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#2f252a || Outfit || Location
"Yeah, they really loved it here," she mused as she led him through the home and to the kitchen. He wasn't about to deny or affirm that, but the Bussards had to have loved it to stay here. There was no other reason to remain in Avery if you weren't Supernatural in some way. He made himself comfortable on one of the stools at the kitchen island, folded his arms over the counters, and leaned into them heavily. He's pretty tired, if he was honest with himself.
"I'd offer you something but I haven't gotten around stocking up," she mentioned with a bit of laughter, and he waved the thought off with a gentle chuckle. "Don't worry about it, Micaela, you have other things to worry about. Not me. I sort of dropped by unannounced, anyway." He looked around the space in quiet contemplation for a moment, and this big home felt awfully lonely for even just the two of them.
The second that the words slipped out of his mouth regarding the home and what was to be done with it, he caught her intense reaction. Though she smiled and her words fell from her lips were not of animosity, he realized that he had hit a really sore spot. The town knew Tristan's disdain for having to have grown up here, and it wasn't for a lack of the residents trying to make him feel welcome. The boy just never enjoyed it, and Micaela seemed to have the lion's share of kindness and wonder.
"Tristan wants to sell but I'll have to die too for him to do that." It took him a beat to digest that information, but he eased into the conversation with as much empathy as his personality could possibly muster. He didn't have the greatest way with words, and he certainly didn't like to mince them. Yet, he felt compelled to do so.
His head tilted and eyes met her face briefly, "You always liked this place. What will you do in Avery? I'm sure the places you have been are far better than this." He was attempting to not sound condescending or as if he wanted to change her mind, but he's not sure what else to tell her. Avery wasn't a special place for a human, and from the death of the Bussards still an unknown cause to him, he wasn't even sure if it was safe for them.
Micaela soon moved on from the conversation, and it wasn't really his place to get involved in the affairs of the Bussard siblings. "I hear you're the sheriff now, how fitting," she said to him, which pulled him out of his momentary stupor.
"How boring, more like it," he grumbled, his eyes flitting to his folded arms as they rested casually against the counter. "The job is actually why I am here, Micaela. I was wondering if you had any thoughts about what may have happened to your parents." It would behoove him to glean information from her; to see how much she thinks she knows.
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#394158 || Outfit || Location
"I honestly don't know," he shrugged with a long drawn out sigh, looking back at the glass at all the pastries and baked goodies left out for the eyes to consume. "I haven't seen my sister since I left this place, and we aren't exactly on good terms. I don't even think I have her phone number," he confessed easily, and if confiding in a friend rather than a stranger.
While his demeanor exuded no physical note of emotion, it was perfectly clear - as palpable as they would be to the empathic fae - that he was nervous. Internally he was doing all he could to avoid the situation that he knew he was going to walk into. There would be an argument, he would probably say horrible things to Micaela, and their relationship will be left more shattered than it was already. Deeply seated in this aloof veneer of possible sociopathy was a ton of regret.
Regret for coming. Regret for leaving. Regret for never calling and never checking up. Regret for never knowing what Micaela's life was like, or how she was getting along - or telling her that he nearly lost his life in war. Then there's that very, very, very heavy guilt that was never caring enough even after near-death to reach out.
Tristan stood here, however, as if there was no care in the world. As if this was a chore that needed to be done, and by Gods, was it a chore. He shouldn't have come, but Micaela shouldn't be here by herself. Especially after the death of their parents, which he fully intends on bugging the Sheriff about.
He looked away from the good and turned his gaze toward Lana, "You know what? Whatever you get, I will get for her. How's that sound?" He juts a thumb toward the baked delights, "I'll pay, so pick the best. Your treat is my treat. I'm counting on you," he mustered a smile at that, cracking his own joke with some serious undertones because he really was counting on her.