"Marceline Lyra Salden, at your service."
"Spencer Reid," he says, "Detective Spencer Reid, actually. At yours."
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
+Spencer Reid X OC
A weary detective strides into the dimly lit bar, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of the patrons...
The sunlight of midday feels wrong on his skin; something in him protests that it should be dark after a difficult day of work. Spencer feels, in one word, drained. Spent of all that's good. At least Marceline is with Ryn; her brother, with her always. Better company than Spencer.
He'll sleep. Maybe the all too familiar thoughts that whisper of everybody in his life being better off without his presence will be gone by the time he wakes, and he'll be able to think properly again. To work. To help.
It is as he stalks his way to his apartment that he bumps into somebody, solid enough for Spencer to stumble back.
"Apologies," he says, lifting his eyes from the cobbles as he sidesteps.
Ryn, standing there God-like, barely moved. He hadn't expected to frost paths with Spencer like this, but he took it as God's Luck.
"Detective," he managed to say through his teeth, "You need to tell me what happened between these last two days or so help you, I have no hesitation to do what I'm imagining." His accent was laid on thick and rough, it sounded like it hurt for him to speak.
Ryn's eye and fingers began to twitch.
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"Oh. Ryn," he says flatly, too tired for fear. He tilts his head to look over the man's shoulder, frowning slightly when he confirms he's alone.
"Where's Marceline?" Belatedly registering the question and threat, Spencer shakes his head to get some sentences together. "My apologies, I haven't slept a lot. Neither has she- I mean- We've been on a case, and it has been demanding."
Ryn snatches Spencer by his collar, waking him up. He nearly picks him up off the floor. "My sister has been crying nonstop since this morning. She hasn't eaten, or spoken much to anyone. She cries for our mother, our father, our home. You have no idea how hard," He shuts his eyes, remembering all the sleepless nights with Marceline. All the berries and the teas and prayers it took for her to slightly forget what happened the day they had to leave. All that for him to still remember. "Start talking. Now."
Spencer grips the hands at his lapels uselessly, their hold like iron. He meets Ryn's dark eyes and notices the wet glint on them.
"A man has been taking the blood of Miss Lucy Westenra, from uptown," he blurts out, words tumbling over themselves. "He is good-looking and foreign and has pointed canines, red eyes that hypnotize, and at nighttime he can turn into fog, dust, and bats."
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