[centre][color=black]𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗪[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/pqtpHY0.jpg[/img]
[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/LF0KJgM.png[/img][/sup][/centre][right][sup]Running from The Daily Grind to The Capital, catching up with Blake; [@Undine][/sup][/right]
Colin Renshaw was running late.

Not literally of course, not yet. He was actually walking late, not travelling nearly fast enough for someone who was already behind schedule and yawning constantly. The day had begun on time, actually, he'd risen to his alarm, lathered some toast in marmite and made tea all in a reasonable-ish frame of time. The problems had started when he'd opened twitter, just to check up on things, and been brought low by an avalanche of messages, @s and general carrying on. Most were not at him, so much, but at The Capital or articles he'd written on their site.

It took some time to dig himself out from under all of it but he still had time to get ready and walk to work when he was finished. Then, just as he was about to put down his phone, a comment on some picture he'd uploaded to Facebook reminded him of something completely different and he'd wandered off into the living room and starting sorting through the items on the mantlepiece. He was searching for one specific picture, taken on the same holiday as the one he uploaded to Facebook. No, it wasn't not there, must be upstairs in the office somewhere or maybe in Emma's room.

Time was getting short but not having brought his phone with him and not having dressed enough to be wearing a watch, Colin didn't even notice. He moved aside some of the clutter on the windowsill behind his table, shifting some old paperbacks, a stack of bills and an ornate pocketwatch... there it was. He lifted a picture frame out from the mess and placed it in a place of pride beside another, smaller frame at the front of the desk.

The one he'd rescued from the snowdrift of paper and office supplies was a quite recent and clearly taken as a selfie by Colin. It showed him and Emma a few years ago, standing atop a hill in Scotland. They were both damp and cold but were beaming with the triumph of having scaled the slope, rain glinting on Emma's glasses. That wasn't the trip that had resulted in Emma's... condition, it must've been the one before it but it still made his gut clench to look at. Colin had slowly moved it further an further back on the desk, putting reports and mugs of tea in front of it until it had been blocked from sight completely. Now it was restored.

The first picture, the one he'd never allow anything to be put in front of, was much older and a little grainy, though the ravages of time and experience had done little to change how Colin felt whenever he saw it. It showed himself and Emma, both fifteen years younger, as well as the missing member of the Renshaw family; Carolyn. The three of them were walking down a road towards the whoever took the picture (for the life of him he couldn't remember who did it) with Emma in the middle, holding both of her parent's hands and grinning madly. She was so small that they were almost hoisting her into the air and she seemed to be loving it.

For several minutes, Colin sat in his chair and stared at the two photos, lost down memory lane.

And then, with a start, he jumped up and looked down at his wrist. There was no watch there but he knew what one would tell him; you should already be gone. He scrambled into some clothes, grabbed his laptop and some relevant notes to fill his bag with and raced downstairs. Within a few minutes he was walking at a brisk pace towards the newspaper's offices, running through the checklist of things he'd need for the day in his head. Keys, wallet, phone, large supply of patience for talking to the boss... Checks all round.

Still, the trip wasn't that far and he was only five or ten minutes behind schedule... maybe he could stop in at the Daily Grind for a coffee? If he brought Blake one too, she probably wouldn't even give him more than a bit of side-eye for coming in late so it would actually be tactical to get coffee, he'd avoid a lecture or pointed questions. Having already talked himself into it, Colin detoured towards the cafe as he untangled his headphones and inserted them into his ears. What he really wanted was some calming background music but he was yet to properly understand Spotify and Emma refused to help him unless she was allowed to pick half the songs on his playlist, an ultimatum he wouldn't even consider. So the radio would have to do.

Now standing in the line, Colin drowned out the happy mumbling of conversation from around him and focused in on the radio. It was some modern pop song, something about feeling stronger and moving on, which was a little disappointing but then he was used to [i]On the Edge[/i] being very hit and miss. Sometimes you'd get lucky and hear a Queen track or even some Franz Ferdinand but mostly it was new bands that Colin hadn't the energy to learn all the names of. Still, he mostly listened because it was local and often the callers were people he knew.

But as the song came to an end, it wasn't the familiar voice of Louise that faded in, nor anyone else that Colin knew. It was a hard, cruel voice, tinged with a touch of excitement. It was what the voice was was saying that chilled Colin to his core though. A call to action, a rousing yell to the mob, asking them who was to blame for their problems and then pointing at one group; the Others.

Witches. Vampires. Werewolves...

And with that, Colin spun around and raced from the Daily Grind, almost knocking over a gentleman in a suit on his way out. He ran down the road, turned the corner and threaded through passing cars at a higher speed than he'd moved all morning, sprinting flat out all the way to The Capital's offices, where he took the stairs two at a time. Finally arriving at the office, he heaved open the door to stand, panting heavily, in front of his colleague. Judging by her look of self righteous outrage, she already knew about it, had maybe even heard the broadcast.

Without slowing down, Colin sprang over to his desk and got out his laptop.

"I heard the whole thing, I was on my way here and it just bloody came on! Has it been recorded somewhere? Have you transcribed it? How many people heard it?"

His fingers were already leaping across the keys, looking for the answers to those questions until another one stopped him dead in his tracks. He abandoned the latop and pulled out his phone, pulling up his most messaged contact.
[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/Tv4yZv4.png[/img][/centre]
Looking up, he was sure he'd just missed whatever Blake had said to him.

"Sorry, needed to check up on Emma, no reason to be worried though." he said, seemingly more to himself than to her. Focusing properly on Blake, he tilted his head to one side and observed her tired, feverish eyes. Almost like looking in a mirror, if mirrors showed you as younger, more smartly dressed and with better makeup.

"Alright, that happened. This whole... [i]thing[/i] just got ten times weirder, ten times more dangerous. How do we write this? What do we say?"