Nigel was at once everything and nothing that he seemed. Of course that was the life he had gotten accustomed to living a very long time ago. Too long ago for the average scope of his colleagues to ever hope to fathom, and he wasn't about to tell them otherwise. No, he wasn't about to tell them that a monster was 'alive' and walking amongst them. Better to leave that to their imaginations. Of course the reality of what he was, was far different than what the movies painted beings such as himself to be. That was in part thanks to things such as talismen and whatnot.
Yes, life and unlife were a lot more complicated than most would ever dream them to be. However it was all right for Nigel at this point in time. Though this recent case by a supposed Vampire did have him bristling. To his colleagues it seemed only that his usual morbid fascinations were coming to new light, if they knew the truth of it things would be far different. He could tell almost instantly that their chosen suspect was not a real vampire. Call it immortal's intuition. There was something about it that smacked of falsity. That and Alastair Dark? Please, names like that went out forever ago. He ought to know, considering that to his knowledge he was the oldest remaining vampire left in this world.
Cliché, it would seem – wouldn't it? However forensic pathology had actually been his line of work when he still had a pulse and still needed to draw vital breath. Both things he feigned now so that no one would be the wiser. He went back to it from time to time – not in every new life he chose, but every so often he would miss it and go back. It would seem a fitting job for one such as himself, wouldn't it? Well working in a blood bank would be nice, but he didn't really think they'd like that he'd be making withdrawals. It was a private vampire joke…
Only one of his colleagues worried him at all. Only one of his colleagues held his ancient attentions enrapt. That would be the enigmatic and mischievous Jordan Cavanaugh. There was something about her. She was an old soul of course, but then there was something else. Something deeper, darker – she seemed a kindred spirit perhaps. Either way she had held him ensnared from the first day she'd whirled through the office… To some she may have seemed as a hurricane, to him a breath of fresh air to his decayed lungs. She was the curious sort and damned good at it as well and that was part of what worried him. If she ever had the inkling, if anything ever tipped her off, she would not rest until she had wrested all his secrets from him. What scared him more is that he knew that if she pressed, he would bare the world to her. Not his soul, for he'd lost that long ago, but surely the world at the very least if not more… if not all he could reveal unto her.
Why? She was something else. She did not belong in this world anymore than he did. Which was why he so often stuck his pale neck out for Dr. Cavanaugh. This case was testing his mettle surely enough. It was making him want to turn tail and go right back to England from whence he'd come. The only thing that was holding him here was that same beauty that could well damn him a second time. Of course his knowledge of the darker, seedier side of life was going to serve well in this case… and likely arouse her suspicions more. Oh how he longed to arouse her in other ways, but that would have to wait. That would come later… before he disappeared again, he meant to bring her with him… oh yes, she would make a lovely huntress, a lovely one indeed and she would be his and he would be hers… but there was time for that… time for it all later.
Now he stuck his mind to the task of seeming more like the Nigel that they all knew and depended upon - the quirky, enigmatic, flirtatious, motorcycle riding, British forensic pathologist. It wasn't hard; it wasn't that far off course from the real Nigel. Not that they knew that. Not that they knew anything about him really, and it was for the best if he thought about it. He just had to be patient… he had to flex that darker side of himself without anyone realizing and bring in the true culprit of this crime. Of course if it really was one of his comrades in blood, he was going to have to hide it, but something about this didn't seem like it was from his kind… too sloppy. He knew well how to hide and dispose of bodies so there wasn't a trail of exsanguinated corpses laying about – as should any fledgling really.
He made his way into the meeting room. It seemed the entire crew was gathered for this case, not that he blamed them really, and it was something of a fascination for all mortals. It was something that they pondered, was immortality possible? Was a vampire's life so terrible? So many questions… and they mostly all believed that it was nothing but codswallop… fiction – thankfully. If every Tom, Dick and Jane knew of their existence, there would be hunters and too many fledglings and not enough humans… a dodgy deal if ever there was one and he liked things just the way they were thank you very much.
He took his seat between good ol' Buggles and Jordan… mmm Jordan. He couldn't help but wonder how she'd taste, and not just her blood either. He pulled himself out of that thought before things got awkward and gazed around to see who else was present. Oh look, Hoyt, that goody two shoes detective from Wisconsin. Why Woodrow had ever chosen to come to Boston had escaped him. He didn't want to think about it, in fact, he almost vehemently refused to think about it. That cop rubbed him the wrong way, and of course the fact that Woodrow was also enamored with a certain Irish forensic pathologist did not help the young man's case in the least. Nigel would love nothing more than to rip out the bloody bastard's throat… but that too was not a thought to be having at the moment.
Even Lily was here; poor Lily… that one was an innocent. She was the grief counselor of course, and he didn't really understand why she was here, save for that she was a part of the team. It really must be serious if they were involving even people like Lily in this. He slouched in his chair and steepled his hands and rested them on his stomach as he often did and turned his full focus to Garret, the man in charge of this rag tag bunch of misfits and M.E.'s. They really were coming out of the woodwork tonight then weren't they? Nigel just sat there and waited for the proverbial show to start.