"There's a box for you, Graham," Bessie called to him when he came home to Sunnyside. He blinked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, "Where is it?" Bessie's voice came from the kitchen, "I gave it to Jo to put in your room, I hope you don't mind." Graham smiled and slipped out of his shoes, leaving them downstairs so he didn't track snow and ice into the bed and breakfast. So far, no one had stolen his shoes. Climbing up the stairs one at a time, he reached into his jacket pocket to dial Jo. He figured that he would be home by now. He stopped at the top of the stairs, listening for Jo's ringtone to tell him he was near. At the very least, which bedroom he might be lounging in.


Jo was lounging in Graham's room, contemplating the box. He was like a kid at Christmas, picking at the tape. Knowing he was going to be caught snooping, Jo then left the box alone and decided to break up all of those blue frost roses and sprinkle them onto Graham's bed. Yes, that was romantic, right? And maybe Graham wouldn't notice that a corner of the tape had been lifted. Jo's phone went off, surprising him. He yelped and jumped from his spot and into Graham's bed. He was wearing just his boxers.

A yelp from his bedroom, huh? Just before he turned the knob, opening the door to see Jo standing, like he was surprised or something had bitten him. Graham chuckled, wiggling his phone to indicate that he had been the offender, "Gotcha. Also, I was wondering if I had my own ring tone." He slid his phone into his jacket pocket and dropped his messenger bag of school things on the floor, letting the bag slump against the night stand. His eyes drifted to the shower of blue petals on the bed, which prompted him to smile, "I see you've been busy."


There had been, in fact, a ring tone for Graham. "Let's Talk About Sex" by Salt n Pepa played until Graham opened the door. A button on the phone was pushed and he grinned at Graham sheepishly. "Just a little," he chuckled and tossed the phone onto the dresser. "How was your day, Mr. Cooper?"

"Not bad. I'll be working a little late tomorrow, Katie had something come up and asked me to cover detention for her." He stepped over to Jo to kiss him, looking down at his mostly naked form. Oh, right! The door. He turned to shut the door, hanging his coat up on the hook at the back of the door before he turned around, "I have a request." His hands were placed together, palms kissing in a prayer motion.

"When's Katie going to do something for you?" Jo pursed his lips and pouted with disappointment that Graham was going to be late. He watched as Graham closed the door behind him. The hands made Jo think that Graham was about to bow. "What's up, Gram?" he smiled into the kiss. "Mmmm more of that and I'll steal the moon for you."

"I would do anything you wanted for a little bit of a back rub. My shoulders are killing me. I was hunched over the computer today putting in the grades and didn't notice it until I started hurting." Poor posture was not to be mocked! But it was nothing that Jo couldn't work out of him. He pulled his sweater off, tossing it aside, grateful to be out of the layers and layers of clothes. He could have sworn that there were times he felt lighter, as if he were wearing pounds.

Jo reached for the drawer of motion lotion the moment Graham said he wanted a back rub. "Just take off everything and get onto the bed," he smiled and squeezed a bit of oil into his hands. He turned towards Graham, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. "I'm sorry your back hurts. I'll make it all better."

There was a glance to the package as he undid his belt buckle. The look on his face said that he was curious about it, that the item was an unexpected one. It could wait, couldn't it? Dropping his pants and everything underneath with it, he pulled his shirt off and then climbed on the bed, lying on his stomach with his chin hanging off of the corner of the mattress. The blue flower petals were cold, momentarily licks against his skin, "You're a saint. How was your day?"

Once Graham was on the bed, Jo straddled his hips and leaned forward to put pressure onto Graham's shoulders with a gentle squeeze and rub. "Oh you know same old stuff around here. Who sent you a care package? Your boyfriend?" It was a tease but Jo had been wondering and worrying about it all day.

"I have no idea. I didn't order anything." It was close in size and dimensions of an old VHS tape. It must have been hand delivered or there would have been address information other than Graham's on it. Quietly he had suspected Jo of it, and still did to some extent. Jo had gotten him to go out to the bar that time he was 'delayed in Egypt." He might have been playing unaware in an attempt to nudge him to open it. He was waiting for a 'maaayyybbbeee you should open it' from Jo as he faked innocent curiosity. A groan left him as the sensation of pressure from the man's palms moved on his back.

"Maybe it's a book or an old sex tape," he chuckled as he worked the knots and tension from Graham's back. "Geez, Crackers. You really are all tense and tight. Maybe you should lie off of the computer. Let me do that for you." Jo and computers weren't exactly a match made in heaven. In fact, he'd just barely learned to use his phone.

"If it's an old sex tape I'm not the one in the video." He said with a smile. He would have said something about it being sent to the wrong person if not for the fact that his name was clearly written on it. When Jo didn't push for it to be opened, he began to believe that it hadn't been from him. A chuckle made him vibrate briefly, "Crackers? You sound like the teachers I work with. Shut the front door!" That was the other one they said instead of 'shut the fuck up.' When Jo mentioned him lying off he smiled, shutting his eyes and letting himself melt into the hands, "Gotta get the grades put in, parents can check them online at any time now. Constant updates."

"So when do you have time to teach?" Jo leaned over Graham's back to kiss him between the shoulder blades. He then sat up and reached for the package. It was set beside Graham on the bed. Jo picked up his phone and after a few swipes and pokes, he smiles as it dials Graham's phone.

"Exactly." he said with a smile. When he felt Jo's lips between his shoulder blades he smiled. He felt Jo's weight shift as he leaned over for the package. He turned his head to look at it and started to twist so he would lie on his back beneath Jo. It was about mid-twist that his phone in the pocket of his jacket at the door went off. I don't want... anybody else... Graham groaned, putting both hands over his face. Behind his hands and under Jo, he was trembling with laughter at being caught. Jo had turned that around on him sooner than he thought he would!

Jo lifted up so that Graham could roll over and when that song began to play, Jo looked down at Graham with the widest smile on his face. "Oh my God!" he laughed and put his hands over his face as he laughed. He wasn't laughing at Graham, or the song. Lifting his hands from his face, it was beet red. "You are just too much!" Leaning down, his mouth crashed with Graham's.

"I have been meaning to change it, I can't have that go off in a parent teacher con--" he was cut off when Jo washed against him, both smiling when the met each other. His hands cupped the sides of his face, holding him near while they kissed. When lips finally did break away, Graham looked as though he were blushing from it, too.

"Don't change it," he begged. "You can just turn off the ringer when you're in class or at a conference." Jo sat back up and put the package square into the middle of Graham's chest. "Open it, mister."

Plastered upon every tree, post and verticle surface around Rhy'din are posters that read: DANGER! RHY'DIN FLU! INNOCULATE NOW!!

The RHY'DIN FLU is rampantly running through the city, renedering it's citizens unable to curse, consume alcohol of any kind, use profane language or to engage in copulation. Some are calling it the GRANDMOTHER FLU! Get innoculated TONIGHT! ONE NIGHT ONLY! See Robert at a convenient location in front of the Red Dragon Inn.

Robert smiled at the last of the posters he put up. Follow that, for two nights he gave shots to the willing, free of cost. There was even a mask provided to them, compliments of the Rhydin orphanage. Soon, there was a dispersion of people, masked in multiple ways. Robert smiled as he watched them walk and move. It felt like Halloween, watching them smile, walk and play with their masks. Masks could bring out the youthful, criminal delight in people. They flirted with the idea of taking on another persona for fun when they hid their face. Some liked to tempt the waters of seduction, pretending that their naked form could someone look like another's if their face was obscured. A brief, gentle, nostalgic smile made the corners of his lips turn up.

Halloween was always a chance to be something else, wasn't it? It was a time that humanity opened their arms and invited the demons and the dead to play with them. Just for a night. His smile faded. He packed up the last of the vaccines and materials in his grey truck, leaving the masks behind at the bar.

Let those who wanted to play with them, play. It was a flimsy excuse to express an inner desire without reproach.

(Play from 02/17)

Often he went to the inn, just to gather his thoughts and socialize. Tonight, it was quiet, so he slipped behind the bar to play bartender. You could hear a lot from, well, everyone that way. His eyes skimmed over the bottles, his fingers picking at them to twist them so that their labels faced outward. His hand went over the glass to clear some of the less-loved selections so that they weren't dusted. His weight rested on the back of his heels while he thought, selecting a particular glass, turning it over on its bottom and pouring. A good scotch didn't want to be ignored.

Neikla had already been settled at the bar in her normal spot. The place towards the far corner where most people didn't want to sit. That end of the bar was darker and was the place where the empty casks of beer were stacked waiting to be returned. It was here the albino sat with a bottle of red wine, something of class that seemed in direct contrast to the stern, almost aloof measure of her features. It was rare that she interacted with anyone, and so there might have been question why she even bothered lurking as she did. A woman sat a few stools down from her, offering a friendly smile... a smile that was returned with cold, impassive eyes of dusty-pink. Had the albino not moved to watch the stranger fixing things behind the bar, one could have imagined her to have been carved from marble. That skin was beyond white, rather, it wasn't that she was lacking pigment, but that the pigmentation of her skin mimicked that of snow.

The woman spoke. "So, what is good here..?" simply trying to be friendly, to which Neikla said nothing, her attention turning to the glass of red white, slowly swirling it, watching the tears rain down the inside of the bowl.

"The Blood Mary," he interrupted, seeing that the albino had no intention of answering her. Robert didn't mind being a little bit of a conversation savior, then. His smile was slight and though there was nothing outstanding about him, there was a sense of oddness. His eyebrows arched up to see if the woman was willing to leap on any suggestion. It took someone company-starved to push and unwelcoming figure like the albino for company.
The albino actually seemed slightly perturbed by the intrusion of the female to her right. The woman did in fact jump at the suggestion and offered Robert a welcome smile for it, there was something of a giddy smile.

"Funny that, my name happens to be... Mary." She laughed, softly. Neikla at this point rolled her eyes, muttering something into the glass as she took a drink. The wine stained her lips, leaving those ashen tiers red, a striking contrast against the ghosted flesh of her features. Side-ways press of those rose-quartz eyes upon the woman. It was clear she was hitting on the man behind the bar, when Robert looked away she had tugged at her shirt, opening it a little more to expose the upward swell of breasts. The licking of lips to make them moist, the fluffing of hair to frame her face. To this, Neikla smirked and turned away, annoyed all the more.

"Mary Mary... quite contrary," he poured the drink for her. Stick of celery and a jalapeno for it as well, all three impaled on a small, plastic sword before he slid it to her neatly, "How does your garden grow?" It was difficult to say if he were flirting or mocking her for her name and the way she carried on. The near sour expression from the albino wasn't missed, but she was of more interest to him for other reasons. Breasts, and sexuality, generally weren't the way to get his attention. It had all been seen, done, tried and tested before. What was more interesting, though, was *what* that other woman was, "And you, another glass?"

The last week Neikla had taken on a large amount of darkness, drawing in that injury from Petar as Luki had healed him. This had left Neikla needing to vent, though she had held it all in, and was now wallowing in her misery. The dour expression worn openly, as if she detested the world, despised the woman for all her beauty. Mary was indeed contrary and seemed to think she might have had a chance with Robert. She took the drink quickly and made sure that her fingers brushed against his as she did. "Thank you..." the fluttering of her lashes. It was painfully obvious, the way she leaned forward to exposed her cleavage was, in Neikla's eyes, utterly pathetic.

"Oh, for the love of God, go whore yourself somewhere else..." she said without looking directly at the woman. Her eyes narrowed in Robert, perhaps to see what he might do, inwardly betting to see if he would fall for the pathetic woman's charms.

It was something like a smell, that misery. Robert leaned in to Neikla as if to see if her drink were low. His breath took her in and then he smiled at the simple, flirtatious creature at the bar. Robert must have dealt with them before. It wasn't that Rhydin attracted them, but that a bar with alcohol did. The woman looked prepared to argue with Neikla, ready to sling insults back and forth. Robert's voice interjected with the compliment, "I love what you're wearing." Just how much would it bother Neikla to see the whore getting attention? Didn't it seem that so many men leaped upon the quick fix, too impatient to value or understand anything else?

"If I wanted another drink I would get it myself," in reply. A measured look upon the man, as if she thought to say something more, but then he made comment of the other woman's attire and her smirk grew tend fold.

Mary all but fluttered, preening herself like a bird of paradise. She took a delicate sip of the drink, offering Robert an inviting smile that spoke volumes before she turned her blue eyes upon Neikla. She looked the albino up-and-down, the scoffed. "No wonder, " she said, implication carried within those two words of how Neikla looked. The smug cant of her shoulder turned against Neikla as she offered Robert a pretty smile. "The drink is wonderful, makes me all warm inside..." a soft flush kissing her cheeks, the sexual innuendo was clear.

At that, Neikla turned, one elbow on the bar as she took the woman in full view. "Shouldn't you be working, you know... down the road at the whore house? I didn't think you were allowed to solicit business in here." It was said with a straight face, her voice lacing those inflections that most painted their words with. Almost as if she refrained from offering any emotions other than the sour, bitter notes of misery. The woman was visibly offended and turned to face Neikla, but the albino had already turned away, smirking to herself.

Neikla's taunt to the woman couldn't hide her inner ire. Beyond that, he knew what it tasted like. It was something that he enjoyed indulging in. It was like a truffle, only the favor held on his tongue longer. Robert took in a whispered breath through his nose before pulling down a wine glass, preparing himself a Merlot. His eyes followed back and forth between them, but he encouraged Mary to continue her fluttering, "Oh, she's just jealous," in response to Neikla, his grin broadening, "If she could get a man in bed as easily as you, well, perhaps that would work better." Then he cleared his throat, the amusement at twisting the knife in the situation fading, "But in all seriousness... you should be a bit more picky when it comes to crawling in bed with someone."

Mary opened her mouth, her voice raised a few octaves as she snapped at Neikla. "You would have to work at a whore house to get any attention from a man, and even then I think you would have to pay them," she said, holding her head up high as if she were suddenly royalty. She seemed to be feeling mighty full of herself, that was until Robert openly chastised her for being so brazen with her flirting. " I was only being friendly?" a blush of red to her cheeks. "You people..." she said, then slipped off the stool and hurried away to find more appealing company. Neikla seemed unphased by the woman's words. The stoic, mask-like painting of her face shifting only when she took the glass to her lips, draining the last few dregs of wine. She reached from the bottle only to find that it was empty. Robert was standing in the way behind the bar of her leaning over and reaching another. "If... you don't mind?" as waspish tone, as if she would hold it against him to have been in the way of her getting another bottle of wine.

"It carried a heavy price," he contended, when she made the motion of him like he were a simple barkeep. A nudge and his weight was away from the bar, fingers drawing around the neck of a bottle before he drew it up. The other hand held the corkscrew and both, in his hands, sat on the bar at his end, just opposite of her, "I require your name before I continue." Was it flirty? If it was, he wasn't being outright so. Her company was a rich one. The more she drank, the more she might indulge what was bothering her.

Neikla sat there for a moment, looking at him as if she had turned into a stone wall. She didn't even blink. So, the man was going to play that game, asking her name in return for refilling her glass. As if she couldn't just get up and do it herself, however, she was feeling lazy and simply couldn't be bothered. So he wanted her name, it wasn't like her couldn't simply ask someone who she was. Many people knew her; if only for all the wrong reasons. "Nei-kla.." staggering it, making it clear she was not inclined to be offering anything more. Pushing her glass towards him. "Now, fill the fucking thing will you.." aspen lips stained in the center with wine gave her a china-doll appearance.

In some places, a name itself carried value. Neikla. When he heard her pronounce it he smiled, not needed to practice. There had been far more difficult names in the past that he was one to contend with. The metal twirl of the cork screw was plunged into the top of the wine bottle, given several hearty twists before the yank and 'pop' which followed. He poured a half glass for himself first and then an entire one for her, nudging it towards her after he had done so, "You're not human... I can't... exactly tell what you are." he confessed with a smile, grabbing the cork screw and rotating it to free the cork of it off so he could recap the bottle.

Information as to what she might have been. Him however, she guessed human. Now she waited for the next thing he would say, almost amused by the fact that he even bothered to talk to her. She did turn, casting a look back across the common room; perhaps all the women had left? Or, he was one of those that had an elf fetish.

The impatient tap of his fingers on the lacquered surface of the bar, "Maybe being deaf is part of what runs in your bloodline." If something nice didn't work, an insult was equally as good as getting someone's head to snap in his direction. His eyebrows arched up and then he sipped his glass of wine, leaning in, "You seem to be quite bothered?" Only because he could have gotten drunk off the woe she radiated. Robert wasn't doing himself any favors, he had hardly endeared himself to her the whole time. The opportunity, though, to rile her with snappy replies to the flirty woman had been an opportunity he couldn't resist.

"I'm deaf to stupidity..." was her reply, those eyes drifting away to stare off out the window as if something beyond would offer her solace. "... you would have better luck somewhere else," she said, implying that his attentions would get him nowhere. Neikla may not have been a prideful creature, she did however keep herself clean, and that hair was pulled back neatly into a tight single pony-tail that hung clear down past her shoulders. There was also something else, an inverted spider-harness that housed two well-maintained short swords. It was a strange way to wear swords, upside-down like that. It meant the only way to draw when was in the 'blades down' position. Not something someone would do unless they had a fare measure of skill. Her clothing, too told a simple story, hand stitched doe-skin pants and a simple white cotton shirt that left very little skin exposed. She appeared almost completely flat chested, but if this was because she was lacking, or if she had bound her chest, only she knew the answer to that.

"Oh, I am having excellent luck being exactly where I am now." Which was... also true. His eyes going to her as if to challenge her to tell him that he wasn't. As far as it could be seen, Robert carried no weapons, no armor. A man with so few defenses was either stupid or was in the strange place of not requiring the use of any. His clothes were manufactured, impersonal and polite. The museum curator certainly looked the part, didn't he? There was the lift of his glass as he 'tinged' it against her's, forging the toast between them, "To the stupid, then."

It was indeed a strange, if not curious expression that walked across her face. She couldn't figure that man out, why he'd have opted for her company when there were far, far more suitable, and more applicable people to choose from. Had she, however known of his needs in such ways-and-means she might have unloaded on his. Then again, the woman did like to wallow in her misery, it had become a strange for of self-mutilation. "Stupid people..." repeating his toast before lifting the glass to her lips, swallowing down the rest of the wine in one mouthful before returning the glass to the bar, clearing intended for him to refill.

If anyone knew that she wallowed in her misery, it was him. Being near her felt like being near the sun. It made him smile and want to take his shirt off. All of that wasn't something she could possibly understand, he didn't even pretend to explain it. His hazel eyes picked over the people in the bar, putting on the air of being less interested in her than he was, in actuality. There was no immediate interest in impressing her. He was content that they might be snarky and address a room of what were, essentially, strangers with the presumptuous title of 'stupid.' Another swallow of his glass after she drank before he smiled, "Isn't it frustrating? That ignorance is bliss?"

As the saying went, misery loved company. There seemed to be a moment of consideration upon hearing his words, not that she was thinking about what he had said, but rather if she should reply. Sometimes it was simply a matter that she never knew how to talk with people. Taking a sip before answering, her lips now a blistering red. "...It's infuriating," she said, turning her head to look over the room as if to mark those she would have liked to run her sword through.

"Yes," he agreed, leaning in his pose behind the bar, lifting the wine bottle to refill her drink. Someone like her was sure to loosen up once she was three sheets to the wind. He felt like she was just itching to tell him of every small detail of what was bothering her, to which he would gladly permit. Robert would have happily watched her pick a fight, but instead he waited with a faux, friendly posture, "Are you sure there isn?t something bothering you?" As if he didn't want to hear all about it.

It was going to take more than a bottle of wine to get her tongue wagging. Neikla was as unforgiving as the mountains to the North where high above the clouds nothing but ice and snow could reside. She watched him a moment, one of those ghosted brows arching above the other as she tried to figure his motive for asking such. Classic bartender tactic. She took another sip, the wiped her hand across her mouth. "What, something has to be wrong because I don't feel the need to act, as they do?" a nod of her head towards the common room and the jocularity that was assaulting her ears. There was one laugh in particular that was getting on her nerves.

"Or... you know, jovial in any form or fashion," his hazel eyes weren't letting her go. She could shrug off the politeness of everyday conversation or that flirting was some crumpled form of communication. She could not, however, deceive him when it came to her persistence to being downtrodden. It was something he knew particularly well. "When was the last time you laughed?" Oh, say it had been a year. That would have been something equivalent to an orgasm for him. In preparation of a fantastically horrid answer, he looked away and sipped his wine, hoping for a delicious wave to hit.

Brows came crashing together at the question, and from it one might conclude she thoughts it obtuse, for the look that came was baneful, as if he were mocking her. Did Neikla ever laugh? Certainly he might have inquired with others and found there were few, if any that could remember her having done so; unless the laughter was meant to be mocking or hurtful in nature. She really was a dour creature full of venom and spite for everyone that found it easy to obtain joy. She hated them for it. She hated the sound of it and would have gladly made herself deaf at times to avoid hearing such joy. So why did she bother coming here if it only caused to torment her? For that exact reason. A twisted sense of self, of need to feel that anguish, to obtain the sorrow and self-pity. She was the one person that could be within a room full of people, and still be alone. None of it showed outwardly, for she had practiced that mask of indifference, wearing it in the same way other women wore make-up and fancy clothing. There was a sort of choked snort as she found his query intrusive. "Listen... do you want something..?" she said, her tone holding a bite to it. "Because, unless you wish to hire me for something, there is little point in this conversation. I do not need, or wish company." Dead-pan and to the point.

"Yes, I do," he said with a smile. It was Robert that knew, as well as she, the torture she put herself through. It was because of it that he was drawn to her, to be honest. A lift of his glass for a swallow before he continued, "But I'm not sure, you're not very subtle sooo... Hiring you is hiring a rather heavy-handed tool, isn't it?" His smile reappeared. It did not carry with it the sense that he was mocking her, so much as he was challenging her. Lips pressed in a line and then he did a hip lean to the counter, "Though, I suppose I should ask what services you provide?" Beyond the feast of her company, of course.

Instead of starting with what she could do, or what she was willing to do for money, she opened with something she simply refused to be hired for. "I will not kill for money." sweet and to the point. She took a drink, smirking at the heavy handed comment. "I'm an elf, I can be light of nature when needed." she was looking at him, thought never in the eyes. Not that one could tell, she had a trick to that, always aimed towards the center of the bridge of the nose. She took stock of him then, noting his clothing, the way he carried himself. "I have been hired in the past to procure items of certain value without leaving any trace of my passing?" she took another drink, pausing a moment. "I have no intention of spending a single night within the tower." somewhat prideful of the fact she had never gotten caught.

"Killing is sooo... old school," he agreed. When she mentioned procuring items of certain value, there was the tip of his head. Then, the response she should have expected. The sort that all men put to women, though perhaps most veiled it under the pretense of emotional connection, "No friends with benefits, I take it?" An offbeat comment to the tower she mentioned. But her slight of hand sounded useful. Enough that he swallow another part of his wine and looked away, thoughtfully, prepared for her to tell him something angry about love and how men were backwards and violators of the heart. Those were the stories he was used to, the ones that he know. The bottle lifted and spilled its guts with a 'glunk-glunk' when he refilled her glass.

Not killing for hire, a strange sense of morals that allowed her to take from someone, to steal that which didn't belong to her. She did, however, pick-and-choose those jobs she took. More-often-then-not it was someone that had been wronged, the re-taking of something stolen to begin with. A family heirloom, the rendering of money towards the needy. She was no Robin Hood, but she did have a sense of wanting to be something other than just a typical crook. There was a slight flush to her cheeks, though it was his latter question of the wine that was getting to her. "I don't see what my personal life has anything to do with hiring me for a job,? her jaw growing a little tight. Neikla wasn't exactly eye candy, she wasn't what men found desirable, too hard of nature and body. Someone had once said it would have been like fucking a brick. "Only thing you need to know is my price," taking her glass, she turned away as if to make sure no one was listening to their conversation.

"Everything. You are your job, are you not? I should know what sort of complications are allowed." She was exactly the sort of woman that grew neurotic if a man showed interest in her. It would change the favor of her slightly, he wagered, but only for the better. When she pulled away from him he smiled and then lifted his glass for another swallow. Robert took small sips when he drank. It seemed like he was always drinking, when in reality he was nursing a second glass after the half glass he had poured himself. "What would you say to robbing a teacher and an archeologist?"

"My personal life is just that, personal?" making it clear she had no intentions of going there. "?And if you're looking for anything other than to hire me for a job, you are barking up the wrong tree." Not that she was assuming he was interested in her as something sexual, such things never happened. Neikla took it more that he was trying to figure in what direction she swung. Often there had been those that assumed she was inclined to bed another woman and not men. "I would say the cost depends on the item in question and the difficulty of said job." He had piqued her curiosity. Dusty-pink eyes seemed to grow warmer, but then again, that might have been due to the amount if wine she had emptied into her stomach. She was leaning a little more on the bar now, her body slightly more relaxed and less ridged.

"Surely a teacher and a nerd are nothing for you. That's not the point of difficulty," he admitted with a small nod of his head, eyebrows knitting, "I need their possessions, benign that they made be, to come into the ownership of another. The person who will have the items taken to him is a Nephilium. I can't go near him without him knowing me for what I am, he will be suspicious and it will be difficult to pass on the goods. You said you were drow?"

Neikla wasn't immune to the attentions of the mail kind, not at all. She was, after-all still a woman. Damaged as she might have been. Scared by her past and now by her need for companionship. She had reached that point when she should have stopped drinking, that point when you think you're not drunk, that you can keep going. Outwardly there seemed little to no sign of her intoxication, her balance upon the stool never wavered. The only sign was the slight slurring of her words. "I never said I was Drow..." it was a common misconception and one that she never corrected. In truth, the Alkiens were perhaps were from the same elves that had once lived on the surface, one faction going underground into the dark, while a small percentage went North towards the frozen wasteland.

"But you're not of my kind," he said with a smile, leaning forward to tap her nose with a smile. A test of her barriers or just a test if there was any sort of sense of humor there. His eyes followed her. Either she was using some method to conceal herself... in which case, it would have been just as effective against his target if he could not detect it. The drum of his fingertips before he smiled, "You can pretend to sell him these items, or you can slip them into his belongings in the hopes he doesn't notice. I will tell you what you need to steal at a later date, but the items themselves have little value. How much is the job worth, then?" Robert was, by no means, an outstandingly attractive man. If anything, he had a curious sort of appeal. As if following his eyes or unfolding the map of his mind compelled moths to the fire of who he was.

The comment, that of which she would have thought obvious. She wasn't anyone's kind, was she? It only served to pain her, it was something that in truth did make her sour, the fact that she couldn't have been like those other women. Every woman wanted to be beautiful, even she was not immune of such trivial things when all was said and done. She was alive, after-all. The tap on her nose caused her to blink, backing from him a little. She wasn't offended, but wasn't sure how to receive the gesture and so just shook it off. "Seems easy enough..." her mouth moved oddly, she was having trouble getting the words out without sounding drunk. "What's it worth to you..?" she wasn't good at setting the price of something, and in reality she didn't do it for the money. She liked the danger of it, the thrill of the challenge. The deal was made.

(Slightly altered log of Robert, Cris and Mesteno from the inn. "Cleaned it up" so that it would read a little better by removing unrelated posts from other characters and maybe throwing in extra name references for clarity)

Stepping up to the inn, there was an exhale. Deep, throaty, as if anger was tightening his throat, making the breath rasp inside his neck. The man was, perhaps, in his mid-forties, a scattering of messy blond hair and a beard that was shorn close to his face. The fabric of his clothes was thick, rich in color and carefully embroidered. Rings on the left hand and a polished step. The search had been unsuccessful and here, stepping into the inn, he went to the bulletin board with the usual zeal that someone used to approach the bar.

Cold enough to clip his pace short, he found relief upon entering through the back alley door and paused a moment to breathe hot air on his hands.

A little overweight. That happened when you got older. Money and being sedentary instead of a hired hand did it, too. He was picking through the papers on the bulletin board, tearing off the ones of great appeal. There was a look over his shoulder when he heard the door, but he went back to his papers.

Scars dark on knuckles leeched of color by the cold. He rubbed his hands together, calluses scraping like sandpaper on wood. Shoulders hiked near his ears, he headed toward the bar. He skirted the man at the bulletin board with a curious glance. No one ever seemed to look at the thing, though the postings often changed. The couple received a short look as well en route behind the bar. There was a promise of whiskey he did not want to ignore.

The ring of a cell phone. He already seemed agitated before he answered it, "What? No, I haven't." Tearing off the best looking candidates, he set them on one of the tables, spreading them out to better read what they had to say, "There's a hundred options, all boasting to be competent." One of the pieces of paper was drawn closer to him, "Generic, arrogant. This one says he can kill anything for the right price. What did you say?" he shoved the paper behind the others, reading as he listened to the chatter on the other line. The widow's peak of dark blond hair pointed towards his nose.

Narrow look sent once more to the man. His ire was like an acrid cloud. Glad he was behind the bar, he tipped a shot glass into his hand and rescued the bottle of Bulleit from its shelf.

"No. No... No." Was he responding to the voice on the other line or the papers on the table? "Look, you don't just hire some stooge to take care of a demon. I'm not trying to get us killed. Yea, well, call me when you decide to be useful instead of complain all day. I'll be back later, I'm gonna have a drink and then pick some things up at the marketplace."

Blink and brow arch were melded into one expression. He swallowed half of shot one.

"Got it." He slid his thumb across the screen and shoved the phone with his index finger to shut it off. Sliding it into his coat pocket he moved around to the bar, seeming suddenly awkward at the presence of someone else there, like he wasn't sure what to do with another actual person there. He had been treating the inn as if it were vacant and now couldn't exactly ignore the presence of another.

It was either arrogance or incredible detachment that allowed one the freedom to carry themselves that way. He'd been about to take another sip, finish off shot one, when Brohkun stopped short at the counter. His hand slowly lowered.

"I just," flustered, blustering. He pointed past Cris to one of the bottles impatiently, "If you don't mind, I'm in need of a drink." Despite the weight he carried, the stool didn't creak beneath him. There were plenty of races far heavier than he that handled them roughly.

"Apparently," dryly. Considering glance given to the indicated bottle, but it was an extra moment or seven before he actually set his own shot down and retrieved it for the other man. Bottle set down firmly before him, Cris put a glass beside it afterward.

"...Oh, thanks." Cris apparently had enough of a presence that the man reeled in some of his attitude, "It's just been a horrible day." It wasn't an apology, but that was how he was justifying himself. Maybe because the drink was given to him like it might not be given at all.

Cheap, greasy food looked like something that never came within a mile of the sleek-cut man wandering in out of the cold, his edges too sharp and his flesh whittled down to muscle and sinew of the strictly necessary. When the wind gusted in around him, the oversized clothes made Mesteno briefly whippet waisted, and the leonine tumble of hair snaked around his shoulders and back like rippling wildfire. "Jesus **** christ it needs to be spring already," he complained, his cheeks cold bitten and his eyes wildly bright. He slammed the door shut behind it and shot it a filthy look before trailing mud across the inn towards the bar.

"We all have them." Especially where demons were concerned. Wind whistling through an open doorway pulled his gaze up and over. Nod offered for the disheveled man he was acquainted with.

The door, and the shift of Cris' eyes, made him turn in his seat to look at it. Ah. Great. He twisted to look back at Cris, namely, his shot glass, "You having a rough night, too?" It seemed like idle chit chat. The sort of questions someone asked to be friendly after they knew they made a fool of themself.

"Recently, yes. But not currently, thank the Angel." Finishing shot one, he poured the second.

Cris being the only other occupant of the inn he was familiar with (lucky, lucky Cris), Mesteno offered him a surly grunt as he approached, smearing the wind-whipped hair back from his face. He was supposed to ask him something, but for the life of him he couldn't recall what. Like a disgruntled Tom cat, he prowled toward the break in the bar.

"Thank the Angel?" That was an odd saying... well, to most people it was an odd saying. His eyebrows knit as if confused. Didn't most people say Thank God? The look one that appeared to be of earnest confusion.

So lucky. Gaze moved from Mesteno's grunt to Brohkun's confusion. "Yes."

The bottle was lifted and he poured himself a hefty half glass of it. Neat. Both hands strangled the bottom of his glass before he lifted it for a swallow. "Don't think the angels are helpin' anyone anymore."

"Have you asked them to?"

"Angels aren't all they're cracked up to be," Mesteno remarked, with the tone of a man who knew first hand and had been little impressed by the feathered folk. Behind the bar, he reached for a bottle, changed his mind, and began a slow, squinting perusal.

"I wouldn't be hiring someone to kill a demon if they actually answered." Sometimes he thought praying to an angel was a lot like meditation. People did it to feel better, not because it actually worked. It could have been the lack of belief in them, or his frustration, which inhibited it. Yet demons seemed so real, they were an irrefutable force. What with them and vampires lurking around, who would argue it? Another swallow, looking to the man who joined the bar.

Ripple of thin muscles at the back of his jaw. He tick-turned his head in Mesteno's direction, but kept his gaze on Brohkun. "You've a demon problem," without inflection.

"It's complicated. But, yes." Then he swept one hand through the air, angrily, "And everyone makes these promises that they can do something about it. You pay them and the take one try at it, whine and run off with your money. Bounty hunter here is... really some other form of language for thinly veiled thief! And what am I to do?" He snorted, "The police here are disinterested in any sort of involvement."

The man's issue was of such mundane familiarity, he was taken aback by it. "Well," frowning, "in my experiences here in town, the cops are at least honest about their lack of interest."

"Does that make it all right? Geh! It's enough to make you give up." He pressed coins on the face of the bar and finished his drink, "I suppose I'll let it go, eventually. I just want to get this one," he lifted a finger to indicate the one, as if that made it simpler, easier. Better to digest. He slid to his feet.

"I did not say it did. But at least they're not stealing your money." Looking down at the coin the man left behind. "What is this problem you're having, exactly?"

"This... demon, he's been giving me and my brother a lot of trouble. He's a fighter so..." there was a sigh and he shrugged his shoulders, "He's killed a few of us, it seems like he should be stopped before he does anymore."

"Us?" Swallowing half of shot two.

"Yes, my family? It's just me and my brother? now." The man looked old enough that he could have had teenage children. Under his eyes were tired lines of stress and wear. He cleared his throat, "Anyway, there's still some more names to go through," though his eyes had distaste for the bulletin board of offers, "If even one pays off, it'll be worth it."

He finished the shot and held it on his tongue until it burned. "You said it was a fighter. Yes? What did you mean?"

"Like... he knows how to fight. He isn't some creature that's been lurking in a gutter somewhere. The hired hands that went against him were outmatched not by strength alone, but technique." The man was starting to shuffle a bit, as if the description of the situation unnerved him.

"That's different." Perhaps the man's drink went through him too quickly. "Have you given thought to the notion that it may be a possession?"

"I haven't the faintest clue," he admitted with a blink and then, tilted his head to the side, "What, are you an expert in demons or something?"

Quickly, he put up his hand. "No. But dealing with a possession is a different battle entirely. You may have better luck if you went at it with that in mind. It's only a suggestion. The demons I've encountered here are light years more intelligent than I'm used to. In my own experience, they've been rather brain dead and focused merely on destruction. An abled fighter is not something to take lightly."

"Perhaps... anyway... I should get going." The man was clearly wary of the knowledge Cris seemed to have. He shouldered his coat on further and went to the table, scooping up the loose pieces of paper, swearing under his breath. Then he mentioned encountering demons, which gave the man pause, "How do you mean, encounter?"

Slight tilt of his head. "The verb has its own definition, yes?"

"How is it that you encounter them?" This puzzled him, caused him to reach in his back pocket and pull out his card, "Look, I must be getting to the marketplace. If you know of someone that can actually help me, I'm interested. My kingdom for some peace of mind," he crossed back over to where Cris was, sticking his card out at him.

He reached to take the card, leather cuff of his coat sleeve pulling back from the scars on his knuckles and the border of a thick, runic eye across the back of his hand. There was the faded silver image of a rune across his palm. Frowning, he turned the card around, but nodded. "I will."

"Good. Good. I am still looking for answers." For being a heavy sort of blond man, he could still move when he needed to. His phone buzzed as if to urge him further. He wove his way out of the inn, not looking over his shoulder but dropping one of the adverts from a hunter he had taken off the board in the process. There was hope yet, wasn't there?

The paper was the same kind of neon yellow he associated with chalk markers and it caught his gaze when it fell. Finished with the card, he tucked it away in his coat, his frown pensive. Glance aside was meant to deduce where Mesteno ended up.

(Log of Robert, Cris, Shae, etc. Minor revisions made to clarify who was talking.)

"Is that so?" Robert managed a half smile at the bartenders free tab announcement just as he shed his coat, throwing it over the back of his arm when he reached it, "If that's the case, I'll have a kamikaze." Wasn't it lovely that drinks got nicknames? Half the time it seemed like the test of a bartender's merit.

Shae was arriving in time to hear those lovely words 'no charge'. Lifting her head, the kiss of discoloration along her jawline could just be seen. A brow arched as Sal beat a hasty retreat, but soon her attentions were for Amber. "Could I get a cup of tea, please? With honey?"

Okey dokey!" Amber looks up at Brohkun, "You do mean the drink...don't you?" jokes while she prepares his drink, sits the glass on a nice little red paper napkin and serves it, "Here ye be! Bonzai!" She then grabs a red teacup and fills it with hot tea for Shae, honey melts in the hot water and its sweentess filters all thru, "Here ye be. Enjoy!"

"Usually, I mean the drink," he met her jest with his own, twisting his hand to grasp what she served. There was a nod of thanks, followed by the sound of, "Appreciated." Before he stepped away. It was his own fault, lounging in the cold, that he needed to then soak at the hearth like he did. He threw his coat over an arm chair and took a drink.

Said furry ornament appeared aware of the response he had earned. Nose twitching in the wake of the Spaniard. He watched the withdraw of the man with intelligence in his eyes and the slightest hint of a feral smile. Shae smiled back to Cane, cast a glance towards his better half, and made a note to ask later. A hand reaching for the cup offered by Amber. "Thank you!"

At the hearth he did what most people did when initially settled. Checked the phone for messages or other such nonsense. A few minutes later, he was over it, shoving the rectangle into his back pocket and taking another swallow of his drink. Like a turkey, he rotated. Now how back was to the inn so the front could get some thawing. Can't forget about the front. Andddd...rotate.

The hearth was, as it turned out, partly occupied. When the other came to the hearth his eyes lifted up as if expecting something. No. That wasn't what he was expecting at all. He lifted his glass for another swallow, stepping away from the flamed to drop into one of the arm chairs nearby the hearth. Like with the porch, he took his usual ankle-to-knee lean.

When she claimed a seat at the bar it was one of a comfortable distance away from the booths. A polite gesture. The Fox remained on her shoulders to prevent his wanderings from stirring up further trouble. Jean covered legs crossed, right over left, and the teacup made the maiden voyage to her lips.
Katt Batten: Sliding down into the pillows she exhaled slowly. Comfy. Not like the beanbag chairs at the teas though. Frowning at her bottle she worked at pulling the cap off. A pause was taken when she saw the nearby fella take seat. A polite little nod was offered before she turned attention back on the bottle of tart juice.

It seemed polite to acknowledge others that lurked at the hearth. The sort of nodding game that was played. He stretched, the bones of his back popping as he settled in. The drink at a half tilt from his wrist as he looked at the flames as it being slowly hypnotized by it.


Slender fingers embraced the porcelain as if the vessel were the face of a lover. Cradling it for the seeping heat it offered and savoring the fragrant steam that rose from within. Where her focus was central to that cup, Fox's skipped like a pond stone across the room, always making the rounds back towards the booths. Especially when fine stationary made a sudden appearance.

There was something that was relaxing, too relaxing, about the fire. His eyes drifted shut and moments afterward, reopened wide as if someone had stabbed his hand with a hot poker. The jerk of his body caused his drink to jump and spit on the floor. Slightly unnerved, he finished the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table. His attention went to Katt, because she lingered about the hearth nearest to him. She did not appear to be ill-at ease so he smiled.

Cris slipped in through the alley door, looking forward to tea and, perhaps, the notion of a seat.

The tail of the Reynard thumped against her chest, prompting her to veer her mug away lest the flailing appendage knock it from her hands. "Easy." She chided softly. Left hand holding the brush in check while her right navigated the cup towards her lips again.

Cris must have known that Taneth's greeting from the crowd was a possibility, because she did not startle him. "Good evening, Taneth." He's headed barward, where the good stuff was.

It was brief, his glance of interest towards the bar. It would have taken someone observing him intently to notice that his interest was such that his breath stilled and the corners of his lips pulled.

And then Fox's eyes were for the Crispin-Taneth train, some silent signal prompting Shae's head to turn in that direction. A smile from the rim of her cup, friendly as you please, to both the misty night walker and his kind, curly haired attachment.

That might get awkward in a bit. He put up his hand for Shae and her Foxy friend, then angled a look down on Taneth's crown. "Would you like some tea, as well?"

Taneth shakes her head at Cris.

His drink was empty, wasn't it? He leaned forward, the divide between four fingers catching the stem of his glass as he rose to his feet. Robert made his way to the bar in a casual fashion. Not whistling but nodding as if there was music playing that wasn't When he stopped at the bar, well, he was all smiles for Amber, "How about another, then?" The empty glass nudged along the lacquered surface.

He considered her an extra moment for her silence, but he would not be the one to ask. He stepped behind the bar, lingering near the stove so he didn't crowd Amber while he filled a kettle and put it on.

She watched with interest to see if the train would continue behind the bar or if the wildling caboose would break away to join others instead.

Amber gets the second drink and serves it to Brohkun, "Enjoy"

But then, here was Crispin, and an opportunity to clear up some small mystery without undue risk. "Evening." Her overture of greeting punctuated by a sip of tea.

Cris' brows rose. He was only intent on making his own. But he nodded to Amber anyway, gaze then shifting to Shae. "Good evening."

"Much appreciated." Robert's coat abandoned at the chair the hearth. Deep breath in, hold it happily and then take a drink.

"I appreciate you tolerating my company last night. And at the risk of pushing my luck, I had another matter I hoped you might shed some light on." Formal language, but her tone was not. Her posture was barely so. For overlarge sweaters did not lend themselves to proper decorum.

For Robert, there was, if someone noticed. Really noticed. Stalker watched him. A flicker. Like he leaned forward and then, suddenly, didn't and stayed exactly where he was at the bar, his finger playing with the base of his drink.

Taneth was Cris' turtle shell. He flipped through the container of single serve teas. "Of course. What is it?"

Here Shae's eyes ticked towards the booths before settling back on the tea maker across from her. "Does Canaan's boyfriend have some difficulty with foxes? Or is it a broader distaste for something I haven't picked up on?"

Blinking. Cris looked from Shae to the booth that was the subject of her inquiry. "It is a broader distaste, but I'm certain he'd answer your curiosities himself."

"I'm certain he would, but it strikes me that it might border on rude to wander in his direction without making sure, first." The hand that had been restraining Fox's tail now shifted to scratch the reynard's side.

"Not any more so than if he learned we were discussing him without his knowledge." Half smile.

Robert didn't flinch when Jack met his gaze, but he eventually looked away. The thing about Robert was... he wasn't there anymore. Not after that moment, as much as he looked it. That's the part about being an illusionary demon.He leaned forward, climbing over the bar and slipping to the ground after he did so. With Amber at his back and Cris to his side, he reached into the front pocket of his pants and withdrew a zip lock bag. Taneth was on his other side. He made the noise of

Shae was toasting her teacup. "Not aiming to stir up trouble, just to prevent it before it starts."

Taneth murmuring, indescribable, near his ear and slipped the contents of the bag in the kettle. Quickly, a crawl back over the bar. For those viewing him, he had never moved. He had kept his perch at his barstool, with his drink.

"I would simply call it an aversion to strange creatures," frowning, he turned to find Taneth still at his back. Two yawns and murmurs. "What are

Taneth blinks up at Cris. She hadn't murmured.

Her head tilted to view the crown of hair currently using Crispin as a shield. Oddly quiet compared to her previous viewings, but all she'd do was smile before straightening for another sip of tea. Some visual distortion, a trick of the light. A third shadow? No, impossible. "Strange, I'll grant you."

Perhaps he imagined it. "Or wise, depending on how you look at it."

He reached in his back pocket for his cigarettes and when he realized they weren't there, he said 'excuse me' to no one in particular and stepped away from the bar, going to the hearth where his jacket was to make a casual fish in the front pocket for his pack. Once there he slid on his coat and stepped out onto the porch, intent on the porch swing. He sat on it, cupping is hand together for the short spark from his lighter to brighten the tip. It was best to establish some distance after something like that. Enough people had an eye and the hour wasn't so late that most were drunk. The ankle prop on knee, the nudge of his foot to send the porch swing groaning. His head was tilted to the side as if trying to hear a certain song play. Maybe Jack would sing something that was just his tune.

Taneth tugs on Cris' belt loops.

"He'd prefer wise, I'm sure." The fox on her shoulders preened, shaking off a wary instinct that had come on quite suddenly to nod at Crispin.

Gaze followed Brohkun as the man passed twice through his line of sight. Looking down again, though, at Taneth's tugging. "What is it?"

She just blinks at Cris.

And he---blinks at her.

Blinking contest with Cris.

But pardon him and his reach around her to turn the burner off and move the whining kettle to a cooler surface. "What is it, Taneth?" drawing back. "Are we to play charades?"

Opens and closes her mouth.

(Thorn)All any of the three need do was beckon her, or hells smile and nod, and she'd bring the bells closer rest assured. Flagged a chiming wave for those whose faces she knew, and could see while catching up to her chosen drink. "Evenin'." Crooned a general hello, blew kisses for Taneth behind Cris's back, and moved back through the gap.

Always willing to give a nod back. Maybe even a smile, like he did just then. Well, who wouldn't smile? Robert liked to sit on the porch swing bench in the cold until it hurt. A chain smoker, rather fierce about it. The cigarette was sucked on and thought about, he twisted in the porch swing so that he stretched out on the length of it.

He suspected something to do with fish. And he squinted. Excuse him for missing your greeting, Thorn.

Not tonight she didn't. Once she caught sight of the tangled pile trinity on the couch, that was where she headed. Cutting a cheeky-cheery wink over her shoulder for both Shae and Lexi.

That kettle looked so good. But he put his hand against Taneth's to unhook her fingers and set her back enough to kneel. "Can you not tell me?" asking the mute blonde.

It was too quiet for that to be a good, or pleasing thing. Final pull of the cigarette, tossing it live into the pot of sand at the floorboards before he rose and crossed back to the door inside the inn. Once there, he was back for the hearth. The original hearth lurker. To thaw after a not-so-long linger. How was progress? Miserable, no one was drinking anything.

By the Angel, he always felt like a fool with charades, or pictionary. Or anything that entailed silent communication. He had enough trouble with words. "Well, clearly, you can breathe. And you are not thirsty."

Taneth was nodding.

"Hungry?" That was the only thing he had left. And the damnable group at the hearth were speaking so softly.

Much nodding.

Shae chuckled. Would Crispin now need to guess what she was hungry for? "Progress."

"All right." Yes, progress. "What would you like?" By the Angel, he hoped she didn't just open her mouth.

Opens her mouth. And reaches out to pinch Cris.

He hung his head. Followed by a muttered, "Ouch."

A soundless giggle from Taneth.

Standing in front of the fire, he rotated to his other side to thaw, hands rubbing together and then palms facing the flames as he did so. His was a look of seeming displaced. The dark wiry hair, the jacket and pants. Belated, given present company and greetings, realized that the hearth had become a popular location and was, perhaps, not the quiet place to reflect on what was next.

"You can't eat me, Taneth, I have it on good authority that I taste like shit." Exhaling, he looked up.

"Chicken?" Shae offered innocently. "Or is miss Taneth not a meat eater?"

"Erm.... I don't believe so. I think enjoyed the fortune cookies at Leung's when I brought her there."

Frowning, he pulled his arm out of range. "Stop that."

There was always a way to check the temperature later. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone as if it had hailed him and then he marched out the door. Always good to look busy when you left, people were less likely to ask questions when you did. This wasn't a temporary linger on the porch like before, but a full on pour into the night. There was another place he had to be. Exactly. Then.

"Hello." Offered warmly when eyes blinked her way. The Fox on her shoulders tilted his head at her. "I'm Shae." And a point to the fluffy one. "This is Fox."

"I haven't any food on me." Glance up to the stove and its metallic blue kettle, waiting for him.

Fox's tail, no longer constrained, thumps against Shae's sweater again when Taneth wiggles her digits his way.

"Perhaps you will fair better than I." He rose and made to move around Taneth and finally, prepare his cup.

Chomps her teeth at Cris.

Rather than risk her drink further, Shae drained the last of the lukewarm tea and set the mug aside. Cris attempted to pass on the translation duties, and now Taneth imitated a piranha. "I suppose I could try, but she seems focused on you."

Or, he could pass off the duties of investigation to Thorn because she was cooking already. He choose a simple pomegranate blend and poured a steady stream of water through it.

Thank the Angel. He blinked at Taneth's back, dunking the bleeding teabag. "I was not kidding, I'm rather unappetizing."

The smell of cooking food reached Fox's nose before her own, and he peered towards the kitchen. "Who gave you a lick, then?"

Taneth simply wanders out the door.

Snorting, he snuck a few fingertips behind the collar of his coat and scratched along a black line. "A rather opinionated leech."

One brow, then another. Up they went. "You got bitten?" Eyes looking where his fingers scratched. "Well I suppose there's no accounting for taste."

The gesture was to chase a memory away. A hot tongue and petal soft lips and the clean, fresh scent of sunshine. He realized too late that it would cause confusion. "No. No, not recently. I've not been bitten in years." He pulled his collar aside. There was only a thick, black line riding along the definition of his throat. "But I do remember the review afterward."

"How rude." Leaning forward with her forearms against the bar. "It's to my understanding that most food critics wait until after they've left the restaurant to make their opinions known." Amusement under mock scoffing at poor manners.

"Leeches aren't known for their congeniality." Finally, he took a sip of tea, and gave the cup a frown. He may have waited too long to pour it.

Flicker of gold from cup to frown to neck and back to a conversation rest on his face. "Are they so rare that you openly call them such? Or are your opinions strong enough to trump caution?" Shame about the tea, it seemed, but..." Mind flipping the burner on for me?" She wanted a refill.

"No, they're rather prevalent. My opnions are simply that strong." He turned the burner back to medium. Perhaps with hotter water, the tea would taste better.

She waited, cup caged between her fingers, for the water to come to a boil again. Fox let out another yawn. "A bad review would probably sour my feelings on the matter, assuming the nibbling didn't already do so."

There was a door, there was a Mandalorian on the march. Pensive frown followed Melanie this time. Though the tequila snatch wasn't out of the norm.

But she could certainly appreaciate an incoming stormfront. All controlled thunder and wet cheekbones. Her eyes flickered towards Fourth for an open inspection of the woman that had breezed in with an apparent goal of oblivion.

Wince caged, the flinch contained just around his eyes at the sound of glass on teeth.

The force of sudden regard was no strange thing to her. And now it was Fox who craned his head to have a look. Angry vixen. The impression almost caused her neutral face to quirk into a smile. The teeth though, ouch. Her eyes flicked to Crispin, deadpanning. "I hope your leech was more gentle."

"I don't remember it, actually." Aside to Shae, then he collected the kettle. It had to be warm enough now.

Did she have a cup somewhere to fill?

A hand to her belt pouch summoned forth a teabag. Her own mix of herbs and tea leaves. This was drapped over the rim of her recently drained mug and the entire affair was nudged across the counter towards the water bearer. "A kindness, I think." Eyes for the woman Fourth again who had entered.

Nodding, he shifted the teabag and angled the stream of water to trickle through it. An even saturation, back and forth, until full.

Appreciation for the technique when she noticed it. "Thank you."

Bloody lips meant so very little to one who fought for a living, little to one who'd spent so much of her time in the proverbial trenches. As glass impacted pristine teeth and shattered, a smattering of blood danced along plushed, pouted lips. Oblivious to the world around her, she managed to bring her hands down atop the bar without burning holes, one for each of her fingers.

"Certainly." Kettle returned to the burner. When he returned to Shae, the fox, and his cup, he sent another look after Melanie.

Her rear left the seat for the purpose of snagging the honey jar she could see just over the edge of the counter, sleeve sliding down her arm to cloak all but the tips of her fingers. Snag it she did, raising it high to allow her sleeve to once more pool near her elbow, before bringing it to sit next to her mug. A generous helping of the sweet stuff for her sweet tooth. Appraisal for the wounded warrioress. That mask a familiar one. Soft humming as the amber melted in the heat of her tea. The teabag left in for a stronger brew. Fox sniffed in Fourth's direction. Blood, salt, and tequila. A bitter bouquet.

He looked, but he didn't want to ask. Instead, he busied himself with dumping the first cup he brewed to search out a blend for attempt number two.

Standing now, Shae leaned her abdomen against the bar. A much more pliant affair given her trade of corset for sweater. Mug lifted to a middle height while she waited for it to cool a touch. Eventually she dragged her eyes away from Fourth and back to Crispin. "Settled on a name for the Bun yet?"

"I haven't. I'm notoriously bad with naming pets. In fact, any pet I've had has been mine, by proxy. Though, I know I will not name it Bun."

"Aw come on...It's a cute name, Bun." Wheedling in a melodic fashion to him.

"That will be your nickname for him, then." He brewed another cup. Lemon this time, something simple with a benign flavor."

"Aw, bun-bun." She practically cooed (was she calling him bun-bun?!?) wicked grin heralding the arrival of the mug to her lips.

By his expression, he thought so.

And that expression made her dissolve into a fit of laughter that bordered on cackling. "Hey! Pets reflect their owners..." Implied was the ...softy.

Angel's **** sake, he hoped not. There wasn't anything horrible to say about her fox, even. He exhaled, shook his head, and took a sip from his new cup.

She'd only bring it out again when she really wanted to needle him. Which might be often, because he did make the funniest of faces when bewildered. Poor Crispin.

Poor tea, actually. He set the cup down after the first drink, and glanced to the sink.

Even Fox was grinning at him. She went for another sip and the steam coiled over her shoulder. Fox's nose wriggles and he sneezed. "Gross. You could at least turn your head away." She scoffed to the canid, who was nosing at the cup again. Another sneeze. Her face fell and she slowly set the cup down.

"Has he fallen ill?" It might have been possible. He reached for the honey pot.

The corners of her lips curved downward. Slowly but surely. First, she plucks the teabag out of the cup. Held to the Fox, he gave it a whiff. No sneezing to be had, she sets it aside and the frown deepened. Pushing away from the counter she rounded through the break to the business side, eyes combing the countertop. Something she needs to do more than once. "Maybe it's the honey..." Muttered softly, though with doubt. "May I see that?" Pointing to the honey pot in his grasp.

He had the pot. Instead of pouring some in his tea, he offered it to her, perplexed.

This too was offered to the reynard to sniff. "No." And, seeming distracted, she handed the pot back over. What else? A hand rubs at her eyes to clear a minor distortion from her vision. Blinking, her gaze rests on the kettle. Kettle, Crispin. Crispin, kettle.

Brows rose with all of her back and forth glances. He collected his cup and offered it to Fox, feeling a bit silly and rueful for the poor animal being made to sniff all the things.

His cup was also sneezed at. Which, in the end, might have been a good thing. There was something dark brewing in her eyes. Dark clouds threatening fell winds. The kettle was next. Cue sneezing.

The offending container was carried to the sink where what liquid remained was dumped completely. Fox peered down into the basin as the water circled the drain, but Shae was taking off the lid, angling the empty kettle towards the light to peer inside.

It took a great deal of his own personal willpower not to drop his cup. Abruptly, the blood in his veins chilled. He put the cup on the bar and wiped his hands first on his jeans, then again against each other.
tracing his jawline with his fingertips. "I have it because of you."

"Turn on the sink, would you?" The detachment of a distant roll of thunder. Heedless of the likelyhood of a burn, she dipped a finger into the kettle to swipe across the bottom. It wasn't visible, but there was a very fine, grain texture. Powder that had been almost completely dissolved. "Who else used this?" At least she didn't seem to think him the kind to poison his own cup.

Sink. He made fists of his cold hands and, frowning, moved to pull one of the handles on. "It could be anyone. It's a public establishment, public tools. Taneth would not do anything like this, and even if she would, she wasn't in the mind to do so tonight. The tendress, perhaps, but she's always seemed merely absentminded. How much did you drink?"

"Enough that my vision is getting a little bit dodgy." The kettle is tossed into the basin and then she begins to scrub her hands with anything approaching soap that she can find, only making the minor adjustment of adding a little bit of cool water to the mix to ease the sting on her fingertip.

He checked his own with a sharp, sweeping look that scraped its way across the room. But all he saw was the hyper-clarity that came with a sudden deluge of adrenaline. He did not wait his turn for the sink. There was one in the kitchen. He elbowed his way in.
complete and sent.

She rinsed both the sink and the kettle thuroughly before she dared touch the offending item again. Not for reuse, as far as she was concerned. The entire thing made a metal clang as it was deposited in the nearest trash holder she could find. What trash bag was there tied closed around it. Then, another round of hand scrubbing at the sink. She went so far as to lean in and use the stream to rinse out her mouth. Apologies.

He shrugged free of his coat and tossed it along the counter, hoodie sleeves rucked up along forearms that exposed tension singing under flesh and Marks. He turned the nozzle of one sink on full blast until steam rose and grabbed the bar of white soap in its plastic dish. Lather worked up on his hands, scrubbed toward his elbows. Rinse, repeat, until the skin between black Marks and white scars turned red. He did the same as Shae, turning his head to bite at the scalding hot stream of water, swish and spit. Three minutes later, he scrubbed his mouth clean on his sleeve, and swallowed.

Straightening up, the arm of her sweater was dashed roughly against her mouth. Leaving her lips a swollen, red affair to match the scowl on her face. She was blinking a lot, and with good reason. Lines that should not be fluid were so in her field of view.

He could not remember if there had been anyone sharing the bar space with him other than Taneth and Amber. It should have been something he remembered, and the fact that he did not unnerved him even further. Nearly two minutes of silent thought later, and he suddenly looked up at the kitchen door.

He hadn't had plans to lose what he'd eaten for a last meal, but he also hadn't planned to swallow something possibly harmful. Coat collected, he pressed out of the kitchen without the force he'd used to go in. Thank the Angel Booth Landia was still occupied. "Shae," as he began angling his way past her. "Is it getting any worse?"

Muttering obscenities with a level of creativity that was bound to impress half the population of the docks, provided they spoke Abyssal, Shae began to empty the contents of her satchel on the counter. There really was no language like the tongue of the damned to express displeasure. "I have something...maybe."

Looking up to Benji, he had been here for the evening, and it was a long shot, but---"You did not see anything happen to this kettle, this evening, did you?" gesturing to the offending, metallic blue vessel on the stove.

Small jars of herbs clinked and gathered on the counter. The vessel was in the trash now.

Oh. Well. The trash.

Cris needs a great deal more practice compartmentalizing.

"Shae." An exasperated sigh. Her arm was up to the forearm in the satchel where she shouldn't have been able to fit that much of her anatomy into the bag. Deep pockets, indeed. "It's not getting any worse but I'm getting one hell of a headache watching your face wobble around."

Benjamin offered, "Shae, I'm sorry. I can try to burn it from you, but I've never practiced much with drugs and such. I'd probably just make it worse. Perhaps baking soda to neutralize it? Your lips seem burned." A wry smile and shrug, "I'm Benjamin, this is Lirenel."

"You didn't," spoken as fact with veiled disappointment in the way he pressed his fingertips to the wrinkle in his brow. Once more, he thought back, and once more he came up with nothing. He had missed something, something drastic. And he had filled her cup himself. Exhaling, he pulled his hand down his face, squinting over his fingertips at the pair of men looking out.

Benjamin fished out his phone, "I can try and call Eva...? Or get you to hospital...?"

Lirenel studied her reddened lips, that general awareness of discomfort. "Perhaps a careless tender left cleanser in the pot and the pot in the wrong place..." Chemical burns could be nasty things.

"Burn it from me?" She mustered the ability to scowl. Polite confusion being beyond her at the particular moment. "Damn it." Whatever she was looking for, she had come up empty. Time to start repacking. "None of that. I'll sit it out if I have to." Briefly she contemplated the broken tequila bottle that had been left behind, but that was probably a stupid decision. Her lips weren't burned, but scrubbed to agitation. "It was a powder, whatever it was."

Sal saw puzzle pieces were sliding into place. He was leaned all against Cane's right side, but his eyes were turning with the calculations. Kettle. Drugs and such. Neutralize. All the words. Salvador slid right on over the Cajun's lap and pulled himself out of the booth first.

(Benjamin): "...You don't know what it is. And if some specifically was trying to hit you, then sitting it out could be the worst thing you can do. You'll be vulnerable." How'd a lovely lad like him know about hits? He watches too much telly.

Cris held onto the wild hope Lirenel's words inspired. Whatever they were going to decide, they would have to decide it quickly. He broke away from the bar as Salvador rose to his feet. They would likely meet halfway.

Lirenel offered, "Milk, I hear, is good when one ingests the wrong sorts of things." He had a son, though it had been the other Jack who worried over those things.

"Hit me? Crispin more likely. They couldn't predict I would ask for a refull from his kettle." One moment while she closes her-- nope. That was not the correct decision. Open eyes, finish repacking.

"Hospital would be a good idea," Lirenel amended, taking a page from Benjamin's book.

"Oh Jesus ****in' Christ," he growled, spilling out of the booth in Salvador's wake. He did not look happy at all. Canaan tugged the sleeves of his white sweater up to his elbows. "Did'ja get rid 'a what was left 'a de powder?"

Along the way, rusty eyes turned wildly to drink in all the little details. How much sweat might be breaking out on Crispin's brow, for instance. How glazed his eyes might look. If there was any unsteadiness to his step. He also turned up his left hand while pulling a throwing knife from that coat sleeve with his right. "May I?" Touch, he's asking. Put your hand there in his, Cris.

Shae just points to the tied garbage bag at Cane's question.

Benjamin winced faintly and looked to Crispin then to Cane and Sal. All he could really do was offer what he knew. And his ability at diagnosing depended more on blood and bone shone.

Cane stared at her. "I meant did'ja wash it out 'r anyt'in?" It's still there, is what he was asking. Nevermind, the man's heading for the bag. It seemed to untie itself.

Leaning against the counter she made miserable eyes of longing towards the tequila. And equal moon eyes for the stairs. "There's probably some in the spout strain if it's anywhere."

Lirenel, "In the u-bend," Lirenel said. "If you rinsed the pot." But they'd used a great deal of water, if his hearing was worth anything at all...

Knuckles dug at her eyes. "Hang on. I didn't rinse the cups."

Grumbling under his breath, Canaan ripped the kettle out of the trashbag and looked inside. His gaze swept along the ring of the interior, before shifting to the spout. He stuck his pinky inside.

Fuzzy brain, but she remembered the cups. They still sat in tainted glory on the counter.

"It'll be there, then. Cane, the cups." Lirenel eaves and debris always settled to the bottom of the cups.

Benjamin was quiet, he simply watched, resting lightly alongside Lirenel. His gaze ticked over the cups, then Cane.

Out of the two of them, Shae seemed to be suffering more from the effects than he was. His pupils were fine, but his eyes blazed with an intensity that spoke what his silence did not. In that moment, he could have embraced Salvador for not making him say what he didn't want to say. Instead, he offered the man his hand, palm up. There was a Mark on the delicate tendons of his wrist, over veins.

Yes, the cups. The kettle was abandoned in favor of investigating the dredge left in the bottoms of their cups. Cane took up both, frowning at the contents that lined the porcelain. One was lifted for a sniff.

"Shae, you need to sit?" Lirenel wasn't being deliberately unsolicitous, but he wasn't touching anything or leaping to help anyone, either. Not this time. Not that he didn't itch to do so, despite or perhaps because of his nature.

"I'm good. Just let me stand here and be pissed off." Lean here. Semantics. Fox, at least, had the presence of mind to vacate her shoulders. To the counter, to a stool, to the floor.

He could have been offering his hand for punishment of theft, but still, he turned a tight look back at the bar where Shae was surrounded by one man whom he knew was competent and others that he hadn't any reason to doubt yet.

Sal did not immediately grab the Nephilim's hand. Hovered his own beneath it as his eyes studied his lifeline and his veins. That Mark was in an inconvenient spot. It took him several seconds longer to calculate where best to prick the skin to get a good bead of blood, but he did with the tip of his knife, quick as you like. A scrape of the blade edge picked that drop up and he brought the knife to his mouth to lick it clean. A flare of light washed through his rusty eyes for all of a second.

Canaan set one down and focused on the cup that smelled faintly of lemon. In a surprising gesture, he swept the pad of his middle finger through the leaves and brought it up for inspection. Using his thumb, he smeared it between both digits before--yes--putting it in his mouth. His tongue ring clattered wildly. Cane sought Salvador with a flat expression and he dropped both cups into the trashbag alongside the kettle. The bag retied itself.

The very air around her seemed queasy, but she stubbornly glared through it. "Sorry. Ben? No. You're the other one. Lire...sorry. I was distracted and I didn't catch your name."

For all the attention he paid his hand, Salvador could have tickled him with a feather. He did not flinch, nor move, even when his skin broke and wept one tiny little droplet.

Lirenel tilted his head, ears poised. A glance, a flare of nostrils. Then he looked back to Shae, "Lirenel, aye. You've no need to be sorry. Are you sure you won't sit?"

"It's not lethal." First diagnosis complete in an instant. He scraped his tongue across his teeth. "Mm." Interesting flavor, though. His eyes tipped up as he considered the taste, then he looked over to catch the Cajun's eye.

"Demonic." Cane gave a faint shake of the head.

"Hm." Very interesting. (sal)

"Meant for Crispin?" Curious and blatant about it. (Lir)

His relief alone could have brought him down. Eyes closed, he made a fist of the hand he'd given Salvador and lowered it to his side. "It needs to be removed."

Not lethal. Best news she could ask for. Demonic was less pleasing to the ear. "I'm positive, thank you. The concern is very kind." Determined to be miserable in her own way. "Statistically flawed if meant for me." Arms folded across her ribs, a bundle of sweater.

"Was there a demon here...?" he asked, because he really didn't have much of a concept of either demons or devils. Or angels for that matter.

"Nn. Can't say." To answer Lirenel first. Sal gave the trash a considering look, though. The teapot and the cups that Cane had just dropped in. He could... His attention skimmed over Shae and Ben en route to focusing on Cris. "I could get it out." Slight emphasis on the 'could.' "But I could kill you trying."

"Probably many, over the course of time," Lirenel quipped.

Reaching up, Cane wiped his mouth. Fingers smoothed over his beard as he turned his attention to the Nephilim. "Cris..." there was hesitation in his reply. "It's jes'..." The warlock squinted while swirling his tongue around his mouth again. "It's a hallucinogen. It'll work it's way out on it's own."

Fox sat to the side and watched. His shape was the most familiar, so she focused on the familiar. "There was a point where Fox got his hackles up, but it was just for a moment." A hallucinogen. "Someone's idea of a joke?"

"It gets difficult to tell," Benjamin chuckled softly to Lirenel, "At least Puma screams in your own voice before he kills you."

Benjamin's query battered at Cris. If there had been, he should have seen it. "I've enough trouble dealing with my own mind and what I perceive on my own, I do not need any assitance from a goddamned drug." Head turned from Canaan, to Salvador. It wasn't that he was not relieved that he hadn't inadvertently caused harm to someone else, or himself, but things tended to happen to him whilst under the influence. Any, influence.

Lirenel looked long at Crispin and then Canaan's words drew his attention and his shoulders eased a hair off square. His jaw set stubbornly.

Sal turned up a smirk that was edged with knowing with a glance to Lir. So many demons, so little time. He looked at Cane with an agreeable nod. After discerning that it wasn't lethal, there was little to be concerned about. He slipped his knife back up his sleeve and looked back at Cris. Hm, hm.

A hallucinogen was nothing to perish over, but he had swallowed it twice. His eyes shifted to the restroom.

Lirenel looked down at Benjamin just then and into those bright green eyes. Hands still in his pockets, he nudged Benji with an elbow. "Thank you," he mouthed.

"Was it peyote?" Benjamin asked Cane, because if it was, barfing was a bad idea. Drinking lots of milk was better.

Restrooms, there was an idea. But she paused in her motion towards them at Benjamin's words.

If there was going to be barfing, better it be done in the restroom, at least. Salvador stepped back to get out of Cris's path. He wasn't gonna stop him.

As Canaan took a few steps toward Cris, he eyed Benjamin with a smirk and shook his head. And then, without warning, touched one hand to Crispin's shoulder and socked him in the stomach with the other. Power of a locomotive in that arm of his.

Lirenel quirked a brow at Benjamin's question and swiped his tongue over his teeth. Oh, ouch.

Also a good idea to get out of the way of splash damage hitting his boots. Good call, Salvador. Good call.

"..." Blink. ...Yes, Benjamin was moving, now.

Shae was slack jawed, she edged for the bathrooms. "I can handle it..." Weak forestalling of any punches to her gut. Ouch.

The warlock looked a little bored when he skirted to the side. Maybe, maybe there was an edge of satisfaction to the set of his mouth.

"Two fingers. Back of the throat." Helpfully, cheerfully, to Shae. A gentler approach suggested for her, yes. (Sal)

"Milk is still a good idea," Lirenel said to Shae. Not that he'd actually *know*.

And so she was bathroom bound before the sounds of retching could unsettle her own stomach. Normally not a risk, but with Canaan resembling more aligator than man and Lirenel looking like a cat, she did her best to hurry and not run into a wall.

Well, if that was how they treated peyote, he wouldn't need to be reminded not to smoke it. He hadn't wanted any warning. He wanted to see stars, and have the air forced from his lungs. He folded around Canaan's fist until he could no longer as the ring around him broadened to give him a wide berth. One knee found the ground, he hung his head and scrunched his eyes closed on a room that no longer made sense. He opened his mouth, but it was only to sip on shallow breaths.

Benjamin winced for Cris, and loosed Lirenel to go and fetch a bucket. He knew well it would take time to recover from a sock to the solar plexus and that could happen with a lot of barfage.

Cane made a soft noise that rumbled in the back of his throat. "Again?" The line of his mouth was tugged down at the edges. "Get up."

Salvador stood there, bobbing his head a little and starting to quietly hum a bit of Beethoven. Ode to Joy anyone? He spared a glance over Cris, then Cane with a wildly pleased and wicked little smile. And then he uprooted himself and ambled over to the trash to consider that tea kettle again.

Benjamin sat the bucket down nearby and slid back to Lirenel's side, lifting his gaze to the elf, a quirky touch of smile at his lips.

Lirenel's mouth was a hard line and his brows knotted.

Woefully lacking in anything to aid his doing just that, for a moment, he let the room settle and rode each wave as it came, spiralling from the point of impact. When Cane's fist had landed, there had been a strain in the redness of his face, but in that moment that he raised his head, it had been replaced with something very much like tranquility, bordering on pleasure. But that could have been the detachment required to mentally coax himself to start to rise. Palm on his knee, and the floor he stood like a newborn giraffe. Too much limb, not enough balance.

Fox observed this mix of justice an care with a thoughtful cant of his head. Looking from Sal to Cane to Cris and back again. We'll not discuss the sounds coming from the restroom.

Maybe that's in part why Salvador was humming, so he didn't have to listen to Shae retching. Possibly attempting to cover the noise for her. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. Because he's that nice. He did, however, grab a bar napkin, shook it out, and used it to pluck the tea kettle from the trash. He held it aloft, dangling from his fingers, with the napkin between, and examined it from just about every visual angle. "You really think this was aimed at Cris?" Lir had asked.

The Cajun looked him over as he stood, but had no further comment. He caught Cris's arm and dug his thumb into a specific spot along the bicep. The bucket Benjamin had grabbed earlier appeared on the floor in front of the Shadowhunter's feet just as Cane grabbed the man's hand with his right. Thumb and middle fingers pinched hard between the knuckles of the man's pointer and middle finger. The warlock looked away and waited.

Probably could have just done this first. Oops.

Running water. Muffled cursing. The aura of magic. Shae emerged looking a whiter shade of pale. Something which only served to cause those whorls in her skin to become more prominent, visually. It seemed she was repeatedly using some manner of cleaning charm on her mouth.

Lirenel looked away from Crispin and Canaan to Salvador at the question. "He's not the only one of his kind who comes here, but what a neat little trick to play on the ... Crispin."

"If they knew Crispin was drinking tea. He doesn't always." Benjamin murmured.

Presently, there were no complaints. It had been his idea, and it was wise and more than likely the best way to handle the situation aside from Salvador's possibly death method. But he had yet to meet someone who enjoyed vomiting, let alone doing it with onlookers. His hand in Canaan's fought to stay open, rigid and white and cold, the black eye above his knuckles strained wide and staring. He grimaced once and there was no strength that could keep him from sinking before the bucket and emptying his stomach with two strangled retches, one hack, and four grating breaths.

Lirenel shrugged one shoulder. "Of course, if the target missed it's intended mark, no serious harm done."

Euw. He winced again, and went to the cooler. Presently bringing two two litre bottles of water. He checked the seals on them, and offered one to Shae, the other he set beside Cris.

"Of his kind. Mm." Sal twisted to look back over his shoulder at Cris. Interesting turn of phrase, Lir, but Sal said little of it more than that. Twisting back, he passed a glance over Ben and Shae, seeing the latter make her return. He twisted back to concentrate on the tea kettle. Closing his eyes, he turned his left hand palm up and set the base right there. He looked rather meditative in that moment, head bowed and everything as he stood.

Interesting indeed. Lirenel saw Canaan's success and moved into the kitchen while Benji went for water. He found a clean hand towel, soaked it with cold water and strolled back out.

Cris was released immediately and Canaan turned to watch Salvador, giving Cris some modicum of privacy.

The water was a thankful distraction from Crispin's public misery. And she mouthed the words 'thank you' to Benjamin. A glance between Lirenel and the Spaniard. Food for thought. Except not food. Not food for a while. Water for thought. Yes.

Lirenel folded the damp towel and draped it over the back of Crispin's neck.

A turn of Sal's hand dropped the bar napkin, and that one got put atop the tea kettle. Slight twitch of his head, chin toward right shoulder and a furrow set in his brows.

(Benjamin) Water. Sealed and sanitary. He gave her a wry smile, almost apologetic.

Thank the Angel, because already he'd been fighting to pull his hand free of the Warlock's. Bucket pushed forward so he did not have to breathe the smell of it while he got his faculties back in order. His hairline was damp around a strained face white as a fish belly. There was water and there was a towel, and there were people. He ducked his head and ripped the towel off of his body with an insolent grunt that he would regret later.

The was more concern in the severe set of his brow for Salvador's seemingly mundane task than there had been for either 'poisoned' party.

Now she did sit. Heavily and on a stool. Weakness in her limbs that she had denied for too long already. Bottle of water sipped nice and slow. "Grand evening. You gents are great company. Fire the caterer, though." There was always energy for a little snark.

(Sal)An unamused glance skipped over in Shae's direction. "Y'all should sleep." He had purposely placed himself to be holding that object right over the trash where he'd taken it from, so that when he tipped his hand out from under it the kettle dropped right back into the bag and clattered against the cups that Cane had thrown in there too. He pulled in a sharp breath and blinked open his eyes as if waking from a dream, a bit of a sway in his stance. He smeared his hand over his face.

She sighed at him but she wasn't arguing.

Lirenel's lips quirked in a crooked smile and he turned on the ball of his foot. "You should thank Canaan, Crispin for his thoughtfulness, and Salvador and Benjamin, too," he said gently to that insolence.

The Cajun edged closer, near enough that Salvador could reach out to him if he needed to.
Lirenel moved to collect Benjamin with an arm about his shoulders.

"I only need you, my heart," Benjamin chuckled softly, looking up to Lirenel and slipping easily to his side. "Come on."

Sal rubbed his hands together and looked aside to see the Cajun, to whom he gave a tired smile. One finger held up, then he turned to Shae. "May I see your hands please?"

The water, though, he did not throw away. Satisfaction when the seals clicked their breakage. He swished his mouth and spat in the bucket. Twice.

She held them up, bottle in one, open palm of the other. Not quite grasping what he meant. Give her a break, por favor.

It was the open palm Sal leaned to get a good look at. No touching. Just an intense study of the lines and shape of her hand. He tipped his eyes up after a minute and fixed her with a momentary smile. "Thank you." Then he leaned back and turned to invade Cane's personal space.

"Text Benjamin if there's anything you need from us," he said. Lirenel knew they had his number. "Goodnight."

Sal gave a nod to Lir and Ben. Yep. Night, guys.

"Merci," Cane called out to Lirenel. He'd not caught the man's name either time it was given, but he did nod kindly to both him and Benjamin.

"Call me if you need help with the owl perch, Salvador. Cheers, all." Benjamin called over his shoulder.

Pale, she looked from him, to her palm, and back. Divination of some kind? Sip of her water. "Goodnight. And thank you."

Lirenel had heard their names so many times from so many people, it wasn't even funny--yet for his to not be known wouldn't have surprised him a bit. Mostly the way he rolled... slide in.. .undetected... flippy and wow they just weren't there...

Something of a sort, but he wasn't going to say. He nudged Cane's left clavicle with his forehead as he oozed up against him. "You okay, Cris?" Mumbled against the Cajun's chest. Got his arms all up around the waist. Sag.

There were farewells passed all around. He looked up, his features tight with determination to rise smoothly and collect the atrocity that was the bucket and water. He'd blame the events of the evening and Canaan's epic muscle mass for stealing Sal's concern from his ears.

"He's fine," Cane answered for the Nephilim, glancing over his shoulder as he gathered Salvador against him.

"Are you?" This aimed at Sal's back. Some of the luster back in her eyes.

He had matters to attend to in the kitchen. Mainly the damnable bucket. So when he turned to head that way, his gaze moved between those gathered. Mainly Shae, who shared this misery, and Salvador.

"Mhm." He was perfectly A-Okay right now. Face turned up to bury against the side of Cane's neck. Fingers finding some belt loops of those very nice khakis to hook through around the Cajun's backside.

Canaan's eyes snapped over to Shae immediately, defensively. "Y'all need ta jes' sleep it off. You'll be fine by mornin'."

The look she gave Canaan said easy. It hadn't been an attack, after all, but genuine concern. She knew that there was a price to all things. "Thanks, I was just concerned since you both were handling that stuff. You seem fine, Cane."

Sleep sounded like a good idea. But there was a hike between him and sleep that included a shower and half a tube of toothpaste. He stepped behind the bar, but didn't pause on his way to the kitchen. If anyone asked, he hadn't vomited anywhere.

Cris's secret was safe with him. Not to worry. Shae's concern made him chuckle against the side of the Cajun's neck, though. He dipped his chin so his mouth was clear and he could possibly be heard better. "I'm fine."

"Ain' not'in demonic gonna affect me." He snorted, looking away from Shae to trail Cris with his eyes.

Pale, and irritated, and coated in cold sweat where he had not been before, but he seemed otherwise as he usually did. Moments later, the sound of thunderous running water as he rinsed the bucket clean.

Her journey for sleep was a shorter one, but she wasn't moving yet. "Good. I'm already pissed at myself for letting my guard down." Her rueful smile was weaker, but there. Fox had retreated to the hearth to watch from.

"Tired, though." Sal lifted his face away from Cane's neck to look him in the eyes. Tug on the belt loops he had in hand. His eyes said what his mouth didn't. He was ready to go whenever the Cajun was.

Canaan met the Spaniard's gaze with wide eyes. "Cris?" A strained lift of his voice. He needed to clear his throat directly after. "Ya good?" Turns out, Cane actually needed to hear it from the man himself. Loyalty and all that jazz, no matter how pissed off he still was.

That, in fact, might be what she is waiting to ascertain.

The water still ran, but he emerged halfway from the kitchen. The possibility he'd hear his name had not crossed his mind. He nodded. "Better than I was," clearing his throat with disgust twisting behind his features. "I'll be fine. Thank you...."

Salvador wasn't concerned. The blood taste-test had told him all he needed to know. The substance wasn't lethal. The only thing that seemed to be injured here, by his observations, may be the Nephilim's pride. So while the other two waited for an answer, Sal reminded Cane, "Don't forget your coat."

That seemed to be the case, for all the attention he paid his gut that more than likely had an imprint of the Warlock's fist in it.

Yes, well, they can't all use blood magic. Show off. Cane gave Cris a curt nod while reaching for his jacket. It was several feet away, but that didn't stop it from suddenly appearing in his outstretched hand. He and Salvador disappeared from sight, leaving only static to crackle through the air in their place.

The displays of magic were something she was getting used to, and it made her smile. Still, she played her cards close and was content to watch such things for now. As the static faded, her eyes slid towards the kitchen door.

He watched the pair disappear, visage stony and perturbed. He glanced to Shae, slipped back into the kitchen long enough to turn off the sink and empty the bucket.

Fox stepped away from the hearth, paws carrying him to a new seat beside her stool. Her gaze dropped to the familiar, communication a thread between them that required no sound.

He knew that if he simply took his leave, without saying a word, he would regret it. So he made certain to grab the water Benji had given him and returned to the nearly empty room. He had a towel to pick up too.

"So," Her eyes skipping back to him when he got around to the towel. "Are you square now?"

It was a shame that Lirenel was no longer present to see him use it. He wiped his face, and his mouth, and folded the towel together in an even rectangle and nodded, putting it on the bar.

"That's not quite what I--" Cutting herself off, she waved with one hand to brush her own words from the air. "Nevermind. I'm glad you're alright." The empty bottle found it's way to a space near the trash. "Do you have to go far to get home?"

It hadn't occured to him that she could mean his relationship with the couple that had just blinked away. "Far enough to be refreshing."

The leaps she took could be hard to follow, largely because she often forgot that others needed a sign to point the direction in which she was going. Concern, pausing by a table. "You know of anyone who is out for you or..." To borrow Sal's words. "...your kind?"

"No one that I should not have seen coming, or have had the forethought to prevent the actions of." The water tasted good.

If the couple had left him to his own devices, no matter how the mood was between them, he was probably alright to get himself home. Her conscience demanded she ask, anyway. "You going to make it without trouble?" Eyes looking to the couches and then to the ledger. He did have alternative options, if the concern for a second round was real.

The wrinkle in his brow could have been from the hard swallow of water. But it could have been something else too. "Yes. I'll be fine." Twisting the cap back in place, he looked up. "I'm sorry."

It was her turn for furrowed brows. "For what? It's hardly your fault some jackknob thought it would be swell to drug the kettle." Pause for considerations. "It's fine, Crispin, really." There was no anger to her, at least not for him.

He nodded, but it was only to move the pleasantries along. It could not have been a hit, for the substance had not been lethal. He could only presume, then, that it was a message or a joke. "I know."

There was a wealth of unspoken words, but he held onto them. Swapped his water for his coat and shrugged it on, into place.

Confusion. Head tilting. "Well, you have my apology. For not spotting it sooner. I let my guard down here. I will take more care."

A softer expression then. "Next time, I'll make the tea to make up for the poor turn to the evening. Sound fair?"

"And you have mine, for the same reason. Next time, I'll be loath to let anything within this establishment enter my body. A raincheck, perhaps."

Three beats. "As you like." Her steps carried her to the stairs. "Be safe, Crispin." Offered quietly, without turning. And up she went. Fox remained, walking towards the front door. Where he sat, and waited.

Hood pulled free from his coat collar. He took his water and the shreds of his dignity with him on his way to the door, pace slowing as he spied the fox. He glanced back at the stairs. "Did she tell you to accompany me?"

Fox merely meets Crispin's gaze. Patient.

Exhaling, he did not yet open the door, but crouched to peer intently at the fox across from him.

Staring contest is a go. Fox is a champion at these.

"Were it not for you, our evenings would have been much more interesting than they became. Thank you."

The familar nodded, then. A gesture of you're welcome.

"I will be fine on the journey back. I do not wish to discredit Shae's concern by requesting that you stay here."

One paw lifted to scratch the door.

"Unless you need to relieve yourself." That was rather gross. He rose and opened the door for the fox.

He seemed to be waiting for Crispin to step out as well. Patient eyes, older than any creature of his kind should have.

"Please, don't do this." They might have another staring contest right now.

Oh for the love of. The fox huffed a sigh. This was not working. A tactic needed to change. He looked towards the stairs, back to Crispin. Not for the first time did the creature curse his particular situation. Well, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Oh, by the **** Angel. Fine. I will not have this argument with a damnable fox." He shoved the door open wide. "Perhaps I'll take you to see another friend of mine. I'm certain you'd get along." He stepped out.

The Fox seemed to have been bracing himself for something. But Crispin folded and so out they went. Once outside, the Fox put his nose to the ground. Whatever he was intent on, it wasn't Crispin any more.

(Log Date: 3/14-3/15, near midnight
Participants: Serah, Shae, Elessaria, Senna, Andu, Zynn, Div'ro, Connar
Location: Inn Common Room)

Shae's expression went from fond smile to quiet contemplation as she watched Serah disappear up the stairs. Fox, too, regained his composure rather quickly on her departure, as if his light behavior had been just for her benefit. Shae's eyes lingered on the stairs. Fox watched Shae, and then turned gold eyes on Senna.

::Elessaria darts up the steps to the Inn, more quickly than usual -- in spite of the warmth-- and pauses at the doorway, looking over her shoulder::

Senna moves quietly, unobtrusively, as if loathe to disturb the peaceful ambiance. Even the rinse given to the coffee pot and its return to the burner are muted. She dumps the grounds and refills the filter and mashes the button. A noisy grind and then a suddenly shrill whine accompanied by a puff of steam undo her best efforts. Well hell, she forgot to add the water. A sighed curse. She hits the button again and retrieves the pot, turning now to regard the golden eyes with an equally careful study of deep blue.

::slender arms wrapped tightly about her tiny waist beneath the folds of her lightweight cloak, she steps inside with tension evident in how she holds her petite frame::

The creature smiled as thier regard became a mutual affair. As much a fox might smile and have it be recognized as such. Intelligence, as if he laughed at her simple mistake, and the thump of a tail. The sound of the grinder had startled Shae from her pensive posture, but it was to the door that her own gaze shifted. The Empath was a familiar sight, but not with that air about her. Shae's brows knit with concern.

"Silly, yes," a murmured accordance, perhaps for the fox, though her eyes have drifted away to the new arrival, following the lines of tension strung through the small-framed woman.

::manages to offer Shae a smile which is probably not as reassuring as she hopes it to be, but she finds a vague comfort in following habit, so she shrugs out of her cloak and drapes it over the back of her favorite winged back chair::
::another smile for Senna who is vaguely familiar, although less so than Shae::

"Pursuit?" The single worded question drifts towards Elessaria with the tones of personal experience behind it.

Senna turns away again to refill the coffee pot, a small smile offered to Elessaria for the gift of hers. This time the water is poured properly into the receptacle. Fluid repeat of previous actions with little more than a hiss and then the welcome sound of steadily dripping of coffee.

Aye, but how close this eve, I am nay certain. ::the haunted expression lingered amidst the blue flames that flicker erratically deep within her gaze and her arms wrap tightly back around waist once more:: Wouldest thou mind setting the kettle to heat if 'tis nay much trouble whilst thou art back there? ::To Senna with a hesitant smile::
::wends her way about the scattered tables and chairs to the bar where she finally releases her protective hold to offer a tiny hand to Shae:: 'Tis been too long in coming, but I am called Eless. ::her smile more genuine in spite of the tension::

"Not at all." For the woman's hesitancy, Senna offers a warmth of tone in return, and she shifts slightly to lean towards the kettle, turning the knob and setting it to the flame of the burner shortly.

Shae's eyes drop to the woman's waist. The father perhaps. Yes, yes she had overheard that much. "Lovely to meet you properly. I'm Shae." And she shakes the outstretched hand with a grip that is calm and confident. "Care to join me?" Offered with a friendly smile. Fox turned his head to look at Eless over his shoulder. And for that matter, Shae's eyes dart to the woman behind the bar. "Feel free as well, miss...?"

Thank thee kindly. ::her tone warming in response:: And well met, I am called Eless. ::including Senna in the introduction:: Good eve to thee as well. ::a smile curves her lips just for the fox, her extreme empathy tends to give her a natural affinity to animals::

"Senna," the weight of eyes trickles up her spine and she answers without turning almost before the last syllable has slipped from Shae's lips.

::eases onto an empty stool near the ladies, but her posture is still stiff as she casts a quick glance over her shoulder with her voice dropping:: I doubt he would dare to enter here.
Senna... Shae... a good eve to both of thee. ::her smile warms in spite of the ghosts and memories that whirl in her gaze, one arm remains about her waist as she perches on the stool the other rests lightly on the bar's edge after the light calming shake with Shae::

Teacups, then. Senna scours the shelves, peering into a few and dismissing them before arriving at a pair that suits. A mug for herself, rinsed in the sink. She rights the teacups on the bar and slides them in the direction of Eless and Shae along with a box containing the selection of teas. The kettle begins to sing and she lets it whistle a few moments longer than necessary before turning the burner off.

::she keeps her shields woven as tightly as she can:: Ah perfect, thank thee. ::she sifts through the box of teas and selects a calming herbal blend:: What dost thou think of RhyDin thus far, Shae?

Coffee poured, steam inhaled, first sip taken. Now, then. That's much better. "Good evening," a calm reply for Eless. Senna regards the women with a gaze that's a little more present, a little less cobwebbed with sleep. She'll strike the right balance eventually. For now she leans casually back against the counter to let the caffeine perk through her veins.

"Fox." Shae offers. "His name is Fox." And the Empath would feel complex emotions from the canid. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Senna. Please don't take my close inspection of the teas the wrong way." A forewarning, for already her eyes were peering at the cup. The teabag she selected was offered down to the canid, who sniffed it and then nodded. Only then did she let it grace her cup. "Hmm. It is...interesting." Perhaps an insufficient word. "Intriguing." A marginally better one.

::chuckles softly:: I only know which to use and which to trust after having 'tended here for a couple of decades. Some of them are my own blends.
Good eve, Fox. ::another smile for the canid as she reaches for the hot tea kettle, offering to pour for Shae first::

Senna nods for Shae's impending inspection; likely a wise course of action in this realm. Also noted with curiosity, the sniff and approval by Fox. "Fox seems very handy," among other things.

A frown crosses her face, soft with worry. Her cup placed where pouring would be of ease. "He is, especially after the other night when I found that someone had drugged the kettle." Said Shae.

It seemed like she couldn't decide on a place to settle and spend the night, because this was her third time back at the inn. Zynn bound up the steps to the front porch, and each time her boots connected with wood, it sounded like a loud slap. Those with good hearing inside may be able to hear it. Regardless, when she reached the door, she pushed it open, and stepped inside.

Brows cinch in a dark frown. "That's unusual. And the someone remains an unknown?" shocking, really, considering the variety of talents harbored by the patrons. A glance up for the slaps of sound signaling another arrival.

Someone drugged the kettle? That little tidbit of info as Zynn came through the door drew her attention briefly, towards Senna and Shae. Both were offered a smile, while she made mental note to heat her water in the microwave from now on.

"I have a suspect, but no concrete proof. He is elusive and whoever did it managed to go all but unseen." As if illusions were something as easy as breathing. The cup, when filled, was also offered for a sniff. Though this time, Fox had made the leap into her lap to do so. "All I know is that the drug was demonic in nature."

::arches a delicate golden brow:: Someone drugged the kettle? ::her brow creases deeply::

"Do you possibly still have a sample of it?" Zynn pauses. "The drug, I mean. Or the tea kettle that was drugged. Or some of the water that was inside it? I have a friend that's good at finding antidotes and stuff, and figuring out what it is."

::fills Shae's cup and then her own with the steaming water::

"Hmmm," a passive murmur as Senna considers. She'd make a poor detective for the way her attention tends to wander. There it went over to Zynn, taking in her smile and offering the match of her own in kind. And then back to watch the effortless ascent of Fox to Shae's lap.

::nods a greeting to Zynn, reaching for the tray of tea accouterments which she again offers to Shea first::

Zynn grins for Eless.

Her smile returned in reply to the one that Zynn flashed her way. Seeing that the tea was marked as safe by the canid, Shae reaches for the honey as Eless passes the tray. "I'm not quite sure what happened to the bag with the tainted cups and the kettle. The others might remember. I was...not well at the time."

::when she hears the drug/poison was demonic in nature her heart sinks a bit more::

"Well. If you find out, see if you can get me one. Who do you suspect?" Zynn squinted a little at Shae, and moved to slip behind the bar.

Honey is added in a liberal dose. Shae liked sweet things.

All the same, she is listening still, a discomfited shift at the mention of demonic nature. Senna turns away for a refill, and lingers over the pour.

::watches Fox with Shae and it makes her heart ache for Nuage once more even though her guardian wolf had been gone for several years now::

::Andu slowly stirs, his coffee mug lifting slowly to his lips for a long, slow sip. Then he speaks.:: There is a poorly kept, at least amongst the long term regulars, secret about this Inn that some might find interesting.

"Having been on the bad end of false accusation more than once in my life, I am reluctant to name the target of my suspicions..." She trails off as Andu pipes up. "And what would that be, sir?"

::arches a delicate golden brow inquisitively at the apis, there are few secrets at least truthful ones the Empath did not know::

She would of been down a lot sooner but work again. Stupid work calling her on her day off. She didn't get paid enough. Anywho! She came tromping down the steps, still in the grey hoodie dress but now she was totting a bag.

::offers Shae an understanding nod, and then when the other woman is finished with the honey, the petite empath stirs in three heaping tablespoons into her cup::

::Slowly his non-mug bearing hand raises to point a finger up into the shadows of the rafters, where, those with either real good eyesight, or the ability to pierce the shadows might see a shiny, black half-dome mounted between the rafters. One of several, if one were to look closely.::: A couple Governors ago, the person in office managed to get security cameras installed here, and a few other notable places about town.

"Very well." Zynn was curious. Ever curious, but she would respect Shae. Then she looks towards Andu.

Shae was a creature of curiosity herself. She understood Zynn's questions well. Both her eyes and the pair of the creature on her lap darted up. Cameras were a new concept, but she was catching on quickly. "Where are the pictures kept?"

::offers Serah a smile while she stirs her tea thoughtfully, still keeping the one arm draped about her waist without even knowing it::

-the back alley door was opened and the half-orc made his way inside, his dark clothing hidden beneath a thin black cloak, black leather boots on his feet, he'd make his way deeper into the inn, pitch black irises taking a moment to survey his surroundings as he moves-

Senna follows Andu's finger up to the rafters, ascertains the camera there and purses her lips in thought. "If it's just a regular old recording, though, it likely wouldn't capture something like Shae's talking about, right? No one saw anything suspicious?"

Content to merely listen for now, Zynn made her way towards the cupboard she knew that held a majority of the mugs and teacups.

Senna doubts someone could just get away with walking up to the kettle and dumping some poison within it willy-nilly.

::a slow nod of her agreement with Senna::

Technically, no where. The official monitoring of the cameras has sort of fallen through the gaps as governers changed, and now just seem to be archived some place in city hall, with out ever being looked at. And no one is certain where those official archives are. ::The way Andu speaks the word "official" sort of seems to indicate, if some one is listening closely, that there are Unofficial alternatives to each use.::

Serah smiled to Eless and waved to the empath. She trotted over to Shae though was looking for Fox. A friendly smile was sent to the others in the commons just before she'd poke a finger up Shae's spine. Payback for earlier!

At some point, Zynn's eyes found the most recent enterant, and followed him as he made his way into the inn.

"It couldn't hurt to have a look. Technology often presents an interesting challenge for..." Shae reached for a word, but couldn't seem to find it. Her hopeful look deflates as Andu continues. "So is there no way to view what it might have recorded?" And then she was poked, back arching with a start at the prod.

::her grip on her spoon tightens at the sight of the half orc::

Fox was to be found on Shae's lap, tilting his head to the side as her looked up into the rafters. He looked back at Serah as his living seat suddenly shifted.

One might apeal to Gaia. Mothers tend to look poorly on those that try to hurt people they care about. ::Said Andu::

"To...you mean a goddess?" Confusion. Flat confusion from Shae. "Prayer for what, a vision?"

Payback. Mwa ha ha! The bag was placed on the bar. "The phone is for you. The jerky is for Fox."

It's subtle, but Senna catches subtleties often. She darts a look between Eless's grip on her spoon and the newest arrival. Nothing spoken, though she keeps half her attention there while the rest is partitioned off for the continuing conversation.

-he took a moment to look around then that dark gaze went toward the bar and those gathered, orc-green skinned hand would move up to pull the hood of his cloak back and reveal, rough but somewhat rugged half-orc features, his strange skin-tone and a few scars on his jawline, straight black hair which hung down long along his shoulders, he'd move for the break in the bar seeing once again there was no set tender, his attention drawn to the bottles on the bar back shelves-

::more skittish than usual, she forces herself to set down her spoon and to take a long sip of the tea before it cools::

::Andu chuckles softly.:: In this case, Gaia is my surrogate mother. She is also the sentient pocket dimension I call home. She currently includes the salvaged computer cores from 3 starships and a starbase, as well as the mental abilities she has as a sentient magic item.

Her eyes followed the half orc up to the bar and through the break, as she leaned up to retrieve a mug from the cupboard. Once Zynn had it in hand, she was making her way towards the tea selection.

::Andu shrugs.:: She has made it a point to "tap into" and monitor every communications device and style she can about town, though she will only show anyone things she considers the need for them to see to be greater than other people's right to privacy.

When the half-orc moves behind the bar, Senna reframes her space to accommodate, drifting from the back bar to press forward against the counter stretching across the patron side.

Serah added to the confusion, bless her. Shae stared at the bag as if it was some small demon. Fox was already climbing up onto the bar to knock it on its side and push his face inside. "A phone?" Dear gods, Shae with a phone. "But..." And she was torn. "Thank you." Gratitude, at least. Andu kept her focus, she would have words with Serah about this phone once she had investigated! Sentient dimensions, stars above. "Computers are like large phones, yes?" That's what she had been told. "I would very much like to speak with her, if I may."

Home made beef jerky. Not that Serah made it mind you. She wanted Fox alive thank you. There was a nice size bag of the stuff just for the handsome creature. She smiled cheekly to Shae. "If you need help with it just let me know." She flashed a thumbs up and darted off for a drink. Err well she'd wait until the people were out from behind the bar.

::Andu nods, and reaches down to his belt to draw a small gold band out and offer it out to Shae.:: This is a comband. It connects directly to Gaia, a bit like a phone, with out all the buttons, but with the ability to communicate by sound, vision or telepathy, at the most basic.

::sips the overly sweetened team, letting the heat seep through her in an attempt to chase away the chill that wasn't from the outside temperatures::
::The Empath's listening, the distractions actually helping her in their own way::

-bottle of whiskey taken from the shelves, he would drop a coin into the til, then he turned, his path was marked to lead away from the bar, but thats when he looked up and noticed the elf, a little dark grin came to his lips and those black eyes glimmered, Div'ro paused there watching her and even took that time to open the bottle he held, he was watching her now-

The waifish slip of artist behind the bar is not likely an impediment to Serah's drink acquisition, though the half-orc taking up considerably more space certainly might be!

::Narrows her gaze at the half-orc, the blue flames flaring warningly in her gaze as she meets his unflinchingly over the rim of her teacup::

A slender hand reaches out to accept the band, studying the object with all the senses available to her. Oh yes, words for Serah later. Along the lines of Why. and How does this even work? For now, that band. She had no idea how a phone worked, but intent based items were in her experience. "Thank you, Andu. I shall give it a try when I am somewhere where I can properly clear my head." Too many distractions here. "Shall I return this when I am done?" Fox had found the jerky and carried it to Senna. Senna had hands. It was placed in front of her with an expectant look.

Pomegranate green tea is what Zynn settled on to drink, and the teabag was dropped into her mug, before her eyes ticked back towards the Half orc. They they danced between him and Eless.

Keep it. It also gives you access to Gaia physically, and can be used as a replacement for a regular cell-phone. ::The oversized minotaur leaning back against the bar clears his throat, rather loudly.::
::his gaze drifting from Shae to the darkly grinning ork.::

::the tension had already been obvious in her diminutive frame, the half-orc's silent regard serving only to wind the Empath tighter::

Shae didn't know how she would feel about intruding on the minotaur's relation-slash-retreat, but she didn't mention that. A nod and the band disappeared into the pouch at her waist for later inspection.

::A nod to those gathered on the porch as Connar arrived on the top step, then he continued to the door and stepped inside::

Figeting hands, yes; they are currently shredding a bar napkin into confetti as Senna looks between Eless and the half-orc. Fox's arrival pierces her attention and she looks down at the jerky, then back to the fox, equally expectant. "What?"

::Elessaria sets the mug down with deliberate slowness::

-he'd open the bottle and give a little grunt then would start to laugh it was a rough dark laugh, he only gave a slightly annoyed grunt at her, he could see her discomfort, his grin widened and he would only wink at her, then make his way on out from behind the bar, his laughter quietened as he went-

Is it in a bag that he needs opened?

A paw on the bag at the point where it opens. A pointing gesture. That seems to be the case.

Serah raised a brow at Div' who seemed amused that he was causing a discomfort in the empath. She clicked her tongue quietly.

::still holding her breath, she's silently willing herself to stay calm::

::The weather finally warming, if but slightly, he had forsaken a cloak and wore a heavy dark leather tunic with short sleeves exposing the long sleeves of his white shirt underneath. Connar looked to the hearth, then to the bar, then headed in that direction::

Shae righted the gift bag that Fox had overturned. Looking inside and then looking to Serah. The mood had not escaped her notice. Her eyes drift to the cause. Recognition. She had seen him before. "Eless." Ever direct. "Is that him?"

::she hears Shae's voice from far away and follows it back through the thrumming, to shake her head slowly:: Nay, 'tis not him.

"Mm-hmm," Senna drops to a crouch to retrieve the bag. "Maybe I overestimated you," she says with a wink as she neatly rips the top of the bag open and offers the mouth of it to Fox. There you go, have at it.

::finally taking half-breaths, eyes closed as she wills her shielding to be tighter so as not to expose everyone to her tumultuous emotions::

::Connar noted those gathered about the bar as he moved next to Eless - noting the distress in her eyes and breathing:: (s) Bonsoir, chere...::He then leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her cheek:: (s) All is well, I pray...

-the bottle of whiskey was taken into the hallway near the backdoor, the half-orc took his first drink there, then opened the door and stepped out into the alleyway, planning to take his drink elsewhere, the hood was brought back up over his face before letting the door slam behind him-

\::without responding in words, she turns on her stool and simply wraps her arms tightly around Connar's neck and buries her face against his shoulder::

Aw yes, jerky. Fox takes the bag in his teeth, retreating with it to gorge on the prize inside. Shae followed the walking disturbance with her eyes. "Someone who works for him? Or do you have a quarrel with his--" Whoops. Tender moment there. Shae cuts herself off.

What a strange, strange man. Serah tilted her head as she looked after the half-orc.

Her eyes narrowed a little on the half orc's retreating form, after his apparent amusment at Eless' discomfort. Quietly, Zynn considered what would happen if she lobbed her mug at his head, as it was tempting. But then he was gone. Aw.

::Connar gave a soft caress to the back of her hair and neck:: (vs) All is well now...

::Elessaria shivers in spite of the warmth of his touch, a hitch in her breath as she struggles to regain her composure::

::Connar's warms were wrapped tightly around her, and would remain so for as long as she needed. He cast his gaze about the room, a nod to Shae and Zynn...the few he knew. If there had be a threat, he could no longer see it in the room::

Gesture of kindness completed, Senna drains the rest of her coffee and sets her mug in the sink. A general wiggle of fingers directed across the bar before she rounds it, exiting out into the alleyway as quietly as she entered.

::a slight nod against his shoulders, her breathing slowly evening out:: (s) Oui... better now.

Serah flapped a wave to Connar and now that it was free behind the bar, at least a little, she bounced back there for a drink. Instead of getting coffee or beer she opted for something out of the cooler.

Nodding back to Connar, Shae switched her focus to Serah. A wave shooting after Senna, if she saw it.

::she straightens slightly, but only so they can hear her, her wave belated to Senna::

::A nod sent to Serah as well, having missed her earlier. He gave the empath a reassuring squeeze:: (s)I either arrived a bit too late or just at the right time...

I do nay know the half-orc is or if he doth work for my pursuer. I simply know they hold a lasting hate for my kind. ::Said Elessaria::

"You." Shae began in accusation to the pink haired one. "Just what am I supposed to do with a phone?" Again she peered into the bag. That looked deceptively simple in design. Which meant it was fiendishly complicated to use. "And why did you spend your money on one? I fixed yours to save you money!"

(s) The right time, cher. ::her smile softening and the tension slowly ebbing from her petite frame::

::He leaned back enough to see her face:: (s) I have no idea what a whole ork looks like, not to mention half of one...

(s) Tall... green... ugly...

Serah didn't feel bad that she was missed! He had an elfie to snoogle with. Looking up she gave Shae a sheepish smile. "Remember that trip on the sea? I kind of um," scratching the back of her neck she laughed nervously, "I dropped my phone in the water so it is fish food. When I went to get my new one they offered me a separate phone as a promotion thing. Figured I'd give it to you so we can text. Don't worry I'll show you how to use it and stuff. It isn't that hard. Really!" Her smile dipped and disappeared. "But later. I think I am going to jet."

I find that Orcs, along with a good stout rope, are good for sports of many kinds. ::Andu sips his coffee, grinning between sips.::

A thoughtful frown on her face. "I guess things are different here." Murmured to no one in particular. Shae finished her tea quietly. Collecting her things, she nodded to those who had arrived, and waved to those who she had spoken with. Fox took himself, and what was left of the jerky he was consuming, up the stairs with her. "Be well." Her words of parting.

Good night Shae. Twas nice to formally meet thee. Finally. ::Said Elessaria::

Her hand waved an agreement. They would speak again, the gesture said. And then Shae was gone upstairs.

(Helena and Robert, minor edits made)

After entering the inn for a smoke, it wasn't long before Helena's appearance at the booth caught his attention. They had crossed paths the other night, not on the best of terms.

Robert had a smile for Zynn when she played bartender before he leaned over the bar, grabbing a plastic sword and stabbing at two of the cherries in a jar with it. Fingers hooked the twine of the box in the seat next to him before he moved to the booth where Helena was and took a seat. The little sword with the cherries was offered with a, "Truce?"

Helena listened to Artsblood, considering her words with narrowed eyes - somewhat thoughtful. And then her eyes shifted to Robert Brohkun and his offered fruit. So she watched him, awaiting what should happen next.

There would be no response given. Such an action was so absurd that it warranted no response.

"It's not immortal, you know," a small wiggle of the plastic sword of fruit, "You should take it." But she was of a serious face, one he met with a mild shrug, turning the sword on himself and taking two two impaled pieces of cherry into his mouth before dropping the bit of plastic on the table top. Chew. Swallow.

"Did you need something?"

"We've gotten off on the wrong foot." He folded his hands, eyebrows lift, "And I'd like to be on the right foot. Or the indifferent foot."

Turns her head towards him. "Then this sounds entirely like your problem."

"Well, if your heart is set on it," the minor shrug of his shoulders as a finger hooked int the twine of his package, "I won't get in the way." A scoot to slide out of her booth, the plastic sword left behind on the table top.

Her lips thin, and in an instant her mind catches that which is habit - one that should be broken. "Robert Brohkun."

Like her finger caught a loose string of his sweater and wanted to unravel it. "Helena Sedzia." An elbow propped on the top of the booth's divider.

"Sit down." Nods to the booth. Her legs were crossed under the table, and her hands were folded in her lap. Otherwise, she looked quite relaxed, if mildly irritated.

When he swallowed, he imagined the smoke of his cigarette. The weight of the package wasn't substantial, judging by the way it hung from his fingertips. Maybe, perhaps, the weight of a single brick. His head went to the side as if to roll her words over and then he set the box down gingerly, returning to his seated position. Negotiations of combat rules, then? He obliged her, for the time being.

After he was seated. "What are you?"

"The new museum curator." A single eyebrow arch and he reached forward to fidget with the plastic sword. Robert wasn't fidgety, not by nature. This sort of habit happened when he wanted a cigarette. It was a relaxes sort of fooling around. His eyes looked more green than anything, moving over the contours of her face as if he hadn't quite seen her the other night.

"And what did you want with Sabine Gabrielle?" Her face was not moving, not animated. It was in a single expression, in total control. The question did not come out unkindly, but direct. As direct as Helena has always been.

"Nothing, she was cute and I thought she was available." The point of the sword on the table top, "Do you always feel so suspicious? Is Sabine not someone worth paying attention to?"

"I am suspicious about a man who answers a question about what he 'is' with what he 'does.' And as far as Sabine Gabrielle is concerned, she answers for herself." Her eyes shift from his eyes, to his hands - more so on his hands than on the ordinary plastic sword.

"The work we do defines us." Said simply before he leaned back, "Do you often ask people what they are, or is this an interest you have acutely taken with me?"

Eyes return to his. "If you wish not to answer, then say so. Answering a question with a question will end this conversation rather quickly." A short pause. "I am conversing with you. I was rude before - I understand that. You didn't warrant such a reaction. But if what we do truly defines us, then I have to wonder about a man employing such evasive maneuvers to such a simple question."

"Well," when she threatened to end the conversation, least he respond in the way she liked, he looked away, tongue running on the inside of his teeth. The threat, the apology for before and then his attention went back to her. Evasive maneuvers. "I do not think the substance of my being defines me so much as my actions. I think of myself as the curator, that which I chose to be and was not some happenstance of birth."

Helena blinked slowly at the answer, her lips softening some into a partial smile. "The substance of your being." She repeated. "What is that? And what has you so worried?" Of your being, maybe.

"Prejudice and bigotry," simply, followed by the small roll of his shoulders. The plastic sword was laid down and he looked at her, "I'm demon." Not that it was all that revolutionary in Rhy'Din. He wasn't claiming to be a god. Or werewolf. Or Vampire. Or. Or. The list went on and in light of it, he could be considered wholly unremarkable, "And you? How do I categorize you? What. Are. You."

"Was that so hard?" Eyes widen with the question briefly, the smirk widening. "I am a Witch. It is who I am. It is what I do."

"Then you no doubt know the drill. I'm tired of it. Tired of the singing and the dancing and the lecturing and everything else accompanied with it." When her smirk widened he was unable to keep himself from smiling.

"You seem adept at hiding it. As am I. There is no absurd, 'accidental revelation' about what I am capable of doing. And people who cannot accept it are not worth my time." Indicating. "You see how I nearly dealt with you. Such a play is staged often."

At the bar, Zynn stays quiet and fills both her and Izumi's glasses. Then the bottle was set aside, and her cigarette case picked up. One was easily freed from its confines, and tucked between her lips. After a moment of concentration, she inhales, and the tip glows bright cherry red, all without a lighter.

"Such a play? How do you mean?" There is a distraction to his left. Zynn. He bit his lower lip at the sight of her cigarette and then folded his hands, putting elbows on the both table and lips against the criss crossed fingers as if in prayer or some other deep thought when he looked back to Helena.

"I have my way of dealing with people. Good and bad." Follows his eyes to Zynn, and then returns to him. "Something more entertaining than I?"

"Bad habits," sort of. Mostly. Robert's relationship with chain smoking cigarettes was a complex explanation that had little pay off to hear. Suffice it to say, he wanted them. He made the motion of his hand to smoke an invisible cigarette for Helena to indicate his want, "I always step outside, though. It can wait." Folded hands dropped from his mouth to rest atop the table, "Do you have to deal with people often?"

For Zynn, life wasn't fun without any bad habits. If she had heard him, she probably would have said so. She should know, as she had many bad habits. Speaking of which, it was right about now that her hand caught her glass and lifted it to her lips. She relieved the glass of several sips, before she set it back down.

"You needn't wait long. I am leaving soon." Blinks slowly. "I deal with what I choose to deal with. Whether it is often or not, I couldn't say. Lately, I have been spending time alone. There no particular reason for that other than being an exercise in preference. And you? I take it this is one stop on the long road to acceptance?"

"Then I'll escort you," palms pressed to the table top to give a shove, bringing him to his feet. He leaned forward to recollect his parcel and then looked at her. Her question was met with an arched brow, as if the idea of clawing for acceptance was so long abandoned that the suggestion was strange. Robert smiled, anyway, though, "Something like that." The discussion would be a long one, not suitable for the tail end of a conversation. Bad habits. The beauty of the damaged, of the broken. She wouldn't have to do much convincing for him to concede. The package was given a small turn, swaying left and right on the slack of the twine tie.

Sliding from the booth, Helena stood and faced him. "An escort is not necessary though it is kind of you. I will simply return from whence I came." A pause, her smile remaining easy. "Have a good evening, Robert Brohkun."

"I suppose a witch and demon don't have much concern for the evening boogeymen, do we?" Though he said it softly, still not one keen to announce himself. Robert had liked being just the museum curator. It wasn't something he wanted taken away so soon. There was the look at the box and he decided it was better he go upstairs than outside. There was the nod towards the staircase, his smile slight on his lips, "Goodnight." He did not feel he should hug her or shake her hand, but nod before taking his path upstairs and to the room where a bowl was waiting for him in a largely, almost entirely, undisturbed room.

Helena would not accept a hug or handshake. She watched him depart before finding her way out.

Rhy'Din Animal Control and Humane Society. 1 am.

Outside the chain link fence, sitting in his old grey 4x4 Ford pick up, Robert had his seat leaned as far back as the space in the cab of his truck would allow. Window cracked a good three inches, the smoke from his cigarette was lazily working its way up to the opening of the window before getting pulled away into the evening. Waiting wasn't something that bothered him. The staff had left a full six hours ago, it had been the janitorial crew that came in the evening since animal control was their last client. The janitor was a bit disillusioned with his work and had stepped outside, talking on his phone to someone for a good hour. Robert waited, watching the building from the lot he had parked in diagonal to it.

It was 1 am when the man finally stepped out of the facility, locking the door behind him as he talked on his phone. Robert watched the lights of the station wagon turn on seconds before the engine geared up. He waited for the car to pull away and put his cigarette out in a discarded can that was in the cup holder situated near the floor of the truck between the two seats. When he stepped out of his truck he didn't slam his door shut but let it close, not entirely latching shut, but making a lot less noise by doing in that way. In the back of his truck were leather gloves, a black knit head mask and some heavy duty wire cutters. There was a cursory look before he pulled on the head covering, grabbed the wire cutters and jogged across the lots to the fence. Robert crouched and clipped only about three feet up the fence by one of the metal posts. He set the wire cutters on the ground and used part of the metal to force it to stay peeled back, leaving a triangular opening that was two and a half feet tall. Robert put the wire cutters on his belt loop before crawling underneath the fence.

The dumpster for biohazardous material was clearly marked. There were warnings, for the employees and trash collectors alike, about the contents inside. Beyond that, no amount of careful bagging ever really concealed the smell of a dead body. Robert pushed the bright yellow lid back, made another check of his surroundings and then caught the lip of the dumpster to pull himself up. Chances were, there was a security camera watching the lot. Chances were the understaffed, underfunded facility wasn't going to notice that someone had taken their trash and review the tapes. Most people threw the bags overhead and forgot about it. After about a week, people tended to discard their tapes.

What he wanted was there, with some of the other vacuum sealed bits of amputated or discarded flesh. Little bags of animal feces were shoved into every corner of the metal dumpster from the dog walks and clean ups that happened everyday. When he recognized the gaunt shape of the dog's skull he reached down, grabbed the bag by its corner and pulled it out. A secondary one was located, likewise withdrawn and dropped on the ground. Robert fought his way out of the slippery bags and smell of the dumpster, grateful when he landed on his feet. A shove of the dumpster lid and it was closed, the dump site looking unchanged by him, except for the bodies of two dogs in vacuumed sealed bags. They looked neatly terrified, spoiled, the way they were bagged seeming like someone meant to preserve them for cooking later. They had, no doubt, been stored in a freezer until being dumped.

The bodies of the dogs were shoved through the opening of the fence before he crawled through. On one knee he undid the tie-wire with a shove, the fence instantly dropping into place. He could feel the metal catch his knee when it came down, cutting through his pant leg with a superficial cut. He stepped away, each hand clutching one body bag as he jogged to the diagonal lot where he was parked. Once he reached his truck he placed the bodies of the dogs into the back of it carefully before climbing in. Nothing wet had touched him, but he could feel the smell of the dumpster had permeated his clothes. The black knit face mask was peeled off, his skin grateful for the relief from the heat of it against his skin. He tossed it on the passenger seat and slipped the wire cutters out from his belt loop and placed them, along with his gloves, on top of the wire cutters. His hazel eyes dropped to the dash to read the time. 1:45 am.

While he drove, he smoked another cigarette, or two. Partly to try to help keep himself awake. The thought to grab a coffee or a gas station drink crossed his mind for only a second before he dismissed it. Afterward, maybe, but not now.

Final destination: Sunny Side Bed and Breakfast. Robert thought about the conversation he had with Jo.

"Well class is in session but I'll see their teacher tonight. He's staying at Sunny Side Bed and Breakfast. I can set up a phone meeting tonight, if you'd like?" Jo was certain that the deal could be done easily and quickly.

When he pulled up to Sunny Side, he parked his car along the drive, not completing his approach but stopping half way through. He watched Sunny Side for a few minutes, admiring the quiet of the building, the way it stood as if it were blissfully unaware of the world. His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. It was 2:20. Deceptions and illusions weren't something that was easy, or effortless. Not on the level he was performing for that evening. Most deceptions could be partial, could be minor, requiring infinitely less energy. It was easier to give someone a piece of paper with words on it and make them see it differently than to give them paper with no words at all. Or, the most difficult, to make someone see a sign that never had existed. If there was already a physical substance present, that was a good third of the work. While he might have had a truck, he didn't want that or any vehicle being parked where it was to be a memory. After ten minutes, Robert had managed to make what was there, his grey truck, seem completely absent from its spot on the road. How long could he hold it?

There was still more to be done.

After Robert stepped out of the truck, which to him remained completely visible, he reached in the trunk and pulled out the dogs, one grasped by each hand. The bags were placed on the ground carefully. The pocketknife tucked on the outside of his boot was slipped off, snapped open, and set to work on the plastic. It took him nearly half an hour to work through the slippery, thick plastic and pull the emaciated corpses of the dogs out. One had been a husky, the other, a greyhound. Not that it was something a person could immediately recognize except for the patterning of white and black fur on one.

"You know," Robert said, drawing the body of the grey hound to his lap and situating it as though it were alive, half lounging over him, "I would have never starved you to death," he turned the skull of the dog to the side, his thumb cruising over the wrinkled, putrid flesh where there was a fist-size give in it, "or beaten you. I would have never done that to you." The thin hips of the dog reminded him of an old man's, somehow. They just seemed incredibly fragile, even in death. Robert leaned in, kissing the top of the dog's head, "Expergiscimini."

A small, high-pitched whine came from the dog. It tucked its tail beneath itself as much as it could and twisted, as if it were fearful. Robert supposed that it was reliving some past moment and hadn't realized that it was already over. His hand slid along its still half-mangled skull, "Shhh... it's all right. Go, take a little walk around." It whined again, head bowing as close to the ground as possible before it rose and paced the area around him nervously. Robert reached for the husky, likewise drawing the gaunt, mistreated form over his lap with a soft apology before he leaned in, the same word spoken into the ear of the dog. The black triangular points of the husky's ears shot forward and it lifted its head. Robert saw the open gouge in the dog's chest, it looked like a shot gun blast, but it could have just been from a lower caliber gun, the deterioration of the dog's body emphasizing the damage. The husky pushed off his lap, more immediately inclined to survey the perimeter than the grey hound had been.

"Hey," Robert sat up on both of his knees, calling the bony forms to him. Their tails wagged, the husky's seeming a bit off because the bone in it had been broken at some point in time. He placed his hands on the side of the animals' face and let it slid down, over and over, until they were calm and kept their full attention on him. "I know," he said, "the way you died wasn't fair, but that happens sometimes. You were both just... so... hungry, and scared. But do you know what?" he looked away from them to the road that lead to Sunny Side and then back to them, "You can have one more moment where you get to feel full, where you get to feel powerful and strong. Would you like that?" The tail wag and partial whine was a clear admission of excitement. Robert smiled, speaking to them with a warm, upbeat voice, "There's pigs and chickens and everything you ever wanted to eat that people wouldn't give you. Go, enjoy yourselves... one more time." The husky started in the direction of the smell but turned to look back at Robert. The greyhound was an insecure, gruesome skeleton of a dog that was afraid to leave him.

"Go on!" Robert laughed, standing up. He waved his hands again, "Have your fill and don't let anyone stop you. People are not your friends." The laugh, the words of encouragement, seemed to be the last nudge they needed. They turned on their heels and shot towards the bed and breakfast, circling around the building once before they found sleeping chickens and pigs. They were voracious, because they remembered being so hungry that it hurt. They were fearless and brutal because they knew that their time was only borrowed.

Robert held his side as he walked slowly up to the house, biting his lip before he made one more push of his ability, concealing his presence. Eventually he sat behind a large tree at the property line, one that gave him a vantage point to watch the two dogs at work. It was slightly less effort to make his image seem to be more of a bush than to just entirely not be there. His hand kept a hold of his side, though he felt his palm start to get wet with his blood. All he had to do was focus for a few more hours.

The screaming of the pigs was nearly human. Chickens were scattering fearfully and the mules in the barn, sensing the tension, began to bay. Robert leaned his back against the tree, holding his side as he waited and watched. Bessie was going to call someone for help-- who would it be?

(Cris, Leena, Jo, Robert)

The dogs circle the house three times. No entry. The clucking and flutter from the chicken coop regained their interest, since the door to the house at that time was boring. It was everything they were promised. It was hot flesh, it was feeling on fire and strong again, like they were in their prime. The metal wire of the chicken coop gave away enough that they slipped beneath it and started ripping off the wings and legs of the chickens in a flurry of feathers.

"Ah shit," he turned and looked at Bessie. She was shaking uncontrollably and looking at Jo. "Call Cris!" he shouted at her. It seemed to break her from the panic and she shuffled over to the house phone. Her finger went along the list on the paper tacked to the wall. With a few beeps and boops, Cris' phone was called.

"They're in the coop!"

He tried the bathroom door.

It was open. The girl had no shame.

Or, she wasn't mad at him. Which he was certain would change in seventeen seconds, exactly. He paused outside the shower curtain, wishing he could simply drink in the taste of steam and skin. Without a shirt, each roil of moist air caressed him, warming strained muscles and licking a sheen on black Marks. "Leena," pitching his voice over the water.

And then his phone rang.

"Eat," Robert spoke in a whisper as he watched them try to sate themselves. They would wag their tails, their canine faces in a menacing grin that only a mostly exposed skeleton could do.

"He's not answering!" Bessie screamed at Jo and hung up the phone. "What are we going to do?" She wrung her hands and looked at Jo as if he were going to solve this problem, as if he were her savior.

"Call him again. I'm going to try to distract them again. Hopefully they didn't get them all." And then he snuck outside and began running towards the car. "Hey! Assholes! Over here! Why have chicken when you can eat me?!" he was waving his arms and running like a mad man.

"Jesus Christ, Cris." It was closer to ten seconds. The curtain was silent even though the words behind it were heavy with strength.

That wasn't a number he saw often. Cursing, he turned away, lingering near the door to ear the other side over the roar of water and pipes. This time, he answered on the first ring. "Bessie---"

"No! Jo!" but it was too late. Bessie picked up the phone and clutched it in her trembling hands, trying to ring Cris again. This time, he picked up. "Cris!" her shrill voice carried, clearing any static from the land line. "Oh! They're killing my babies! And Jo's out there! Come, please!"

The dogs, at this point, were practiced in their dislike and want of Jo. Instead of hesitating, lingering on some recollection that they were trying to sort, they saw something to eat. Something that needed to be eaten. The sound caused them to spin and push out from the chicken wire opening. Jo had to of anticipated their quicker reaction. The husky led the race to the fool.

Robert checked the time. Ten minutes.

She was an old woman, she could not do it on her own. But to call Josiah for a goddamned farm raid---He thought they were weres and he went anyway. Cris put a palm to his brow. "Bessie, calm down. Do what you can to get him back inside."

Jo was almost to the car when he felt the tepid breath of the husky on his heels. He leaped forward, grabbing the door handle. Jerking it sharply, he twisted his body and slammed the side panel of the door into the dog's shining skull before he jumped into the car and slammed the door. "Fuck fuck fuck!" he panted, shouting to himself. Putting the key into the ignition was a tricky thing, with his hands shaking as they were. And when he managed to get the engine turned over, he pointed the car at the dogs and gunned the gas.

"He's in the car!" she shouted into the phone. "Cris! He's going to get hurt! And my babies! My babies!"

It was the greyhound, the one that lagged behind the leader, that was struck by the car. The husky had leapt on top of it, gnashing it's teeth, catching the base of the windshield wiper and giving a violent tug of his head. It unfortunately served to keep him anchored to the car.

"All right. All right, all right. All right. Stay calm. I won't be long." He ended the call before he changed his mind, because already there was an iceberg forming in his core. "Leena, I need to speak with you," he told the curtain.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" she sobbed into the phone and then hung it up when Cris did. She rushed to the door to watch in horror as Jo drove around her farm yard like a raving lunatic.

"Holy shit!" Jo slammed on the breaks and threw the car into reverse. Looking back, he cut the wheel sharply to turn the car into a hard right. He was hoping to dislodge the beast. "Get off of Graham's car!" he growled at the flesh dripping, snarling and teeth gnashing undead dog on the hood. Jo tapped the screen of his phone to call Cris once again before he put the car into drive and gunned the engine to lurch forward.

The greyhound was shaking off the trauma, though part of it's guts had to be left behind. It jogged up to the car and jumped, knocking its muzzle against the window without managing to break it. The husky was the persistent one. The angry one. It showed in the knots of muscle over its brow.

The water ceased its stream and the curtain whipped aside. "What?" She wasn't mad. Reaching past him she grabbed a towel and yanked it off the rack.

"For the Angel's fucking sake---" pausing long enough to press the phone to his ear. "Stop fucking calling me and concentrate on staying alive. I will be there." This time, he did throw the phone. The stone wall stopped it cold and it clattered into the sink.

"Oh fuck!" Jo jerked to the side to avoid the grey hound's juicy smack against the window. He heard Cris' voice but by this point he was too panicked to realize that Cris had answered the phone. Cutting the wheel again, Jo did a donut in the middle of the yard, leaving deep plows behind him as he drove towards the front of the house and the road.

There was water on wet skin. Drenched hair laying against pearled lines, and every curve and line and for two and a half seconds, he did not give a shit what happened at that Bed and Breakfast.

Her frown was quick. Wrapping the towel around herself, she stepped out. "Who was that?"

"Guess." He turned his back, where a nest of claw mark scars rode over shoulder blades amidst only two Marks. "There is something going on at the Bed and Breakfast, something enough to force Bessie to contact me, but not before Josiah did on her behalf. It will be the last time I am going to do this."

"Bullshit." She gave Cris a pointed look and brushed by him. "I need five minutes."

So did he. He lingered in the bathroom, in the steam and the pieces of the evening he'd smashed for himself. He took the phone from the sink and pocketed it. He had a shirt somewhere too. Or not, but there was a hoodie draped across the kitchen island. He left Leena to the bedroom and shrugged it on, zipping it up to his throat.

She was ready in four and a half. Strolling from the bedroom and chased by the laces of her boots, she slid a gun in the back of her pants. "What's going on?"

Robert swallowed and reached down, looking at the time. Twenty minutes. He let his focus slip, the disguise of his figure behind the tree dropped. The ache in his side lifted minutely, his attention went over his shoulder as he watched the husky and grey hound grapple with the car. It brought a smile to him. It was a rather beautiful dance.

When Jo got to the road, he turned the wheel and slammed on the breaks, putting the car into a power slide that he had to hand onto the wheel to prevent himself from flying across to the passenger's seat. He then cut the wheel to the left and gunned the engine, hoping the g-pulls from the swerving vehicle would knock the canines free.

Inside, Bessie ran into her bedroom to remove the shot gun from it's place above her hearth and load it with the shells she kept in the glass case by her closet. Once it was loaded she ran to the front door to watch Jo.

That shook the husky. Demonic strength had it's limits when dealing with rotting flesh. Two of the teeth on the side of his mouth came lose and he lost hold, rolling off the hood of the car and slinging into a tree. There was a howling and a cry. They climbed back to their feet, shaking off the disruption. Without having to worry about himself, Robert squeezed a little more effort into the dogs, gasping at the stabbing sensation in his side.

When the dog rolled from the hood of the car, Jo positioned it to aim at the beast. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor to take out the bigger dog.

"Get off!" Bessie opened the door, yelled at the dogs and then fired off a shot gun blast that laid her out on the floor. She dropped the gun and shoved her weight against the door to slam it shut.

This time the dogs shot away from Jo at the last minute, leaving a thicket of trees for him to either smash into, or maneuver around. Had he noticed them in time to avoid it?

Jo slammed on the breaks and swerved to scrape along the side of the Volvo. Graham was going to kill him if he lived through this night. The thought made him laugh hysterically. Driving the car away from the Bed & Breakfast, he wanted to lure them to a safe distance away until the cavalry in the form of Cris and Leena showed up. He heard and saw the shot gun blast as the pellets skittered across the glass and hood.

"Josiah believes it to be supernaturally related, but I can't imagine it to be." He headed toward the door first, stele freed from his boot to cut apart the rune that kept their door locked. "Bessie keeps a modest amount of livestock on her land, and they've come under attack. It sounds stupid and pointless. But she opened her home to me when I did not have one." Striding into the hall, he waited for her to accompany him before he set the tip of the stele to the door and frame, rearming every Ward, throwing home every bolt.

Leena followed, shrugging into her jacket. "So rather than playing knight for one of your princesses, you're on a quest to save bacon?"

On their way down, he stuffed the stele back into his boot. He was armed with only half of what he would have liked to be. "The jury is still out on whether or not Josiah is a princess. He will survive this, and I will injure him."

(Robert, Jo, Leena, Cris)

Against the dark backdrop of the night sky, but second story square backlit by aged yellow light and its two silhouettes renewed the blaze of his vexation. He dragged the dagger out of its snug place in his booth and held the flat of it tight against his wrist. His other hand did the same, two fingers burrowing to find the hilt of a small knife more than likely meant for throwing but it was silver like its partner, and it would work. "What in the Angel's fucking name are these things?"

Cris was so many more steps ahead of her. Leena remained where she was for a few beats, scanning the shadows with slanted eyes. She pulled the gun from the waist of her jeans with one hand, the other sweeping beneath the flap of her jacket to pull a knife. She began a slow cross step to the left, narrowing her focus on the would be canines. "I'm pretty sure we've been over that."

"I beg of you to redefine your view of the word dog, then. These things are like rotting gangrels, ripped straight from a Way." Perhaps he should have chosen iron instead.

The husky wasn't appreciating the proximity Cris had. It bristled, the hair that was there standing on end. It was amazing how white parts of the fur could still look, even at night with the strips of moonlight and the light from the porch pouring over it. The half rotted lips drew back to expose teeth that looked longer than they ever had. Decay had pulled the flesh back, giving the teeth an extension. Another snap and then the husky hopped on top of the railing to take the high ground. They greyhound whined and hopped down. There was the slump of its intestines hitting the floor as it trotted from behind the railing and down the front of the porch, seeming to want to circle around Cris curiously. Leena's distance made her less of a concern, for now.

He drew his lips in and pressed them firmly together. The last time he'd fought against creatures like these was some time ago. He'd had seraph blades then, and the foes he and his one-night allies came in contact with weren't quite so sentient. He presumed that even with the lacking muscle mass, the dogs were strong and ferocious.

The yard was wide and empty, save for the dented volvo and what pathetic cover the porch railing would give if he got there. Gaze darted from the dog to the car, to the porch and back, then, tightly, back to Leena.

Jo and Bessie stood at the window, staring down at the gristly scene unfolding below. It was too horrific to even imagine and the fear for their friends down below erased any trouble they might have had with their stomachs over the disgusting state of the canines. "Behind you!" Jo screamed, muffled significantly by the pane of glass between himself and the night air. "Watch out, Cris!"

Rather than hunching into a defensive curl, Leena straightened, levering the gun part way up but not raising it to shoot. The fingers of her right hand curled tightly around the hilt of the knife when the greyhound came off the porch to sniff out Cris. "Maybe." She lifted her eyes to watch the husky, keen interest in the Alpha. "Don't trip."

He wasn't concerned. There was a certainty seated deeply in his bones that while he was looking in one direction, the others were covered. "Don't miss," he said back, and gouged his booth into the dirt, forcing a spray of sand into the husky's snarling face.

He did not waste time waiting, darting quick to the left, then forward.

It was when Cris looked away that the husky kicked off the railing of the porch and went for him. In its prime it must have weighed over a hundred pounds, judging by the bone structure and what had been of muscles. Like an animal its first inclination was to go for the ankle. His long, exposed teeth meant to snipe into that flesh, hungry for the tendon that would render him lame. It was how wolves brought down larger animals-- by sniping at them, letting them bleed out and limp along.

The greyhound lifted it's pointed snout and sniffed the air. There was a low growl emitting from a throat that should have emitted more of a high pitch whine. Rotted flesh pulled back to expose gleaming white teeth that looked more like tiny daggers. And when the husky made it's move from the front, the greyhound charged from the rear with incredibly fast burst of speed aimed right for the back of Cris' knee.

Leena lifted the gun and aimed it at the greyhound's head, pulling the trigger within seconds of catching the dog's shiver of muscles before it moved. She leapt after it, sweeping one of her legs beneath her to slide across the ground and catch the animal's hind legs with a kick from the other.

His first desire was to separate them, either with the car, or the house itself. Cut them off from each other, disrupt their communications. The husky charged milliseconds before he had and a waterfall of all new icy adrenaline flooded his core.

There was scarcely half a foot between him and the animal when he launched into an aerial, hidden power in his legs giving the gift of height. Left hand pulled back mid-air, he threw it out and the small dagger clutched their rocketed toward the curve of what was left of the beast's skull.

The sand made the attack a blind one. He missed, his body hitting the ground at an awkward angle. The dagger hit its mark, wedged between ribs that were already exposed in his chest from a shotgun blast in his life. The dog cried out at the painful thunk of metal in his chest. Claws dug into the dirt and his form twisted, hind legs catching the ground to launch himself at him again, trajectory aimed to intercept at they both fell to meet the ground. This time the length of its teeth met Cris' arm.

The bullet smacked into the back of the skull of the greyhound with a sickening meaty splat! A quarter of the skull exploded into fragments that flew in a hundred different directions. It did not slow the canine down a bit. He was just at Cris, head lowered when the man jumped and his hind legs were kicked out from underneath him. He let out a loud squelching yelp of pain and quickly turned on the woman on the ground. He leaped at his target, ivory teeth flashing in the rotten flesh of his gums, that loop of intestines covered in dirt and grass with a filthy slime that kept it attached to the ground.

They met with force, his gained from only one step as the dog lunged forward. He'd stared long enough now. These were no lycans, the were abominations, and as much as he loathed the idea of a wound from one of them, he put his weight behind his arm and shoved it forward as he meant to pin the dog beneath him against the ground.

His other fist came down, the wicked point of the silver, Marked blade angled down at the dog's throat, like it was a block of ice he meant to hack away at.

"Oh God! Leena!" Bessie screamed out the woman's name and clung to Jo as tightly as she could. "Our father who art in Heaven..." she began to pray. Jo kept his arm tightly around Bessie's shoulders. If it were a movie it'd have been the most horrific one he'd ever seen. But this was no movie and he could not tear his eyes away. "Kingdom come, thy will be done..."

Leena had seconds of split to decide for a roll and turn but there was little chance in allowing her back to be exposed for even a blink. She kept her back on the ground and leaned up, aiming again for the greyhound's head, point blank pulling the trigger for a bullet to send into the side of it's muzzle. The knife was in a point beneath her left arm for a secondary sweep should things not go her way.

The husky writhed underneath him. The bite that had intended on trapping Cris's arm expanded with the push of it against the pivot point of the jaw, forcing his mouth wider and wider as though being gagged against the ground. What organs still functioned, did function. There was a jump of a half-heart through the ribs, visible at such a close range. His eyes were wide as the fist came down. But he wasn't a lycan. The silver didn't matter, but the violence did. Chunks of flesh started ripping out of his throat as Cris hacked. His back legs reared up, meeting Cris' chest and clawing at him to try to gain separation from him before his head disconnected.

The grey's fetid breath could be felt and smelled as the blast from the gun sent the canine flying backwards with more of gray matter and bone spattering against warm flesh. There was a high pitched keening noise as the dog landed with a dull thud on the ground. After a few moments of silence, a thudding noise could be heard. The dog's tail wagged and thumped the ground in a whiplike fashion. Getting to it's paws, he shook his head to send a spattering of rotten flesh and bone. Black, lifeless eyes turned back on the woman and the dog lunged, what was left of it's teeth slashing in the pale moonlight with the sole intention of latching on to that ankle.

Its blood stank, or what passed for blood. Rot, more like. Bile and syrupy liquid that used to be solid mass. Many of the dog's beating kicks felt like steel pistons in his chest and in his gut. A pair of claws caught the fabric of his hoodie and ripped it down, before another landed a blow lower than he was comfortable with.

He took the momentum it gave in a reverse somersault and came up in a crouch some feet away. His left hand pulled the last blade he kept in his boot, small like the first, meant to fly, not to stab, but he turned it over like the dagger in his right hand, ready to break the rules.

Pieces of rot landed on her boots, smearing goo on her jeans. "Jesus Christ." She kicked her feet into motion and scooted back along the ground away from snapping jaws, stealing a moment to roll into a backward somersault and catch her weight in a crouch. There was hardly a breath to be taken that wasn't full of fetid rot before she aimed the gun again at the dog's head, pulling the trigger twice in succession.

That was four shots too many. He reaffirmed the grip on both knives. Once, twice, four times; refusing to look up.

What had been his throat was largely gone. When Cris established a distance between them he kicked and fought, disoriented and having difficulty climbing back to his feet. And when he did? His head rolled left and right, seeming incapable of lifting though his jaw gave fierce, repeated snaps. It could orient its head by keeping it low, the muscles that remained behind his neck enough to tighten, to cause the head to lift and hold steady though his throat was largely a hole with exposed cervical bones. It rushed Cris with little thought of strategy, self-aware enough that he knew it was his last chance to land his teeth into him.

Leena's aim was spot on. The first hit the gray in the shoulder, making it stumble in his rush to get at her again. The second hit smack dab on what was left of the canine's nose. And like a rather angry and infected cyst, it burst with a bone crunching snap, crackle and pop! The rotten remains of the gray lurched forward and then tumbled to the ground lifelessly.

He had to think quickly. The force with which he threw from his stance strained something in his lower abdomen, aggravating what would be a mural of bruising across his body and between Marks.

All his weight on his left hip, he leaned into it and sought to wrap his right leg up and over the back of the charging dog's neck in a choke hold to bring it down. The silver dagger in his hand was next to come down, aimed toward the eye socket and twisted like a fork in spaghetti to make ribbons of the dog's brains.

Leena pushed off the ground with her feet and launched herself backwards, away from the spray, catching her weight in a hard jab against her elbows. She wasted little time before she rolled onto her feet and stalked forward to the mess Cris was making of the husky, gun raised.

"Look, look, look! Leena's killed the little one!" Bessie cried, clapping her hands in an automatic rapid fire applause. She even jumped a little in Jo's arms. "Yeah! Cut it's head off, Cris! Cut the fucker's head off!" Usually he watched his language around Bessie but neither of them seemed to notice the slip.

The neck couldn't offer resistance. It twisted like a rag doll to the guide of Cris' leg. He snapped at him, over and over. It didn't matter that it was useless. The husky was like a robot, following its programmed hate even when the possibility of victory has long since passed. The knife dug in, pushing a bulge of the wet, rotten flesh forward, past the hilt and against his hand. The husky snarled, it writhed between his legs.

Inside the grey truck, Robert lifted his eyes to see the forms, the dance of their plight. The husky was defeated, he could tell. Suffering and from that great distance, at a point where it probably didn't matter, he whispered, "Pernoctabit." No one could have said if the brain scramble or Robert's urging was what caused the great strife inside the husky to expand with the great intake of air and leave his body as the breath went out. They became like rotten little dog carcasses, lacking the vitality, the menace and presence that they once were so vibrant with. Robert started the truck, pressing his side against the door as he struggled with his hand grasping his side. All he had to do was keep his focus. Just a moment longer. Get to the museum. It would take everything he had to leave Sunny Side under the cloak of his illusions.

He thought he might die. But he didn't. When he got to the museum he fell asleep in the driver's seat of the truck with the window rolled down, too exhausted to go further as his blood dried his shirt to his chest.

(Shae and Disa)

Sitting in the silence of the Inn before the hearth, Shae let the events of the day slowly replay in her mind. Fox slept on her lap, a comatose sprawl of russet fur. For all the events that had occurred: patching up the girl, being attacked in the Glen, the talk with Cris. For all of that her mind was still on the weight of the phone in her pocket. Cris had left after a private conversation concerning his strained relationship with Jo. All that opportunity and she hadn't told him yet. What was she waiting for? The right time? No. No, nothing like that. She was waiting for Robert. Lost in thought she had barely moved in nearly an hour, but that's when the noises began.

Something moved upstairs. The sounds of wood creaking audible, since she made no attempt to hide herself. A small thing removed from the rafter above and slipped into her pocket. Then she went to the other side, removed a small something and did the same thing. Soon she was going down stairs and she slowly circled the room, paused and touched something that didn't quite seem there and then slipped her hand inside the pocket. Disa was perfectly content to do what she was doing without concern (at this point) of what might happen. Once complete, she was at the bar prepare some tea and a pot of coffee.

Shae hadn't moved in a long time, nor did her body move as the noises began, but now her eyes watched the woman in the mirrors and then directly. What were those somethings? The faint illusion of the last item caught her eye especially and dragged her neutral expression into a frown. She'd seen this woman with Robert. There was a weight in her pocket like lead. Her phone, the copy of the video file. Her evidence.

The somethings were Disa's business, but whatever they are was hidden and secure on her person. What she'd gathered was also some where else. The interesting thing is she had seen a few things herself, but at the moment it didn't dawn on her. The room started to smell like coffee about the same time the kettle started to whistle. Once the water was boiled, she poured hot water into a mug and left it on the counter without tea. Two ice cubes and a bit of honey placed inside to sit. She noticed the woman, but when she wasn't moving earlier figured she was a solitary creature and wanted to remain as that.

Shae's voice drifted from the hearth to betray her observation. "What were you doing?" Her tones cool but not cold. On her lap, russet fur, a still sleeping fox. There was no hint of the smile she usually adopted for company in public. Just intent eyes of pale gold above a tired face.

The woman could ask all she wanted, didn't mean she was going to answer. "Things as I always have." Disa's tone was as it always was, warm, but reserved. No question returned for the woman. One more ice cube placed in the mug, then chased by a small vial of dark liquid. She stirred it up with her finger and then tasted it.

"You're friends with Robert, aren't you." It wasn't really a question. The woman rose and cradled the Fox to her shoulder like one might hold a cat. "Next time you see him would you let him know I'd like to speak with him?" She did smile then, an expression that didn't meet her eyes. "I've something he'll want to talk to me about before I show it to someone else."

"I work for him." If there was more or less, she did not answer the question about him. "What is your name? I will leave him a message at the museum." Taking a sip of whatever is in the cup.

"Tell him it's the woman he was clumsy enough to drug. He'll know who it is. Have a good morning." And her boots carried her towards the stairs.

Disa watched the woman. "You're quite as he explained." She smiled. "I've done nothing to you, but I am him by association. Typical." It didn't bother her at all. "I will leave the message."

"No." Shae paused then. "You have done nothing to me." And her tired look back was one of patience. "But he has, and he lied to my face about it. You can't fault someone with evidence for feeling rather irritated on that point, can you?"

"I've seen you with others, you put on the front of being warm. I, who by your own admission has done nothing, yet you show the truth of you disdain for someone I happen to know directed at me." That said enough. See Disa watched too. At this point the woman had no credibility in her mind. "I have no involvement with you and Robert. I simply came here for something to drink. You ask things of me which are none of your concern, and ask me to deliver a message based on some assumption because you've seen me with him. It would be rather irritating should such trivial things bother me." They didn't. Disa stood there as the woman left. She'd enjoy her drink and finish gathering a few things.

"In any case. Thank you for delivering the message and, as I said, have a good morning." It seemed the woman didn't have any irritation towards Disa, just a wariness of her. Polite, but distant.

Nothing more was said, as of right now the woman was no concern of Disa's, nor did she want any association with her.

(Two weeks ago, the Teas'n Tomes)

As Shae stepped within, carrying a bit of warm air with her, a second chiming sound came from her vicinity. It wasn't the bell of the door, which she let swing shut of its own accord now that no bodies were in the way. It was that generic electronic notification noise. A hand drops to her belt pouch, giving her ample excuse to avoid looking at the globe in the entry. It flickered at her passing, almost disorienting in the indecisive features it displayed.

Tapping at the device she pulled out, it was a small miracle that she found a seat on a couch without running into anything. She managed it though, crossing her legs with the faint squeak of leather as she settled in on a cushion near the stacks. She was getting the hang of the phone. Slowly. At least the texting. Okay maybe not. She still poked slowly at the screen in the lulls between noise, manicured brows narrowing to put a wrinkle of concentration on her forehead.

The curl of her fingers covered the speakers, but the muted chime still could be heard each time she got a reply. In the quiet of the bookstore it carried farther than it had a right to. A frown from the girl behind the pastry counter got her to fumble for the volume control with a sheepish smile. The light from the screen washed into the corners of her face and absent company her features defaulted to something much more serious.

The text message was closed, returning to the home screen of the phone. There, an icon off to the side. A file, she was told it was called. Copy_Sec_Footage_Inn. Her fingers hovered over it, tempted. Then the phone vibrated in her hand again. And a second time. And a third. Her lips tugged in a frown, staring at the words with no idea how to formulate a response. At last she types out another laborious sentence. A shift in her seat, a look around with a wariness of one who expected attack.

Three more buzzing replies in short order. her lower lip chewed at to distraction. She stood, nervous energy filling in the lines of her form as she replied. Pale gold eyes seek the windows. Seek the stacks. Seek the door. It's too quiet suddenly. The air too still and closing. Bootfalls towards the door, not caring how close she got to that globe or its mocking indecisiveness.

A quiet rumble approached from the east, gaining in volume the closer it came.

She stepped outside and into the vibration caused by that approaching rumble. Tucking her phone away she pauses to try and locate where it is coming from. It sounded like one of the vehicles that were popular here and she didn't fancy getting hit by hundreds of pounds of metal tonight.

The sound wound from the east wall, looping the south, and coming up the west, where it cut off in the alley between the tea shop and the neighboring building.

Shae wracked her mind to remember whether or not that beater truck had sounded like that. The distortion of sound from the alley made it difficult to tell. Her fingers twitched, hand shifted behind her back as she took the steps needed to approach the corner. Her eyes, nocturnal, peered into the alley around the edge of the shop's wall.

She'd catch the tail end of a white-blue glow winking out, casting his expression in shadow as a glamour spread like water over a black Kawasaki. He tucked the thin device away in his coat and headed toward the alley's mouth, looking up two paces in at the uneven line of bricks ahead. His gaze narrowed.

That light and the ripple of illusion caused conflicting emotions, neither of which read on her face. Not the truck. One of the metal horses. Motorcycles, or bikes. Steps in her direction. She backed up so as not to alarm the figure making an exit. The crook of her fingers behind her back relaxed, letting go of whatever intent had been stirring there. And so she found a stretch of wall on which to lean near where the front windows of the tea shop began and several healthy feet away from the end of that alley. She didn't disguise the sounds of her movement. She wasn't hiding, after all.

In her direction only because that was the direction he wanted to go. There was a dagger tucked away in a sling inside his coat, but his frown was more puzzled than it was wary. It could have been a trick of the stele's light, but it more than likely wasn't. The closer he came to the alley's end, the slower his pace became. He angled more toward the opposite wall, in case there was a swinging object around the corner and turned toward the tea shop once he'd stepped out of the abyssal tunnel.

Her eyes were waiting. Nothing swung at his head except her gaze and a tired smile that shaded towards genuine when she recognized who it was. "Hello."

Two beats later, "Shae." He slid his hand from the inside of his coat. "Good evening."

"I didn't mean to startle you, if I did." The slower pace of his exit from the alley had suggested caution. "Curious as always, I thought you might be someone else." Pause. "I didn't know you owned a bike."

"I would not call it startling. Piquing my awareness, perhaps." As he neared her, he sent a gaze down the dark alley where he'd left his bike, now seemingly a pile of cardboard and boxes to those who could not see through such things. "It's been nearly impossible to ride it until recently."

The exhale through her nose as she smiled at his reply had slightly more force than normal. His second statement brought forth a question. "Did it require repair?" Not that she knew of such things. In fact if he started naming engine parts she was going to follow him only up to a point. Her mechanical knowledge was sorely limited.

"It did, actually," looking back to her. "But, mostly, it was a weather issue. Snow, slush and black ice are more easily navigable on two feet or not at all."

"Were you headed inside?" A jerk of her head to the bookstore. "I don't mean to keep you if you have business." Late hour for a trip to the tea shop, she thought, and then just barely resisted the urge to thunk herself in the forehead. Hello pot, this is kettle. Given her night habits she had not place to think like that.

"I was thinking about it, yes," shadows hid the curl at the corner of his mouth. "Before I headed home. What of you? Were you seeking solitude this evening, as opposed to the bar?" He angled around her to lead the way in, steps quiet but for the shift of buckles.

There was an assumption that she would follow in the fact that he moved just after asking that question. And for a moment she debated doing the exact opposite. There was a potential energy lurking in her muscles that demanded motion, either way. She could run in a little while, she compromised, run until her lungs burned and her breath tasted like copper. For the moment, she decided to follow him inside. "The bar felt uncomfortable. And I felt restless." Her shirt was long sleeved, but fitted, a dark maroon that reached out to take the weight of the door from him. She didn't mention that she had just been in here.

"I couldn't imagine why. The last time I was there, I was learning all sorts of things about communal body piercings and the making of a porn video involving you and Antonia." Welcome to the tea shop.

That startled her out of the strange sense of caged animal that had been lingering in her mind since those earlier texts. Startled a laugh out of her too. The globe had it's seizure and she had smirking eyes for him. "Which one was it, so I know which one to hex?" Needless to say, her tone suggested that any hopes for a porn video would remain unfulfilled. "I bet it was Cianan." He loved that sort of joke.

"Your deductive prowess is unmatched," heading toward the back of the shop. "I was told I was to be involved in some way, but then they began to bite each other, and I neglected to pay attention."

-----

Their banter and chat continued through the acquisition of drinks. A departure from serious topics, until:

Soft chuckle. One more sip of tea, and he slid the chair back a few inches, rising.

He was leaving, or so she assumed, with his bounty of pastries. And once again she was caught on the decision to mention the file or not. Robert had yet to find her... "Before you go." Her smile evaporated. "I have news for...elsewhere." She didn't trust any building with this. Not at the moment.

"For elsewhere," repeating. He put the chair back where it belonged, resting his hand against it. His gaze was expectant when it met hers.

She stood, the remains of her order forgotten, and walked for the door. Hand digging at her pocket. She turned and headed for the alley. It would serve.

Well, that was different. He waited until the door swung shut in her wake before taking his parcels and following.

She waited for him there, in the dark passage to his ride, beckoning him closer with the hand that held her phone, the illumination from the pale blue screen washing the area flatly.

It wasn't hard to follow. Amid the yellow torch and streetlights, blue stood out like a beacon.

When he drew close she reached out with the other hand to clutch the sleeve of his jacket. Illusions had been on her mind and now what others saw would deviate from what actually occurred in that alley. Her lips parted as she looked him in the eye, her own reflective. And then she spoke. A whisper of words that was the language of the wind through the alley, bending sound into something different for others to hear. He would feel the air close on them, a bubble of truth amid the disguise. The illusion in their place was not visible from where they stood. Once that falsehood was in place, she let go and tilted the phone to him.

The arm she grasped tensed to stone. Her intent gaze stilled most of the reflexive pull to reclaim his limb. Scowl deepened, leeched of color from the artificial light of her phone. When he looked himself, his mouth stiffened to a grim line and his fist at the end of the arm she'd grasped tightened.

Her voice was quiet, even though there was no longer the need. "I have the evidence I was looking for." Tap to the folder. A video and several still shots. She played the video for his inspection. There was the figure of the man, sitting at the bar one moment, then moving behind it the next. Between Cris and Taneth. Across from Shae. At the kettle doing...that wasn't visible. And then he was back in his seat with none of the three noticing. There was the reaction from Fox, delayed and instinctual, and her hand reaching up to comfort her familiar as Cris poured the tea.

At the beginning of the footage, his attention was caught not on Robert, but Taneth. Squinting, he focused on the pale white head until the figure some distance removed from the rest of them rose and circled the bar. Taneth did not move, he did not move, Shae did not move. There was a single moment where the figure needed to turn to face the stove that a wink of their face passed over the screen. "Son of a bitch."

It played on a loop. She had no idea how it worked. Her experience with pictures and video and recordings of the like were capturing real events, so was it any wonder that movies confused her? She wasn't finished speaking. "I've put out a message that I want to speak with him. It was my intent to threaten him with revealing this to you in order to glean more about what his motives were. But...our conversation last night changed my mind. On the off chance that the two are connected. I didn't want to leave you in the dark, but I still plan on going through with this...possible ploy of blackmail. I had asked a friend at the library to deliver this to you in a day or so if I went missing." She'd not been naive enough to trust in a single copy of this evidence.

He watched the loop four more times before he turned his arm in her grasp to free himself. Too much vied for first place to make it out of his mouth. "Connected. Connected where?" That was what won.

She had already released his arm, a minute ago in that shell. "On the off chance that the attack on the livestock was not about Jo but about you." He had stayed there. He had said so. And the fact that those he cared about had so easily tripped into the middle of it. Well. She was wary of possible connections, even if she didn't have the evidence for her hunches. One suspicion at a time. Yes she had already released him, but her fingers curled into a fist near her side as she ignored the loop on her phone and chose to study his electric light washed face instead.

He was carrying too many things. He closed eyes, shook his head and turned out of the pale blue halo. "Operating on that assumption, the attack was not a random coincidence but a targeted incident, and whomever was behind it, this Robert, for lack of a better suspect knew I would come. Angel's ****ing mercy...." Burdens set down, he pressed his palms together, index fingertips against the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know if that's the case. But it fits and...well. If I were playing a long game it's a move I might make." Which, in the end, was not evidence. It was just a chess game in her head. "That's why I intend to talk to him. Lie to him, if need be. See what he offers in the way of explanations or bribes." She neglected to speak of the third outcome, she had mentioned it already, but she had been preparing. She was not without tricks of her own.

He did not want to ask her why she was doing this. She'd been roped into becoming a target when he'd poured that cup for her. But if her assumptions were true, she was a loose end to cut down. "If you do this, do you think you can stretch it out?"

"Elaborate on what you have in mind. Much will depend on whether or not he responds to my less than subtle invitation I left with his employee." A loose end, perhaps, but one capable of forming her own knots. Here, in the shell of her creation, in the hazy light of her phone was a hint of the woman beneath the warm smiles. The one who had fought wars. She doled out the warmth in her here, sincerely. And people took her kindness for weakness. Something she calculated. Something she used when needed. There was no love for the strategist in her, but it was a part of her all the same.

"I took pieces of them. The corpses of the dogs and a mysterious stain of blood I found upon a tree on Bessie's property. I have them preserved, and I will split them. Some will go to a Warlock I trust in New York, to see what she can discern from them." He looked back to her. "Perhaps either you, or Fox, could tell me more about them than I already know. Even if it isn't Robert, blood is a powerful conductor." He pushed his hands through his hair.

"I have seen my share of dead flesh and blood. What insights I might offer depend entirely on how smart this person is. This is a land whose magics I am still coming to know, Cris. I can offer no promises other than the effort of inspection and research. Do you think the blood belongs to whoever set the dogs?" She pauses, then speaks. "There are spells that can reveal information from blood, but quantity is often key."

"It belongs to something that was not supposed to be there. I took three pieces. Where will you be this afternoon?"

"I was invited to Serah's. But if you want to meet with me we can do so beforehand. I would rather not involve her in this by proxy. She has her own problems." Another pause. "You have my number." She raises her hand to dispel the bubble around them, but hesitates, looking him over with a funny smile. "You'll need to muss your hair, bite your lips firmly, and unzip your jacket."

"If I know where you're to be, I can get it to you discreetly." She caught him as he collected the bag and tea. "I beg your pardon?"

"Before you leave the spell, or else the illusion will be ruined." She cautioned. "Discretion, misdirection."

"What exactly was this illusion supposed to be?"

"To the world passing by we were a late night couple in an alley, what do you think? Point is, if I kissed you for this long you wouldn't be walking away composed." In fairness, neither would she. Perhaps that's why she now tugged at her hair and rumpled her shirt.

As she arranged and explained, he removed the same thin, cylindrical device from his coat and slashed three jagged lines with the steadily burning tip. He did not wait for the glamour to fall away before he threw his leg over the bike's seat. Tea slid into the bag, he fixed her with a dubious stare that grew, steadily, into irritation.

The phone screen turned off and tucked away, her face tossed into darkness for the moment. "Well?" She asked calmly, not wilting in that irritation. There weren't that many options for what she would possibly be doing in an alley that would cause attention to shy away rather than linger. People avoided looking at public displays of affection, even half-hidden, illusory ones.

He exhaled. There wasn't much he could do to his hair, regardless of how many times he put his hands through it. He pulled open his coat and rolled his shoulders, setting it off kilter. Tip of his tongue swept the crease in his lower lip. There were open zippers at the sleeve cuffs that scraped his mouth raw when he dragged them to and fro. He added a finishing touch that did not need to be there in the form of red welts scratched down the side of his throat. At the same time, he kicked up the stand and turned bike's key.

She studied the finished product for perhaps a few seconds longer than she needed to, but nodded her approval. She raised her hand, accounted for their new positions, and ended the spell with another breeze filled breath. As such, when she turned to walk out of the alley, her voice was dry hoarse, and warm. "Goodnight, Cris." Truth blended with fiction seamlessly for watching eyes and Shae tugged her shirt straight without looking back at the mouth of the alley before turning for who knows where.

"I will see you later, Shae." He held the bag between his legs and sped off in the opposite direction.

( Ten days ago, The Red Dragon
Ezra, Helena, Robert, Shae )

There was a faltering to her expression as Shae caught the face of the one who entered, brief flicker. The air around her stirred, or perhaps it was the draft from the door or the man's passage. Relaxation ebbed fractionally, but she kept her eyes on Ezra at the bar, still awaiting his answer.

Robert wondered where her more affable counterpart, the fox, had gone. It was whiskey on the rocks tonight, apparently. With a dash of something dark to take the edge off the drink. He kept post behind the bar as if he might pour out his drink and make another if the current one didn't suit him.

"What kind of things are you interested in, for an offering?" A question for another. Ezra's answers weren't made to be a challenge but the way she was bolstering her defenses of body language had him cracking another augustine grin. That same smile wasn't as potent but it did register for the newly arrived man. If he noticed any prickling within Shae's demeanor than he played the role of being none the wiser.

The Fox was at the hearth, a favored haunt. And in the wake of that faltering, the creature began to stir from his heated doze. Eyes blinking and jaws stretching wide to emit a whining yawn into the air of the sparsely populated common room. Muzzle smacks once, twice. Then the creature turns to look towards Robert.

Upon recognizing Helena he nodded to her but stayed out of her way. She had the look of someone on a mission. His weight went backward so that he leaned on the short bar counter that was against the wall. The fox was missed for the time being. There were tables and chairs to obscure him, though he was likely to end up at the hearth himself. The man behind the bar, Robert, smiled shortly at Shae and tipped his head to her to give his acknowledgement.

"A game of questions." Quid pro quo. "If you're interested I'll explain the rules tomorrow night, and perhaps you'll get more than one story for your trouble." Shae offered her smile for Helena, polite in greeting. The turn of her head allowed her to catch that tip of chin, leaving her to wonder if her message had even been delivered by his employee. The lift of her brow is the only signal to that end.

Helena reached for a wine glass, and considered it. Replaced on the shelf, and replaced for a proper glass appropriate for sauvignon blanc. Then, she found the proper bottle of wine. Brand new. Her fingers wrapped around the neck; as they closed, the bottle frosted. A sauvignon blanc could not be enjoyed if it was not chilled. In a swift motion, the cork was removed, and her glass was filled, with a twist of the bottle to prevent drops from ruining the glass. 'Ruined' only in the imperfect lines that would no doubt generate along the frost of the bottle. The bottle was recorked, and it was placed into the fridge with other bottles; friends. The glass is lifted, and eyes finally shift to Robert Brohkun and Shae. One, then the other. That was good enough. Sip.

"Like, twenty questions?" Ezra was sure it was something a long those lines but color him interested enough to be coaxed into her smokey tease, whether it was meant to be or not. The painted mountain was not without his own curiosity. "I am interested." As if his social charisma and the weight of his grin was not enough to supply that. "Tomorrow night. I'll meet you there around eight?" He had taken his eyes off of Shae long enough to scout the commons before glancing at his watch.

The message had been delivered, but it wasn't the sort of thing that you rolled over a preexisting conversation like the one she was having now. Robert knew it. She knew it. There was a meaningful glance and polite exchange. Helena didn't seem to have out her verbal claws as he had come to expect her to have. Quiet, sipping on her wine he stepped out from behind the bar, claiming the couch by the hearth as his own. A long stretch of his body over the cushions. One leg stretched its length while the other was bent, foot planted on the floor. His drink rested on his chest as he looked at the small whisper of heat coming from the hearth. It needed wood. Or, maybe it just needed to die out.

The exchange was all Shae needed, and she turned away, back to the source of her lighter mood. She'd not heard the game called that. In fact was not even in her repertoire. Her response, therefore, had a touch of confusion. "We can limit it to twenty questions, but really the length varies based on who is playing. It would be something for after your story." For she was certain that would generate ample material. "Do you need directions?"

Fox's eyes tracked the man's approach. Robert settled in and the reynard sat slowly upright, tail curling around his paws as his back remained to the fire.

Helena was not going to stand behind the bar like some common wench. Silently slipped back through the break, moving towards Robert Brohkun. A chair slid itself to where she wanted to plant. Hand smoothed over her skirt, a smirk on her lips. "Comfortable?" The word came out like trick question. There was no right answer.

"Hello, little one." To the red fact that observed him, half with hesitation and half with the unhelped curiosity of his nature. Robert took a conservative sip of his drink since the angle was an awkward one. Oh. There were those verbal claws he had come to expect from her. His hazel eyes shifted from the furry one to Helena. He sat up, still stretched out over the couch but not looking to be so obviously reclined in it, "Yes. You should try it." But his gaze said he wasn't expecting idle chit chat from her. She'd yet to really engage in that.

"Of course. I know it's just the story that you're after." A sample of Ezra's more quixotic tone. Properties of his voice could range but it seemed to settle on being roughhewn and aboriginal. "I'm sure I can find it on my own. There's no shame in stopping to ask for directions." Hand slid a long the bar before migrating to shift across the jagged line of his jaw. Fifteen minutes left, based on the clue his watch gave him. "So tomorrow. I'll meet you there." He didn't address her with a good bye as he didn't think it was needed. A gamble was made with how he let his eyes linger just a second too long on her face before extracting himself from behind the bar to head for the exit. There was only a very miniscule drag of his right foot.

"No, thank you. How goes your exhibit?" Sits, legs cross casually. Her forearms cross in her lap, the hand sans wine glass opens and relaxes gently.

Despite the jarring note that had disrupted the flow of conversation between them, Shae found herself drawn back in with a ready smile. And she was quiet from the teasing implication to the confirmation of their meeting. Her own examination open to take note of that gamble. It wasn't needed. So instead of her usual farewell, she offered a variation. "Til tomorrow."

Fox, by the fire, nods his head once to Robert, gold eyes flickering from the austere beauty to the man of the museum.

"It was a rough few days of setup, but all the totems and such are in place as they should be. Two classes have come through and a few others to see it." Another measured swallow of his drink before Robert looked at Helena, "How's the witch thing working out for you?" There was a prop of his elbow on the couch. The toes of the outstretched leg drew a circle.

"I'm glad to hear it. And that question is asinine. I can't decide if you're asking to be polite or sarastic." A sip from her wine glass, eyes shift to the circling toes.

"It was sarcasm." A swallow of his drink and the indifferent shift of his gaze away from her. Reaching forward to put the drink on the coffee table he sat up, fingers combing through his hair to push them away from his forehead and eyes. Elbows on his knees, Robert's attention shifting to Shae now that she was without company. To her his eyebrows lifted up as if to ask 'yes?'

Shae nodded, still leaning against the bar. The sweep of her hand indicates the door to the alley in suggestion. Fox stands, stretching each limb one at a time before starting his padding passage in Shae's direction.

Eyes shift to Shae, following Robert Brohkun's. "Good for you, Robert." Back to him. "Got one." Helena stood, and moved with ease to the front door - wine glass still in hand. The beautiful, white liquid making the exterior of the glass opaque. The door opened and the darkness recieved her. Down the porch she strode, lips relaxed into a frown.

The smirk that crosses Shae's face suggests she had heard Helena, even from all the way over there. Her gaze tracks the woman's departure and then returns to Robert, patient.

"Hmm." His noncommittal reply to Helena. Robert didn't have the feeling that his interaction with Shae would be of something to that agreeable nature. That was even more so evident based upon the smile and flirtation she had exhibited for her previous company. No, this cool response was not the face of an interested woman. It felt like leverage and it tasted like something that told him it was better he not slip into the alley. Weight pushed off the couch and then he searched his pocket for his cigarettes, motioning that Shae lead the way.

Shae's face lingers upon neutral as she leads the way to the side door. Fox catches upon her stride, allowing him to exit at the same time.

(Several hours later that night, 3 AM at the Lighthouse, Shae and Cris)

Text to Cris: We need to talk.

To Shae: Name the place.

To Cris: Nowhere we have been before.

To Shae: That leaves several possibilities.
To Shae: Find somewhere, give me the address.

To Cris: Ten minutes. Lighthouse. Upper railing. Go down the trapdoor into the keeper's office. Be quiet.

It was playing parkour with Sal.

To Shae: I'll be there.

She had her own parkour, though she had no idea it was a subculture.

He was a few minutes late. Lighthouses weren't something he paid much attention to, even less when he'd moved to town. It was bordering on sixteen minutes by the time the trapdoor finally popped open to admit a white-blue glow from within his clenched fist so he could look around inside before dropping down. It wouldn't do to choose the wrong lighthouse.

There really was only the one at the docks. Across the water on it's own spit of land. The trapdoor had been wedged open with a book and inside, Shae lingered in the keeper's office chair with Fox on her lap. There were detailed maps stowed in cubbies, logbooks, old candles. She looked quite at home, minus the breaking and entering. Her nocturnal eyes flashed in his direction as he dropped down.

He murmured something that sounded like Angels and swept into the office. Presuming she'd want the book back, he tugged it from the trapdoor and closed it, offering it to her with a frown across the desk.

She took the book and set it aside. There was no denying the frown on her face. But it was dark. He would feel the familiar sensation of the world closing in. Another sphere of private air. Within, she sparked one of the candles to light, just one. "Thank you for coming." She was at a loss for where to begin. So many questions still swam through her mind. She settled, quietly, on the one that was eating at her the most. "Do you work for money?"

Thank you for coming. Immediately, he regretted the book, the close, circular shape of the room. His brows pulled in close, he kept the witchlight stone in his hand for some sort of familiarity. "Where is that coming from?"

Shae sighs, scrubbing at her face a bit more roughly than was strictly needed. Even in the single candle light, the truth of her fatigue was painted on her features. "I spoke with him."

There only one him. The weakness of her motion set him, fractionally, at ease. With a quiet exhale, he moved to the desk and turned to perch on its corner. "And the result of that discussion was to ask me that question."

She tilted back in the chair to look up at him, fingers combing through Fox's fur slowly. "No." Her words still quiet, despite the privacy she was enforcing. "But it's one of the questions that's weighing at me, and I can't ignore it."

Her candle and his witchlight warred together. In natural lighting, his gaze was the pale green of bottle glass, and sharp, set within a frame of lashes nearly feminine in length and thickness. The low glows of both leeched that hue away. He frowned, not from irritation, but confusion. "No. I have, in the past, yes. But at present, I don't."

Her eyes dropped to the stone light in his hand, licking her lips. Her breathing was all the sound from her for a time. "You hunted demons, yes?" Her fingers picked at the bandage, having done enough structural damage to it over the course of the evening that it fell apart now.

He thought it funny how she'd asked a simple, vague question, and yet he'd had the very strong feeling he knew exactly which kind of work she meant. He turned his head enough to look at her through the dark. "Yes."

She bunches up the gauze, stuffing it into her pouch. The palm was still angry and red, but it was a closed slice. "I think the reason behind this is related to that." A pause. "Perceptions of it."

He did not want to leap to conclusions. "What exactly did you discuss with him?"

"I demanded his motives behind the tea." Her eyes slipped to his from their survey of her hand. "He's a man that feels persecuted. Feels a victim of genocide, even."

"A man?" skepticism in his inquiry.

"As much as I am a woman." Her lips frowned at him that he was intending to press the distinction of all points.

She did not need to answer that one. A demonic hallucinogen, very targeted inquiries as to what he had been hired to dispatch. Genocide. He glanced aside to her, then stood from the desk. The witchlight had no purpose now. Its glow stuffed out, he tucked it away.

A distracted hand through her hair as he stood. "That's not all."

He doubted it. "By all means," a gesture of his hand for her to continue.

"I deleted a copy of the video file to gain his trust. And intimated that we were on the outs. He may contact me, he may not. But I can't tell you if this is personal or if you are just a representation of what has wronged him." Shae pauses. "That's why I had questions."

Silence. As he contemplated, listened to the dead air in the office and the white noise of waves breaking outside. "Did he tell you how he knows?"

Her eyes linger on him, making study of his reactions. His face. She didn't need much light to see him. She didn't need light at all, in fact. "He's not going to have that much trust after a single conversation." Still soft words.

His features were tense, they always were, but this tension spread from his expression to the rest of him. Stiff but not rigid, still allowing for quick movement if he needed to. He took in her remark and the implication of it, but he turned his gaze back to her. "How does he know?"

"I don't know." She said simply. An honest truth. If Robert had hinted to the basis for such knowledge, she hadn't caught it.

"He must be from my plane, then. As far as I know, that is the only one with my kind." More to himself than her, but the room was close enough that even his muted tone carried. "What do you know?"

He hadn't meant it to sound accusatory, a different wording, perhaps of What did he tell you?, judging by his own tight curiosity.

It had though. Tension hung between them that was not artificial, and she took an extra space of time before she started speaking again. Favoring him with a look. "The spell on the blood should confirm it, but my theory about the dogs is probably correct. He didn't say as much, but he said he's been testing your reactions. Seeing who comes to your aid. He's gathering information and I think he aims to isolate you, if he can. I'd appreciate if you didn't act on this overtly. I'd rather him not change his mind about sicking his underlings on me."

"You wanted me to draw this out, and I can do that. But not if you go hunting before I can get you answers. But I'm going to need answers of my own. Hence my questions tonight."

The dogs. He hadn't been alone when he'd gone to Sunny Side. Alienating Josiah and Graham. He'd spent hours in the company of various men and women in town. The dogs. The thought kept coming back. He'd picked up fireworks from Canaan for five days from now. The dogs. He closed his eyes and turned his back to her, his in- and exhales forced against his hand when he dragged it down his face. An effort of will spread the ice he felt into his bones, out from his core where it tried to freeze his pulse and stop it all together in panic. Fingertips outlined his mouth, head turning enough to aim his words over his shoulder. "Then ask."

"Cris..." And that speaking of his name betrays both her concern and a mix of emotions that had been battering about her brain for half a week. She reeled it back immediately. "Cris." The second attempt was calmer. "I did." There were more, but in the quiet of the room, his breathing scraped inside her head, a sound of contained stress. He kept asking her if he lived up to her expectation, and she might have reached out to him then. If she wasn't sure he'd pull away. If she wasn't sure that him pulling away would sting her. She didn't push him. "I may have more. Is all." She finished quietly.

He had reserves of strength contained throughout his body. Every joint and every muscle, and it was so easy and natural for him to call upon them when it was a close friend that had the target on their back. Where terror and uncertainty was their domain, because it forced him to abandon his own. The last time he could recall an incident like this was over a year ago. But they were faeries instead of demons, and it had been carnal on several levels instead of a pair of reanimated mutts. He could still remember the thump of bass beats, multi-colored paint, the way the white leather couch stuck to his back as a writhing feminine weight pinned him down. Her repetition of his name was like a nail into his eardrum. He grit his teeth. Rolled one shoulder, then the other, and finally turned to face her. Whatever had taken over his expression had receded only to live in the pressure of his gaze. "Do you have more now?"

Her lips thinned, and the tightness in her chest constricted another notch. Damned curious. Always. "What's chasing you?"

Of course she would ask one that he could not answer. "I don't know."

"What do you fear it might be?"

"That's irrelevant." There was a rickety ladder leading up to the trapdoor, how else would the keeper get in and out. He sat on the fourth rung from the floor with his elbows on his knees, and his hands folding before his mouth. "I fear that it is happening at all."

She licks her lips once, unable to keep them from going dry. "Why are you running?"

"Instead of---fighting it?"

She rephrases, carefully. "Why are you here, I mean?"

He lowered his hands, clinging to the confusion and irritation her inquiries provided. "That is a very long and complicated story that I'm not sure pertains to this, at all."

"You say you don't know what's chasing you. It's from your plane, you think. It scares you. It seems to have something to do with what you used to do." She summarizes. It didn't seem like that large of a leap, to her.

"The fact that it's from my plane seems to be a mere coincidence." It, not he, he has already classified Robert in his mind. "I am not the only one of my kind there, neither is he. I do not recall ever meeting him before, although---the demons that had been known to invade that plane rarely looked as human. He has nothing to do with why I am here. He, is a tangent."

"Yet he seems to take exception to who you were there. Unless that happened here for a time?" She wrestles with a thought, then. "Some demons seem to be different here." It was the theme of the evening. Some had pretty faces. Some were nice. Shae was struggling with it all. To say the evening had unsettled her was an understatement.

"I've killed numerous demons. I may have, in fact, done him harm without realization, and if he is indeed meaning once more to go through those I've come to call my friends, I will do it again and make sure that it sticks."

"I get the feeling he's not after their injury." A hunch. In truth. "It's hard to explain."

"No," he agreed. And exhaled. "I've done---a great deal of things prior to my relocation. My past pales in comparison to some I've come in contact with, but it is not insignificant. There are parts of it that I do not even fully remember. ... You mentioned he's testing me."

"I did." Her eyes drift to the window, distorted past that shell of air, fighting her frown.

"Isolation, reactions," he ticked them off on his fingertips. "Who I've made connections to and how strong they are. He does not have to hurt them physically to hurt them."

"Isolating you. It's a tactic to weaken someone with many allies." Low tones. "Many loved ones."

"There are many ways of doing that."

"Mm." Her hand raises to cradle her face over her brow. "So what would you have me do?"

He did the same. There was one name repeating over and over in his mind, a resounding gong that echoed louder and louder until he could feel it on the back of his tongue, waiting to get out. "You've done more than I could have asked for in telling me this."

She wanted to say 'you're welcome'. She wanted to say 'my friends don't need to ask'. She wanted to say 'It's nothing, I will help more'. But the words turned to ash in her mouth and she choked them down. "Cris...not everyone who is hunted...deserves it. I'm not saying he doesn't, or that you do. Just...remember that if you can." Her hand drops, and for a moment the strategist is a woman. One who had been chased. Then the moment is gone.

He wasn't sure if she was speaking to him, or speaking of Robert. So he considered both options, and the frown on his face darkened. Five days. Time was a cruel coincidence. "If it was you, what would you do?"

"Be wary, keep relationships strong. Start counter intelligence."

One, two, and he looked up. Suddenly, the space between them seemed twice as wide.

The woman looked out the window now. Her silhouette contained suggestions of her shape rather than the definition, but her eyes and parts of her face caught faint light from the candle to betray her pensive, somewhat sad face. Her lap, where Fox lay, was still shrouded in dark. His silence drew her eye, and caused her lips to reset. "Sorry, did I misunderstand?"

"No," more breath than voice. He shook his head and swept his fingertips down the corners of his mouth, across his lower lip until the skin was painfully dry. "No, you didn't."

"That's my first step, usually. Take stock and observe. What I observe dictates all steps that follow. Violent or not."

"And have you decided what those are?"

"I thought you were asking my advice on what you should do, not putting me in charge. Or are you concerned about what actions I will take?"

"I am asking you. You were involved the moment you swallowed that hallucinogen with me. And you, in return, asked what I would have you do. Honestly, I would not have you be used as an experiment to test my dependence upon those around me."

"This seems to have evolved beyond the incident with the kettle. Something isolated became a larger picture with you at the center. I asked what you would have me do for that reason. What I would have done I had to change because, strangely growing trust that we have or no, I still am ignorant about key details in your life. My actions would have hurt your- hurt you." She shrugs once. "My intentions are to finish recovering and then attempt the spell on the sample you gave me. And wait to see what Robert does. With the information I have, that's all I can offer."

"All right," once more, he seemed to speak to himself more than her, for his own benefit. A way to order his thoughts. "I will contact Salome later, discuss new training possibilities with Salvador. Leena," he didn't know what he was to do with that. "Was there anything else he told you that is of any import at all?"

Salome. Another name she didn't know, or couldn't remember and her lips purse briefly. "Who is Salome?"

"A friend of mine from New York. I sent the other samples to her." He set his boots to the floor and stood, stiff from his time on the ladder.

She cut her hand through the space before her, dismissing the sphere of air. Shae stood and stepped, but when she did so, this time it was a flicker of displacement. Suddenly the trap door was open and she was above, with Fox in her arms. "I'll call you if I think of anything else. Be safe. Lock up?" And her face disappears from view.

Frowning, he turned and looked up. "Recovering?" He'd wanted that to be his last inquiry. The last he knew, her run-in with the beast in the glen was the last altercation she'd been a part of. There were only a few steps to the candle. He blew it out, trying not to think to heavily on her abrupt departure.

The museum was an old mansion that sat on the outside of the marketplace. It had been converted for the purpose of being a museum, many of the walls were knocked out and rearranged inside to accommodate show spaces instead of living spaces. Robert lived there as well as quietly having a room rented at the inn. The hour was late for the museum. Five o'clock. People didn't do many late night visits to the museum on Sunday so it tended to close early.

The entrance room had red cloth chairs leaned up against its wall, the only break being because the window interrupted the line of chairs. Once one got five or eight feet to the right of the entrance there was a desk where they could be greeted with print outs and other information for the shows. Robert was there, inking information for the day in the ledger with slow, careful penmanship.

The day was wearing on to the late afternoon/early evening by the time that Shae finally found the museum. The fact that it looked to be converted from someone's private residence didn't dissuade her from investigating, as she had known more than one private collector. The door was not locked when she tried it, and so the woman let herself in to the foyer quietly. As was often the case with herself and doorways, there was no draft of air that accompanied her passage. A Fox, however, did. Upon her shoulders, as was a customary perch for the creature. She paused just inside the room to take in the details and let her eyes adjust to the light.

It was then that she noticed Robert.

"There's only ten minutes left to view the exhibit, you are welcome to come back tomorrow if you're interested." His response sounded prerecorded, as if he had on multiple occasions dealt with a last minute arrival. He was still writing something in the ledge when his eyes lifted and then he spotted her familiar face. Polite smile. Robert wasn't sure how to take her. There were times she felt like an enemy wanting his blood. There were times he thought of her as a comrade he hadn't yet recognized. In both cases, she was still the other player on the other side of the checkers board, moving her piece first and then him responding, "Evening, Shae. I didn't know you had an interest in Native American culture."

"Will ten minutes be enough time?" She asked with dry amusement at the robotic, customer service voice he first presented. "If you're about to close I can come back another day. It took me a little while to find the place." This evening she was opting for polite and friendly. There was something on her mind, but she was in no hurry to divulge it. Shae was often difficult to pin down in that way. A life of needing to be one or more steps ahead. "I'll be honest. I didn't have a clue what the museum was for. Though now I am curious. What are Native Americans? I recognize the word American as having something to do with Earth, but I confess I'm still ignorant about many of the peoples there."

"It isn't a bar so it gets less traffic," he admitted when she said he had trouble finding it. The comment about not having enough time was enough to spark a small smile from him. When she volunteered her honesty his eyebrows lifted upward, expecting a confession that had more weight to it. The fact that her's did not kept his smile from fading, "They are a subsect of a human culture on Earth, specifically the North American continent." He looked over his shoulder at some of the displays and then motioned, "You can come see the totems, if you like. They were a spiritual and tribal culture."

Scholarly interest supersedes any awkwardness between them just then. In that moment he was someone with a specialty and she was the sponge of knowledge that she had been raised to be since birth. She gravitated towards the display he indicated with open fascination, letting her eyes rake over the details and skim any plaques of information. "So have they become extinct?"

There were totems in that one display. A fox, a turtle and an eagle were the first to be seen. He spoke softly, as if there was a child sleeping in one of the display cases, "They believed that they had a spirit animal who represented them," his eyes ticked to her fox and then to the totem that was a crudely carved likeness of the creature. His smile appeared and then he took another step, "No, they are alive today, but they were defeated by European invaders. Many of their tribal customs and culture was lost in the battle for territory."

It was a familiar story. Territorial conquest, the oppression of a culture. Such things were, perhaps, universal. Fox's eyes met Robert's when they ticked in his direction. The creature grinned toothily. He didn't seem to share Shae's intense interest in the displays and so let his nostrils flare and take in the scents of the room instead.

"A spirit animal, huh? Very much like the shamans I have encountered. Some of the druids, even." Shae wore a loose sweater in a dark grey, jeans that were new but distressed in the fashion that was popular, and canvas shoes that looked likewise new. Her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans as she stepped to the next display. It was a departure from her normal attire, but her black hair hung in a loose braid as it often did, hiding some of the whorls in her skin where Fox's bulk didn't extend. "Are you one?"

The mansion was old. It smelled old and, because of the construction done to it over the last five years, it was also smelling new. Robert's hand glided over the glass of the display case before he looked at her when she spoke about shamans and made a small nod, "They had some of their own. An earthy people, certainly. Many would travel with the seasons to follow food sources." Robert looked like the museum curator that he was. A blazer over a sweater, slacks and shoes that had a dulled polish. Sometimes he wore reading glasses when the text of some displays were small. The next display had a few tomahawks, courtesy of Jo. When she asked him if he was one, he shook his head, "No, I'm European." It was reflected in his pale skin, his hazel eyes. There was a look at her fox and then he pointed at the display card, reading it for her, "The fox is loyal... not necessarily sociable. He is observant, a jack of all trades."

"Nomadic. Tribal." She echoed quietly to indicate her understanding. "What of their stories? Are they collected anywhere or were they lost? People like that often rely on oral traditions so..." An invasion of culture might have wiped it out. She didn't know. The tomahawks caused her smile to tilt at some memory. "Europe is another...country? From what well spawns your interest in these people?" Brief confusion and then amusement as he read the card. "The fox is also a glutton and proud and a survivor." Hand rising to scratch at the ear of the canid who was visibly preening. His tail flagged slowly, leaving fur on her sweater. "I doubt I pass for a shaman, though."

"There were many stories, and many lost. They didn't have much of any written language for a long time and when the invaders came, many died." When she asked him about the other country he gave a small nod of his head, "Yes, a war torn and religious country for a long time. A long time, still." She asked him of his interest in the people. It seemed that there should have been a shrug of his shoulders though there wasn't one that could be readily viewed, "It is history, it is people and their plights that interest me. Before these Native Americans were the Egyptians. After them will come the African mask collection." He said it like they were on note cards, a history, but there was a fondness in his voice for it that the reciting of detail couldn't hide. When she mentioned passing for a shaman he smiled briefly, pointing her towards one of the displays which was not life sized, but indicated stone and mud huts and teepees built at a height that was knee-high, "It was not a particularly sexist society, but most shaman were male."
"So you update the displays here. Lost cultures a passion?" History was not her most traveled subject, but it was one that captured her interest from time to time, especially where it pertained to stories. Which she'd already leaned towards just then. "Such a shame, that lost knowledge." A sincere lamentation. Her attention followed the path of his indication to the scaled display of living structures. His comments on the gender role had her laughing, a soft, quiet sound that was mostly air. "I suppose that would make me a heretic and a pretender in their eyes. How oddly apt."

"A profession. I'm the curator, it's my job to bring in new exhibits so that people have a reason to keep visiting. People don't go to the movies to watch the same film over and over unless they are an avid fan. The displays have to be appealing. They have to be announced. It's a lot of work-- I hate to say it, but the museum would do better if there was a bar at the other end of it." People were more likely to indulge themselves that way. There was an indication, "If I were in the business of only wanting to make money, and depart entirely from integrity, I would make a membership only bar where the counters were thickly enforced display cases. People would drink and stare at the items, commit them to memory as the night went on. They would never forget," his hand slid over the face of one display,"the beautiful variation of the arrowheads over the hours that they spent drinking. It might even be the only thing some of the patrons remembered." His hand rested and he looked from the neatly arranged rows to her. It seemed her laugh was still curled up in the corners of the room when he spoke, "You didn't come for the exhibit, though, did you?"

"Have you considered hosting parties here? Benefits? Fancy dress and catering for opening night on new displays? I don't know if it would be common here, but I attended a function like that once." A suggestion, since he was lamenting the lack of a bar. "Culture sometimes needs a little help in that way, and people like to have an excuse to feel...classy." Faint smirk. "No need to depart from integrity, really, and if you charge for admission and donate some of the money to a charity you'll have a line out the door." The smirk faded as she studied the models. When her eyes rose to his face they were weighted with unvoiced thoughts. "I came because I was curious. And, as you've noticed, I tend to pursue curiosity where it takes me. It works out, more often than not." Perhaps if she were one of his kind, that would be what she would feed upon, but she did not subsist on questions. She was only enriched by them. By her study of people. As she now studied him.

"It seems disrespectful to the exhibit. When it comes to just wanting to make money, there are hundreds of ideas like that. When it comes to paying tribute and respect to cultures and stories that have passed on? It wouldn't be much different than hosting a party with strangers on top of your grave, and that of your loved ones, for the sake of money. Yet money..." he looked at the mansion thoughtfully, "is the thing that keeps the museum here. It must be made, or everything perishes. And perhaps ideas of how to ignite enthusiasm for exhibits are outdated and that such gatherings aren't disrespectful at all by current social standards." When she mentioned her curiosity being the reason that she came he watched her face. She had a love, like he, for these fallen stories of things that had once been. Maybe he was too sensitive about keeping them intact as his mind would want them to be. Maybe he was too old fashioned. "Is your curiosity satisfied?" The study of people might bring her to her current circumstance: that she was being studied.

( Sunday Night, 4/26, after meeting Robert at the museum )

Late that evening, as quiet found her, Shae typed and failed to send several texts. At last she gave in and called. Listening to the trill of the ring with the phone against her ear.

Halfway through the fourth ring, right before it turned her over to the mailbox, the call clicked over. "Shae." He sounded decidedly less perturbed than he'd been when he left their company.

There was a space of breath in which she processed his tone before she spoke. "Cris. I would have recovered your food for you, but Fox ate it before I thought to."

Snort. "That's all right. At least someone enjoyed it."

"I ought to thank you. The fellow left off his sniffing after that."

"Me? He seemed to do that at the behest of Salvador."

"Mm." Thoughts drifted. Salvador had acted strangely with the man. In a way she had not expected. "How was your shower?"

"Should I be concerned that that's your first question?"

"Should I be concerned that you aren't taking care of yourself?"

"I'm doing that just fine. I simply haven't, yet. I will when I return home."

"Do you plan to do that anytime soon?"

"Tonight, yes. I found it prudent to work off the aggression I collected throughout the day."

The sound of air, a passing car. Silence again. "I did the spell."

He might have collected a bit more. "And?"

"And it was...odd. The blood was fresh but the answers..." A note of frustration entered her voice as she trailed off. Further breeze and then the huff of her exhale. "The wound was given ten years ago. By a Nephilim blade."

Silence.

Nearly two minutes passed by, then, "Judging from our last discussion, I presume you to mean my kind, and not any other definition of the word."

Two minutes in which Shae was oddly silent. When he spoke, she answered. "I can only operate on the words the spell provided, but yes. I presume as much."

Exhale. "All right. What else did this spell tell you?"

"That he which shed the blood feeds on woe. Demonic in nature."

A grunt, quiet and affirmative. "A stronger one than usual, if he was able to survive a wound like that for ten years."

"Perhaps." That perhaps took a while.

"I don't believe there's any perhaps about this, anymore. Seraph blades are like poison to demons. For the most part, a single wound is enough to burn its body to nothing. Stronger ones, Greater Demons, they can survive it, but in terrible pain until they return to their own realm of existence...

...What else?"

"Where were you ten years ago?"

Silence again. She needed to ask the question, but the implication behind it stirred in him the desire to hang up. "France."

"Do you recall anyone who got away, or were you not hunting then?"

"I was. But I would not have hunted a Greater Demon on my own...
...
...I know what you mean. And no, as I recall, I was successful in every thing I went after."

"Then the 'what else' is that you are dealing with someone with a grudge who doesn't care that you aren't the one that hurt them in the first place."

"And who sees fit to include those in my life in its roundabout experiments to get my attention?"

"I don't know, Cris. I can only speculate so much with limited information."

"That was rhetorical."
Another exhale. "....Thank you."

"Cris...If some demon were capable of surviving such a wound...what would it do to their mind?"

"The blade itself has no innately special property to it other than the fact that it is made from a Heavenly metal. Such things are detrimental to demons, as holy water would be to one, or sunlight to a vampire. The pain of it would certainly cause adverse effects. Torture usually wins out when one finds the correct method."

"Mm. In that case. I speculate that there is more to this than the wound. That's...A creature physically weakened for so long doesn't go on the offensive unless threatened or motivated by a powerful emotional cause."

"More than likely. I wonder how long it's been in town. I will surpass my two year anniversary in less than two months. In that time, I've only come in contact with about five others of my kind. This is not our realm, we are not supposed to be here. If we've come in contact with each other, unknowingly, that may have been a contributing factor."

"You started hiding your marks." Some time ago she had said words to him. 'Your story painted on your skin for any to read.' It was her thought, perhaps, that she had been right, in a way. "If he saw them, he would know. And if there was a strong enough emotion that could have been the catalyst."

"I did. When I arrived, I thought intensively on whether or not I should. For a while I did, but with clothing, not a glamour. In the height of summer, that was incredibly comfortable. Though I realize, as I've received several inquiries about it, I should have simply left it alone and slept in the bed I'd made for myself."

"At this point the effort is probably wasted energy, yes."

A thoughtful hum. "It's enough, I suppose, that I no longer walk around in gear."

"Any word from your other contact?"

"No." Scratching, like he'd run his hand over his jaw and the roughness there. "Not yet. But at this point, I doubt that she could tell me anything I didn't already know. She's merely one of the only ones I trust with situations like this."

"So what will you do now?"

Half shake of his head, but of course she couldn't see that. "Draw it out."

"The demon? How?"

"I've not yet decided. I've a great dislike for games or lengthy punishments, such as this. I'll think about it."

Inhale. Exhale. For a time just her breathing. "Be careful."

This time, his exhale was different. "I know. You did not give me this information for me to go out half-cocked and unprepared. I will be smart, and careful."

She smiled at the sky. He couldn't see it. Or her on that roof. The brush of her sleeve as her arm rested over her brow. "I expect to be updated, you know. I shall be very cross with you if you leave me in the dark."

"Of course. I would not have been able to do this at all, or as successfully, without you. You've more than likely kept me from making a grave, future mistake, Shae. Thank you."

"Just making sure we are clear. I've gone and gotten myself invested in your trouble and I am...well." A soft laugh.

"Rueful?"

"That word alone tells me you don't know me all that well yet. The term I was reaching for was stubborn, albeit in a less polite incarnation."

"Ah," a pause for thought, "relentless, then."

Movement and Cris spoke again, "I hadn't meant to imply that you didn't care. It's clear that you do, and I appreciate that very much."

"I didn't take it that way." Easy reassurance from Shae. "And I wasn't fishing for gratitude. I was actually trying to think of a better word. But all I can come up with is 'inevitable'."

"No, I give that freely to those who deserve it." Clicks. "I should go. Shower, as per the advice of a few people."

"Shower. Eat." Agreement. "Be safe, Cris."

The absence of "good luck" was soothing. "I will. You too, yes?"

She rarely ever wished anyone luck. Her's being poor enough to qualify as a curse she would not inflict on others. "When I can."

CLICK.

Play between: Crispin, Brohkun, Disorder, Josiah Skurlock, Shae Stormchild

Kultura. Seven blocks away from the market square fountain. Close enough that one could walk, far enough that people were sometimes prone to taking a vehicle there. In front of the museum was a flat space filled with gravel for cars and the like to park at for the exhibit. Along the road and near the buildings were signs, colorful and clearly printed, which read "Movie Night at the Museum! 6-9 pm! Please Donate."

It was set up outside the museum, around back where a large white sheet hung against the side of the building. It was easier that way; the popcorn and drinks didn't have to be monitored because they wouldn't be near anything of nerve wrecking value. Folding chairs were set outside in the lawn, a few with scattered blankets. Robert was at the projector, making adjustments with his cigarette at the corner of his mouth. He had gotten ready carefully that day, trimming his beard and managing a tight and careful appearance. Black button up, black slacks and a leather belt. He looked like he might have been a puppeteer trying to fade into the background.

There were also two popcorn machines, a cotton candy machine and a small cooler full of ice cream and water outside, which were all self-serve.

Disa was out front to direct. There were small rows of lights in paper bags along the walkway to the sitting area.

Disa was getting excited to see what movie was going to play, that was one aspect of the exhibit Robert took care of, he?d be playing Mask, starring Jim Carey.

She ran back and forth up the stairs a few times letting Robert know what was going on and giving him a hard time because his tie may or may not have been crooked. Disa said to Robert, "See you at the movie." Moving back to where she could greet anyone coming to the movie.

The text from Disa went unanswered. Cris chose to walk, using the time to think over all that he knew and clearing the space from those things he didn't. Comfortable in dark jeans tucked into his boots, he wore his coat open over a thin white shirt, despite the sun and humidity. A thin sheen of perspiration coated the nape of his neck, putting a glint on his Marks when he turned his head, gauging the traffic before jogging across the street to the museum half spilling from its own doors.

Shae had arrived early, on foot and absent her four legged companion. Hair still slightly damp from a thorough wash was braided and stirred the scent of lemon each time her footsteps set it to swaying. The only refreshment she partook of was to retrieve a bottle of water. As promised to Robert the last time they spoke, her own donation to the museum had arrived even earlier than she. A full day before by sealed courier. Now, dressed in black pants, black boots, and an embroidered corset over a gold shirt, she lingered at the edge of the lawn seating.

Disa's flitting caught his gaze, likely because of the wink of sunlight off her gold head and how she moved with purpose. The closer he came, the slower he moved, listening to the excited noise of the crowd that had already made it there even though they were unseen.

She had one thing to do and, Disa being her, she always had a back up plan. Those gathering were greeted and she?d be taking a head count as instructed. She was dressed in pink and green flowered sun dress, with a hot pink matching cardigan. As the sun started setting, the twinkle lights began to come to life. They were bright enough for people to see along the path, but not overly bright for the movie. She didn?t stand in one place, but kept track of people coming and going. Seeing Cris coming, she waved as he made it that way.

"Yea," Robert smiled at Disa when she spoke and spent much of his time looking at the projector. On the table next to it was his laptop that he fidgeted with. His hazel eyes, seeming dark and the color difficult to discern, went up at the sounds of people approaching. He sucked on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Distantly, in the recess of his breath was the hint he'd taken a shot or two of whiskey. He was more nervous than he looked. An offhand observation of him would have said that he was annoyed with the projector and at ease with the showing.

Cris caught Disa's wave. Chin lifting, he dip-nodded his head toward the path leading around the museum with raised brows. He was supposed to go that way?

"Whoa oh oh!" Jo called out to Clarence as he tugged back on the reins. The mule came to a stop and the wooden cart that Jo sat in came to a creaking halt. He'd parked in front of the museum, loosening up the leather harness to allow Clarence a bit of room to graze upon the succulent shoots of grass at the edges of the gravel pit that served as a parking lot. "Behave, young man," Jo teased and with a scratch to Clarence's thick skull, Jo took off towards the side of the building.

There was popcorn and ice cream and water, all for the taking. He snapped a quick picture of the ice cream and sent it in a text to Graham. "Good evening," he nodded and waved to Robert when he caught sight of him. Cris was given a broad, genuine smile as Jo found a seat to get comfortable in with a small bag of popcorn and a bottle of water.

The pad of Shae?s thumb sketched against the side of the bottle in her hand, rubbing through the condensation with ease. The sounds of the fundraiser were beginning to swell from a modest beginning to something a bit more energetic as bodies filtered along the path towards the seating. Shae stood quiet, watchful and attentive. A smile for Jo as he arrived, eyes following his gesture to locate Robert, and then likewise to find Cris and ah...there was Disa who she had just missed upon her entrance.

Ah, and there was Shae! Jo had just popped some corn into his mouth, so he was unable to speak. Instead, he waved, smiled and winked.

From this far she saw Robert waiting near his laptop. It was getting about that time to start the movie, or at least wrangle people toward the mock theater. She started herding a few stragglers that way, and that took her closer to Cris. ?Hello Cris. Thank you for coming.? Disa said, while not sure how to greet him, so she gave him a quick hug and patted his back. She didn?t hug long or hard, just a greeting.

Robert smiled when he saw Jo, touching his brow with two fingers holding his cigarette. His eyes adjusted on the sight of Cris and then he saw Shae. There was a smile, slight. He was fidgeting with the laptop when he felt a prickling sensation and turned his head to look over his shoulder, expecting to see someone, but he didn't. Just him.

"Ten minutes until show time," Robert put the cigarette to his lips. The end of it glowed.

Cris lifted his hand; he offered a two-fingered wave to Shae. Disa caught up with him in the midst of a small throng of movie-goers, but when she reached for that hug of greeting, he took half a step back and put up his hand in hopeful decline of it. "Good evening, Disa."

Shae?s mock salute was for Robert up there at his announcement. Jo got another smile as the sight of him reminded her of a certain pink haired lass. And Cris and Disa got a nod as they danced through their greeting. She made no move to sit as yet, but cracked open the water for a drink.

It was ready. He closed the windows on his laptop, putting the cigarette out on the ground and then quickly lighting another. He usually smoked a few back to back but he seemed especially keen on not allowing his hands to be empty. The salute that Shae tossed him was met with a somewhat amused smile. He could hear Disa speaking to Cris and motioned to bring them in, "You see any others lingering about?"

(to be continued)

Inhale frozen in his chest, his attention was rapt to the sheet screen. Cris? arms slowly fell from their lock.

Shae's eyes shifted from the screen, not out of distaste, but out of curiosity. Attention shifting to where Robert sat.

Jo's eyes went wide with surprise at the sudden brutality on the screen. "Holy shit," he murmured.

There was another series of videos, following what seemed to be the life of another person until they died. The death was always similar, it was a man. In the second video, the clip was clear. It wasn't a man, it was a Nephilim. There was audio where one of his compatriots said, "Timothy! Stop it that isn't a demon! Fuck!" But the body had already slumped to the ground before the others got there.

It was the fifth video that was familiar. It started off with two boys playing. One was younger than the other but more athletic. After only a few minutes it was clear that the larger of the two was a special needs boy. If it wasn't apparent at first it was in the audio of the clip. "Hey, Michael, what do you want to be?" It was Graham. God, he must have been fifteen at the time. A scrawny teenager, grinning at his brother who hid his face and then groaned loudly as if the question bothered him. Graham smiled and wrapped one arm around him, "It's cool, you don't have to decide today."

The final video clip was a shot outside the Red Dragon Inn. It was on a security camera of a neighboring shop. It was Michael, older, stumbling. He didn't seem to be able to talk well. "TIM! He's not possessed he's just not right in the head!" Five shots later and the man was down. The still screen of the image like the photo that had been sent to Graham. The other Nephilim tackled Tim, dragging him off screen.

Robert didn't sit. He stood by the laptop, still. The color of his skin a contrast against the night and his black clothes. The screen went dark and he pushed the lid of his laptop down. An icy, prickling sensation crawled the back of his neck. It felt like the original was watching him from somewhere, observing the outcome of the evening.

Somewhere in that time, Shae?s gaze had returned to the screen, and then deviated again to the others present. The confusion of the crowd was filtered away as she took notice of the painted effects on those the film actually seemed to be speaking to. For she could tell it was a message by the utter stillness in Robert's frame.

Disa didn't expect this movie and she wondered if Robert had the wrong one. She'd been messing around with some other movies. What the heck? Was this leading to the mask movie? Holy hell. Disa downloaded the movie and connected to the projector. Then words started to scroll about Masks being part of life and sometimes we wear masks in life. A few second later, the Mask movie started.

Disa was streaming the movie from her cell phone, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. Whatever happened wasn't expected and she thought it was a glitch or something he had in his mind.

Cris took seven steps forward. Staccato at first, but then with purpose. Even with the grain, the efficiency the murderer used to dispatch each victim was too cold and practiced to deny. He saw the black Marks of his people slither across the Nephilim's, Tim's, skin. The flash of an eye across a hand, across his throat.

When the photo splashed across the sheet screen, he turned on his heel, squinting through the dark and around the beam of the projector to find the figure manning it standing there.

She quickly closed in on Robert too, to see what the hell was going on with the show and laptop. Not quite understanding what was going on, she put her phone down on the table and waited to see if he'd let her see the laptop. "Next time remind me about your surprise?" She smiled and kissed his cheek.

Something in the solidity and composure of the movie that took the place of that unexpected showing was enough to lose her interest. She'd often struggled to tell the difference between the fabrication of film and those recordings of reality, but there was that quality in the unsteady hand of a camera that lowered contrast of a recording, that told her this was likely truth in vision well before the practically extreme reaction from Cris.

"I mean tell me about your surprise." Remind her? Her head was spinning while she tried to make sure the people who were there, not involved whatever this was could see the movie they came to see.

The glowing end of his cigarette was like the guide of a sniper rifle, pointing him out. Robert swallowed, one hand pressed on the top of the table; his body leaned toward it as he studied Cris. He was so fixed in his thoughts that when Disa neared him and kissed his cheek he jerked in her direction but then smiled to quickly cover it. "Yea." He smiled shortly and then stepped away, motioning with his empty pack of cigarettes that he was going to get another.

Cris? gaze followed the ember of a cigarette and when it started to move, he did too. Back the seven steps he came, a tight arc around the last chair in the direction of the retreating projectionist.

Jo's expression became more and more horrified as the film played on. But when the two boys were on the screen and it became very apparent who it was what was happening, Jo leaned forward and vomited on his shoes. Thank God Graham didn't come! Jo's face was pale and his hands trembled. Slowly he looked up at Cris with narrowed eyes. The man on the screen was named Tim, but he was nephilim, all the same. Did Cris know this Tim? Jo got up quickly and felt himself walking with a purpose towards Cris. He didn't know what he was going to say or do, or even how he felt about all of this.

Once everything was fine, she watched Robert moving and first missed Cris while being distracted. With the movie playing, she shortly followed Robert's glow knowing where he liked to smoke. Now that Disa was living here, it was easy to find her way through the twinkling lights and try to catch up with him. However, she saw Cris following too.

Robert was waiting at the corner of the museum, putting the empty pack in his back pocket. It wasn't a hiding motion in that Cris was unaware of where he stood. Not at first. Purposeful steps and an uncertain outcome made him step back form his own image. The sight and smell of him stayed at the corner while he moved back, establishing an eight-foot distance. There was a motion of one finger for Disa to stay behind.

Quietly, Shae slipped from her seat at the edge of the field of chairs. Standing with a sip of water as her eyes tracked their motion. Then, a few beats behind, she started moving too. In no hurry about it. One glance to check on Jo. One glance to see Disa. Her expression thoughtful.

Watching him dismiss her by standing down, Disa stopped, but not without keeping both of them well within sight. There was no way she was going to step away from this, no way in hell. However, she did stand down and back.

Robert was leading quite the train. Cris followed the silky taste of smoke in the air for four more paces before he turned to face his male hitchhiker, his expression hewn from stone. Not smooth as marble, but a conglomeration of uneven planes and edges. Tight and disturbed.

There was a conversation that had been waiting for Cris and Robert. He had felt it a while ago. He left his image at the corner of the building, his voice breaking the silence that had followed, "Cris." It hit the air strangely because there were so many bodies and only the one word between them.

(to be continued)

"They wouldn't. They would try him by the Mortal Sword, more than likely to discern if he himself was under some sort of strong influence or not." But he was talking, already, as if he would aid this demon. Cris put his hands together, then pressed them to his brow. "What else have you done to get my attention?"

"Cris, I gotta go. Graham needs to know," he spoke softly and took a step backwards. He refused to look at Robert. There had been a trust, a friendship between them that Jo felt was entirely one sided now. He hated being used. "Let me know what you decide to do."

The words that had been omitted in previous conversations were gradually being filled in, facets unspoken around bitter smiles and careful words. Shae?s attention flickered between the speakers before resting on Jo.

Getting his attention was putting it mildly, but Robert didn't correct him. "You've been poisoned and then there were the dogs." Robert had liked Jo, they had a professional relationship and there was a fondness for him.

"Crispin." The name came gently. "Think carefully. Just think. If he were entirely what you thought, is this how it would be approached? Or would it have been more methodical, ruthless even? Would the attempts at getting your attention have been what they were?" A small shake of her head. "Something's different here. If you trust my judgment as you seem to do, consider." A nod to Jo. "Loss of family." A nod to Robert. "Loss of family." A return to Cris. "What wouldn't you do in such a case, were the family yours?" Slow inhale. "I've done far worse in the name of my own kin. If you held the key to the one responsible there is next to nothing I wouldn't have done to ensure your help." Here her gaze slid over to Robert. "And in getting it, I wouldn't risk losing it with foolish choices."

"Stop. Stop, stop, stop it, for the Angel's ***** sake. I do not need to be told how to think, I do not need to be talked down as if I will cut his head from his shoulders without a second thought." Cris spread his fingers and threw his hand out to either side of his head. "If I wanted to do that, everyone would have known it already."

With another nod of his head, Jo turned and walked out of the bubble. He had a mule to reharness and a boyfriend to break this news to. He didn't want to hear any more, see any more.

She raised her palms to him and then lowered them. "I never said I expected you would do such a thing. In fact, the worst I expected you to do was simply walk away." She fell quiet with no sign of discomfort.

Disa stepped closer. "I'm not trying to interfere, but maybe this could be discussed when everyone has had time to process what's going on. Give everyone time to figure things out. I think that might be better for everyone involved, to let it settle and come together if you all think that's a good idea to a neutral table."

"The only reasons I have not are because what I just witnessed was a **** abomination to me, and to my people. There is no excuse. I have no sympathy for your family," an emphasis put on the word that fizzed like acid when Cris looked to Robert, "as I can hardly think my own actions would have been any different. "And because you've had ample time and ability to do greater harm than you have. But that does not entirely excuse your actions either."

"Maybe." Robert crossed his arms over his chest, but he didn't feel like the answer was maybe. He felt like he had been waiting in line for an extraordinarily long time and had grown impatient. He wanted the answer now. He wanted Cris to have it on his tongue with clear details and directions. His eyebrows arched up when Cris talked about excusing him, "I didn't ask to be excused. I didn't expect you to care about what hurt me. I expected you to care about the people. About the rot within your organization."

Cris found himself caring more about punishing the one guilty. He'd taken lives in the heat of emotional outbursts, but they had not been human. They had not been weak, and they had not, certainly, been just about invalid. "You will not be able to get there."

They'd been standing there for a good part of the movie. Disa looked around the corner and it was still going. No one had touched the cooler, so she started cleaning things up, but still close enough if needed. She'd hired a few people to help keep things organized, she called them over to start cleaning up the popcorn and cotton candy machine.

"I know. You can, though." Robert touched his lips, a motion he often made when he wished he had another cigarette, "He just has to be within my reach. That's all I need." The messy aftermath could be dealt with afterward.

The original was gone, the bag of popcorn he had been eating was in his empty seat. The credits for the film were rolling and the other patrons were starting to disspell.

One and only one location had come to mind immediately, and it was the one location that disturbed him to the depths of his core. Cris had not been home in nine years, and that time was smeared with dried blood, tears and a sludge of buried, untouched emotion. He closed his mouth.

In that moment, she felt her age keenly. An ache of memory that she swallowed and chased with a sip of water to keep down words Shae might have said.

"You have three days." It was more than the Nephilim ever gave him. Robert wet his lips and then looked away to where Disa had been. He could see her gathering things. She was calm, more calm than he thought she would be. His eyes returned to Cris, "That's as long as I can wait."

"And when the deadline is up?" Brows rose.

She had them take down the screens and fold up the chairs. Emil saw the crowd there, waved and took his family off. Disa had a text from him, but she didn't have her phone. As things started to be cleaned up, she motioned on the young ones she hired to bring her phone over. It's when she saw the text and shook her head. The phone went into her pocket. They'd gathered the things and she came closer to hear Robert giving Cris a time limit. "Bull *****." She said Robert, that she didn't agree with, but she was still there. The museum started to look back to normal now.

"Robert. A deadline, really?" Shae said. Tired frown in his direction.

"I'm going to find Timothy Reaux." It was the only explanation Robert could give him. The full one seemed more like a veiled threat, which wasn't what he wanted to do. There was a look at Shae and then a nod, "When you talk to someone who kills you for a living you don't want to give him a lot of time to do it if he decides to."

"You will die before you get to him. You know that, don't you? Is this mission so unimportant that you would so foolishly throw your life into seeing it done?"

Disa already knew the answer the that question, so she went inside the back door so she didn't have to hear it again.

"I threw my life into it a long time ago." Robert shrugged his shoulders, "I would rather not die. It would take a Nephilim to get in there, to find him. Think about it." Robert motioned to the museum, "You know where I am."

If he didn't want a veiled threat, he probably shouldn't have insisted on three days. "Three days to decide to help you or not." Shae clarified. "After which you will make an attempt for yourself, regardless of your chances." She looked for Disa, wondering what the woman thought of this grand plan. But Disa had moved away

"Shall I expect this decision to be influenced in any way?" Cris said.

"Influenced?" Robert blinked, eyebrows knitting with uncertainty as to what Cris meant.

Getting Robert's cigarettes while he answered. Disa opened the pack while inside so it'd be easier for him to get to it. She came out near the door where he was and put the pack against his chest so he could take it. Now she was behind Robert, moving to the side where she stood. Whatever her opinion on the matter, it was hers. Robert was going to make his own decision and she wouldn't try to stop him.

"He's asking if you're going to threaten him, Robert." Shae said.

"No," a look to Shae. Then back to Robert. "Not me."

A soft sigh as she nodded. That was what Shae meant.

The press of the pack of cigarettes on his chest. A brief smile in the daze of grey for Disa. Then his eyes were on Robert and he tilted his head to the side. His lips pressed in a line as if disgusted and then he nodded, "I'd rather not."

"As would I." He did not want to be the one to turn his back, and so he stayed, his gaze kept on the pair beyond Shae.

"If you'd rather not, then don't." Cris seemed to take issue with what he saw. Abomination. Such a passionate word from him didn't engender thoughts of abstaining from some form of action.

Disa nodded to them and stepped back inside. The door would be cracked and left opened.

"Hmm." He lit a new cigarette, looking towards the door and then back to Cris expectantly. For a few moments it seemed like Robert would impatiently receive a answer.

The man still had seventy-two hours to wait. He raised his grim expression to meet Robert's.

"Oh for ****'s sake." Shae took the deliberate step forward that placed herself bodily between the two of them. Her eyes sliding to Cris. "Go on." Before slipping back towards Robert with a motion towards his cigarettes. "May I?"

If Cris wanted every hour to think it over. When she asked for a cigarette he obliged, drawing out a new one for her as well as offering the lighter, "I should probably get inside, I left Disa doing much of the break down tonight."

Swing of his gaze between the two, twice, before he could finally reconcile turning and making his way back into the city.

Shae took the cigarette but declined the lighter. She merely rested the coffin nail on her lips while she watched Cris go. When he was beyond the shell of her air, she spoke again. "You've postured, now give him time. Your evidence was compelling, and Jo and Graham will likely be working in your favor."

"Maybe." Robert looked at Cris' form grow smaller and disappear before he looked back at her, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say. Take care, Shae." He drew on the new cigarette. He'd had too many that night out of tension and worry. It hurt, he could feel it crackle in his lungs. The cigarette was put out before he stepped inside the museum.

"Be safe, Robert." Be smart. The farewell seemed to say. Shae strolled off the property, taking her breeze with her.

Saturday 4:30 AM

Text to Angel Cris: Robert has been notified. He would like to meet you at the Inn as soon as possible.





(The events of this storyline continue in Overburdened. Thanks!)