[ He's at home early by his current standards - quite often, he ends up staying at the office until closer to midnight with questions to fine-tune, strategies to discuss with people outside of their European timezone. Tonight, however, he's drinking coffee on his balcony, street lights gleaming in the river a couple of stories below. It's quiet, really, though people are frequenting the cafés still, laughter echoing from within the narrow streets making up the twists and turns of the Old City. He's doing no work whatsoever right now; it's just the coffee and the silence, a rare break in an otherwise raging current.

The sound of a key entering the keyhole outside makes him pause, lips inches away from his coffee mug. He listens, intently, for that tell-tale twist of the key. Nothing overly violent about it, no, just a quick, decisive twist of metal born from years of habit. And - there. Yes. He relaxes instantly. Leaves his coffee on the table and rises from his chair to greet Marcel who's... here, unannounced. Wasn't he supposed to be at his father's house today, actually? Hackles rising again, he heads for the hallway and pauses.

Stares.

It's been... years, really, since he's last seen something like this. Marcel, beaten to within an inch of his fucking life. It just doesn't happen.

Unless. ]

Your old man finally lose all semblances of sanity?

[ His voice sounds blank, far-away. Hands clenching hard for a second, he leans against the doorway and watches, gaze deceptively calm. ]