Gold ➳ Lydia Martin

03; Prodigals Son

tendentious | adjective | ten - den - tious | meaning - having a tendency; written or spoken with a partisan, biased or prejudiced purpose, especially a controversial one.

03; Prodigals Son

Miles held out a hand to Allison, who gave him a quizzical look. He had hardly spoken a word to her since they'd left school, and then there he was offering to help her out of the car. Not without hesitation, Allison took Miles hand and stepped out of the car. Wordlessly, Miles shut the door behind her.

The pair were dressed in all black; Allison in a buttoned black trench coat covering up a a very formal black dress and Miles in black jeans, a black buttoned up shirt, and a silky black tie. He too had been wearing a jacket, but all the uncomfortable overthinking he'd been doing on the ride over had led to overheating, so Miles had opted to discard his jacket and leave it in the car.

As they approached the cemetery, camera quickly took notice of them and began snapping photographs. At some point Miles wrapped his hand around the lens of one of the photographers camera and gave him and incredibly colorful threat that lead to him and all the others to point their cameras at the ground instantly. Of course the camera clicking was replaced by a critical silence with a few ghostly whispers floating around here and there.

Frowning deeply and not daring to look at Allison's expression, he put his hand on his cousins back and quickly led her through the pack of hungry vultures. It wasn't until Miles and Allison had crossed the barricade into the cemetery that the vultures dared to hold their cameras in their talons again.

When the two young Argents made their way to their seats, Chris and Victoria were already there expectantly waiting.

"He's not here yet." Miles said. It was more of an observation, not entirely directed towards anyone in particular, but Chris still shook his head.

"No, he's now," Confirmed his uncle, "But he will be soon."

"Who?" Allison asked. She'd already taken a seat next to her mother, and were now looking up at the two men with vague confusion. Miles had at this point had grown used to the look seeing as that was almost the only way she'd look at him in the past hour, but Chris let out a long sigh and looked to his wife for assistance.

"You'll see in a moment, sweetheart." Victoria assured the girl.

Chris took a seat next to his wife, and Miles took the seat on the other side of Allison, who he noticed shifted when he did, but he couldn't quite tell if it was to further herself from him.

When Chris stood up, Miles could tell just by his expression who had arrived, and hurried himself to stand also. Miles straightened his broad shoulders, his hands clamping behind his back. Even after all the months he'd spent in near solitude in France, Miles had not forgotten how to properly greet his grandfather. That had been burned into his head right along with all of his other training.

"Christopher," Gerard greeted once he got close enough to his son.

"Gerard."

Moving with an odd amount of stiffness for a hunter, the two embraced each other. Miles couldn't see his grandfathers face during the hug, but he could see Chris's. There was no change in his usual expression, no display of affection of compassion, which might be odd between most pairs of father and sons, but Miles understood it because he was raised with the same expression.