides himself on being able to figure out some things about people by this point, and while he's not as practiced in reading thoughts and emotions as some of the people he's known (His foster father comes to mind, Elise... Mirabeau, god forbid Guillaume and the rest of the council are picking up on it now too), you do get to recognize some things and Non Specific Tension is up there.

At least they aren't using the blood for this rehearsal, so depending on how long the group stays, it might not be too long. That'd be nice if someone could escape getting a further headache, or added problem or anything.

For now, Arno's noting the orders, deciding at some point to slip a note to Yvette to find out how things are going when it comes to the blackmail issue. It seems better than prying just now.

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Yvette waits till they're mostly done and the play is in full swing to try sending a text message to Mr. Dorian. "Would you like to join us?"

Mervin's leaning on the table. "The doctors here seem like decent people. And they've got - how many other friends who sounded like they wanted to meet you, Damian? I'd think you could safely stay here, and Yvette could find some sympathetic person on either side of the law and at least - feel out this group."

Damian nods slowly. "Joly, Combeferre, uh - three others that I can think of off the top of my head. They're teaching kids too. I could get inv - involved with that. And there's your cousin, Mervin. I'd have to be c - careful that none of the Lorena mess got near him." The stutter frustrates him, but - it's there. They're used to it.

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There's really not a lot of things going on for Arno to have to worry about right now, with everything going well, and his staff actually having showed up to circulate, so the message, when he gets it, is coming at a great time.

"I can do that." He sends back, making his way over fairly quickly and trying to avoid getting stopped by anyone, or flown to by pigeons who want money.

Soon enough he's rising, after some impressive dodging, and smiling as he approaches.

"I believe I was summoned?"

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"If you'd care to join us," Yvette offers. "This is Mervin and Damian. They're good friends of mine. And well - in the matter of my letter writers, they've sent on a photo for someone I'm going to meet."

Damian offers a small wave. He's been dipping and nibbling a cookie for a while now, but - well - he did eat something and he only got that slightly cornered look in his eyes once so far. "Yvette wanted me to get a feel for ... this," Damian says. You. What you were offering.

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"Pleased to meet both of you." Arno sweeps into a bit of a bow, "Have they really? Interesting."

And then, he's glancing towards Damian, with a small nod and a tilt of his head as he perches on one of the seats, trying not to crowd anyone.

"I can certainly clear that up." He agrees, nodding. "I have contacts in Paris, and in other places, besides. Brothers and Sisters, if you will, who have eyes absolutely EVERYWHERE."

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Mervin leans forward as well as Yvette slides her phone over to show Arno. Off hand, the guy doesn't look super memorable. Reddish hair, maybe, glasses that look a bit like they'd come with an extensive knowledge of how to order the best coffee from Large Coffee Chain Here sort of thing. Possibly a secret love for vintage record players or something like that.

"Hacker, they're claiming." Yvette shrugs faintly. "So - I kind of think I should at least meet him. Find out who he is. What they said to him. Mervin's saying I should get some more contacts before I risk that."

Damian sips his coffee and says,"And there's ... if I stay behind while you're gone, you'd worry. I'll be fine. I'm pretty sure I'll be fine."

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Arno stares at the photo a moment, placing the hair color, the frames, the EXPRESSION. It's a look of recognition, really, even as he's pondering the changes that are a little bit different from the time he's last seen photos of the guy.

"That's...something." He manages.

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"So," Mervin says quietly, "I think we'd be in need of some brothers and sisters in this. Since I'm guessing you know him?"

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"That IS one of my brothers." Arno winces at the image, not sure he's liking what the implications here ARE, but he definitely wants to find out now. "That'd be Fawkes. Ah...Hastings. Victorian, initially, usually works out of the American colonies. " He adds the information quickly, "And of all the places I'd expect to find him, it's not there. Something's going on."

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