July 25th it was his final day at the museum, regardless if there was a replacement ready. He could not continue to linger.

In the end, it was Osvaldo himself that played the role of curator for the Otherworld museum for his temporary-to-permanent departure. Robert had found it less odd that Osvaldo took on the role than the fact that he had yet to meet the man in person. From the point that he was hired to a year and a half after working as the curator, Osvaldo had been little more than a phantom who spoke quite audibly over the phone. Now in person, the sight of him triggered some surprises as well as disappointments. He was remarkably like the ?most interesting man in the world? from the Dos Equis ads with his white beard, tan skin and movie-quality Spanish accent.

Conversation with the owner of the museum at the back patio drifted from polite to pointed. He often felt that Osvaldo was so well timed, so polished, that there must have been cameras hidden around them as part of a reality tv show. There was only one reality, though, and that was that he was going.

Osvaldo squinted at him over the rim of his glass of water, positioned for a swallow, before he asked, ?You?ll keep in touch??

?Yes.? He answered as Osvaldo?s throat swelled and dropped as he drank. Robert wasn?t sure if his answer was a lie, it didn?t feel dishonest or forthcoming. It sounded like the word ?maybe? even though it had been a ?yes.? He wondered if Osvaldo knew that, if he felt the lack of commitment or knowing in his words. Robert he took another draw of his cigarette. His hazel eyes ticked away to his grey Ford truck. Ten years ago he and that truck had started a journey together. Was this her lost hoorah before she was parked in a junk yard to be mined for parts?

?I expect that you?ll be back here, soon. This city has a way of calling people back.? His laughter sounded like a piece of paper being energetically wadded up.

Robert smiled tightly and stood up, breathing out smoke before he spoke, ?Of course.? But Rhy?Din wasn?t the only city that knew how to sink its teeth in. There was Nola, too, unabashedly giving him cat calls from a classic car that had been bizarrely decorated with bright colors and a Voodoo doll hanging from the window. Could there be enough road between him and these cities?

Another city to put in his rearview mirror. He had thought leaving would feel like a defining moment, but that came later. The part of it that was real wasn?t packing up his belongings and putting his plastic totes in the back of his truck. He had packed many times and didn?t find it to be a particularly emotional experience. None of it had made him feel that he was actually leaving until he reached into the pocket of his black tweed coat and let the keys fall from his hand and into Osvaldo?s. He wondered, dimly, if that same sense of finality was what Roach had felt when he asked her for her key and she?d pressed it into his palm. He could still feel the impression of it in his palm as if she?d branded him without heat.

Osvaldo smiled like nothing happened, like Robert was bluffing and would travel only a mile or so before the museum?s jingly keys called him back. The owner?s stretched smile and too-white teeth left Robert wondering if the man knew something he didn?t. He couldn?t bring himself to react so he nodded before turning away to approach his truck. Every step away from the small piece of metal started to carve something out of his chest. The loss of the key was more serious than he had thought. Keys. That had been the defining moment, when keys were being turned over.

His truck bed was filled with eight plastic totes, the seal on one of them disturbed as the only sign that his payment for the contract had been made. The contract. What became of demons who were not meant to deal with contracts, but did it anyway? Robert imagined a thuggish demon showing up at his door, irritated that he had ?stepped on his turf.? Leave the dealing to the dealers. Now he had a soul but he didn?t know what to do with it other than keep it from the rest of the world. He was feeling more displaced, not more collected.

The gas tank was full. He would have hours to drive, keeping company with the thoughts in his mind. There, he would dust off the furniture, find missing socks and keys whose original lock was forgotten or misplaced.

Seattle was the same place he remembered from the last time he had been there. It was remembering the color grey. It stretched overhead, occasionally darker because the sky was gathering itself together for another rain. Along the drive a truck had kicked up a rock that sounded like a baseball hitting his windshield. Despite the thunder, all that was left of the impact was an inch long crack that glittered. It was new and the odd way it reflected light kept forcing him to look off to the right to check on it. It kept feeling like something was happening, or someone was there, when the light moved over it.

This, too, he would get used to, or maybe he would let it grow in a long, silvery strand stretching from one side to another.

The iconic Space Needle passed his right-hand side in the distance when he pulled up to his motel room. Six hours from portal to the city. For some reason that was disappointing. He wanted to drive longer, to feel like there was more distance between him and everything else that was left behind. He put his truck in park and saw the droplets begin a pattern on his windshield. The red and blue neon lights for the motel vacancy sign highlighted the droplets, making them seem like little blue and red lights sprinkled around the sign. He frowned. The hotel had a gimmicky name based off of that old rock song and was called the ?Motel California.? Beneath it, in blocky letters that looked as if they were occasionally changed was ?You Can Check In Any Time You Want? followed by a winky face emoji.

It had the best rate, according to Yelp. Wasn?t that the noise a dog made when it needed help? Robert?s jaw tightened, he shoulder-shoved at the door of his truck and climbed out in time to catch a heavier drizzle. The brass bell tied to the door gave a hollow ring as he pushed in.

?Hello.? The stout man said behind the glass window. He was in his mid-forties and was either interested in the book he was reading or trying to look interested.

?I called about a room on the way here,? Robert cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his bag. He tilted his head just a bit to try to see if there was a clipboard, ledger, or something for his reservation. When the door shut behind him it completely removed the background noise of the rain. He knew it was there, though, by how the droplets hung off the tips of his dark, wiry hair. He knew by how the bit of sun that came in through the windows behind him and reflected on the glass that separated him and the other man.

?Ah, yeah, I remember.? The guy smiled, rubbing at his thick mustache that fed into his beard. He tapped his temple with the end of his eraser, ?Don?t forget a thing I hear, Sir. Your room is ready, it?s 104. Made sure you had a nice ground level so you wouldn?t have to worry about the stairs. It?s good to go, it?s 10-4. Get it?? He laughed deep like he?d been waiting to tell that joke since getting Robert?s call. Or maybe he waited to tell that to anyone who rented the room. The man continued, ?The place is a little run down but no one bothers us here much. You?ll be fine. I mean, you should still lock your doors and all.?

The corner of his lips twitched, ?Yes, of course.? It was a bit odd to have someone who appeared to be your age, if not older, refer to him as ?Sir.?

He stood there, feeling more and more out of place as the two of them said nothing and continued to look at each other. The man at the counter seemed genuinely pleased that he was there, but also puzzled at why Robert was still standing there.

He cleared his throat, ?I suppose I should pay for my room, then? Or does that come after??

?Are you sure?? The man?s smile seemed to become less, but not from dismay. He behaved as though Robert had suggested that he pay for a car wash that was free.

?? Yes, I?m pretty sure I want to pay for my room.? He found that he was smiling when he said it, like that was the only amused expression that could fit.

?Oh, yes, I can understand that, Sir.?

Robert reached into his jacket pocket, unfolding his wallet and offering up his credit card. Perhaps he should have noticed it sooner, but it wasn?t until their hands had a close exchange that he realized that the owner of the motel was also a demon. As far as he could tell the demon was like him, having a human-looking appearance and not a disguise. Well, maybe a little make up was possible but he looked believable that it was only when their hands were close for the card exchange that he was aware of it. Seattle wasn?t known for its enormous demon population because it lacked the ?No Man?s Land? agreement that cities like Las Vegas and New Orleans had.

The credit card machine thought about the square chip in his card. Robert?s eyes dropped from the jovial stare of the demon at the counter to the coffee cup with old pens. The end of one of the pens had been chewed up. That should have been in the museum exhibit. People didn?t start chewing on pens like that until they became plastic and people gnawed down on them in thought. Therapists might have said it was a self-soothing technique, a way for adults to maintain a pacifier. Robert preferred to think of it as people chewing their way down closer to what they were thinking of when they wrote, that if they could they would have consumed the pen, paper and the very words themselves. The machine gave a ring that sounded more like a warning than an approval. His card was returned, his signature completely unnecessary.

Sometimes things get outdated. He wondered if people chewed on their plastic stylus now, working their ways towards their glass screens.

?Have a good stay, Sir.? When he heard the word ?Sir? again he smiled like he appreciated it and not like it was as out of place as he really thought it was. He never thought his forced or half reactions were very convincing, but the man behind the counter didn?t pursue his reaction and smiled as though everything was fine, anyway.

Welcome to the Motel California. Ten-four.

Alexandria Library. It hadn't changed from the last time he was there. It was an old building that had always intended to be a library and had been altered in small ways to accommodate wires and technology. A variety of nonhuman creatures had come for information, or maybe socialization. Some areas were deemed "quiet zones" while others allowed for low-volume conversations. Many of the library texts hadn't been scanned and inserted into the digital era, yet. Robert imagined that it must have been a comfort to some to still rely on books. He hated to admit that it made old items, older beings like himself, still seem relevant.

Most of the books he checked out on demon contracts were cumbersome to handle and read. There were terminologies he was unfamiliar with, but mostly the work of doing contracts was seeming more and more like two entities playing riddles on one another.

All implications made at the time of contract are not retroactive, though clients can litigate over contract information presented. While verbal limitations and prohibitions should not be exhaustive, the majority of the agreement is determined by the inaudible qualities of tone, attitude, mindset and agreement force between two parties, barring any double meanings or interpretations of the words expressly spoken in said agreement. I.E. If a man trades his soul for what he says is 'a mountain of gold,' the term 'mountain' is vague, implying no specific height, quantity or scale for the gold. What is a mountain to an ant? Alternatively, the client can argue the same terms of contract relativity, as in 'mountain' is a specific term where he lives which is defined as 700 feet tall with undefined (ergo limitless) width.

Robert rubbed at his brow, his eyes ticked up to the right-hand corner of the page to see that it was 'pg 300, section 4.3' in the chapter called "Writing Your Contract: A Little Goes a Long Way Unless it Kills you." There were only a thousand pages more to go and five others books which were considered the "bibles" to contract makers. They covered topics such as "When is Someone Competent Enough to Make and Agreement?" and "How to Get Contracts when People Seem Happy." It was impossible to tell if the books were about contracts or the marketing of contracts. Maybe, for the contractors, there was little difference.

He scanned through the tiny text, looking for a keyword for what he really wanted to know. His eyes paused at the chapter heading: Contract FulFillment and You: Now What? Most of it was about the final transactions, which was not his focus. He was hunting through the language of it and finally found something that promised to be, at least, somewhat helpful.

Buzz.

His phone vibrated in his pocket like the spasms of a large winged bug trapped in his pocket. When he looked down at the caller ID it was Gus. The picture of him on his cellphone screen was Gus looking over the rim of a beer at one of the bars they had been to when he was working at the Museum in New York. Robert leaned forward, his face nearly planted in the pages of tiny text in the Demon Contracts Fundamentals book.

"Gus?"

"Oh, hey, you called. Something about finding somebody?" Gus' voice sounded hollow when he said it, not doing a particularly good job of sounding pleased at the phonecall.

Robert could smell the musk and dry paper core of the book with his face so close to the pages, "I need you to set up a meeting with a contract demon for a consultation."

"...What?"

"I just need some legal advice."

"Robert, those guys are... um. Look, those guys don't do anything if there isn't an angle in it for them. It's not like they run a charity, yah know, so just talkin' to one of them is gonna run you something. You know the saying getting blood from a stone? They're the reason for it. I mean, I'm pretty sure they can get blood from a stone bu--"

"What do they want?"

"Um, souls?"

Robert sighed, biting back his irritation, "Well, obviously they want souls. But there has to be other things. Something to make it worth their time. How about you just make a few phonecalls and see who bites."

Gus sighed, "Where do I tell them to find you?"

"Chihuly Garden and Glass, Seattle."

There was a long pause. If he knew Gus, the man was chewing on his lip or wearing the expression that looked like he had rubbed a wedge of lemon in salt and then shoved it in his mouth. Gus didn't like getting the attention of people who could squish him. This situation wasn't dangerous, though. At worst the contract demon would just roll their eyes at him and ignore him for wasting their time. The silence extended, almost uncomfortably, until Gus' voice cracked over the speaker of his phone, "Okay, boss. I'll get right on it." Robert had expected Gus to try to weasel his way out of doing it for a bit longer than that.

Chihuly Gardens and Glass. It'd been years since he'd been to the strange display of the living and near life-like. The structures looked alien and beautiful at the same time. The contrast of the living and the appearing-to-be-alive felt like an appropriate place to discuss riddles.

http://www.chihulygardenandglass.com/static/ee_images/uploads/headers/03_exhibtion_rotator_05.jpg

Plus, the Gardens and Glass were far enough from where he was staying that he could shake anyone that might try to follow him. First, Gus had inquired about where he was, then Remmy's grandmother had hinted that he was being looked for and she was making it a point to speak to him personally. The upheaval of him having gotten involved in demon contracts had larger repercussions than he thought. He was not the first demon to have done it, and he had hardly upset the 'order' of things by what he'd done. Was it really about the contracts or was it that Menace had thrown a fit at being outbid by him at the auction?

It was a week that had been full of an unfulfilled promise. Since his arrival back in Seattle several actions and lack of action had become clear to him. The most obvious action had been his arrival there and the location of a Contract Demon. What about the inaction? The things which were avoided. What were they? The latest realization was, in itself, a bit more telling. He hadn't gone to see the Black Ram until Remmy and her sticky-fingered family members rolled into town.

All of the sudden, on August 1st, he was sitting on the condemned steps of an old bar which he used to think of as his. More than that, he used to think of it as home. Now it reminded him of the house in the Wizard of Oz because it was displaced and used for murder. His bar was now weather-worn, one of its sides gaping open from fire damage done by a hobo or some teenagers. The wood of the steps had peeled up, promising splinters. The door had a fierce orange sign that said "NO TRESPASSING." Still, someone else had wanted it. In the overgrown lawn out front was a fresh, white sign that read "Under Contract." It didn't seem like the Black Ram would live much longer.

Lighting his cigarette, he thought about the conversation he had with Remmy so many years ago. About what she asked him would happen after Sybil died and if they would get to meet again. If she would ever see her again. All he'd ever been able to promise her was the Sybil's remaining existence was whatever Remmy and anyone else carried of her in their head. That wasn't unlike the Black Ram. Was he the last person who could have recalled what it was in its splendor? Just another bar that had been an important place to somebody, once.

He could have just projected the image of what it had been on top of what was there now and make it look real. Even smell real. But what was the point in torturing yourself? As a demon that fed on woes, on sadness and loss, it was a bit of a tacky thing to do.

The grass that had overgrown the driveway swished against the sides of an old station wagon that had the wood grain paneling like they used to do in the 80's. Or was that the 70's? It rolled up like it was announcing a big fuck you to future progress. The window popped and the old gear motor inside went "raaaahh" as the window rolled down, revealing Remmy's amused smile when she saw him.

"You goin' my way?"

Robert sucked on his cigarette and wondered why the Hell he took her phone call. He put it back between his lips, smiled anyway, and got to his feet. When he opened the health-hazard passenger door and climbed in he wasn't looking at Remmy. He was looking at the old face of the Black Ram, wondering if it was the last time he'd ever see it.

Her gaze followed his. Her voice was softer, more like a drifting song, "They say they're going to tear the place down and put up a gas station. It's kind of funny."

He turned his head to look at her, blinking slowly and waiting for her to explain the joke.

She laughed loudly at his long, expectant stare and then swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand, "Putting a gas station on top of where a fire had been? Literally putting out fires with fuel. Tell me you don't find that funny, Robby." She turned up the radio before he could respond and pushed on the gas so that the station wagon could overpower the lumps of grass to get back on the road.

They living it up at the Hotel California... What a nice surprise... what a nice surprise. Bring your alibis...

He reached over and changed the channel of the radio to some local commercial promising to decrease your credit card debt and set you free with one call (that's all). Motels, contracts, the smell of Remmy's patchouli mixing with how it smelled when it'd been on Roach's skin. The cigarette helped, he put it to his lips and inhaled. The world turned into burning dried leaves, into smoke and ash, pushing away everything else that might have been familiar. The damage warmed his chest.

"Sorry, I just thought you'd like some music for the drive."

He realized he'd just cut the song that Remmy turned up in the car when she said that. Blinking, he cleared his throat, "No, sorry, it's just been a long week." Any amount of days spent staring at demon legal text could make someone feel out of touch. Beyond that, it'd been so long since he'd seen her it was hard to concentrate on her. She kept eluding the moment like she was a daydream instead of actually sitting there, driving some old POS car like she always did.

"I thought you'd be happier, you know? Or look happier or something after... yeah, when all that was said and done." One of her hands squeezed on the steering wheel. It sparked, momentarily, with the yellowy shine of her wedding band. She cleared her throat, "Anyway, sorry. I don't mean to make this about you and me. I know I always did that. It's you and Bunika."

Robert's eyes dropped as he hunted the arm panel for the means to lower the window. He pressed at the fob. Nothing happened and the smoke from his cigarette was starting to build, making the air thick between them. Another press and then he looked over to Remmy.

She laughed, "Sorry, still have the child safety lock on." And the kid's seat in the back car. Without looking down she pressed the switch that let him roll down his window and channel the smoke back outside.

"Since you called me it's sort of felt like... I don't know." Robert tapped the ash out the window and then looked at her, "Like there's something you want to say to me. You keep saying the same thing, though. That you thought I'd be happier."

"Could you..." she motioned to his hand holding the cigarette. He looked at it uncertainly and when his hand drew closer to his face to examine it for a problem, he realized what she'd been motioning for. She reached over, taking the half-consumed stick from him and put it to her lips and pulled. Her lungs filled up, her lips pursed and for a moment her eyelids came down in a slow, thankful blink. It must have been a long time since her last smoke. She exhaled with a, "God that's good," and then handed it back to him.

That wasn't an answer to his question, either, but it answered a lot of other things. Remmy pointed ahead to the circle of RV's. Everyone there seemed to be waiting for him to show up. Kids kicking their ball and adults in mild conversations stopped, turned, and with unsmiling faces watched them climb out from the car and walked towards Bunika's trailer.

?I can?t believe that your grandmother drove all of you up here to tell me that. She could have spoke to me over the phone,? Robert breathed out a line of smoke through the window, the hand holding his cigarette moved back to his jaw and scratched at the corner of it.

?She likes to do things in person and, you know, she?s getting older.? When Remmy spoke it sounded like an apology. Her voice softened and stretched out under the grizzled horizon, ?It was probably an excuse, anyway. She always liked this place.?

He couldn?t think of anything to say to that. Part of him felt irritated at the effort that had gone into meeting with her grandmother only to feel that it was pointless and that all he had received was the nonsense of an old woman, babbling. It might have been only in these last few years that her mind was slipping. If she hadn?t been close to Remmy he might had pushed an irritated descriptor or two out of his mouth just then. As it was, Remmy drove and droplets of water too small to call for the windshield wipers gathered on the glass. The passenger window was open by only an inch, but that was all that was needed. The smoke escaped his mouth and ran out with the tide of air with every exhale.

?We were in Chicago before you called.?

?Yeah??

?It?s a good city. Hard during the Winter but real good during the Summer. They have a zoo there.?

Robert?s eyes stayed out the window as he remarked, his voice like a pick chipping at ice, ?I?m sure all the kids, your kid, loved it.?

?My kids.? She emphasized the plural but then laughed like it didn?t matter. Like maybe it was a silly thing to point that out. ?Anyway, you should go sometime if you haven?t. There?s a lot of odd folks there.?

?Folks like me??

?Yeah,? a winsome smile was in her voice when she spoke. It was a soft enough reaction that it prompted him to look at her. She was driving, smiling, seeming sarcastic and sad all at the same time. Looking at her then he could tell that she had gotten older. Her posture had started to slouch, her eyes were more tired and her attractive, little paunch had become established. He had thought of all of those little things as being her and realized that none of them were. Not really. Remmy was somewhere beneath it all and the changes in how she looked didn't matter much.

?Well,? she said, turning the boat-car down the grass drive. It bobbed and bumped, then stopped off to the side of the building. The car was split in half but the cover of shade the building threw down at them. She looked at him and smiled, ?One more, for the road.?

He was still staring at her when her fingers flicked back and forth, requesting the cigarette. When he didn?t move quickly enough she leaned forward, running her hand against his wrist and into his palm as she took his cigarette. The old familiar wash of her mouth against his came back like some inevitable tide. Robert didn?t even move.

?Are you there??

Somewhere in his blood there was a card game going on inside the bar. A man screamed along to the saxophone on the streets of Nola, talking about how the rich and powerful didn?t care about all the black bodies that came to the surface after the flood. The water was coming, it was gonna rain and storm and the flood sometimes washed away the problems but most of the time it just helped the killer mold spread. He smelled patchouli, which moved in his mind from Remmy to Roach, over their part-time offered flesh.

?You could kiss me back, you know.? Remmy smiled, her mouth still hovering near enough to his that when she spoke he felt her breath move over his mouth. Her eyebrows knit, ?I knew you tasted like fire? but damn, Robby.?

He wasn?t going to explain that a fire of copper and cinnamon had been built, just not for her. She didn?t need to know that the intensity of his mouth, of the crackling under his skin, was there for a different reason. Robert?s eyes moved past her, to the half charred building that was waiting to be demolished. He reached up, taking the side of her face and pressing her mouth into his. He thought he could have consumed her, opened his mouth, wider and wider until like a snake he swallowed her whole. Instead, there was sex, spread from the car to an abandoned office in the Black Ram that looked like hobos had occupied it at some point. Robert knew the signs of transient living, of what it was to know how temporary you could be. Remmy never took off her wedding band.


In the early morning that still felt like night, she curled against his ribs, her fingers playing with a dark lock of his wiry hair. Her smiled looked smug, like she?d defeated him and known he?d be back there, wrapped in her sex and her skirts. It was different this time around. Nothing about it felt like a promise and nothing about those distance promises was something that he wanted anymore.

She said his name, ?Robby?? to get his attention, but all he could recall was Roach?s pleas. That there was no fidelity but that he would take comfort in that when he was with her, just the two of them, she?d be sure to say his name. It was a hollow consolation and in retrospect, felt like a joke they had nearly believed in together. He was much better as that far away figure, sharing a box on the street. Remmy repeated his name to pull his attention away from his thoughts and back to her.

?Hmm?? He turned his head to look at her. They were naked, the floor blanketed with their clothes and bodies covered in the bedsheets yanked from the laundry in back of her car.

?I thought you?d be happier.?

He made a smile and adjusted his gaze to the sky coming through the charred holes in the roof, ?I am, but it?s not because of you.?

(Written with the input of Roach Lee's player.)

When Robert awoke, the man was already seated there, across from his bed in his hotel room, in a world that looked like his nausea felt; grey and heavy hanging, low-like and creepin? like the moss that hung from the boughs of the cypress in dreary strangle holds. The man wore a suit that was faded and coated in a patina of ash. A top hat and dreadlocks beneath that fell past his ribs. His naked hands, tattooed on the sides in filigree ink, braced the arms of the chair. The man was corporeal and not; he seemed of flesh and blood and breath but every so often he would fade out of sight.

?You done it now. You not ready for this, Robbie. You know what you have done? Make the rat the queen and hell you raise.?

Robert's head rolled to the side. He'd fallen asleep fully dressed and could still feel the uncomfortable squeeze of his shoes on his feet. The sound of the voice made his head swivel towards it. The question, "Who are you?" was quickly followed by, "What are you doing in my room?"

The passing of a few seconds was already giving him more clarity on that, though. Robert knew what humans smelled like, what they felt like. It was no different than recognizing the scent of chicken, but to say he was smelling in the traditional sense was wrong. Demons sniffed at the world a bit differently, experiencing more than a scent. It tapped in on the essence of something. He'd known some demons who were particularly good at it and were like less-than-charming celestial bloodhounds. He was never proficient, but at this proximity that didn't matter. The top hat and grey screamed Other.

Jimmie Eko laughed and it seemed to scatter in and out of Robert's ears like sound traveling underwater. Muted and echo-laden. He rose from the chair and then bi-located, so that there were two of him; one by the chair, the other by the bed, before another shift and the one by the chair was gone. It was meant to be disorientating. Confusing. Ill-making. Jimmie emanated the same dark radiance that those with eyes would see on Roach, only, far more distinctive, sharper, more acute.

"Girl is trouble, Robert. And now, even more so." He turned and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers where a thick, brass chain swung against his thigh as he loped around the room. Jimmie was part gang leader, part cult leader, part psychopomp by way of 1933. He was an amalgam of places and faces and culture. "I not too sad to be rid of her. You gon' to be challenged. You are not ready for this, Robert. None of it. Even with who you are now." And then, once again, he was moving, too fast, beyond the speed of sight, to appear beside the bed again. His mouth open, teeth suddenly feral and sharp, his eyes a dim, smoldering red. "You gon' have to change your ways. She be changing, too." His accent, like his presentation, swung between Barbados and Bourbon Street, Compton and Hell's Kitchen. "You got to make some moves. Just like poker, Robert. We all know your favourite games are the ones you hold your breath for... and this is one that'll steal it."

He turned and loped over to the chair and sat down; chain rattling, eyes sparkling like small fuses. "Ya tell the gods what you be and you start dancing. There are many things that are changing the way it has been done. Menace has stolen a demon from Crez. You got a human girl in a demon pact. Y'all have crossed the lines and now the way the game has been is not the same. Just remember, you are not who you were before but neither is she. But it is not the time to save your strongest card for last. Now you play hard and fast, yo. Keep your head above water. It's rising like tha bad moon." And he vanished.

Or had he?

Robert had stared at the place where he was, where 1933 grinned at him with sharp, bloodthirsty teeth. The game had been changed, the world was swirling. It was too late by the time he absorbed what ad been said. He reached out to grab Jimmie, to keep him longer, but he was gone. Maybe he'd never really even been there.

He reached over, snagging hs cell phone off the nightstand and scrolling through his contacts. There weren't many in his phone. Roach was right next to Remmy and he was forced to frown at that little reminder. Goddamn it Roach. He left her a voicemail, filled with the inevitable, slithering regret he always had when he reached out to her. It was worse than calling up Remmy.

Rain started to pattern on the windows. He was going to have to leave tomorrow. There wasn't any breath left to hold. The feeling of a fire crackling under the skin burned more intensely. His eyes rolled to his belongings stacked inside the room. He was shiftless and homeless all anew, his rented room just a fancier version of a cardboard box on the street he wasn't even allowed to occupy alone because of contracts. Goddamn it, Roach.

He stared at the screen of his phone and sighed, pressing call on Remmy's number. She was there within the hour, wet from the rain and ready to take her clothes off. Everyone else in the world seemed to be taking what they wanted, when they wanted it.

On the way to Puget Sound his truck broke down like a warning. Opening the hood, there was steam and the guts of an old truck waiting for him, seeming to say that the road trip was over. He already knew that. The engine was overheating and he'd need to walk a mile or two to the nearest gas station for it. His errand to get there had only been to see it, to have the cove of water advise him on what would happen next like it used to.

If only being a demon meant the same thing that it did in the movies. They always seemed to be in a clean wardrobe with the convenient ability to teleport, like a blink, anywhere they wanted. He supposed that for television shows and movies that made moving the plot along easier, but that still made it strange. Moving through all the atoms of existence to appear in exactly the right place took skill and that wasn't just something anyone could master. Robert never even had the hint that the ability to do something like that would ever be in his skill set.

If only he could have teleported. The longer he walked, the more aware he was he was being followed.

The steps felt like a mad scuffle going on somewhere behind him. At first, they seemed accidental, like squirrels in a tiff, but the sound didn't alter appreciably and continued to stay behind him like steps dragging. He was walking on the side of a road that didn't even have a sidewalk but beyond that, there wasn't foot traffic to contend with. He worked his way towards the nearest shop, hands jammed into the front pockets of his trousers while concentrating on the sound behind him.

It was getting closer. A large truck rushed around the curve of the road, making the whole world wave in the wake of wet, torn up air it felt behind.

When he turned to see who was there his eyes dropped to see a mangy-looking black dog, perhaps thirty pounds, stare up at him. They regarded each other for a long, unblinking moment before he wagged his tail and opened his mouth in a friendly pant.

"Go away." Robert turned and continued. So did the shuffling.

When at last he reached the gas station he was able to step inside, to break the dog's line of sight and interest in him. Two gallons of water and a new packet of cigarettes later, he stepped outside only to find the scrappy animal was waiting, actively waiting, for him. He was sitting on the ground, disinterested in the other comers and goers until Robert appeared. His tail swept back and forth on the ground at the sight of him.

He shouldn't have said anything to the creature. That had been part of the problem. Now the dog thought that they were friends or that he could coerce food or something else out of him. Now that he'd spoken to the dog he couldn't pretend that he didn't see him. The dog was certain that there was a 'way in' to him now. Weren't they supposed to have incredible noses? Did he not know that he was not Man's Best Friend, either?

The whole way back to the truck, the four-legged stride shuffled behind him, occasionally wagging his tail when Robert looked at him. Once he got to his truck it was half a gallon of water later that he could start it up and hit the road again, the black mutt's image growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Robert exhaled, gripping the steering wheel and keeping focused on what was ahead. The roads off the Sound curved a lot, the forest around them like egg crate paper, muffling the noise of the world. Everything was damp and quiet. There were parking spaces along the sound in only a few areas to allow visitors to enjoy the view. He pulled over, parking at the first one that came up. As soon as the truck was in park, he lit a cigarette and climbed out.

His steps amongst the rocks were slow and thoughtful. He wanted their cold, damp faces to tell him something, anything, about what was ahead. When he was younger he would collect the Depression Era glass that came ashore, but he wasn't sure why. They weren't precious metals, just broken pieces of glass that were green, clear, sometimes blue. The edges were worn down and the wear of the ocean made their color look foggy.

Finishing his first cigarette, he dialed up Helena. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a mangy, dark dot keep its distance from him at the shore, its tail wagging once when he thought Robert was looking.

(( rped live with Helena. Thanks for the play!))

"I don't suppose you know what he goes by?" It was hard to say if he was amused or bitter because he often had that sort of tone. Shoulder shoving his door he pried it open with a metal yawn and stepped outside of the truck. The blackish, medium sized dog trotted up closer, tail wagging and then hesitating. He looked between Robert and the open door uncertainly. That was fair considering Robert had ignored and discouraged him for practically the entire day.

"Well?" Another motion towards the inside of the cab and Helena. The wolfish-looking mutt got the point and didn't wait for him to change his mind. He leaped onto the driver's seat and then stepped up to Helena. His calloused front paws stabbed into her thigh when Robert slipped back into his driver's seat, nudging him toward Helena to make room.

"His name is yours to choose. Make it a suitable one." She ignored the poking of his paws into her legs, though the expression he gave her was mixed grateful and relieved. "He's taken a shine to you." The dog resumed a rather statuesque pose between them, taking up as little room as possible. "We are ready to go." She glanced around the dog to Robert with a smirk then resumed her place, hands relaxed in her lap, eyes forward.

"Troy," he said without missing a beat. His seat belt clicked into place and then he checked his mirror before going. Troy was, of course, delighted just to be along for the ride. Robert had yet to pet him again, but that was fine. He could wait.

When they finally pulled out of the gravel parking lot at the stony beach, he glanced at Troy and Helena from the corner of his eyes before he spoke, "I didn't know you liked animals so much." The road that he took her along was two lane. The rain made the pavement look dark, like it was new. It was only a few cracks that betrayed it.

"This is the first the opportunity has presented itself. They are not like us. They do not seek to destroy for their own gain." She paused. "Whether they like me is entirely up to them. And Troy suits him." Her hand came up to side briefly on his side. He didn't flinch, but blinked. "Where to now?"

"I wanted to show you something, to see what you think." Or felt. What a fresh perspective could bring to a haunted house. The road was a slowly winding one which sometimes followed the curves of the shore. It was about thirty minutes to reach the old site of the Black Ram, the wheels of his truck climbing over the clumps of grass and then squealing to a stop. He rolled down his window, looking at the overgrown facade, partly charred by the old fire.

"Do you think this is a sad place?" Looking over Troy to her. His hand now, finally, resting on the other side of the dog.

Helena craned to look at the facade, though it still looked elegant in the way she was poised, elbow upon his dashboard. "Sad?"

"Do places mean anything to you, witch?" Addressing her as such, he meant? he wondered, if there was such a thing as a place having a spirit. Or if it all came from him, when he looked at a building.

"Architectural beauty can be evocative. When a building is sad to my eyes, it is perhaps architecturally hideous. A wasted opportunity for something beautiful instead. Further, it is sad to see something destroyed. Waste is tragic." Her eyes shifted from the building to him. "Has something happened here beyond what we see?"

"Eleven years ago there was a demon and... Nephilim incident," he said the word incident with enough salt that it indicated, clearly, that there had been more. It wasn't just a wayward glance. She did not have to press him for it or wait for partial details, "I was there with some friends. We were just playing cards when they showed up so..." there was a roll of his shoulders to say that the situation had been a rather impossible one.

"Lots of buildings, like this, never recover when something like that happens. The bar shut down and then squatters, or kids, set fire to it since then." His hand slid down Troy's coarse fur, "Do you think it is a waste?"

Helena watched him and let the silence settle as he finished speaking. The only sound was of Troy, his breathing. "It is a waste. In many ways." Her eyes shifted to the building. "It can be reclaimed. Is this appealing to you?" Her hand curled and she rested her cheek upon the hand attached to elbow which supported her on the dashboard. "Or are we here more that I should learn about you. Do you wish me to ask questions pertaining to the incident?"

"It's already been purchased and it'll be torn down soon, I imagine. It would cost more to fix it than just put up a gas station." Did he like that the world followed that logic? It always seemed like it should have been easier to build from what was there instead of demolish and start new. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a pack of smokes and lit it up. Arm outstretched, the hand with the cigarette dangled out the window, "It's about to be gone and I still don't even know how I feel about it anymore."

"The arrogance of the Nephilim has always been lost on me. A pseudo-righteousness spurned by a black-and-white mentality." Her tone was indifferent; truth be told, the Nephilim were not a threat to her. However, it was similar to seeing celebrity grand-standing. Irritating when it surfaced and you merely held your breath and waited for it to die. "About it, though, or about the incident?" She continued to watch him.

"The two can't really be separated for me. People create things with their feelings, their beliefs. They make little human black magic, superstition and luck." The cigarette came to his lips. He drew on it and pushed the smoke out the window from her. Troy whined and pushed his side back towards Helena in the hopes for more petting. The needy response from the dog made Robert smile just a little before he continued, "Demons don't seem to do that. But if we did? If we had spirits that could haunt a place or beliefs that could change the world... you would think this place would feel different instead of just being some run-down thing."

Her hand came to Troy, giving him long strokes to soothe him. He seemed to enjoy that, blinking slowly and staring out of the window with squinted eyes. "Then you feel as though this place is just some run-down thing?"

"I feel that the only being who thinks this place is important, or has a feel to it, is me and that the reality of the situation is that I am nostalgic about a pile of water-rotted wood." His voice did not gain passion as he said it. Instead, it sounded as though he was working through the words. That he was constructing a long-winded book title and wondered if she approved.

"Go on." She continued to slide her hand along Troy, content to listen to Robert.

"I don't know what else to say," he admitted, looking at the old face of the building as he added with the quiet, calm words, "It's why I brought you here. To see if you saw or felt anything. If all I thought was just... in my head."

Again she regarded the building, letting the silence settle in. The dog stared straight ahead, still squinting. "Is it wrong that the sentiment is within you?" She remained watching the building.

"I don't know," he admitted it ruefully. He could feel the coarse hair of the dog under his hand. Absently, he stroked Troy. The dog whined once, uncertain why they had stopped the truck but weren't getting out. Perhaps the dog thought that they must have been waiting for something to happen. Robert's thumb rolling over the shoulder blade of the dog seemed to ease him, "I just want to know what the facts are so I can... feel based off of that. Feel what I feel based off of what is."

At that Helena, opened the door and stepped out. The dog looked panicked momentarily, but soon followed - abandoning the stroking hand of Robert Brohkun. She had vouched for him, after all! He looked up at her, and then to the building. Helena stood there, an arch to her eyebrow. "Let us go examine the facts ourselves."

That wasn't what he expected. He nearly reached for her, to catch her by the shoulder and tell her to stay in the truck. Robert had been too lost in his thoughts to catch her soon enough. Instead he gave the half-stuck door of the truck a shove. His hand caught the keys, twisting them until the truck went dead and there was only a ghost of steam from the tailpipe to say it had been otherwise. One hand shoved his door shut, the wet grass swishing like plastic when he crossed over to her and the mutt.

"Very well."

She bent her arm at the elbow, expecting him to slide his arm and escort her. He was old-fashioned enough to pick up on the cue. Once held, she proceeded forward. She looked certainly over-dressed for such an investigation. Regardless, they moved towards the building. Troy following, apprehensive but not backing down. "There are certainly memories here. Or perhaps I am merely putting this place in context with your memory." Her eyes shifted to him, taking in his expression.

Her assumption was correct. It might have even been easier, or more natural, for him to do that with her than otherwise. Troy eventually trotted ahead to relieve himself and sniff and snort around the plant growth crawling out from under the feet of the building.

"Sounds like you're having the same problem I am." He sighed and stopped, standing at the side of the building. The old window looked like Time or kids had shattered it. Absently, his voice drifted, "I feel that if someone is going to destroy it, that it should be me."

"What did you lose here, Robert Brohkun?" She continued to examine him. This was his journey. This was his fight. This is why she was here. "What is it you wish to destroy?"

(( rped live with Helena. Thanks for the play!))

After all the walls had collapsed and the fire dwindled into a calm echo of what it had been, they drove. Night time off the Sound could be some of the blackest nights a person could experience without going further north. Robert always felt that it had to do with the way the woods seemed to crowd in and muffle everything. With his right hand on the steering wheel and a third cigarette hanging from his left hand, they had been in a reflective state of silent company.

As the city returned to view, the truck began to cough. Robert felt it jerk and that instantly made him flick the remains of his cigarette out the window, grip the wheel with both hands and steer it over. His eyes dropped down to the gauge, "We might have overheated, again."

Helena peered around Troy to take in Robert. Then her eyes shifted to where the engine was located. "Alas. So close." A pause. "What is your suggestion?" She leaned back, a hand soothing Troy for the stop seemed to give him anxiety.

"More water." He pushed his elbow hard into the side of the truck door, stepping out. He turned to face them, pulling on the latch of his seat to drive it forward until it folded against the steering wheel, giving him room to reach back for the plastic jugs of water. While he was fairly certain that a witch who could conceal the burning of a bar could have certainly twisted the broken mechanics of his truck... he wasn't sure that he wanted to ask that.

Stepping up to the front of his old grey Ford, he popped the hood and used the long metal bar to hold it agape. When the water was applied an entire cloud seemed to be generated from nowhere. It was thick, white, and smelled like plastic burning.

Troy did not follow. It seemed he resolved to stay in the truck, lest this be a ruse.

"All is well?" She saw the cloud, thick and white. She smelled the burning plastic. Her voice called from the interior of the cab, deciding that Robert knew this vehicle and would call upon her aid if necessary. Her hand stroked the smooth fur of Troy, eyes flicking to him and then back to where Robert worked.

"I don't think so," He frowned, putting the jug of water down at his foot while using his hands to fan it away. Robert was not a car mechanic, but he knew enough to be able to tell when something went wrong. His sigh poured out of him, heavy, as under his breath came the words, "Damn it." He paused there, staring at the smoky guts of the old truck before circling back to his seat, shoving it back into the upright position. When he sat down, he did so half way, one foot on the ground and the other on the floor of the truck as he twisted to look at Helena. A spray of his black hair curled just after his ear and from the back of his neck, "I just wanted to get back to Rhy'Din tonight. I was going to drive us back but..." A toss of his hand. The truck was done and like the bar, opted to pass away in Seattle.

"Then we are wasting time." She slid from the vehicle, and held open the door. "Come, Troy." The dog, after shooting a halfway-apprehensive glance at Robert - which was altogether hilarious - hopped out of the car beside Helena. His ears went back in a way that suggested he was begging, but he did not whine. He knew The Witch did not tolerate such gratuitous noise. A glance from Troy to Robert. "You as well. Come." And she shut the door, walking away from it towards the front of the vehicle.

"There's a gas station ahead, I'm sure." He stood up from the half-taken seat, shutting the door behind him. The truck continued, against all odds, to smoke. It was as if it had started to sublimate from metal to steam. Robert crossed over to her and Troy, but when the dog looked to him for answers all he could do was give the poor boy a shrug. He turned partly from her, from facing the front of the truck, to looking down the spiral of road and buildings. A truck driving by honked at them.

Helena continued to walk forward, her mouth relaxed. Her hips rather like that of a shark, cutting through the night road ahead of them. Troy trotted beside her, glancing nervously ahead and then to Helena - and then to Robert. "Nearly there." In the moment of silence that followed, Troy startled. He turned around and barked once.

The Witch stopped dead, and glanced over her shoulder. Then followed with her body. "Ah. Here we are." The location? Standing before a quaint museum - or rather, what was once a museum.

Robert followed her until they reached the derelict location. They were here? His eyebrows came together in a look of concentration, gaze moving upward and over the facade of the building. He wanted to ask the question but felt the unexpected arrival at that location was doing that well enough on its own. His shoulders drew back, hazel eyes fixed on her unflinching face.

She did not look at him, but merely continued to look at the museum. "Look around you." It was more than a derelict building. This was no longer Seattle. He had asked to return to Rhy'Din, did he not? And perhaps it was Troy who realized it before Robert Brohkun. The dog nudged his hand, over and over, insisting as Helena would not.

Robert turned and surveyed the area around them. The transition had been so seamless, even to him, that he hadn't detected the enormous world shift that had come along with it. He blinked a few times more before studying the building again, "Is this... Rhy'Din?" Had they already left behind them the cool, Seattle grey in exchange for the dangerous spark of the eclectic city?

"You expected a porthole, a wormhole, a spell, an incantation, a gust of wind, a flash of lightening..." Her mouth hooked in a smirk after she spoke, her voice smooth and flawless in the familiar air. "Does this not look familiar to you? Your museum." Troy left the seemingly dazed Robert to approach the porch. There, he sat and barked twice, tongue coming out in a happy pant and blinking as though he had just earned a reward. "Of course. This is not yours any longer." She turned from it, and began walking towards the lights of city center.

"Maybe some theatrics would have been fun." He ventured to say, a bemused expression dawning over his features at last. There was a pause when she called it his and he blinked, taking a step back from it. The front was cold and it did seem... strangely different to him. Why was it so different? "It's not... where I was expecting to be." Now that Helena had pointed out the obvious, reminders and hints of the building returned to him quickly.

"The appearance back into town at the last place I saw you was meant to be quite theatrical." A glance over her shoulder at him. "A shame it was wasted."

"You should have used fireworks," he delivered the joke with flat tones and turned, surveying the area around him. It was, in fact, one of them most seamless changes he had ever experienced. In that respect, it was incredibly impressive. Taking one step he felt something that was uneasy in his chest. His hand dug into the pocket of his jacket with the thought that he should call Osvaldo, to see if he had already been replaced or if that man's stretched, pointed smile was unaffected and unsurprised by the call.

She continued to glance over her shoulder. "That will come later." Her eyes shifted from the hand at his chest to his eyes. "Dinner first." She paused in her advance, waiting for him to join her. Helena could be impressive, but that had more to do with the exercise of will than anything else. In this instance, it was much easier to make things, well, easy. By the manifestation of her will, she bounded from one to the next - from Seattle to Rhy'Din - as easy as one went on a walk. If it helped, asking most how they came to find Rhy'Din, the 'finding' is quite by accident.

"Dinner?" As if the concept was foreign to him. Robert looked down at the dog and then to her, "Where?" It occurred to him, then, that he had never seen The Witch eat and was trying to fathom what her preference would have been.

"Your favorite place, of course. To celebrate your return." A smirk. "Take us there." Us. Helena and Troy. He was spot on, though. The Witch would not eat - it was superfluous and unnecessary. Two things in which she was rarely. Or perhaps she was superfluous and unnecessary entirely? It did not matter. The invitation stands.

"I thought this was my favorite place?" To celebrate his return, though? Robert tilted his head to the side and then realized she was talking about the coffee house in the market. His gaze went down to Troy, who wagged his tail upon receiving the attention. Celebrating. Something about returning here didn't entirely feel celebratory. He had felt that in the truck, watching the Black Ram burn with her. Still, his smile had not entirely dissipated. His steps joined with hers.

It was amazing how little things changed here. Perhaps that was not all that amazing. Businesses came in and out of existence in a fortnight - most of the time less than. Trends came and went and people died and resurrected. All of the inconsistencies, frankly, made the place rather dull. A helter-skelter that was the patchwork of Rhy'Din was without pattern, without reason, and thus senseless to Helena. She lived her life in the grey area between Jedi and Sith, for lack of a better explanation. Not a force for good nor one for bad. Their walk, the three, lead them to the marketplace. "Perhaps here you should like to have some provisions for -" She cut off, glance to him now. "Is it your intention to return to the museum?"

"I..." his pause was long and he realized, perhaps with the museum behind him and the marketplace sprawled out in front of him that he... did miss the museum. That it had been a sanctuary of sorts, but more importantly, a structure which seemed to understand him. "Yes I... hope to get my job back. I haven't talk to Osvaldo." But there were other things, too. There was wanting to speak to Roach about what had happened. He pulled out his cellphone and clicked a quick message off to Osvaldo.

His stride paused outside a coffee house in the market, "I come here." Unlike Helena, he did have to eat. It wasn't as often or as heavily as a human, but a snack once every day or two tended to suit him just fine.

"Shall I speak to Osvaldo?" She was deathly serious, amusement glimmered in her storm-colored eyes. It should be quite apparent to Robert that he had a scary friend in Helena. Scary only when the spirit moved her.

She paused with him, and took in the facade of the building. "Ah. Coffee. That does suit you." A smirk given to him, and then, "Tea will do nicely. Shall we?" She will wait for him to escort her inside.

More than a scary friend, she was arguably the only one. Stepping up to the door, he tugged it open and held it that way for her until she had stepped in. His mind was still stumbling with the realization that he was, in fact, back. Troy had tried to slip in but Robert blocked him with a foot and looked down, "Wait here. We'll be back." If this relationship was going to work, the dog was going to have to learn to trust a bit more.

((rped live with Helena. Thanks for the play!))

"It comes and goes. Presently, I am happy." A pause. "Though I am curious - if I was not happy, what would be your response?"

"I would wonder why." The response comes flat, like a palm popping the top of the table. His fingertips stay pinned to the sides of his mug as he looked at her.

She watched him for a moment. Her eyes met him as she debated the topic. She did not blink as she did this, and perhaps to some this was eerie. "We are without the luxury to preface with 'life is too short.' Either to spend it unhappy, to spend it wanting, to spend it alone." Her hand came up to slid into handle of her tea cup. "Does that entitle us to our fair share of misery?"

"I suppose one would say it also entitles you to your fair share of joy. You could be miserable or the hedonist, with that attitude." He said it with a look into the face of his drink as if it might agree or tell him otherwise. Across the table he looked at her, "Were you ever hoping to get something from me or was this all you wanted?"

"You are asking if it was my intention to bed you?" She brought her tea up for a sip, a glimmer of laughter in her eyes.

He could feel her laughter. To it, he met her with a dry smile. "I suppose." That wasn't all he meant. It wasn't just about whether or not she expected that they would have sex or become involved. Robert was more accustomed to being used in other less provocative ways-- with blood donations and illusion favors. It wasn't often that one knocked on the door of an illusionary demon, as opposed to a succubus, in the hopes of sexual fulfillment.

The tea cup was returned. "Initially, I had been rude to you. Terribly rude, a reflection of my own insecurities and need for barriers. It is a regret of mine and one I had been hoping to fix. If I can be frank, I believe it is well fixed. Now, I am merely enjoying your company." She looked out the window to Troy, who picked his ears up immediately and blinked at her. "Your sentiment, however, is echoed - if I may bridge the gap. It is nice to be in the company of one who does not wish to use me." Her eyes shift to him to catch his expression.

"This is Rhy'Din, I think the need for barriers comes with an ability to survive." It was difficult to filter people, to know who and what they were. There were some that would meet you in one evening and seem prepared to adopt you intimately as a friend or lover and then never been seen again. Others were more predatory. There was more than one way to need someone, to use someone.

"It is work and it is need that brings people together, sometimes, and not the pursuit of just wanting to get to know another person. It begs the question of how real a friendship is if it is rooted in getting something from another person. Are the junkies ever really friends with their dealers?" To that, Robert's tone and gaze shift said that he felt the answer was no.

Her eyes shifted to return to look at Troy. When her eyes met him, his tail began wagging once again. Hopeful. "It seems we have reached an accord." Her voice was softer, though not incoherent. "This is home. But it is not permanent. As I find myself growing tedious with the incestuous drama, perhaps it is time for me to find my 'Seattle.' A place where the game can be reset." Her eyes lowered, and she returned to her tea.
"Would you have me visit you?" He had been away too long, too involved with his own pursuits to feel the tedium that she had. He knew of it though, he had experienced in life when lingering at certain places for longer than he should have. The softening of her voice when she spoke had captured his attention more than he thought it might.

"Yes. I would." Her eyes ticked up to his, lifting her tea for a sip. After a moment, it was replaced. "Though that is not immediate nor is it any time soon." She tilted her head some, eyes relaxing from their moment of wistfulness. "How is your coffee?"

"I like the coffee here... and today it is good." No sugars, no creamer. Just potent, black coffee. His phone buzzed and he frowned, realizing it was rude to check but wanting to know if Osvaldo was replying to him promptly. It ended up being someone else, which made the interruption feel rude and fruitless. He glanced down at her cup and then looked back to her face, "I haven't thought about what the next exhibit would be."

"You have returned but seconds ago -" She gestured to his phone. "- and you are wanted." This amused her, though it was bittersweet. Even such a small gesture meant that she was fighting for his attention; though perhaps 'fighting' was too strong a word. "No? There were no ideas you anticipated after your pen exhibit?" Or was that not the last exhibit? "And I am glad you are enjoying your coffee."

He had thought it would be the last. Though the Vampire exhibit had followed the pen one. He had thought he would be gone, that like with the other cities he had been to, he would find employment elsewhere and linger there for a time. Maybe hospital work was a place better suited for him. When she mentioned him being wanted he frowned a little, but could not think of how to put into words the nagging changes which had come about him. It was likely she already had an inkling but was unconcerned with it. "I had thought I would be in Seattle again for a time. Maybe renovate that bar I burned down."

"Then perhaps an architectural themed exhibit will sate the spirit of renovation in you." A smooth wink for her quip, attempting as she could to keep light the topic. It was clear that Robert still struggled with the transitions that were dotting his past like so much food piled into a stomach struggling to digest it. Her pale hand came to rest upon his, her eyes meeting his. The amusement was gone, and she was quite serious. "Trust me to assist in whatever way you deem necessary, Robert. A friend once told me that we are entitled to our fair share of joy. However, one must be open to receiving it." She squeezed his hand, gently, before returning to her position. "What you tolerate is, for all intents and purposes, your choice." This was perhaps the mantra of Helena Sedzia.

"That's one way to put it." His hand turned, catching hers, eclipsing it from the top to give it a squeeze. There had not been much affection between them prior to his trip. Then again, Robert wasn't one that people often felt the urge to bound up to for an embrace. It seemed that all affection had been channeled into the 'lover' category and was otherwise ignored. He had forgotten, momentarily, about the affection between friends.

"Architecture it is. If Osvaldo has me back... we will see what I can build."

"He will have you back," she said, almost immediately. Her eyes turned to Troy once again. He was momentarily distracted by something, staring at it rather than at them. "You will live there once again as well?"

"I would prefer it." The inn was busy and it was hard to avoid certain things when he was there. His hazel eyes followed her gaze, seeing that Troy was distracted. Maybe it would be enough that he would bound after whatever it was and the following would stop. It ended up not being true. Troy seemed to sense they were speaking of him and his ears perked forward, scruffy face turned towards them. Robert's hand eased off of hers to take up his cup of coffee and swallow. There was the added offer, "Should I walk you home?" It was an outdated offer, and perhaps a foolish one, for a woman that blinked to places.

Her mouth softened at the dog, aware of their eyes upon him. He blinked, as if apologizing for his momentary lapse in attention. "You should." Her eyes traveled back to Robert. "Do not forget." An opened handed gesture to the previously brought bag. It contained a treat for Troy which Robert must give. "You are finished?" She uncrossed her legs and stood in a chillingly smooth motion. Each movement of her was economical and effortless. Beautiful and unnatural. An unflappable creature. She waited for his response.

"I am." There was a thin dark puddle lurking at the bottom of his cup he left. Robert slid from the booth seat with no enormous refinement. Once he was standing he turned, picking up the bag and then smiling at Helena when he looked at it, "Troy will be unshakeable after this, you realize." He turned, his elbow put out with a casual ease. The modern era had trained him not to do that, but the old habit was ingrained for decades and Helena's preference for it was making the practice return seamlessly.

Her hand slid against his elbow, giving it a squeeze. "That is the point, you realize." A raise of her eyebrows briefly before they were being pulled from the store. Troy stood there, at the ready, tail wagging, ears back, quite excited to see his new friends again! He went first, of course, to Robert, eyeballing the little bag. Helena did not smile, though she certainly looked amused.

It seemed the boy knew what was coming to him. That, or he had endless hope for it. One of Robert's hands held the bottom of the back while the other flitted over the mouth of it, opening it up to dig out the treat. At some point the dog must have been taught to sit, or it just did it as a submissive gesture. Troy tucked his bottom ot the ground, mouth shut and his expression serious. Robert tossed the treat at his feet which he ate up, readily.

"Whenever I'm busy you'll be having to take care of him, you realize." Robert gave her a pointed look, balling up the dog treat bag and then slipping it into his jacket pocket. He did all of that while not breaking his gaze from her.

She met his gaze. "We will come to an arrangement for the exchange, then." Her chin raised and she smirked. "I do not mind. Though it does readily depend upon your situational definition of 'busy.'" A knowing way she had about her eyes before she looked to Troy. He was presently in seventh heaven, quite unaware of their conversation about him. He had several reasons to be happy: (1) food; (2) food, which meant that he was wanted. He looked a bit expectantly at Robert, then at Helena, then at Robert.

Helena shifted her eyes back to Robert. "Ready?"

"How do you mean?" Robert paused after he said it, thinking of Seattle. Of New Orleans. Of the great, unloving and pressuring complication that his friend Lizzie had become. Still, it was becoming more and more apparent that he was entrenched here. That the friends he had acquired were unexpected but... acceptable. Helena asked him if he was ready, to which he nodded but had no clue as to which direction to lead. The fractions of different colors in his hazel gaze asked her to direct.

It was forward march. The way Helena lead people was rather like a dance; one could not help but simply find themselves drawn to the direction of her travel. There was no thought to it. She made it effortless. "Troy is not my ward to allow you to go gallivanting around Rhy'Din. As a new Dad, you have new responsibilities." The dog trotted beside them, happy as can be! "You can be certain I shall remind you in the event you wish to pretend otherwise." Another squeeze to his arm, eyes fixing upon his. Her eyes were twin storms calling from the horizon. Storm-cloud-grey and sparkling with electricity.

"I have often been accused of this gallivanting that you speak of," those were his low, surly tones, touched lighter by the break of a smile. They dance-walked to the place she rested, so effortless that it might have seemed as though he was, in fact, the one taking the lead. He saw the storm in her gaze and it was out of aversion, or admiration, that he looked ahead to the horizon. Old demons, no new tricks.

She smirked at that, the conversation leading them onward. Looming before them was a smart, Georgian home. It was egregious in size and lacking in simplicity. Imposing and intimidating without being garish. "Here we are." She paused before the gate, staring towards her front door. "You have a decision to make." Now she looked to him, "Escort me inside and allow me to spoil you with a drink. Or let our evening end here, and you take your son home to bed." The curl in her lip returned, and she blinked slowly.

"That depends. What drink would you spoil me with?" It was playful banter, and about as playful as Robert ever was. The real humor came in his voice, a bit shaky and awkward at these more personal moments. It was so easy to have fluid, monotone speech when reciting information at the museum. This was far from that. There was only the gate, friendship, and the promise of a drink that would certainly be up to standard.

Troy seemed to give away that he wouldn't be saying no by bounding beyond the gate and into her yard, his unabashed sniffing and snorting curiosity taking hold.

"And with that one question..." She narrowed her eyes, as though she has been tricked. "Is this something that I should know, Robert?" Indeed, playful banter. Troy was left to be a dog for now, openly exploring. "We should perhaps sort it out inside." And thus the invitation was fulfilled. Robert was tugged towards the door, the gate swinging in silence. Up to the steps she walked, the door opening as she came upon the landing.