Father: Oisin Morse; estranged when the Southern Elves crossed over. Nathaniel has yet to find him.
Mother: Méadaigh; estranged even before the cross over. Nathaniel has not seen his mother for most of his life.
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Role Play Sample
Nathaniel opened his eyes, and his mind was jarred by the fact that he gazed upon nasty florescent lights that illuminated a bare gray room. He picked up his hand to wipe the sleep from his face. His hand stopped with the light jangle of chain. At that moment he also noticed a growing unease in his stomach, marking the cuff on his hand as iron. He let his chin drop to his chest, and eyed the far too chipper looking suit across from him, just grinning behind a cup of coffee. Nathaniel remained silent, but raised an auburn eyebrow.
"I'd have brought something for you, but I couldn't decide if it should be coffee or just some leaves in water pretending to be a drink." The man's accent placed him as having grown up in the heartwood of Boston. He put his cup down, and sat forward.
"I guess you're not a tea drinker..." Nathaniel replied as he sat up fully, placing his arms on the table as best he could despite the cuffs.
"Yeah, can't stand the stuff." The guy watched Nathaniel for a few heartbeats. In that time Nathaniel was able to clear his head and notice a few things. The lights overhead were dated, and hung below the ceiling. The paint on the walls still smelled fairly fresh. The suit across from him looked legit, and the table was bolted to the concrete floor. The cuff on his wrist was real enough too.
"It isn't for everyone." Nathaniel said amiably, then resumed his silence. He knew a few things from his observations. He wasn't at a law enforcement agency, even if the mook he was talking to was law enforcement. That didn't mean he wasn't in trouble, but it meant he didn't need to worry about keeping kiddie gloves on.
"You know why you're here?" The mook sipped his coffee again.
"Not even sure where here is, but from my oh so fashionable accessory..." Nathaniel jangled his cuff, "...I'd say because you can't seem to find willing companionship." He kept his voice pleasant, and his smile never faltered, but Nathaniel could see the creases at the corner of the mook's eyes deepen, and his nostrils flare.
"I see yer mouth is as dirty as you are."
"And I see why you resort to chaining your conversation partners." Nathaniel chuckled. Behind the mask he was putting on, he was reaching out. The concrete beneath him was cracked where it touched the earth beneath. He instructed the plant life nearby to grow up into it, pushing inexorably higher, beneath the mook's chair.
"You know..." Nathaniel said, forestalling the suit from speaking again. "...the movie Hook had one thing right. Whenever someone says that they don't believe in faeries, somewhere a faerie falls down and writhes on the floor." Nathaniel's smile grew a bit vicious. "Only it's because they're dying of laughter, not because what you mooks think matters."
His nostrils flared as he pushed harder, he had to keep the guy talking while his plants worked, then he would have the upper hand and be able to get some answers.