Topic: 14.02.10 - What I've Become

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:44 EST
((This post references this phone call and this voicemail message.))

February 10th

Finding him alone in the evenings was not unusual. This one was no different. Perched on the edge of the desk, with his back to the window and facing the door, he held his dormant phone in his hands. Thumb whisked across the screen, smoothing fingerprints. He'd had time to let Salome's message sink in. Where once he was not concerned about speaking to Lenore, he now felt a slight tightness in the base of his chest. He was sure that waiting around with nothing to do wasn't helping, but the time to leave had passed and venturing out to train now would only leave him distracted.

They each had their habits, tasks to handle and things that had to be done, but they always ended up crossing paths at some point and that time was now. Lenore didn't make a sound on her way down the hallway outside their door even if her disheveled appearance gave her the look of a drunk tottering her way home. Jeans pulled on, a black v-neck tee, her black zip-up tossed over her shoulder and black boots in hand leaving her feet bare. Her blue locks were windwhipped into a lion's mane framing her pale face with her cheeks and nose bitten a light shade of pink. She looked a mess, but she also looked like she couldn't have been happier. Their door is unlocked and she shoves the key back into her pocket while shouldering her way into the room, bright golden eyes burning even brighter when they catch sight of him at the desk. "Crispin," Delight obvious in her tone while she closes the door behind herself and sets down her boots. "I figured you would be gone by now, training. This is a nice surprise."

His own clothing was rarely anything remarkable. His own feet were bare, the black stretch of a Mark peeking from beneath the right cuff of his own dark jeans. Customary thread thin, white shirt on his torso. V neck baring his throat, the shadows of further Marks littering his skin beneath. He looks up at the sound of the door; expectant, excited, and the sight of her does not disappoint. Were it not for what he had to say to her. Easy smile, he sets his phone aside. "It's a bit early for that, I think. Did you enjoy yourself?"

She strolls further into the room to drop her hoodie off on the bed before continuing over to him, hands reaching out to grasp at the fabric of his t-shirt at this abdomen when she's close enough, pawing. The cold hangs off her, staying at the surface and never getting beneath her skin, like oil and water. The warmth that constantly radiates from within her is working as hard as ever to chase away the remaining chill that clings to her. "Is it?" She had her own internal clock, her own little appointments to adhere to, but it failed her when it came to him and his preferred time to train. "That's fine. That gives me plenty of time to try to convince you to skip it for the night." Smile widening. "I did. I've been taking it easy on my hand since the last time and I can tell it's improving. It's still a little tender but not what it once was. What have you been doing? Waiting for me?" She's kidding, really, and she leans forward to nudge to her nose to his chest to accompany the joke.

His smile is just as easy to maintain with the pawing motions of her hands, like she did not know what to do with whatever she was feeling. "I tend to like saying good night first before I spend the rest of the early morning hours away." Palms smooth back over the wild spray of blue framing her face. There's a waterfall of tangles that he's careful to keep his fingers from catching in. His hands find rests at the sides of her throat, in the warm slope between neck and shoulder. "I was, actually. I rarely do anything else when I'm alone."

"It's a habit I like as well, but since I've already admitted I enjoy making your choice to leave a difficult one I couldn't begin to blame you for leaving one night without wanting to deal with my attempted swaying of your better judgement." The petting of his hands across her hair makes a content purr hum at her lips which are angled upward to meet his in a gentle kiss when he finishes speaking. "If that's the case, did you have plans for what you wanted to do now that I've returned? We could go get some food if you're hungry. Or even just some tea from downstairs." Thick lips spread into a sly smile. "Or we can entertain ourselves by witchlight."

Chuckling, "Don't worry. If I feel the need, I'll change my schedule to accommodate your desires of winning me over." He keeps his mouth pressed to hers a moment longer than such a lighthearted kiss would have lasted, cradling her cheeks in warm, callus roughened palms. Nose meets nose after they part. "Tempting... Every offer, tempting. But before we get into any of that..." Drawing his hands down to rest briefly on the lines of her collarbones, smoothing down her shoulders. But there was a slight pressure put against her, to ease distance between them. "I've something to tell you. Sit?" Moving his foot off of the seat of the chair to make room for her.

"It's a wise compromise, though I will still call it a success in my favor and crown myself the victor whether it's by actual winning or not." She speaks so much of them going off and doing anything else but his lips and his hands keep her firmly in place before him, not making any effort to pull away. Instead her nose moves to brush against his in return. That is until he's the one moving, the one making her take a step backwards. The emotions flicker over her features in rapid-fire, so easy to be missed if one wasn't paying attention. Irritation that her comfortable spot against him was taken away, just a little wounded, but the reigning emotion is worry. "Is everything alright?" She huffs immediately following the question, entirely at herself knowing that if she only takes a seat he will explain. Did she want to sit down for this? She looks conflicted now but even so she moves on auto-pilot stepping aside and turning to sink down into the nearby chair, barely settled before she's rephrasing her question. "What's wrong?" Maybe it's not right to assume the worst, but this doesn't feel like a prompt for something good coming her way.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:45 EST
There had been a reason, it seemed, that he'd chosen to take a seat on the desk instead. Once she'd settled, he put the sole of his bare foot against the rung of the chair, between its two front legs. Between hers. If he noticed the emotions rushing over her face, he gave no indication, his gaze promptly taken by the sleek, black cell phone on the desk at his side. "I spoke with Salome. During any of the research that you've been doing on your own, have you come across any information regarding Skinwalkers?"

Even with his shift in stance she keeps her eyes on his face, her own expression getting reigned in and adjusted to something much more neutral. It's only with his glance at the phone, the mention of Salome, that her golden eyes dart that way quickly then back to him. "What? No-" The answer was to be dropped so easily, a quick denial. But something about the word, when she stopped and thought about it, really thought about it, made her hesitate. Her expression glazed over, lips still parted midway through her reply. "I haven't read anything about Skinwalkers," She amends but her expression is tight, something brewing in her mind. "But I feel like I've heard that word before. I just can't remember when."

Blinking, her swift answer surprises him. Perhaps he should try to start his discussion out with phrases like Don't worry or It's not as bad as it sounds. He hadn't meant to startle her. Not yet, anyway. This part was supposed to be easier. "Salome researched the list you compiled for me, several times apparently. And she always wound up at the same conclusion. According to her, the abilities of a Skinwalker are brought about by the death of a member of the Shapeshifter's family, at their own hands."

She knows she should be excited that news has come back from Salome, that she should be entirely grateful the woman put effort into her search. But for some reason, as much as Lenore wanted answers, there was something she had found comforting in her ignorance. What if she didn't like what Salome found? The question barely has time to pop into her head before Cris is already proving she might not. "The death of..." It wasn't hard to piece together, she already understood even if it took her longer to voice it. Her expression sank. "This happened to me because... because I killed Andrew?" It was surely the first time she had spoken his name since that night, something she always tried to avoid. "... Am I being punished?" She doesn't know by who or why, but it feels like a punishment.

By the Angel, did he wish that he would not continue to he stuck in these situations. He had tact at only very specific intervals, usually when the only feelings he had to worry about hurting were his own. Where he did not have to sit across from another individual, someone he cared about, and watch the shadows of uncertainty and despair play across their face. "No," answering long after silence reigned, "that's not how this sort of ability works. At least---that's not how I see it. Why would you think that?" He knows why. But prompting her to share her thoughts might keep that silence from coming back.

She didn't realize how much her sullen expression hurt him. Maybe if she did she wouldn't stare at him so pointedly while the quiet sank in around them. "It changed me. It hurt me badly the first time. I've been lucky enough to avoid anything that upsets me, but I feel like I'm more on edge in bad situations. I can't view it as a good thing. You just said it, it's an ability someone gets by killing a relative. How could that not be punish-" Her expression goes blank, stopping midway through she looks aside, searching the air like she can see the answer to something and if she focuses it will come to her. "Skinwalker." She repeats the word under her breath, there's nothing, then all at once she inhales sharply and brings her hand up to cover her mouth.

"Skinwalker abilities are another step beyond a Shapeshifter's, because it deals with your base abilities. It's not something entirely brand new..." Pressing his lips together. Even he could tell that a great deal of his conviction was fake. He did not see it as a punishment, but he could hardly call this advancement in her abilities a good thing. But what good would it do to dwell upon it? Her own abrupt realization alarms him. Leaning forward, the furrow in his brow tight, "Lenore..."

Her other hand joins its pair, both sliding up her face to rub at her eyes. "I'm so stupid, Cris. I'm so stupid. It was right in front of me. He told me. But I didn't understand... he had just told me he killed my parents... he told me her was going to kill me... I couldn't think straight... he called it his reward, being a Skinwalker. He had one failure but he was ready for this after he was going to kill me." Her hands push back further into her hair though it doesn't get far and gets caught in the wealth of blue knots. "He wanted it."

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:46 EST
For a moment, he simply blinked. Then the line of his brows pulled down, a harsh shadow shielding a gaze that shone like glass in the witchlight. "That must have been his original intention. But I don't understand. For you to gain this ability, it had to have come from one of your parents. Why then, if he killed them, did he not gain it? Why did he have to come after you?" But he withdrew his foot from her chair, easing from his seat on the desk into a lean instead. "You don't have to think about this... It does not change anything, no matter how much you analyze it."

"It had to be my Father if anything that Andrew said was true, but never in my life did he ever show any signs of being a Shape-shifter. Even when I became a Shifter, I would have known, I think. I can just... tell." Her hands lower from her hair to sink into her lap, her back arched and shoulders slumped. "He might have carried the ability, but it wasn't active in him. Maybe... Andrew thought that didn't matter, but it did." Her expression tightens and she looks back up to him. "It doesn't change anything now, but maybe if I had paid more attention. Maybe if I would have... said something, asked something, if I knew then what I know now..." It wouldn't have changed anything and she knew it which sent her fading off into silence. There were only two outcomes to that night. Either she would have been dead or she would have been a Skinwalker, there was no way around it. "Nevermind." Giving up on the possibility of changing her fate to instead focus on understanding it. "Did Salome find out much about Skinwalkers?" Her tone rang with defeat, accepting her fate.

"Maybe he did. I suppose that should be added to all the texts." Folding his arms, the sweeping black of Marks stand out rigid against pale skin and the moon white cotton of his shirt. "A bit more than what you already know. They've the ability not to only change into animals, but humans." He could feel the shift in their discussion from the first phase to the next. "Because of how the abilities manifest, most cultures believe them to be...dangerous. Evil. Like Werewolves, they can be harmed by silver. And they've been described to possess a desire to kill." Muscles tight beneath the dark scratch of stubble on his jaw, he glances aside toward his phone. "She left a voicemail with further details."

"Another footnote to the Werewolf entries." The words are mumbled, the joke humorless. She nods when he speaks of shifting into humans, maybe there wouldn't be any additions that are too jarring. Of course, there are. She makes a sound that's hard to peg, a sharp exhale, her head lowering so her mess of blue hair curtains around her face. Her shoulders shake, but it's impossible to tell if it's because she's laughing or crying. "I'm evil." She's thinking back to the punishment theory. "And that's what I get for talking so poorly of Werewolves. Silver, really? What does it do?" Her head tips back eventually and while her cheeks are dry her eyes are wet, a stray sniffle rattling her quiet. She's restraining herself from crying. She would not cry. "Further details? It gets better than me wanting to kill?"

"That's not what I said." He presses a button along the outer edge of his cell phone and the screen whisks to life. An image of a desert canyon with a true blue sky above it is overlayed by a digital clock and he sweeps his thumb across the screen to unlock it. "Silver will poison you if ingested, and it will greatly harm you if you're injured by it. Kill you, even, if your injuries are not treated quickly enough. There is a miniature blurb detailing it and other materials in the Codex I've let you peruse. But I'll answer your questions if you'd like me to." His voicemail accessed, he touches a numeral key and offers her the phone. Salome's recorded voice speaks from the earpiece, scolding. Something about hardness. "Listen."

"You didn't say it. A number of cultures and probably many books of lore say it." Irrationally jumping to conclusions but she can do little to stop her words. She watches him with his phone, listens to him explain the details of silver. "I'll read about it in the codex." Though he really already did a fine job of detailing it. Silver, bad. Silver, kills. She takes the phone and puts it to her ear, one brow raising at the mention of Cris' hardness. She doesn't even have time to think about it before Salome continues on to talk about Shifting into humans and the trouble it could cause. How it could be fatal. She curls herself forward, hunching in around the phone like it might help her hear what Salome has to say better even if Cris isn't making a single sound to make it difficult in the first place. Salome signs off with a quick bye, the phone clicks, there is a recorded voice prompting Lenore to push a button to save the message or another to delete it but she doesn't move at all. She stays in her curled position with the phone still held to her ear.

"You may not be a Were, but they've a section on them too. It's worth reading, if only for the reactions to silver." Then he shuts his mouth. He'd listened to the voicemail enough so that he could tell where Lenore was, what Salome was saying with the faintest inflection. When it's finished, when she does not move, he reaches for her hand, to try and gently pull it toward him, enough to release his phone from her grasp. "That's all..."

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:47 EST
She doesn't put up a fight when he pulls her hand from her ear, fingers uncurling to release the phone into his possession. She doesn't move much more than that and her body stays exactly where it's at, even when she speaks. "So I've been given a new ability and using it too much could kill me." Her gaze lifts to him, golden eyes looking completely unnatural reflecting the blue of the witchlight. "I don't... I don't know if silver hurt me before. I don't know if I've come in contact with it. But now I have to worry about silver and I've been reduced to a ticking timebomb if I use my new ability." Her head shakes and while she's trying to not feel sorry for herself it's becoming an increasingly difficult task. "I'm going back to the punishment theory. I don't know why anyone would want this."

Thumb tapping along the screen, he hangs up on the voicemail and returns to the home screen, pressing the little button once more along its outer edge to turn it into nothing more than a sleek rectangle of metal and acrylic. Likewise, for nearly two minutes, he did not know what to say. He busied himself with lining his phone up with the edge of the desk. Precisely. "The ability to pass yourself off as anyone else is a high commodity. We've already witnessed what it can do. Were your impersonation of me skilled enough, only someone with equal skill would be able to tell us apart. With it, were you of a malevolent mind, you'd be able to work yourself into the good graces of any whom I might be close to. Harm them as me, or seek to defile my reputation with them." Folding his arm once more over his chest, cords of spare muscle shifting beneath black Marks. "Demons frequently do so in order to wreak havoc. Many Warlocks are created in such a way."

"So I rank with Werewolves, Demons, and Warlocks. That's what it comes down to." There's a bite in her tone and it's finally too much for her to continue sitting. Instead she rises to her feet and even weighted by growing anger it can't hinder her repeated smooth prowl from one end of the room to the other. "I'm not even a Shape-shifter anymore. I'm not. I'm a Skinwalker. A Skinwalker. It even sounds terrible. But I suppose that's fitting since it comes with a side of homicidal tendencies." A hand sweeps through the air sharply. "And Vampires. Whatever the blood lust of a vampire is, so really... I'm poised for nothing good."

Comfort was not in his very small, very sad repertoire of conversational skill. He believed it better for the vitriol to bubble and froth and spew until it was done. That way, he'd have time to think himself and he would not feel quite so insensitive about telling the other party to calm down. And so, as she paced and prowled and spoke, he stayed silent, with his head inclined and his eyes downcast on the empty seat she'd left. The black curtain of lashes cast a shadow against the crests of lean cheekbones, his mouth firm at its corners.

He doesn't say anything and maybe it's for the best right now. She seems to be conducting her own conversation on her own just fine. "It's not right to say... like being lumped in with Werewolves, Demons, Vampires, and Warlocks is so horrible. I never want someone to judge me based only on what I am and not who I am." Her frown deepens, steps faltering. "Though, I guess I'm already doing that to myself." She comes to a halt and looks over at him, shoulders hanging again. "But I liked who I was. I was just learning how to be happy with that and now... it's not the same."

Slight twitch runs through the purse of his lips. He looks up in time to see her pause. She talked herself down better than he ever could. "Who you are and what you are are not the same thing. You, Lenore, have not changed. Only your abilities have. And there is no rule that says you must broadcast this to anyone. In fact, I'd suggest that you don't. Especially since you've become vulnerable to silver. You've seen the dagger that I wear upon my leg, yes?" That could mean several things. He touched the outside of his right thigh. "Here." Shaking his head. "You must not touch it. I've others that I keep in my boots. Those too."

That's the benefit of being alone throughout majority of your life, you get really good at having conversations by yourself. While his initial words are sweet there's a distinct point when her lips turn down at the edges in a heavy frown. "I will not broadcast my weaknesses to others, but... I can't entirely hide this... I don't think." Her hand lifts to rub at her brows. "I was proud to be a Shape-shifter. I liked being able to say what I am, not to the world but to those who mattered. And now... should I not? I should keep what I am to myself?" Eyes jump to his right thigh at the gesture and her frown remains. "Alright." There's not much to say on it, nothing to ask, nothing to fight about. He arms himself against Downworlders, of course some of his weapons would have an ill effect on her.

"I did not say that either." Witchlight had a way of severely sharpening shadows and, in turn, expressions. They met each other, frown for frown. "Of course you'll keep whatever weaknesses you have close to the chest. But why not simply continue referring to yourself as a Shifter? It's the truth, more or less, and this added ability does not take away the ones you already have. You are not lying, you are in control. Perhaps, in time, you will be proud of this too." Though he did not know how. It sounded about as appealing to him as it did to her.

"Because..." Would she really reduce herself to being so childish? To leaving because as a good enough answer to his question? "It's the truth, more or less. I don't want to have a qualifier in my head everytime I say what I am. And... I don't think I'm good enough to call myself a Shape-shifter anymore." Maybe she meant she did not feel she was as in control of her abilities to be considered a well adjusted Shifter. Or maybe she was still focused on that whole evil thing. "You're right though," She steps aside and turns to sink herself onto the edge of the bed, arms folding on her knees and her back curling. "I have to give it time. At least... now I know? Now I can do my own research." She casts a look over to him, no longer frowning but her expression is tired. "Please tell Salome I appreciate her help in this." The words are empty. Maybe it would have been better if Salome had said she couldn't find anything about Lenore's symptoms and new abilities. But that time of delightful ignorance was gone.

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:49 EST
He could not fault her for that. All he had were suggestions to offer. The silence that was coming down now was beginning to feel oppressive, be he could had nothing of any worth to break it. Taking his phone, he puts it in the desk drawer on top of his folded pile of gear. "I already have, though from me. She's intelligent enough to simply assume that the gratitude comes from you too." Easing the drawer closed, he offers her a look. "I'm sorry that I could not have told you something more uplifting. But I did not think this something to be overly concerned about."

"Thank you." Attention turns to look straight ahead at the door in front of her, a pause in her staring to look down at the floor in front of her. They had changed rooms since that night, since Lenore had found it so hard to sleep where she had ended a life, but the similarity of the rooms made it almost too easy for her to imagine Andrew's pale white body splayed across the floor in front of her. "The abilities themselves really aren't so bad if you think about it. I don't have to shift into other humans. I don't have to hurt myself that way. I just have to control any... urges, my temper and all that. And... I can't afford silver anyway so I'm alright with not being able to have it." She shakes her head and lifts her gaze from the floor, her imagination far too good and the images in her head chilling her to the core. "I'm upset because... I have a lifelong reminder of what I did. I could have gone on ignoring how I felt, burying it all, denying it, hoping I would forget or that time would blur it all. But now... what I am is because of that. It will always come back to that night."

Nodding. With nothing to do with his hands, no reason to remain at the desk, he turns to join her on the bed, perched at its edge as if in preparation to stand quickly once again. Her troubles and what she described were not something he could understand. And so he had nothing to say to her that would ease her discomfort. He puts his elbows on his knees and folds his hands together. At the same time, saying nothing did not agree with him either. "It will get easier, with time." He left out the other crucial factor.

His movement draws her attention, warm amber eyes watching him take his place beside her and a similar pose. "I would like to think so." She couldn't tell him he was wrong, she couldn't be sure if he was right. It was an honest answer, she hopes time will heal, that this would be her low point and things could get better from here. She's no longer so inclined to fill the silence having voiced many of the thoughts that came to her head. There were plenty more, there would be even more, but for now she didn't want to think about it. Instead she leaned aside putting their arms flush to one another and tipped her head to lay it against his shoulder. The silence went on for some time before she spoke up in a small voice. "I'm hungry."

His own silence was not because he lacked any thoughts, but because he had too many. None of them were good, none of them served a purpose. The gentle pressure of her arm against his surprised him. Blinking, he looked over, his minute smile lost in the dark. "Then let us remedy that. Yes...?"

"Yes, please." It was her stomach that was empty, her desire to get something to eat, but she doesn't automatically rise to her feet. Instead she turns her head to brush her nose to his shoulder, head rising to settle her chin there and peer up at him. "You meant what you said earlier, right? You don't think I've changed? This doesn't... make you look at me any differently?"

Somehow, he could hear Salome's voice in his mind. I suppose it would be the same as dating any Downworlder. And I guess you're an expert in that. There had been a barb in her voice that was different than usual. Something he had chewed over in his mind, something he recognized later as the same tone he adopted when something offended him. "There are many levels of different that you could mean," gentle in tone. "Are you asking if I think you evil, or asking if I suddenly think you something to kill?"

He was right, different had a lot of meanings and really she had meant all of them. She already knew her abilities were changed, supposedly more advanced? But she wanted to know about her, her personality, what made her who she is, Lenore. She had asked the question so it was her own doing, but that question of his in return. Something to kill. She straightened from her lean against him, sounding as hurt as she looked even if her expression was caught in the shadows of the room. "Don't say that." Even him presenting it as a question to clarify what she meant hit her wrong. "Nevermind." She didn't want to carry on with that line of questioning, too worried about what else it might bring up. Don't ask a question unless you're prepared to hear the answer. She really needed to work on that.

He'd blame it on his train of thought. Of wondering if this was how terribly killing one person, one thing, affected her, what were her true thoughts about what he'd done? And what he would do? What he was training to return to? She straightens and it puts in him the desire to apologize, but to do so would mean that he was recanting. And he was not sure he was. Nevermind means the subject is dropped but still, as he steps into his boots at the foot of the bed, and grabs his coat from where it laid sprawled like a drunkard, he speaks anyway. "I see you no differently."

((Thank you to Crispin))

Lenore Reid

Date: 2014-03-01 01:50 EST
When he begins working himself into his boots and getting his coat she rises off the bed to do the same. She's silent and slow stepping into her boots at the door, opting to pull on her leather jacket instead of her zip-up from earlier. She also begins working her fingers through her hair to tame some of the knots. This stops when he speaks up, hands slowly lower to her sides and she looks over at him. Cris isn't really the type to say something to her simply to soothe her, he would opt for silence over that. "That helps." It certainly doesn't solve all of her problems and his previous question opens up a lot more thoughts for her, but this was something she wanted to hold onto and focus on for at least a little while. Fists slip into her pockets and she lingers by the door. "Chinese?" Not that they ever really ate anywhere else, but she craved the confirmation of something so tried and true between them. Something that did not change.

He had not turned back around. Shoulders rolled in the thick leather of his coat until it fit right, and he popped the collar. He produced something long and cylindrical from his right boot, its origin obvious as soon as the scent of smoldering matches hit the air strongly. Turning, finally, the hem of his t shirt dropped over the Mark riddled, spare muscles of his stomach, he reaches for the witchlight to drown it. His stele rested comfortably in his hand. "Certainly. I believe I owe the both of them a visit."

The smell of burnt matches hit her nostrils before she even had it in mind to ask him what he was doing. Watching him finish putting himself together and grabbing his witchlight she tugs the door open allowing the light from the hallway to wash into their room. "That's kind of you. My mind is very one tracked right now and I'm imagining an entire carton of nothing but shrimp."

Kind? He did not see how. By the time the light from the hallway washes over his face, he has on an easy smile, wan as always, like he'd woken up not two minutes prior. "I'll be sure to tell them that."

"Fine by me." The conversation is light and she tries to match it with her tone even if she can't bring herself to smile. At least her expression isn't as tense as it had been in the midst of their conversation. When she steps out of the room and into the hallways she mentally calls a time-out on all thoughts of being a Skinwalker. She wouldn't ignore it, not entirely. She would go through all of her books again, find out more details for herself, she would figure this out. But for now? For now she wanted to focus on the promise of food and their walk to the restaurant. "Tell me about more tea flavors we need to try from your book. Please?" An obvious ploy to fill the silence, with anything they could manage.

A time out was fine with him. Perhaps talking about something innocuous, like tea, would calm his own thoughts. Her suggestion brings another smile to his mouth. He pulled the door closed behind him and Marked its surface with a swift rune that sunk into the wood to rest there until its counterpart unlocked it later. "There's too many. That's a discussion that will take me all night." But that was likely her goal. "I did read something about a pomegranate, cranberry crush..." Sliding his stele back into his boot, he lifted his arm for her to walk at his side. "But I think that's cheating... I'd eat anything pomegranate." His pace, when he led them, was slow. They had all the time in the world. There was no hurry. By the time they got to Wang Leung's, they might even be open.

((Thank you to Crispin))