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Sep. 12th, 2024 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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hemmingfamblyWHO: Briar & Keda
WHEN: Not terribly long after being married??
WHERE: Some government building??
WHAT: A supernatural governmental group that makes sure supernatural marriages aren't coercive or magic-based audits these two nightmares.
WARNINGS: Dumb
There have been better meetings penciled into Stephen R. Allbright III’s calendar.
The trouble with Exotics is that they tend to make even the most seasoned professionals want to slam their heads against their desks. The fae in particular. Either there’s a complicated tangle of too much information - years of fictions and fables overlapping and diverging until the truth is strangled somewhere in the crosswires.
Or there’s this.
A desert dotted sparsely with question marks. It’s difficult to determine which option presents more difficulty in navigation. [[...] early reports differ, but they are largely considered to be morally ambivalent creatures[1]. Species is believed to beentirely predominantly[2] female [...]] He should be excited by the opportunity for academic discovery. The chance to update the dossier on an entire species. A younger version of himself would have been.
Hell, even this version might have if the other folder hadn’t been stuffed half-an-inch thick with "Supplemental Materials."
There is truly too much here between the two of them, a strange mix of nothingness and overwhelming information. It's easy to see why this requires some circumspection, as both could be benefitting unjustly from marriage; is the one taking advantage of an expansive, influential pack, or the other taking advantage of a being with terrifyingly expansive magic? It gives him a bit of a headache. But not as much as the one he gains when the two arrive.
There’s an almost violent sort of contrast between them. Briar Hemming [[...]42, Second-Born - Twin[2]; (Excommunicated[2]) Son of Bracken "Ken" Hemming IV[3], Alpha of the Hemming Pack[4] of Moon Flower Ranch[5] outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming [...]] comes through the doorway like a thundercloud, his expression taut and jaw set. He's clearly displeased, and everything about his posture suggests the sort of macho, aggravated attitude he's seen in many a werewolf. All of it is somewhat expected, except for the way he's interlocked his hand with Nazikeda's, his grip clearly secure but not particularly possessive or tight. The peri is a slip of a thing, buoyed at the end of his fingers and smiling brightly as she herds him through the door like - well, bristling a bit more like a wet cat than a fully-grown werewolf as he sits down heavy in one of the chairs.
Nazikeda looks young. There is ample evidence to the contrary [[...] confirmed sightings date back to the early 1920’s [4] [...]] but it does little to combat the delicate and softened edges of her. As far as taxonomic camouflage goes, it’s an effective one. Evolutionary psychologists have argued that the urge to nurture is built into - Point being, he still has no idea which one of them he should be more concerned about in this case.
Briar offers a sort of grunting greeting along with a slight inclination of his chin and Nazikeda continues to provide a clear contrast, crossing her legs at the ankles and greeting him with a pleasant, "Good afternoon, Mr. Allbright." Stephen resists the urge to glance down at his notes - there’s nothing about her particular brand of fae and names, but it’s rarely the sort of area a person wants to take chances with. "I believe you wanted to talk to us about something."
Clearing his throat, settling a few of the folders in more easily accessible places, he smiles, saying his own good afternoon. It's friendly, even though the tiniest part of him is already tired.
"Yes, thank you for coming in. Given your somewhat... unconventional pairing and backgrounds, we wanted to make sure that both of you entered into this marriage voluntarily and legitimately."
He can see, immediately, that this makes Briar bristle - there's an aborted eyeroll, a shift in his chair, but as he's learned over the years that doesn't necessarily mean anything in particular. Especially with someone that shows up with the werewolf's attitude. "I'm assuming there's a whole gauntlet of questions you'll be askin', then?" At least this comes out more resigned than angry, which Stephen very much knows is a win. He's not a fan of having to subdue interviewees.
Nazikeda doesn’t so much wait for the inevitability of his reply, leaning herself forward. "And how do you guarantee your results?"
"Ethically," he replies, smoothing his fingers along the edge of his desk and falling into the easy pattern of scripted routine. "The autonomy and overall safety of our visitors is very important to us at the Bureau. We do our utmost to guarantee that this experience results in an ideal outcome for all parties involved." He glances up to find them both looking at him, unimpressed and politely interested in turn, and clears his throat. Tacks on a somewhat lackluster: "Of course." which Nazikeda echoes with a nod that skims the far side of patronizing and lands somewhere between offhand and entertained.
"One would certainly hope so.” Her head cants, expression not unlike one that his mother had worn when he had tried to escape upstairs after school without greeting her. Patient, but waiting on a specific result. "But that is not the question that I asked."
Stephen straightens. "Among other things? Truth." One of his hands rises, halting. "Compulsory, I must admit, but we find that it works out best when these questions are answered honestly."
"Well Keda's already-" And then Briar stops abruptly, the realization in his expression is clear. He leans forward, much as Nazikeda had, but the gesture has a drastically different energy to it.
"You think you're going to compel me to tell the truth?" he asks, low and sharp. His tone suggests not a clarifying question, but a challenge. Stephen notes that his hand remains in Nazikeda's, a quick scribble on a notepad.
"It's standard procedure," he replies, still smooth and business-like, because that's the only way to get through these meetings. Only way, in particular, to get through this part. He understands the discomfort. But, surely people understand the necessity as well. He has to put that into perspective, and try to present it as less of a big deal than it is. "It's the only way to ensure that both parties are free from the others' influence."
Briar's eyes dart to Nazikeda, expression somehow even more sour than it was before, to which she clicks her tongue and draws their joined hands up toward herself to press her lips to his knuckles. The gesture is warm, openly affectionate, but the twitch of her expression offers less sympathy and more amusement. (While the movement is subtle, his scowl takes on the slightest hint of a pout.)
Stephen scratches in a second question mark at the end of his last sentence. Circles it. Resists the urge to sigh and presses his thumb to the latch of his top drawer to let it slide itself open. "We use specifically keyed runes during the interview process. They will only remain active within the walls of this room and will not have any lasting effects once you’re finished here. If we get through everything quickly and smoothly, we shouldn’t need to utilize more than a few."
The crinkle of Nazikeda’s eyes smooths and her gaze cuts back in his direction, quick and sharp. "A few?"
"What the hell could you need more for? We're here, cooperating, apparently compelled to tell the truth."
"Future tense," he cuts in hastily. "You will be compelled. Activation is done subsequent to your agreement. Again, we do pride ourselves on being above-board with this and that requires both knowledge and consent."
This seems to do little to calm the werewolf. The contempt for the process, if not for Stephen himself, would be impossible to miss. Best to just forge ahead, then.
"Telling the truth is important, but showing it is as well. It's necessary to lower glamours. Again, to ensure that no one is being misled." At the indignant scoff of noise from Nazikeda, he adds a (helpful?) addition of "Or held against their will." to stymie whatever protest was simmering.
Of course, there are runes for a host of other things, but he's not about to invite more ire when those might not be necessary. Hopefully won't be necessary. He smiles again, hoping it comes off as reassuring, but the looks they're both giving him makes it difficult to not also show that he's maybe regretting his career path a bit.
The woman’s mouth snaps shut around what most assuredly would have been objection. (A small blessing.) "I am no swan maiden," she mutters. "I would, for the future, suggest better chairs. Yours are hardly accommodating of wings."
"They adjust a little in the back," he says, sympathetically. He won't admit that often for these sorts of things they prefer uncomfortable chairs to put the interviewees off a bit, but there are at least small accommodations.
Stephen then turns his attention to Briar, to get his verbal confirmation for the truth rune, and finds he's giving Nazikeda a slightly smug look before going to kiss her hand much as she had his. He's… got no idea what to make of that - another absent scribble goes on his pad of paper.
"Unfortunately, you will need to keep your hands to yourself during the interview as well. Now, if you'll both agree to the use of the runes, we can get started."
This last addendum is met with a more notable indignation than the first, frown marring the smooth planes of Nazikeda’s face before she stills herself back to even professionalism, hand returning to her own lap and her focus pinned starkly, solely on him. He feels, if it’s not too on the nose, a bit like a bug.
"Yes, very well," Nazikeda says, words clear and tone lofty. It’s both a relief and a concern. "You have my permission."
The werewolf, too, gives his consent, though initially it is yet another grunt that is quickly followed by a quiet, hostile, "You have my permission." Yes, he quite feels like a bug, ready to be squashed. Especially given the way that Briar's hands curl together in his lap, no longer softened by the presence of Nazikeda's. Well, worst case, the squashing will be metaphorical, not physical. It's fine. Stephen thanks them both, outwardly unfazed by the shifting dynamics, and goes to activate the runes, one after the other.
"The sooner we move through this, the sooner the runes will be deactivated and you can leave." Briar does not seem to appreciate this attempt at comfort, and Stephen notes with another scribble that he's seemingly struggling to keep his hands to himself.
The runes activate with little more than a touch of his finger, quick and efficient, without any real fanfair. Nazikeda’s glamour, on the other hand, falls neatly - not at all in the abrupt way that they usually snap out of sync. If the process were more relevant than the result, he might be tempted to call her on the fact that she almost certainly does it herself. And if the grin that’s adorning her face is anything to go by, she’s well aware.
Issue with control? Stephen moves to scribe, but is stalled by the questionably triumphant return of his own academic curiosity.
It isn’t a particularly complex glamour at all. The wings, yes. Sizable things, ruffling themselves out with feathers [[...] closer in appearance to that of birds[3] than those of insects, as are often found in other, more readily encountered races of fae [...]] shiny like new pennies, for which the back of the chair adjusts far more than it has any right to, folds itself neatly of its own accord. Definite issue with control. He finishes his statement. Underlines it.
The rest is less a radical shift and more a subtle air of something essentially and instinctively wrong. There’s something about her skin that is too smooth, her features too perfect. The color of her irises bleeds out to the corners of her eyes and, while the lines of her limbs are arranged in the same shapes, they sit spindly and strange. She blinks at him and her smile looks out of place under fluorescent lighting. "Are we satisfied?"
As Nazikeda speaks, Briar glances at her, and Stephen doesn't respond because he wants to focus on the werewolf's initial response to seeing her this way. It is… anticlimactic.
"Haven't seen you like that in a long while, Pretty," he says easily, the truth rolling off his tongue without struggle because he hasn't got any reason to be fighting against it. (She tips her head at this, flicks her fingers with an absent, "You know I find it gauche.") A positive note that he's not startled by his partner's appearance at all. Another that there doesn't seem to be anything missing from what the official forms have gathered.
"Yes, satisfied," he replies, refocusing on Nazikeda, but he makes a quiet tutting noise (a habit he has when his children misbehave) as Briar lifts a hand out to smooth some of her hair. The man practically hisses between his teeth, as before more cat than wolf. "Pain in the ass," he mutters, none too quietly, as he settles back in his seat.
"So you've seen her this way before?"
"Obviously."
"And the last time she dropped her glamour, what was the purpose?"
"Well, y'see, she was-" and here, Briar abruptly stops, swallows, caught up by the truth rune already. He fidgets in his seat, even as he seems to be thinking quite hard, before he replies, succinctly, "The purpose was to drop her glamour."
The sound that Nazikeda lets out at this is less strictly laughter and more of a snort, surprising mostly in its straightforward inelegance. She leans her elbow onto her armrest, chin into her open palm, and shifts her smile over at her husband, which he returns a little, despite his apparent mood. "Briar is being generous. The direct purpose was to be rude."
Stephen waits just a beat too long, waiting on elaboration that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming, before giving it up as not particularly relevant and moving on. No sense in prying now when he’ll have to pry later. Especially when she seems to be the one more willing to answer his questions in the first place. "And you maintain it perpetually?"
Nazikeda hums. "Not perpetually. Though you say that as though I am performing some sort of constrictive action. I am not." It is, Stephen notes, difficult to tell when her gaze is until he is directly centered in it. "I am no less myself with it, merely a more -" Her free hand waves, sketching out a sweeping motion next to her cheek. "Socially palatable version. Looking this way does not, as one might note, precisely blend in most situations. And I do prefer to avoid causing a scene in public when it can be helped."
“Understandable." Rapport. It’s important to build something resembling it here. "Glamours are distributed for that purpose, in certain cases." Stephen nods, shoots for conversational rather than interrogatory. "And your husband’s initial reaction - was that ‘a scene’?"
"Hardly," she replies, tone even to the point of dryness. "He can be disappointingly placid in the face of socially unpalatable victuals."
It's Briar's turn to offer a snort, though his is soft, accompanied with an eye roll, and is less of a surprise.
"Like I was going to let you win that argument just because you busted out those eyes."
Him being even temporarily forthcoming is helpful, at least, and despite his occasional glances to Stephen earlier, he seems to have settled his gaze fully on Nazikeda now. There's a sort of unwinding in him as he does this, and the affection in his gaze doesn't seem affected, but purely genuine. Even when talking about a past argument.
Stephen could ask more (will ask more), but he's curious to see this conversation play out a little more, if it's going to.
"Engaging in reciprocity is hardly busting anything out," Nazikeda scoffs, though her own expression remains nothing short of delighted with the proceedings. "You flash your canines as though they settle your business for you. It is only fair."
"You were being annoying as shit," Briar instantly counters, and there is nothing faltering in this statement, no fight against an urge to use kinder words but coming up with the truth instead. It is simply exactly what he wanted to say. "That often did settle my business just fine."
"Do you argue much?" Stephen hazards, noting that, since neither seems particularly frustrated at the moment, it's probably fine to interrupt.
The assumption holds true as Nazikeda sets her sights on him quite easily, the purse of her lips amused and chiding in a way that makes him feel very and suddenly young for all the silver that’s already settled at his temples. "I could give you several replies to your question. For instance: Yes, quite often. I find it rather enjoyable. And also, just as accurately, no. Not all that often at all. You need better parameters."
This pulls a full laugh from Briar, who settles back in his seat, seemingly in his element for the moment. It makes sense - there's no way, particularly if they argue, that he hasn't been caught on the end of this as well, Stephen supposes. But this means that he's dealing with two individuals who probably know how to talk around the truth
"We argue what some would see as a normal amount, I imagine," Briar adds unhelpfully.
The auditor pulls in a breath, reframes the question a little. "Has anyone around you expressed concern about how often you argue, or the intensity of your arguing?"
"Oh, much better." Nazikeda nods her head in approval, claps her hands together in a pleased burst of motion that has him fighting some odd sense of personal achievement. Lord, the fae are exhausting. "No, we have never encountered that particular problem. And, before you are required to insult anyone by asking, I do not believe that either of us would say we feel threatened or unsafe. Yes, hayatım?"
Briar, who still looks somewhat satisfied, does wrinkle his nose, apparently at being asked a direct question. He glances to Nazikeda and pulls a bit of a face at her. "Wouldn't say I feel threatened or unsafe, no."
"Very well. We’ll just -" Stephen blows out a measured breath, taps the butt of his pen onto the paper, and changes tactics entirely. "What do each of you gain from your marriage?" His hand raises, stems the correction he can already feel brewing. "I know the question is open-ended. I want your responses first and then we can get into specifics."
This snaps Briar's eyes to Stephen again, and then back to Nazikeda, before they settle on him, glowering. He looks both offended and also… frustrated, perhaps. Like this has opened some can of worms.
"It's nice to cement our commitment to each other," he states tersely.
The same tension that seems to winch its way up Briar’s spine unwinds down Nazikeda’s in turn. She tuts, a faux-sympathetic sound. "Now you are just picking on him Mr. Allbright. Briar does not enjoy romanticisms. But I do." Briar's only response to this is a grimace that he clearly directs at his wife.
Nazikeda’s fingers, still twined together, come to rest in her lap. The neat, subdued motion at direct odds with the banked mirth in her expression. "That is not what you are asking, however, so I will venture to be kind." The 'venture' sounds qualified, even to Stephen’s untrained ears and while she keeps her gaze trained forward, her words aren’t at all for him. "What I have gained is simple. I have gained Briar." She shrugs, smile shaking itself out with a preening flutter straight to the tip of her wings. "It is not that I did not have him before, but he asks very little of me. Even knowing I would do most anything should he ask it - and that I could, if he did ask it. He has granted me both himself and no expectations. I have never been given this sort of favor before."
Now with eyes averted, Briar doesn't look shy or embarrassed, but rather deeply uncomfortable, as though someone is telling all his secrets while he has to sit and watch. Were Nazikeda's words different in any way it would raise alarm bells, but it's hard to note discomfort at such loving pronouncements as a red flag for a bad or coercive relationship. And, in fact, Briar nearly reaches out for her hand but once again retracts before being scolded, letting out a quiet huff.
"Don't need anything from you but you," he mutters under his breath, annoyed, and that, obviously, isn't for Stephen either, with how low it is said. He writes down a few things, though nothing of much importance, as he tries to focus himself again.
"So neither of you is seeking any monetary or property gain from this marriage?" Briar may not currently be in possession of money or property, but he could be. And Nazikeda is well-off, as far as they can tell.
Briar scoffs at this, both more hostile and more subdued, somehow, and Nazikeda’s attempt at an even and non-patronizing expression doesn’t quite pass muster as she replies, "I have no present need for either."
Stephen shuffles his papers once more, straightens the formidable stack of historical ascendancy front and center. "Influence, then -" he offers instead, pen tapping on at the margins. "Do you have any present need for that?" His gaze raises from the single-spaced blocks of text to meet hers and she blinks back at him, unphased. "You know by now the environment of social leverage your husband was raised in."
"And you know how much of that my husband is welcome to." The words are droll. Unimpressed. They really are a nightmare to deal with, neither of them scramble for their replies for nearly long enough. "If I wished for a power grab, I would not have chosen Briar to make it with. No offense intended, bir tanem."
"Would've been a real stupid choice," Briar agrees, shifting to rest his gaze on Stephen again. The two of them look nearly identically unimpressed. He sighs, trying to remind himself that this could be going worse, even if it could also be going better - and, as a matter of personal motivation, that it will eventually come to an end.
"And you aren't planning to use your wife's considerable abilities to stage a power grab yourself?" He might as well be direct with this one.
"Fuck no."
"You're not interested in using her wealth to achieve something similar, either?"
Briar scowls. "Again - fuck no."
"In fact, he is actively resistant to doing so," Nazikeda interjects, incredulity just a tad overdone. "Do you know what it is like to have to pout your way into being permitted to purchase something for someone?" She twists her ring, demonstrating an example of a pout that looks out of place on the still-otherworldly planes of her face. "It is dreadful. It is repetitive. It is tedious." Stephen coughs. "I do it anyway, of course."
"Keda's life is very…" And here, the werewolf gets tripped up, his face becoming increasingly displeased as he tries to get something out that is, apparently, untruthful. He shoots Nazikeda an annoyed look that she blows him a kiss in reply to. "One could think her life is very hard."
Stephen makes a small note that he has very little concerns about any upsets to the Hemming pack power dynamics due to this relationship, at least. With that being the biggest concern, outside of coercion, this point can be wrapped up. If only that were the end of the interview; at least they are nearing it.
"Do you plan on having children?"
The playful expression on Nazikeda’s face fades so quickly that Stephen is almost certain he can feel the ambient temperature of the room drop along with it. He straightens his spine and begins mentally outlining his plans to request three days of vacation the following morning.
"And what business of yours is that?"
He barely gets his mouth open to offer any level of clarification before Nazikeda cuts him off, her tone sharp and tart. "I resent the implication that one would require your stamp of approval on a piece of paper in order to validate or invalidate that decision for them." The tilt of her chin is imperious. "Do you have a separate department for it or shall I put in a request here?"
Stephen pulls in a breath, starting with, "To be clear, we have no intention or ability to say whether or not–" He is now cut off by Briar who, despite being sour the entire interview, has apparently reached a new level in tandem with his wife.
"Then it's definitely none of your damn business."
Nazikeda nods in agreement, no longer playing at smoothing out the rough edges of Briar’s attitude. The sharp edge to her own voice could cut glass. "You may be assigned to judge the licit legitimacy of our marriage, but you are not a part of it. Nor do you have any place in it." Her fingers curl at the armrests. "I am here because I allow myself to be, not for any other reason." Briar reaches to cover her hand with his own, and Stephen can't find the energy to argue with this for the moment.
He wonders, not for the first time in his career, why his superiors insist that the standard questioning manual isn’t in dire need of updating. (Pure laziness, he assumes. ‘Don’t try and fix what isn’t broken.’ feels an awful lot like ‘I don’t want to have to actively create and argue about a new one.’ from this side of the desk.) Three weeks, actually. He’s putting in for three weeks of vacation.
"Of course," he ekes out, hoping - and quite sincerely doubting his own ability - to smooth the whole thing over. "This is merely standard procedure."
"The answer to your standard procedure bullshit is we're not answering." Indeed, nothing seems particularly smoothed over. The werewolf does, though, retract his hand after a moment, but almost looks like he's going to bare his teeth. He doesn't. Stephen is going to write off this question and bring up with his superiors that it often doesn't go over well.
After his vacation, of course.
"Did you both agree to this marriage of your own free will and with genuine intention to honor it? Please only answer yes or no."
Nazikeda’s fingers return to span over her ring in the absence of contact, wings twitching at being restricted in her response. "Yes," she answers and, after a deliberate pause, adds a defiant: "To both points."
"Yes," Briar states only moments after his wife, still scowling. Though, Stephen supposes, that hasn't really changed during the entire interview. Nazikeda's shift in demeanor is still palpable. Uncomfortable. Apparently the rapport-building has been less than successful. He remains unastounded.
"Is there anything else either of you would like to share with me before this interview is concluded?"
"Fuck no," is there werewolf's nearly immediate reply.
Nazikeda, on the other hand, takes her time with it. Watches him like he’s the prey animal her husband could very likely make of him. "This has been -" she pauses, considers her words with purposeful care. "Largely diverting." It’s true; it has to be. It still feels like an insult. "But have you considered asking that last question first?"
The thing is, Stephen has. Even argued about it a few times, when he was younger and more willing to tilt at governmental windmills. It’s not like the wheels don’t usually fall off of these interviews within the first few minutes when the parties involved aren’t coming into the whole thing with at least halfway decent intentions.
"I’ll bring it up with management," he says, diplomatically. Christ, he hopes there’s still beer left in the fridge when he gets home. There's a quiet sound that comes from Briar, probably a scoff, but Stephen doesn't care to process it further than a noise.
"We all done here?"
He's about to tell them that yes, please, they are done, get out, but then he remembers, of course, that there’s a purpose to this whole bureaucratic nightmare. Stephen leans forward, writes a thing or two on the sheet he'd set aside, signs and stamps it APPROVED. He'd nearly forgotten in his eagerness to never see the couple again. He offers the paper to them, not caring which takes it.
"This is for your records. It will go on file here as well, in case anyone brings up any concerns in the future."
"Excellent." The seat unfolds itself into a high-backed accent chair as Nazikeda rises to her feet and refolds her wings to wherever they’re usually kept secreted, collecting Briar by the curve of his elbow without any resistance and plucking the paper from his desk. She scans the document carefully, tilting her head and taking her time with it in a way that feels pointed.
Once she reaches the bottom of the page, she nods, apparently (blessedly) satisfied. "That will be all, I think. Thank you for your time," she says, sounding every inch as though she’s the one who had been conducting the interview, and Stephen very nearly laughs in spite of himself. He hasn’t met two people so viciously and awfully well-suited to one another in years. He deactivates the runes and begins to ponder whether he should have a beer and then request time off, or vice versa.
But while it looks as though they're about to leave and bless him with an empty office once again, Briar hums, watching him. "Runes are deactivated now?"
Stephen nods.
"Nice talking with you," he says flatly, a parting jab that Nazikeda laughs at and Stephen can't bring himself to care about.
"Thank you for coming by."
Just before they hit the doorway, Nazikeda turns back one last time, her eyes still black from one corner to the other and her smile bright-edged and sharp-toothed. "One sincerely hopes that we will never have to see one another again."
And Stephen R. Allbright III quite possibly hasn’t agreed with anything more this entire shift.
WHEN: Not terribly long after being married??
WHERE: Some government building??
WHAT: A supernatural governmental group that makes sure supernatural marriages aren't coercive or magic-based audits these two nightmares.
WARNINGS: Dumb
There have been better meetings penciled into Stephen R. Allbright III’s calendar.
The trouble with Exotics is that they tend to make even the most seasoned professionals want to slam their heads against their desks. The fae in particular. Either there’s a complicated tangle of too much information - years of fictions and fables overlapping and diverging until the truth is strangled somewhere in the crosswires.
Or there’s this.
A desert dotted sparsely with question marks. It’s difficult to determine which option presents more difficulty in navigation. [[...] early reports differ, but they are largely considered to be morally ambivalent creatures[1]. Species is believed to be
Hell, even this version might have if the other folder hadn’t been stuffed half-an-inch thick with "Supplemental Materials."
There is truly too much here between the two of them, a strange mix of nothingness and overwhelming information. It's easy to see why this requires some circumspection, as both could be benefitting unjustly from marriage; is the one taking advantage of an expansive, influential pack, or the other taking advantage of a being with terrifyingly expansive magic? It gives him a bit of a headache. But not as much as the one he gains when the two arrive.
There’s an almost violent sort of contrast between them. Briar Hemming [[...]42, Second-Born - Twin[2]; (Excommunicated[2]) Son of Bracken "Ken" Hemming IV[3], Alpha of the Hemming Pack[4] of Moon Flower Ranch[5] outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming [...]] comes through the doorway like a thundercloud, his expression taut and jaw set. He's clearly displeased, and everything about his posture suggests the sort of macho, aggravated attitude he's seen in many a werewolf. All of it is somewhat expected, except for the way he's interlocked his hand with Nazikeda's, his grip clearly secure but not particularly possessive or tight. The peri is a slip of a thing, buoyed at the end of his fingers and smiling brightly as she herds him through the door like - well, bristling a bit more like a wet cat than a fully-grown werewolf as he sits down heavy in one of the chairs.
Nazikeda looks young. There is ample evidence to the contrary [[...] confirmed sightings date back to the early 1920’s [4] [...]] but it does little to combat the delicate and softened edges of her. As far as taxonomic camouflage goes, it’s an effective one. Evolutionary psychologists have argued that the urge to nurture is built into - Point being, he still has no idea which one of them he should be more concerned about in this case.
Briar offers a sort of grunting greeting along with a slight inclination of his chin and Nazikeda continues to provide a clear contrast, crossing her legs at the ankles and greeting him with a pleasant, "Good afternoon, Mr. Allbright." Stephen resists the urge to glance down at his notes - there’s nothing about her particular brand of fae and names, but it’s rarely the sort of area a person wants to take chances with. "I believe you wanted to talk to us about something."
Clearing his throat, settling a few of the folders in more easily accessible places, he smiles, saying his own good afternoon. It's friendly, even though the tiniest part of him is already tired.
"Yes, thank you for coming in. Given your somewhat... unconventional pairing and backgrounds, we wanted to make sure that both of you entered into this marriage voluntarily and legitimately."
He can see, immediately, that this makes Briar bristle - there's an aborted eyeroll, a shift in his chair, but as he's learned over the years that doesn't necessarily mean anything in particular. Especially with someone that shows up with the werewolf's attitude. "I'm assuming there's a whole gauntlet of questions you'll be askin', then?" At least this comes out more resigned than angry, which Stephen very much knows is a win. He's not a fan of having to subdue interviewees.
Nazikeda doesn’t so much wait for the inevitability of his reply, leaning herself forward. "And how do you guarantee your results?"
"Ethically," he replies, smoothing his fingers along the edge of his desk and falling into the easy pattern of scripted routine. "The autonomy and overall safety of our visitors is very important to us at the Bureau. We do our utmost to guarantee that this experience results in an ideal outcome for all parties involved." He glances up to find them both looking at him, unimpressed and politely interested in turn, and clears his throat. Tacks on a somewhat lackluster: "Of course." which Nazikeda echoes with a nod that skims the far side of patronizing and lands somewhere between offhand and entertained.
"One would certainly hope so.” Her head cants, expression not unlike one that his mother had worn when he had tried to escape upstairs after school without greeting her. Patient, but waiting on a specific result. "But that is not the question that I asked."
Stephen straightens. "Among other things? Truth." One of his hands rises, halting. "Compulsory, I must admit, but we find that it works out best when these questions are answered honestly."
"Well Keda's already-" And then Briar stops abruptly, the realization in his expression is clear. He leans forward, much as Nazikeda had, but the gesture has a drastically different energy to it.
"You think you're going to compel me to tell the truth?" he asks, low and sharp. His tone suggests not a clarifying question, but a challenge. Stephen notes that his hand remains in Nazikeda's, a quick scribble on a notepad.
"It's standard procedure," he replies, still smooth and business-like, because that's the only way to get through these meetings. Only way, in particular, to get through this part. He understands the discomfort. But, surely people understand the necessity as well. He has to put that into perspective, and try to present it as less of a big deal than it is. "It's the only way to ensure that both parties are free from the others' influence."
Briar's eyes dart to Nazikeda, expression somehow even more sour than it was before, to which she clicks her tongue and draws their joined hands up toward herself to press her lips to his knuckles. The gesture is warm, openly affectionate, but the twitch of her expression offers less sympathy and more amusement. (While the movement is subtle, his scowl takes on the slightest hint of a pout.)
Stephen scratches in a second question mark at the end of his last sentence. Circles it. Resists the urge to sigh and presses his thumb to the latch of his top drawer to let it slide itself open. "We use specifically keyed runes during the interview process. They will only remain active within the walls of this room and will not have any lasting effects once you’re finished here. If we get through everything quickly and smoothly, we shouldn’t need to utilize more than a few."
The crinkle of Nazikeda’s eyes smooths and her gaze cuts back in his direction, quick and sharp. "A few?"
"What the hell could you need more for? We're here, cooperating, apparently compelled to tell the truth."
"Future tense," he cuts in hastily. "You will be compelled. Activation is done subsequent to your agreement. Again, we do pride ourselves on being above-board with this and that requires both knowledge and consent."
This seems to do little to calm the werewolf. The contempt for the process, if not for Stephen himself, would be impossible to miss. Best to just forge ahead, then.
"Telling the truth is important, but showing it is as well. It's necessary to lower glamours. Again, to ensure that no one is being misled." At the indignant scoff of noise from Nazikeda, he adds a (helpful?) addition of "Or held against their will." to stymie whatever protest was simmering.
Of course, there are runes for a host of other things, but he's not about to invite more ire when those might not be necessary. Hopefully won't be necessary. He smiles again, hoping it comes off as reassuring, but the looks they're both giving him makes it difficult to not also show that he's maybe regretting his career path a bit.
The woman’s mouth snaps shut around what most assuredly would have been objection. (A small blessing.) "I am no swan maiden," she mutters. "I would, for the future, suggest better chairs. Yours are hardly accommodating of wings."
"They adjust a little in the back," he says, sympathetically. He won't admit that often for these sorts of things they prefer uncomfortable chairs to put the interviewees off a bit, but there are at least small accommodations.
Stephen then turns his attention to Briar, to get his verbal confirmation for the truth rune, and finds he's giving Nazikeda a slightly smug look before going to kiss her hand much as she had his. He's… got no idea what to make of that - another absent scribble goes on his pad of paper.
"Unfortunately, you will need to keep your hands to yourself during the interview as well. Now, if you'll both agree to the use of the runes, we can get started."
This last addendum is met with a more notable indignation than the first, frown marring the smooth planes of Nazikeda’s face before she stills herself back to even professionalism, hand returning to her own lap and her focus pinned starkly, solely on him. He feels, if it’s not too on the nose, a bit like a bug.
"Yes, very well," Nazikeda says, words clear and tone lofty. It’s both a relief and a concern. "You have my permission."
The werewolf, too, gives his consent, though initially it is yet another grunt that is quickly followed by a quiet, hostile, "You have my permission." Yes, he quite feels like a bug, ready to be squashed. Especially given the way that Briar's hands curl together in his lap, no longer softened by the presence of Nazikeda's. Well, worst case, the squashing will be metaphorical, not physical. It's fine. Stephen thanks them both, outwardly unfazed by the shifting dynamics, and goes to activate the runes, one after the other.
"The sooner we move through this, the sooner the runes will be deactivated and you can leave." Briar does not seem to appreciate this attempt at comfort, and Stephen notes with another scribble that he's seemingly struggling to keep his hands to himself.
The runes activate with little more than a touch of his finger, quick and efficient, without any real fanfair. Nazikeda’s glamour, on the other hand, falls neatly - not at all in the abrupt way that they usually snap out of sync. If the process were more relevant than the result, he might be tempted to call her on the fact that she almost certainly does it herself. And if the grin that’s adorning her face is anything to go by, she’s well aware.
Issue with control? Stephen moves to scribe, but is stalled by the questionably triumphant return of his own academic curiosity.
It isn’t a particularly complex glamour at all. The wings, yes. Sizable things, ruffling themselves out with feathers [[...] closer in appearance to that of birds[3] than those of insects, as are often found in other, more readily encountered races of fae [...]] shiny like new pennies, for which the back of the chair adjusts far more than it has any right to, folds itself neatly of its own accord. Definite issue with control. He finishes his statement. Underlines it.
The rest is less a radical shift and more a subtle air of something essentially and instinctively wrong. There’s something about her skin that is too smooth, her features too perfect. The color of her irises bleeds out to the corners of her eyes and, while the lines of her limbs are arranged in the same shapes, they sit spindly and strange. She blinks at him and her smile looks out of place under fluorescent lighting. "Are we satisfied?"
As Nazikeda speaks, Briar glances at her, and Stephen doesn't respond because he wants to focus on the werewolf's initial response to seeing her this way. It is… anticlimactic.
"Haven't seen you like that in a long while, Pretty," he says easily, the truth rolling off his tongue without struggle because he hasn't got any reason to be fighting against it. (She tips her head at this, flicks her fingers with an absent, "You know I find it gauche.") A positive note that he's not startled by his partner's appearance at all. Another that there doesn't seem to be anything missing from what the official forms have gathered.
"Yes, satisfied," he replies, refocusing on Nazikeda, but he makes a quiet tutting noise (a habit he has when his children misbehave) as Briar lifts a hand out to smooth some of her hair. The man practically hisses between his teeth, as before more cat than wolf. "Pain in the ass," he mutters, none too quietly, as he settles back in his seat.
"So you've seen her this way before?"
"Obviously."
"And the last time she dropped her glamour, what was the purpose?"
"Well, y'see, she was-" and here, Briar abruptly stops, swallows, caught up by the truth rune already. He fidgets in his seat, even as he seems to be thinking quite hard, before he replies, succinctly, "The purpose was to drop her glamour."
The sound that Nazikeda lets out at this is less strictly laughter and more of a snort, surprising mostly in its straightforward inelegance. She leans her elbow onto her armrest, chin into her open palm, and shifts her smile over at her husband, which he returns a little, despite his apparent mood. "Briar is being generous. The direct purpose was to be rude."
Stephen waits just a beat too long, waiting on elaboration that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming, before giving it up as not particularly relevant and moving on. No sense in prying now when he’ll have to pry later. Especially when she seems to be the one more willing to answer his questions in the first place. "And you maintain it perpetually?"
Nazikeda hums. "Not perpetually. Though you say that as though I am performing some sort of constrictive action. I am not." It is, Stephen notes, difficult to tell when her gaze is until he is directly centered in it. "I am no less myself with it, merely a more -" Her free hand waves, sketching out a sweeping motion next to her cheek. "Socially palatable version. Looking this way does not, as one might note, precisely blend in most situations. And I do prefer to avoid causing a scene in public when it can be helped."
“Understandable." Rapport. It’s important to build something resembling it here. "Glamours are distributed for that purpose, in certain cases." Stephen nods, shoots for conversational rather than interrogatory. "And your husband’s initial reaction - was that ‘a scene’?"
"Hardly," she replies, tone even to the point of dryness. "He can be disappointingly placid in the face of socially unpalatable victuals."
It's Briar's turn to offer a snort, though his is soft, accompanied with an eye roll, and is less of a surprise.
"Like I was going to let you win that argument just because you busted out those eyes."
Him being even temporarily forthcoming is helpful, at least, and despite his occasional glances to Stephen earlier, he seems to have settled his gaze fully on Nazikeda now. There's a sort of unwinding in him as he does this, and the affection in his gaze doesn't seem affected, but purely genuine. Even when talking about a past argument.
Stephen could ask more (will ask more), but he's curious to see this conversation play out a little more, if it's going to.
"Engaging in reciprocity is hardly busting anything out," Nazikeda scoffs, though her own expression remains nothing short of delighted with the proceedings. "You flash your canines as though they settle your business for you. It is only fair."
"You were being annoying as shit," Briar instantly counters, and there is nothing faltering in this statement, no fight against an urge to use kinder words but coming up with the truth instead. It is simply exactly what he wanted to say. "That often did settle my business just fine."
"Do you argue much?" Stephen hazards, noting that, since neither seems particularly frustrated at the moment, it's probably fine to interrupt.
The assumption holds true as Nazikeda sets her sights on him quite easily, the purse of her lips amused and chiding in a way that makes him feel very and suddenly young for all the silver that’s already settled at his temples. "I could give you several replies to your question. For instance: Yes, quite often. I find it rather enjoyable. And also, just as accurately, no. Not all that often at all. You need better parameters."
This pulls a full laugh from Briar, who settles back in his seat, seemingly in his element for the moment. It makes sense - there's no way, particularly if they argue, that he hasn't been caught on the end of this as well, Stephen supposes. But this means that he's dealing with two individuals who probably know how to talk around the truth
"We argue what some would see as a normal amount, I imagine," Briar adds unhelpfully.
The auditor pulls in a breath, reframes the question a little. "Has anyone around you expressed concern about how often you argue, or the intensity of your arguing?"
"Oh, much better." Nazikeda nods her head in approval, claps her hands together in a pleased burst of motion that has him fighting some odd sense of personal achievement. Lord, the fae are exhausting. "No, we have never encountered that particular problem. And, before you are required to insult anyone by asking, I do not believe that either of us would say we feel threatened or unsafe. Yes, hayatım?"
Briar, who still looks somewhat satisfied, does wrinkle his nose, apparently at being asked a direct question. He glances to Nazikeda and pulls a bit of a face at her. "Wouldn't say I feel threatened or unsafe, no."
"Very well. We’ll just -" Stephen blows out a measured breath, taps the butt of his pen onto the paper, and changes tactics entirely. "What do each of you gain from your marriage?" His hand raises, stems the correction he can already feel brewing. "I know the question is open-ended. I want your responses first and then we can get into specifics."
This snaps Briar's eyes to Stephen again, and then back to Nazikeda, before they settle on him, glowering. He looks both offended and also… frustrated, perhaps. Like this has opened some can of worms.
"It's nice to cement our commitment to each other," he states tersely.
The same tension that seems to winch its way up Briar’s spine unwinds down Nazikeda’s in turn. She tuts, a faux-sympathetic sound. "Now you are just picking on him Mr. Allbright. Briar does not enjoy romanticisms. But I do." Briar's only response to this is a grimace that he clearly directs at his wife.
Nazikeda’s fingers, still twined together, come to rest in her lap. The neat, subdued motion at direct odds with the banked mirth in her expression. "That is not what you are asking, however, so I will venture to be kind." The 'venture' sounds qualified, even to Stephen’s untrained ears and while she keeps her gaze trained forward, her words aren’t at all for him. "What I have gained is simple. I have gained Briar." She shrugs, smile shaking itself out with a preening flutter straight to the tip of her wings. "It is not that I did not have him before, but he asks very little of me. Even knowing I would do most anything should he ask it - and that I could, if he did ask it. He has granted me both himself and no expectations. I have never been given this sort of favor before."
Now with eyes averted, Briar doesn't look shy or embarrassed, but rather deeply uncomfortable, as though someone is telling all his secrets while he has to sit and watch. Were Nazikeda's words different in any way it would raise alarm bells, but it's hard to note discomfort at such loving pronouncements as a red flag for a bad or coercive relationship. And, in fact, Briar nearly reaches out for her hand but once again retracts before being scolded, letting out a quiet huff.
"Don't need anything from you but you," he mutters under his breath, annoyed, and that, obviously, isn't for Stephen either, with how low it is said. He writes down a few things, though nothing of much importance, as he tries to focus himself again.
"So neither of you is seeking any monetary or property gain from this marriage?" Briar may not currently be in possession of money or property, but he could be. And Nazikeda is well-off, as far as they can tell.
Briar scoffs at this, both more hostile and more subdued, somehow, and Nazikeda’s attempt at an even and non-patronizing expression doesn’t quite pass muster as she replies, "I have no present need for either."
Stephen shuffles his papers once more, straightens the formidable stack of historical ascendancy front and center. "Influence, then -" he offers instead, pen tapping on at the margins. "Do you have any present need for that?" His gaze raises from the single-spaced blocks of text to meet hers and she blinks back at him, unphased. "You know by now the environment of social leverage your husband was raised in."
"And you know how much of that my husband is welcome to." The words are droll. Unimpressed. They really are a nightmare to deal with, neither of them scramble for their replies for nearly long enough. "If I wished for a power grab, I would not have chosen Briar to make it with. No offense intended, bir tanem."
"Would've been a real stupid choice," Briar agrees, shifting to rest his gaze on Stephen again. The two of them look nearly identically unimpressed. He sighs, trying to remind himself that this could be going worse, even if it could also be going better - and, as a matter of personal motivation, that it will eventually come to an end.
"And you aren't planning to use your wife's considerable abilities to stage a power grab yourself?" He might as well be direct with this one.
"Fuck no."
"You're not interested in using her wealth to achieve something similar, either?"
Briar scowls. "Again - fuck no."
"In fact, he is actively resistant to doing so," Nazikeda interjects, incredulity just a tad overdone. "Do you know what it is like to have to pout your way into being permitted to purchase something for someone?" She twists her ring, demonstrating an example of a pout that looks out of place on the still-otherworldly planes of her face. "It is dreadful. It is repetitive. It is tedious." Stephen coughs. "I do it anyway, of course."
"Keda's life is very…" And here, the werewolf gets tripped up, his face becoming increasingly displeased as he tries to get something out that is, apparently, untruthful. He shoots Nazikeda an annoyed look that she blows him a kiss in reply to. "One could think her life is very hard."
Stephen makes a small note that he has very little concerns about any upsets to the Hemming pack power dynamics due to this relationship, at least. With that being the biggest concern, outside of coercion, this point can be wrapped up. If only that were the end of the interview; at least they are nearing it.
"Do you plan on having children?"
The playful expression on Nazikeda’s face fades so quickly that Stephen is almost certain he can feel the ambient temperature of the room drop along with it. He straightens his spine and begins mentally outlining his plans to request three days of vacation the following morning.
"And what business of yours is that?"
He barely gets his mouth open to offer any level of clarification before Nazikeda cuts him off, her tone sharp and tart. "I resent the implication that one would require your stamp of approval on a piece of paper in order to validate or invalidate that decision for them." The tilt of her chin is imperious. "Do you have a separate department for it or shall I put in a request here?"
Stephen pulls in a breath, starting with, "To be clear, we have no intention or ability to say whether or not–" He is now cut off by Briar who, despite being sour the entire interview, has apparently reached a new level in tandem with his wife.
"Then it's definitely none of your damn business."
Nazikeda nods in agreement, no longer playing at smoothing out the rough edges of Briar’s attitude. The sharp edge to her own voice could cut glass. "You may be assigned to judge the licit legitimacy of our marriage, but you are not a part of it. Nor do you have any place in it." Her fingers curl at the armrests. "I am here because I allow myself to be, not for any other reason." Briar reaches to cover her hand with his own, and Stephen can't find the energy to argue with this for the moment.
He wonders, not for the first time in his career, why his superiors insist that the standard questioning manual isn’t in dire need of updating. (Pure laziness, he assumes. ‘Don’t try and fix what isn’t broken.’ feels an awful lot like ‘I don’t want to have to actively create and argue about a new one.’ from this side of the desk.) Three weeks, actually. He’s putting in for three weeks of vacation.
"Of course," he ekes out, hoping - and quite sincerely doubting his own ability - to smooth the whole thing over. "This is merely standard procedure."
"The answer to your standard procedure bullshit is we're not answering." Indeed, nothing seems particularly smoothed over. The werewolf does, though, retract his hand after a moment, but almost looks like he's going to bare his teeth. He doesn't. Stephen is going to write off this question and bring up with his superiors that it often doesn't go over well.
After his vacation, of course.
"Did you both agree to this marriage of your own free will and with genuine intention to honor it? Please only answer yes or no."
Nazikeda’s fingers return to span over her ring in the absence of contact, wings twitching at being restricted in her response. "Yes," she answers and, after a deliberate pause, adds a defiant: "To both points."
"Yes," Briar states only moments after his wife, still scowling. Though, Stephen supposes, that hasn't really changed during the entire interview. Nazikeda's shift in demeanor is still palpable. Uncomfortable. Apparently the rapport-building has been less than successful. He remains unastounded.
"Is there anything else either of you would like to share with me before this interview is concluded?"
"Fuck no," is there werewolf's nearly immediate reply.
Nazikeda, on the other hand, takes her time with it. Watches him like he’s the prey animal her husband could very likely make of him. "This has been -" she pauses, considers her words with purposeful care. "Largely diverting." It’s true; it has to be. It still feels like an insult. "But have you considered asking that last question first?"
The thing is, Stephen has. Even argued about it a few times, when he was younger and more willing to tilt at governmental windmills. It’s not like the wheels don’t usually fall off of these interviews within the first few minutes when the parties involved aren’t coming into the whole thing with at least halfway decent intentions.
"I’ll bring it up with management," he says, diplomatically. Christ, he hopes there’s still beer left in the fridge when he gets home. There's a quiet sound that comes from Briar, probably a scoff, but Stephen doesn't care to process it further than a noise.
"We all done here?"
He's about to tell them that yes, please, they are done, get out, but then he remembers, of course, that there’s a purpose to this whole bureaucratic nightmare. Stephen leans forward, writes a thing or two on the sheet he'd set aside, signs and stamps it APPROVED. He'd nearly forgotten in his eagerness to never see the couple again. He offers the paper to them, not caring which takes it.
"This is for your records. It will go on file here as well, in case anyone brings up any concerns in the future."
"Excellent." The seat unfolds itself into a high-backed accent chair as Nazikeda rises to her feet and refolds her wings to wherever they’re usually kept secreted, collecting Briar by the curve of his elbow without any resistance and plucking the paper from his desk. She scans the document carefully, tilting her head and taking her time with it in a way that feels pointed.
Once she reaches the bottom of the page, she nods, apparently (blessedly) satisfied. "That will be all, I think. Thank you for your time," she says, sounding every inch as though she’s the one who had been conducting the interview, and Stephen very nearly laughs in spite of himself. He hasn’t met two people so viciously and awfully well-suited to one another in years. He deactivates the runes and begins to ponder whether he should have a beer and then request time off, or vice versa.
But while it looks as though they're about to leave and bless him with an empty office once again, Briar hums, watching him. "Runes are deactivated now?"
Stephen nods.
"Nice talking with you," he says flatly, a parting jab that Nazikeda laughs at and Stephen can't bring himself to care about.
"Thank you for coming by."
Just before they hit the doorway, Nazikeda turns back one last time, her eyes still black from one corner to the other and her smile bright-edged and sharp-toothed. "One sincerely hopes that we will never have to see one another again."
And Stephen R. Allbright III quite possibly hasn’t agreed with anything more this entire shift.
