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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2017 7:11 pm
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It was likely overdue. Long overdue.
It may have also been a bad idea but it had been, more often than once, pointed out that no one had talked to him. No one had really spoken to Renard about what was going on. They had simply acted. There were, of course, several other reasons to speak with Renard (the list was quite large if Jeremiah were honest) but whether or not they would all be covered ...
That would remain to be seen.
Which was why Jeremiah Mercer, with a small parcel under arm, was knocking on the door to the Leroux-Noor-Shore mansion. (He had, for a little while, thought about visiting Renard's office in Boston but then that seemed a touch rude, if only because he did not always want people coming to his office to discuss things that were not necessarily work related).
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Posted: Fri Apr 14, 2017 9:51 pm
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"The office," said Renard. "I feel certain what you have to say is not something I want my child party to." He led the way upstairs.
To the left of the second-story landing, there was a familiar storage space: once upon a time, Jeremiah had stood there with Zac and perused Prividaniye's sketchbooks. Now it looked more lived in, had more canvases leaning against the walls and fewer tucked away. There were notebooks splayed across the slab table in the center. Renard didn't wait to let Jeremiah get a better look: he passed further down the landing and took the second door.
Renard's office was a study in cool neutrals. The walls were a pale blue, the ceiling sheet white. A modernist interpretation of a Sputnik lamp hung in a recessed shelf; in the shelves were not books, but photographs, small paintings, occasional planners with years embossed in gold on the spine. Whitewashed drawers filled the rest of the recessed space, closed and silent as sentinels. Before this display of taste and good culture, Renard's desk was a simple glass-top on a base of dark wood, immaculately clean, with nowhere for the wires to his open desktop to hide. His chair was a comfortable hourglass in a shade of blue just darker than his walls. The hardwood floor was protected by a plush silver rug that looked old because it was old, not because it was designed to be.
There was a window-seat that looked out over the bay, and more storage beneath it. Renard gestured, and a second chair pulled itself out of a recessed alcove. It was upholstered, looked plush, but not nearly as inviting as the chair in which Renard seated himself.
"What is it you want, Chief Mercer?" The undertone: we are not friends. We will never be friends.
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Posted: Sun Apr 16, 2017 9:54 pm
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"Not likely, no." Jeremiah said in agreement. He followed Renard, not even bothering to stop and look at the notebooks. It was rude but he remembered his last time here. Had no desire to repeat it either.
The entire office spoke of the kind of style he grew up around. Meredith Mercer would probably adore Renard Leroux on his sense of decor alone.
Between the tone and the chair, what little lowering of his guard had happened disappeared. Jeremiah sat down, not bothering to lean back into the chair or relax. He was poised, eyes focused on the man in front of him.
"As I said, a wide and varied amount of subjects. I will try to keep it to a minimum so as to not take away your time." With a flick of his own fingers, a notebook appeared with a pen clipped to it. Jeremiah did not open it up but it was set in his lap. "It's past time that you've been consulted about what is going on." A pause. "Though not all of this is in regards to things I handle as the Chief of Police. I can start with that, however, as one of my newer officers is handling the case of your missing husband."
Ultimately everything was connected.
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Posted: Mon Apr 17, 2017 11:42 am
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Posted: Fri Apr 21, 2017 8:24 pm
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Jeremiah watched, not quite used to the display of magic like that on this side. It made him think of the time some of them had mentioned, the world that came before all of this. With the comment about Bliskiss and then Kuroda, Jeremiah paused in opening up the notebook and his attention went fully onto Renard.
"I suppose that answers at least two questions," he replied lightly. "Whether or not you were satisfied with the work that Officer Bliskiss has provided so far in looking for your husband." A pause. "As well as with Detective Lieutenant Kuroda but one topic at a time." Not that he was not, already, aware of that. "However, on the topic of your husband, I have learned details about his disappearance or, rather, his current status."
His eyes were focused on Renard. "Which is to say he is trapped, though I feel as if that is putting it lightly."
shibrogane he might by the time this is all over
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Posted: Sun Apr 30, 2017 6:06 pm
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Posted: Mon May 01, 2017 12:06 am
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He is not afraid. Fear would only get him killed. He is angry, and it is anger that will keep him alive.
Renard sat up straighter at the ring's words, though he didn't seem to be aware of their content, only that something had been said. He frowned, brows furrowing, and was silent for another moment before finally clearing his throat. "Clearly you did," he said, dryly, "as you just informed me that Miss Jones will want me to give her a piece of whatever has my husband. But I shall let it pass, I suppose. What else is it you want to know?"
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