The nights have lost their minds
It had only been a few weeks since his clinic had opened, and already he was leaving late. Granted, this was entirely due to Nate's own mistakes, the passing of time not really feeling the same when he didn't grow weary of the hours the same way, but still. The streets are close to empty as he enters them, anyone who'd be out this late moved down towards the bar or the pier. With a few exceptions.
One of which seemed to have a bucket of paint and some brushes. Nate paused, watching the man work for a moment, then looked around them. The street was still quiet. And so was he, as he crept up on the vandal, waiting until he was in the middle of a brushstroke before leaping out beside him with shout, trying to startle him. The idea that the other man might be a fight and not flight kind of person crossed his mind far too late, as did the realization that he knew who this was.
There was a moment of almost awkward silence, during which Nate tried to compose himself, to straighten up, keep the ghost of a laugh off his lips. "Bastien." He greets, hand coming out to rest on his fellow ascended's shoulder. "What brings you to this neck of the woods? Surely not just petty crime."
One of which seemed to have a bucket of paint and some brushes. Nate paused, watching the man work for a moment, then looked around them. The street was still quiet. And so was he, as he crept up on the vandal, waiting until he was in the middle of a brushstroke before leaping out beside him with shout, trying to startle him. The idea that the other man might be a fight and not flight kind of person crossed his mind far too late, as did the realization that he knew who this was.
There was a moment of almost awkward silence, during which Nate tried to compose himself, to straighten up, keep the ghost of a laugh off his lips. "Bastien." He greets, hand coming out to rest on his fellow ascended's shoulder. "What brings you to this neck of the woods? Surely not just petty crime."
And the mornings are unkind
NATE
