marvel log: elliott, cee, & cris
Cerise might have been late, but Elliot, he was early. It was a good twenty minutes before their meeting time, but Elliot, he liked to be early. The city was a comfortable place to him, familiar like the back of his own hand. He had his driver drop him off a couple blocks away from the cemetery, and the walk in the night air was easy and brisk, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his dark coat. A glance was given to the fence, and then his surroundings, before he scaled the thing, a foot in the rungs and hands to pull him over, and then the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet.
Unlike Cerise, he didn't make his presence known immediately, instead he stuck to the shadows, quiet and dark in his black overcoat, hair slicked back from his face. There was no mistaking that he was his father's son; their resemblance quite evident to anyone that had known the man. But where his father had been tall, Elliot was smaller, a compact thing with eyes that burned.
He turned at the sound of crunching leaves, shadows swelling in the darkness, and there - framed by fading moonlight, she stood.
For a long while, Elliot only looked at her, this would-be-sister that his father had called a daughter. She didn't look right, not in his eyes, and it made him wonder what he had seen in her, to draw her so close to himself.
But he could look for only so long until he, too, moved, stepping out from behind a looming granite stone, hands clasped behind his back, the switchblade that wasn't his concealed in his hand.