[hr][h1][i][color=#800000]Mark Emerson[/color][/i][/h1][hr]

[I]"Papa, you said we'd work in the garden today."[/I]

Marigold sat impatiently on the counter of a kitchen as her father washed dishes, nodding with her statement. Plants of all shapes and sizes lined a nearby window, which let in enough sunlight to keep the entire room well lit. Even with Mark's line of work, the Emerson home was surprisingly [I]cozy[/I]. Brass pots and pans hung from the ceiling on hooks, and drawings covered every square inch of space on the refrigerator but the handle. Notches made with markers lined one edge of the wall, with tiny dates and height measurements next to them. The rooms smelled strongly of sage and cinnamon, and [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJkxFhFRFDA&noredirect=1]soft music played from a radio near the sink.[/url]

"I'm busy tonight, so I can't dig up the carrots with you, sweetpea." Mark polished off the last dish in the sink with a satisfying squeak, setting it on a rack. "Tell you what, sport." Mark said, flicking the last bits of water off of his fingers as he turned off the faucet. "Papa can't work with you in the garden today, but he [I]can[/I] give you a quick fly around town. Sound fair?"

"Fair." Marigold said, sliding off the counter. Her red hair seemed all the more fiery in the sunlight, just like the flower she was named for. Her eyes were the same deep shade of brown as her father, though unlike Mark, she was covered in freckles. Before Mark got the chance to tell his daughter to wash up, his cell phone rang in his pocket, buzzing with impatience immediately. It was a ring unlike the usual Acoustic guitar -- Only one contact had three plain beeps.

"Go put away those sheets I mentioned earlier, then I'll meet you outside." Mark said, pulling out his phone. Marigold nodded happily, and ran down the hall.

Mark opened up his flip-phone, and leaned back on the counter. "Yellow?"

His smile quickly faded as he listened. "Tomorrow?" He pinched his lip nervously, looking out the window to his garden. Every now and then, Mark would confirm with a "Got it" or "Mhm", but the conversation was clearly one-sided. He was receiving orders, after all. After a long stretch of silence, Mark spoke up.

"Sounds risky. A day after their fundraiser, and we're in the news every minute. You hear the radio today?" He said in a hushed tone. "Not for that amount. Remember the Kerry kid? That was just some nobody's kid and I got seventy five. No way this one's only eighty."

[I]"Papa, I'm gonna wait outside!"[/I] Marigold shouted down the hall.

"One fifty, and I'll have 'em from the crib to your arms in an hour." He paused for a second, before a silent fistpump. "You got it. I gotta run. Yeah." Mark impatiently sighed. "You don't have to worry about that. Alright. Bye."

He hung up the cell phone and jammed it into his pocket as quickly as he could, as if he carried something secret. Something [I]bad[/I].

"Be out in a minute, munchkin." Mark called out, stretching his wings.

[hr]

Mark soared above Verthaven, with Marigold clinging tightly to his back. Slowly but surely, she was getting harder to carry, though Mark pretended not to notice. He [i]liked[/i] that his daughter was still his little girl -- No doorslamming phase, no boyfriends, no hundred dollar makeups kits. They were high up enough that few people would notice them, and those who would would assume that Mark was simply a very large bird or a very small plane. His speed accounted for that.

Mark dipped down, pivoting his wings to catch the current, gliding quickly towards the ground. The two were closing in on the beach, or at least, the ocean [i]by[/i] the beach. Within moments, Mark glided down close enough for Marigold to dip out her hand and touch the water as he flapped, slowing down as they neared the shore. They'd rest for a while before going back home. It'd give Mark a chance to rest, but more importantly, a chance for his daughter to tire herself out. "Go find a friend to play with. Meet me back here in twenty minutes."

"Thanks Papa" Marigold said, leaping off of his back onto the warm sand. Mark stood up, stretching his wings in the sunlight.

"Hey man!" A voice yelled a few yards away with him. Instinctively, Mark cleared his throat, ready to shout. Mark turned around, ready for a brigade of NEST agents. Instead, he found a man with a scraggly beard and long brown hair tied back with twine.

"Hey man, aren't you that guy who was on that bird show on the History Channel?" He asked eagerly.

A simple case of mistaken identity. Nothing to worry about.

"Ehh, sorry friend, my inglesh es not good. No hestory show, very sorry." He said with a slouch. Even though the man seemed harmless, Mark wasn't taking chances. What if he was a detective? What if he was a NEST agent? What if he was one of Mark's [i]victims[/i]? There were too many factors for Mark to reply normally.

"Ah, alright, thanks man, sorry." The man said, turning around.

"Es alright, yes. Have good day."