I learned Ketch Creeley?s name months before I spoke to him. So happens he?s also one of the rare few cases where I felt I could trust someone before truly coming to understand that person.

You were channeling my instincts. I know a wild thing when I smell it. Whatever they may be, harmless or dangerous, they?re almost comfortable. Familiar.

Yes, perhaps you?re right. Mind the claws. Avoid the teeth. Learn the body language. Basic survival strategy when amongst those you have no experience with. It always starts with personality. The ?why? of the person comes later. The ?what? usually does too. The ?who?, even if it is just the ?who? they choose to let others see, comes first. So who was Ketch Creeley?

At first he was only in my periphery. Another face in the group, significant primarily because he was connected to the others I paid attention to. A curiosity for the relationships he held and the way he often slipped beneath the awareness of others with the sort of comfortable ease that denoted long practice in doing so. The first real words I spoke to him came as one of those relationships was falling apart. ?It will be well.? I had said. Passing encouragement for a man who looked lost in a busy room. Taking my leave so that he and the girl whose heart he?d broken could navigate a public interaction with the illusion of privacy.

That was pointless, but well intended.

As so many of my gestures often are. But that?s neither here nor there. Antonia was the reason I learned more about him. His connection to her afforded me the opportunity to study him in a light that wasn?t tinted by drunken sobs or the threats of punches. Through her I knew him as a man who fixed bikes. A man who danced.

I danced with him before I had a conversation with him. That came after, with shots shared in a group from the flask he carries. Dressed to kill in a teashop with low humor and warm laughter. I learned probing facts about his life and habits before I asked my own personal questions of him. Those came during a street fair?s drunken games, at a table full of names and faces I?d come to know in the few months since my arrival to Rhy?Din.

Eventually, our mutual caution allowed for a more private conversation: a simple walk.

More good intentions. See what happens?

It wasn?t that bad. I had misread him a bit, that?s all. Though, given what he?s told me I imagine that?s a fairly common occurrence for him. Then Antonia got hurt. Then I reached out to him. Then I started learning, at last, who he was.

Ketch Creeley was a man who would protect a secret, and one who would suffer for the sake of a friend. Someone who wore caution like a second skin and borrowed silence to avoid saying the wrong thing. A sense of humor and a wanderlust yearning beneath a colored past and ghosts he doesn?t often speak of. He was someone I could trust.

Nightcap, part 2

"Puppets are an example, Ketch, pay attention." Another tease, another sip from the flask. "I know he would do it. You've picked a poor choice for blackmailing. If he starts to do it I'll know who to blame and have my revenge. If you want something better to hypothetically hold over my head, let's at least find something that won't make me hate you." Second sip before the flask was relinquished a second time. "I know. You can threaten to tell him some of the other things I answered to in that drinking game. I already suspect I won't hear the end of it about the fantasy question."

"Good point," amusement marking the corner of his eyes. In a city overflowing with perpetual youth, Ketch at least appeared to be aging accordingly to the average human rate. "What kind of revenge will you seek if you know nothing of my own personal weaknesses? Will you just go for a general slash-and-burn?" Boots landed lightly on the steps, but instead of ascending all the way up, he turned and sat, angling his back against the railing. He didn?t ask Shae to sit--the invitation clearly in the way he was positioned towards her--but neither did he look expectant. "I'm patient, though, I'll uncover something eventually that fits the bill and won't make you hate me." He set the flask on the top step. "That's true, and he'd hound you about every one of those things, too, but the fantasy question was the most interesting, considering the company you were in, I think. You sidestepped it nicely."

She joined him on the steps at the unspoken offer of body language, heedless of whether or not the worn boards would pull at the threads of the sweater that rested low on her hips. Her eyes were the oldest part of her face, but that could mean anything. She was no young girl, at least. An adult of whatever she was. "It wouldn't be much of a revenge if I warned you how I would attack, now would it? Granted, it would make it more challenging, and that could be fun, but a poor tactician would I be to help shore up hypothetical defenses." Her torso twisted and her one leg shifted, allowing her to lean against the banister of the steps in a manner that roughly mirrored his own. "Thank you, I think. I choose to take it as a compliment, at any rate. Some things he can keep secret. Others are less certain and I'm still figuring out which is which."

"Mm," a musing grunt that pointed to nothing. Ketch took a swig from the flask then left it uncapped on the steps. Fingertips found the lighter again, flicked the cap open and then shut. He balanced it on his knee. "Not all revenge is unexpected. Hell, a lot of times it's a foregone conclusion, but the action is taken anyway. And yes, then you get creative," he looked pointedly at the book Shae had held close to her side for the entirety of their walk. "Take it as a compliment, sure," a glance up at the glow emanating from the windows, and he listened to the few voices he could detect within before speaking, "I feel mostly the same in that regard. Sometimes it seems there's a method to what is spoken and what's not, but I'm not sure. I don't think he'd betray you or Antonia, however, if it was something serious."

Eyes for the flask, then for his lighter. His balancing act earned a small smile which disappeared beneath thoughts summoned by his words. "Quite true." The talk of revenge chased her thoughts down a different alley in her mind. One which she took a moment to deliberately back out of to focus on the words that came after. "That could be. I don't take anything he does as malicious. Well. To me. He wouldn't betray Antonia, no. Which reminds me. He stabbed you?" Eyebrow arched. The tone of voice seemed to question just how it was that the man was okay with things given that little nugget of history she had learned. "Why?"

He should have expected the conversational crossover, but Ketch gave off the impression that he'd been caught off guard when his eyes flinched up from the Zippo to find Shae?s. He'd been on his way out last time the subject was brought up and had left Cianan to fill it in however he chose. To be asked directly, however, without jests to act as buffer, saw his gaze darkening incrementally in response. "It's something that in hindsight appears to have been a misunderstanding and tragic timing," he chose his words carefully because the surrounding web was both complex and delicate, and he was trying not to disturb it, considering the people involved. "Early on with Sabine, there were some incidences in which he made her uncomfortable. She shared them with me. That's where the tragic timing comes in: I suggested he stop, and he stabbed me. Cane broke it up before it could go further. Ci apologized later to me. Explained that he'd not have reacted so violently had he not been upset about something involving Antonia. Who, at that time, was still with Fin. I'm no longer sure...," he trailed off, restarted, "..now maybe there are some questions around the original circumstances. I don't know. No one knew why the hell I was doing what I was doing. Sabine didn't want to tell Cane and Sal that she was uncomfortable because she said she was afraid they'd just laugh at her. But either way, looking back, it was probably not my place to do anything. That was my first mistake. I don't know, honestly, how I feel about Cianan, but Antonia adores him and he makes her happy, and she's my friend. So I just sort of go with it. In the meantime, Sabine has apparently forgiven everything and is working for him, so who am I to hold a grudge for my own folly?"

It was not the most tactful of question she could have asked, but it was a curiosity that had nagged at her for some time. One that she hoped would help illuminate a bit more about Ketch's character. And it had. As was par for the course with Shae, she often veered into questions that ended up being more personal in nature than she initially realized. She hadn't intended to mention Sabine at all, and there she had inadvertently brought up something that was related to the girl. She listened to the full of his yarn without interrupting. The first reply coming as a single syllable of sound. "Ah." Followed by a space of time and then words of a more composed nature. "I'm sure that final question was rhetorical, but I hope you'll forgive me for answering it anyway. I don't see it as a mistake, standing up for someone, a friend, when they can't summon the strength to do so themselves. His violent reaction, whatever the reasons -- which I suspect were probably jealousy given the strength of his attraction to Antonia -- is something that, yes, he did the right thing in apologizing for, but is not something that's your fault. It's not your folly, there. It's easy to forgive people when you aren't the one on the receiving end of someone lashing out." Pausing she exhaled, inhaled and started again. "What I'm trying to get at here, is you strike me as the type of man who puts aside his own concerns often for the happiness of others. The quality is admirable, and I'm probably going too far, but when I meet that sort of person I often find myself wanting to tell them this: I'm not encouraging you to harbor bad feelings. I'm not telling you to hold grudges or not to forgive. Just to remind you that while it might be peacekeeping and you are happy to do so, don't forget that you are someone too."

"It sounded like a question, didn't it? But it wasn't. Not to me, at least. And it was my folly because it set a precedent of misunderstanding that I think pervaded everything that followed. At least with Sabine. I don't know how to explain that. It's just a feeling," he should stop talking. He knew he should stop talking, but he?d become slightly unsettled. Shifting on the stairs so that one leg stretched long, the heel of his boot thumped to the ground at the bottom of the stairs. And then the other followed. Distant thoughts choked the blue from Ketch?s eyes, pupils wide when he scanned the shadows beyond the porch. He was convinced that most of them breathed. When he looked back to Shae, he'd found some measure of composure and skewed a wry smile high on one corner of his mouth. "Do you think I need reminding?"

His words brought up more questions, but she had made a promise in the disguise of a reassurance, so she didn't ask those. It was damned tempting, but she didn't. She watched him in the watching of his shadows, curling her legs to a higher step where he stretched his own out. "To be honest, I'm not sure. It felt like the right thing to say, even if it was probably out of line to do so. My instincts are... all I really have to go on most of the time. That and what words I've had thrown in my face in vaguely similar situations, what words I might have wanted to hear. The secret that isn't really a secret is that I don't seem to understand people in the way most others do, but I try anyway."

"I don't," he declared, and there was quiet confidence in it. "I know myself well. The frustration comes when things get misconstrued. And again, I'm at fault for much of that. I don't feel the need often to try to correct someone else's perceptions of me or to sway them, even to my detriment. It's usually a waste of time. People hold tight to their own perceptions. Even if it goes against what's right in front of their face." That is not to say there weren't a few he would make the effort for. "You don't understand people in the way most others do?," he echoed, curiosity lifting the timbre of his voice, "How do you mean? Does perspective operate on a different playing field where you come from?"

Shae reached for the flask, which was probably not being all that helpful, and knocked back a sip anyway. It was set aside and the book was moved to her lap to free up both hands to rub at her face. "Alright. You don't." Simple acceptance. "I often let people operate from a stance of underestimating me or holding false information because it's easier to navigate around. So I get that." Hands lowered to her lap, skin reddened from the friction and the gentle scratching of rough sweater fibers, but she didn't seem to mind and the color washed slowly away in the night air before she spoke again. A look to his face, direct without being staring. "It's another way of saying I'm not the best with people. I miss some cues that seem to be important and pick up on others that no one wants to talk about. It makes me come off as blunt and can make people uncomfortable. I have a tendency to ask questions that deviate from what might be expected. It's not generally an attractive quality in conversations. Doubly so when I'm incorrect. So, I was trying to apologize."

Ketch leaned his head against the railing and found that the same touchstone of constellation he spied earlier had moved farther across the sky. He watched the motion of Shae?s hands, brows rising, "Am I frustrating you? You were offering something well-intentioned and I went out of my way to rebut it. I pick unusual times to be argumentative. But I understood the intent. And I appreciate it." His lighter was relegated back into the depths of his pocket as he stood and shook out the restless build-up in his legs. At times he was capable of sitting still for hours, but tonight wasn?t one of those nights. Tonight it felt like stillness had a price, and he was soon to go find another outlet. "I think you sell yourself short, then, from what I've seen. You're incredibly diplomatic. Forthright, too. You have a way of inviting answers without seeming invasive. And the fact that your questions deviate from what might be expected is an asset, really. I have no idea why someone wouldn't find that an attractive quality in conversations. It's goddamn refreshing if you ask me, even if I give you grief about it. You're clever, witty, and damn fine walking company." One step backward, another had him in the middle of the sidewalk. "I was about to thank you for the company and then I remembered I was the escort. So thank you, and you're welcome, and good night," a brief, but genuine smile as he turned to depart.

"You weren't frustrating me, I was reprimanding myself for sticking my opinions where they weren't necessary." Crooked smile decorated her face as she picked up the flask again to waggle it in front of her. Attempting to grab his attention with the item he was forgetting. "Maybe I do, maybe my skewed understanding applies to myself as well, at times. Usually Fox is around to help with that, but..." A small shrug here. "You're welcome for the company and thank you for the company and unless you don't want your flask anymore I suggest you take it. I get myself into enough trouble that I worry what I might do with your portable drinks." She'd managed to recover the light smile that usually decorated her face by poking a bit of fun at herself.

Fox, now there's a subject he'd likely bring up at a later date. Ketch looked around as if expecting the reynard to appear at the mere mention, and then took up his flask with a gracious smile. He must have been truly distracted by his own departure (or perhaps his next destination) to have almost forgotten it. It got tucked away, as well. "I'd be interested in seeing what kind of trouble you'd get into with 'portable drinks', especially if it involves you shouting belligerently and some unwarranted violence at inanimate objects," Ketch chuckled at the imagery inspired and sent a salute over his shoulder as he moved to cut around to the alleyway.

"Be safe." She said as he beat a retreat into the evening. Not a shout, just words that caught up with him as he rounded the corner. For a time she sat there, looking at the steps beside her in thought. Then she was up and moving off for a walk of her own.

Climb Through My Window, part 1
Shae's room, afternoon, 6/2

Early afternoon saw her rise from a night of sleep involving a whiskey lullaby and a silenced phone. First order of business had been to go check in on Antonia, but she had returned to the Inn after only an hour to the hermitage of her room. Therein she worked while Fox napped on her bed and a cooling breeze flowed through the cracked opening of her window.

Ketch was up with the sun making Terence's runs in addition to picking up the slack left by Antonia's absence. It made for a long day by which the hours were marked with the intermittent onset and fade of what felt like a tension headache in addition to the undercurrent ache of his right side. He'd been spoiled by his own healing mechanisms for far too long, and though he wasn't much of a complainer by nature, irritation lined his features and not even his first glass of whiskey post-run had managed to iron it out. He was not at the inn, but another hole in the wall bar, pushing a glass around the bar top and eyeing the crystal Shae had given him. After a few minutes of letting it idly roll from the tips of his fingers and back across his palm, he closed a hand around it. ?Shae??

Well. That was unexpected. Shae was not the only one to start in response to the mental call of her name, Fox also shook himself out of his nap as the woman's heartbeat accelerated dramatically. She'd forgotten that she was keeping that shard in her belt pouch, so it was with a shaking hand that she carefully put down the quill she had been inking runes with. Her sending back to Ketch was the flighty sort of startled one might expect for someone who had almost blown themselves up. 'K-Ketch. Hello. Yes. Is everything alright?'

?Jesus. I could ask you the same. Everything's fine.? Mostly. ?Are you at the Inn??

Laughing in a faintly panicked fashion, Shae passed a hand over her eyes. On the bed, Fox vocalized his annoyance as he circled in place to lay back down. This time, her sending was bemused. 'I am, yes. In my room. Did you need my help with something?'

Long pause before reply. ?No. Am I abusing this thing? Would you rather me call? What are you doing? You sound strange.? He signaled the bartender and paid for his drink, index finger hovering as he debated ordering another, then retreating into a fist as he stood instead.

The pause had her grinning, and she lowered her hand from her face. 'Did you count the number of words so you could cram the most questions into one send?' Shae took a step to the side and sat down. Then she sent again. 'To answer: No. Either is fine. Something illegal. And yes, I was startled.'

?No. Maybe.? When he'd come into the bar he was still squinting in the late afternoon light, now he was squinting at the strobe of a dying streetlamp. He could have driven but chose to walk. ?Fun kind of illegal or sad kind of illegal?? Started in one direction until her reply turned him in an about face. ?So that's what you sound like startled. Adding that to my mental file.?

She scooted the chair closer to the window and opened the top drawer of her desk. Absently she reached for one of the cigarettes she had purloined from him when she realized that, hey, that was stupid in here right now. Scowling she lifted a boot to shove the drawer closed with her foot. 'I don't know. Where do explosives fall on the scale?' Soft snort. 'You're keeping a mental file on me, eh? Anything good in it yet?'

?My perspective? They fall closer to the fun end. Sad end would be filling balloons with heroin in prep for a mule run.? The weather was still indecisive. He'd brought no coat but once he ducked into the artery of an alleyway the wind didn't cut so harshly. He took a left. Twenty paces along a half-foot wide stream of sludge coming from a dumpster down the way. Then came his reply, ?Sure. Don't you? Depends on what you classify as good. I don't have a lot of dirt on you yet. But I'm persistent.?

'I tend to agree.' That is when she wasn't nearly blowing off her own body parts. 'Have you operated much on the sad end of the spectrum?' Naked curiosity came across in this mental expression. Her boot still rested on the edge of the desk and she was using it to tilt her chair back onto two legs. 'You don't have a lot, but you have some? Oh, do tell.'

?Never been a drug mule,? decisively. ?Self-justification, however, is a real thing. I'm not immune. How about you? You ever find yourself on the sad end?? He circumnavigated a viscous pool of black, and her question on the contents of his mental file, then made a sharp right. A countdown from 10 and then he looked up. ?You decent??

'I've done some things I've not always been proud of, but I pride myself on knowing when to walk away.' The chair clattered down to four legs as she leaned forward for the next send, her eyes turning for her door. 'That's a matter of opinion, generally. I'm dressed. Hang on, I'll unlock the door for you.' Standing, Shae took a step in that direction.

'That's a worthy point of pride.' A quarter smile lost to the darkness of the alleyway while he watched the glow emanating from her window shift minutely with her passage. 'Fair point. Might be alright to witness you indecent. Clothing or no.' Tease in his tone. Then silence. He gained the metal edge of a dumpster with a swift upward heave of his body. Atop it, he eyed his options before finding metal pipe in crumbling brickwork that gave him enough leverage to swing to to a handhold on the other side. The stretch for her windowsill was when regret figured in. He caught it at the cost of a searing jolt to his side. A muttered curse, and then, 'Not at your door. Try again.'

During his acrobatics she had crossed to said door and was just raising her hand to the lock when his teasing arrested her. 'How quickly we forget me stripping as Terence. I think that qualifies as indecent.' Her hand moved and stopped again. 'What do you mean not at my -- ' Her ears caught noise from behind her, and she turned towards that window. Measured steps crossed her room until she peeled back the curtain. Not indecent, no, one of the corseted dresses she favored. For a moment she just stared at him. No more sending now. "See. I don't think you thought this through." Fingers reached out to trace shapes on the glass. With the window cracked, the barrier didn't block sound, but the arcane shimmer as it dissipated promised that the reaction would have been interesting. Two hands to slide beneath the pane and lift it fully open. "Antonia is the one whose name is Juliet." Someone had loaned her a copy of The Bard, clearly.

'No, not quickly forgotten. Just categorized differently.' Words harshed by the effort required to maintain his grip on the window. For the fiftieth time that day, he mentally bemoaned the all-around effects of the concoction she'd given him. He tried to hoist himself and found he couldn't. "Goddamn wards," he muttered as she peeled back the curtain. "I did think this through. Wrong parameters, though." He didn't explain why he didn't want to enter the inn. She could interpret as she saw fit. He stared at brick until the window open and then he adjusted, kicking a boot at the wall and catching to send himself upward. "What's in a name?" Someone vaguely recalled high school English lit, apparently. His smirk wanted to be a grimace.

A step back to allow him to tumble through the window as he might be prone to do given the shade of discomfort in his expression. "Of course 'goddamn wards'. Like I want people climbing through my window or breaking my door down when I'm engaged in illicit activities?" He'd been in here before. The desk had been arranged with candlesticks and lanterns from Fin's forge to illuminate rows of herb filled jars that lined the wall. What space remained was now covered in small stacks of narrow parchment strips, each covered in some runic script. One larger one sat unfinished with a quill to the side. Fox had lifted his head from the nest of blankets on her bed and was now grinning a toothy muzzle at the man. A bookcase that was already overflowing and a trunk at the end of the bed rounded off sparse possessions. The room was neat, with a small side door that led to a private bathroom. "Power, actually."

Ketch spilled more so than tumbled: palms first, then a slow downward roll that twisted once his shoulder met the floor so that he ended up on his back. A few moments spent staring at the ceiling, the fine filaments of a remnant cobweb in a far corner, while he waited for the angry sear along his side to become a smolder. No hurry. Fingertips danced a tactile test upwards beneath the hem of his shirt. "Just so happens that those are the best times to climb through a window or bust through a door. You're really putting a damper on someone's idea of fun. So selfish." This rejoinder came without much emphasis since he was still gathering his wits. One minute and swift curl of spine later and he was on his feet. He lingered a look over the lamps Fin had crafted--remembered the Scot mentioning them--and then looked over the strips of parchment with a murmured, "No shit. But Juliet was idealistic, if I remember correctly. This..." index finger hovering well above the parchment, "is this it?" A look cast around in search of more traditional fare: wiring, pipes, any of the more traditional bomb components.

Shae stepped closer, bending at the waist to look down at him upon her floor. The fall of her hair over one shoulder a curtain to partially dress the blank canvas of her ceiling. "Mm. I see the mixture I gave you is still doing its job. You know, I could do something about the injuries under your clothes if you can remember to move as if you still have them. The bruises on your face seem a bit more important to preserve. This," gesturing to him feeling up his side, "is just a touch masochistic." And then she was straightening up with a chuckle. "Yeah that's me, no fun Shae." Fox had relocated to sit closer to the edge of the bed where he could watch Ketch come to his feet. "Good thing my name's not Juliet." Her nod was in answer to his question. No cordite. No blasting caps. No fuses. Well. Not the usual kind. "That one there is the key." Motioning to the larger, unfinished one. "That will set off those" Indicating the smaller pile.

" 'Just a touch masochistic?, she says," the ascent of Ketch's smile was turned in Fox's direction and bore a trace of slyness that was usually credited that species. Then back to Shae with an expression that was less impish and more frank. "It's really not all that bad. It's been a good reminder, at the least." He was hesitant to take her up on her offer, and not because he assumed the solution involved magic?he wasn't so reticent as Antonia in that regard. "What does this 'something' involve?"
Focus settled to the curves of runes and the ink that shaped them. "Thank God," came in response to her name disclaimer as he bent for a closer look at the parchment. Still not touching. He knew better. "So do you just leave them about then, roll them up and stuff them somewhere?" Clearly the arcane was his version of a cell phone.

"Just a touch." Echoed with amusement. She was reclaiming her desk chair. No 'would you like a drink', no 'make yourself at home'. Not voiced anyway. The way she motioned for Fox to shift with her hand was perhaps as much as he would get out of her at the moment regarding blatant hospitality. The woman wasn't exactly used to company that required a lot of verbal communication, so she tended to speak in body language. Such as the way she was now draping one arm over the back of her chair, crossing her legs at an angle towards the desk. "The 'something' would involve making sure you haven't injured yourself in a manner that is healing improperly, and then encouraging it to fix itself via -- and I'm using the technical term here -- finger waggling." Said all with a professional tone that was destroyed by her smirk.

There came, then, a rather strange question aside. "Do you follow the same religion Antonia does?" She'd heard him mention Jesus, who the woman was big on. Then it was on to his own questions. "This is a perversion of a few spells I know. Those small pages? They're harmless. Arcane markings that I'll later disguise to look like they belong to the warehouse supplies I intend to affix them to. The larger is, as I mentioned, the key. It is an adaptation of a spell I know that takes the innate energy in arcane script and turns it explosive. As long as they are in range of one another the little ones will go off like a chain reaction when it activates."

"Is my discomfort making you uncomfortable?" It was a rhetorical question judging by the way he altered his course away from an answer physically. Body language was usually more concrete in interpretation, but instead of sitting in the slice of space Fox vacated, he went to the bookshelves instead for a study of the spines on display. Fingertips marked his passage laterally while Shae spelled out her methods. When he turned back to face her, those same fingers wiggled demonstratively. "Like that?" A shrug, "Alright, then. I'm game."

Her question caught him off-guard, and it showed vaguely in a kind of stall of expression across his features, as if the transition between one and the next had gotten lost. There was a pause before he answered. "I don't follow a religion these days. But I came from a divided household. My father was a minister. He's responsible for the Jesus portion of my vocabulary," a tight, dry smile was devoured by a pensive frown as he stepped in closer once more to look at her handiwork. "That's really clever," a thought he'd had more than a few times now given voice. Echoes of it, as well, in the look slanted in her direction.

"Call it an extension of my frustration with Antonia. Needless suffering for suffering's sake." This last muttered almost at the volume of my whisper. Then it was back to her normal volume. "It was just an offer, you don't have to take me up on it." Rhetorical questions, it seemed, didn't always dissuade her. The books on display were various in subject. Plant almanacs, local history, a few books on cars, a cell phone manual, multidimensional travel, planar theory, A beginner's guide to Spanish, one for French, one for German. There was a common theme, but it might not be obvious. Throwing things off could be the box set of Game of Thrones books, among some other objects of personal reading.

"Your technique is terrible." The smirk returned as he seemed to decide. "Alright, if you want, come over here and show me the damage." That stalling on his features was something she was familiar with. The woman had a bad habit of jumping from A to F without paying any mind to the letters in between as stepping stones. "I'm glad you approve." And, perhaps surprisingly, it wasn't sarcasm.

"Slower then? Less spangle, more undulation?" He'd given her a version of jazz hand prior, but he didn't follow it with a demonstration of his amendment. Instead, he straightened from his hunched posture over the parchment and turned, a few steps taken until he was in front of her. He could see the top of her head, a pale line of skin beneath dark strands. Unlike where he'd come from, height offered little in the way of advantage here. Or imposition, were he attempting such. It was merely a trait, nothing more than a notable accessory. He laid a palm against his side, the same he'd worried with fingertips earlier. "Shirt on or off?" Best to ask.

"Are you asking for a dance lesson or a spellcasting tutorial?" Brow arching with suppressed humor. "You're not too shabby with the first, if I remember correctly. The second isn't something so simple to pick up." Her posture straightened as she shifted to the edge of the chair. His question required a bit of thought, and this time she narrated it without a filter. "Easier if I can see the extent of the bruising. No need to take it off completely. Just lift." Pause. "Unless, of course, your torso is a horror show. In which case, just off." Pause again. "If you're shy, I could work over the clothing, but it involves a lot more poking."

He did not suppress his. It was given free reign to crease the corners of his eyes with fine lines when he laughed. Rarely long-lived, that laughter, but genuine. "Proper lubrication is the key to dancing, I think. At the least that's what the alcohol tells the drinker. Then the trick is to remain surrounded by other bodies so any flailing or missed beat gets absorbed by the press of bodies. There's a science to it, you see." It sounded like he'd given it some thought. He hadn't until that very moment. Maybe the lack of filter was contagious. "I don't imagine spellcasting works the same which is probably fortunate." He curled a fist around the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up until he could roll it under and hold it in place with his other hand as he mumbled, chin tucked for a look at what he was displaying, "Not shy," He'd not need to point it out, the angry purple and fuchsia bloom did the talking. It was a new landmark nestled among the terrain of older scarring in varying states of fade. Like height, a patchwork of scars was not particularly noteworthy in this realm. Tokens of the past, the largest visible being a half-inch seam that ran vertically down the center of his torso. "Horror show is in the eye of the beholder, however." One shoulder lifted in a shrug.

Card Tricks and Cold Wars, part 1
Antonia's Room at Eva's Clinic, 12:51 AM, 7/1

It was minute 38, which meant the back of Ketch's thighs were numb in the hard plastic chair. He sought his usual relief, kicking the heels of his boots up along the bottom of Antonia's bed rails. She'd fallen asleep some time ago but not before displaying the back of her whiteboard to him as a sendoff. She'd written "Fuck off" in permanent marker and had brandished it with flagging emphasis that made him smile almost congenially as the meds kicked in and slumped her backwards in the bed. He'd like to get his hands on whatever cocktail Marcus was pumping into her bloodstream.

Almost one in the morning, which was about the usual time that Shae rolled in for a turn at listening to machines beep. The last time she was here she'd done everyone the favor of clearing out that odor of burning plastic and chemicals that had lingered after the fire incident with Antonia's last heart monitor. Now she was coming in to claim the second chair. The pillow under one arm was tossed down as a makeshift cushion, carried all the way from the Inn. Hanging on the other arm was a bag from a convenience store. Her hands had been busy in the transfer of roasted peanuts from a small plastic bag to her lips. Settling in, she held the snack out in his direction with a little wiggle. "Want some?"

Ketch glanced up at Shae's arrival, eyeing the cushion covetously for a beat before looking over the convenience store bag with something close to optimism. A sixpack? No, not the right shape. Oh look, his expression nosedived right off the horizon into pessimism. He shook his head for her offer. Didn't wrinkle his nose, but an inward roll of his lips managed to give off that impression. "No." Then, "thanks. You ever had them boiled?" He'd have to remedy that if she hadn't.

"Don't like roasted nuts?" Easy shrug. More for her. "Wasn't the only thing I bought. Have a look." She nudged the bag over for his inspection after putting it down on the floor. Not a sixpack, no, but there were a few tiny bottles of the liquor variety, fruit snacks, jerky, and what looked like trail mix with chocolate in it. "Can't say I've had them boiled. I didn't even know that was a thing."

"Mm," that'd be a no with context clues lying in the downward hunch of dark brows. He leaned over and hooked the handle of the bag with a forefinger, widening the mouth for a glimpse of the contents and perked to see the liquor. Ended up pulling out two that looked promising as whiskey, and the jerky, which he set in his lap alongside a deck of cards he'd been shuffling. Don't mind his commandeering, he'd pass the jerky over to her shortly with a whiskey accompaniment to boot. "It is in a certain region of the United States. Got a taste for them there. Mostly it's salt water with a small amount of peanut taste like a consolation. I don't know why it's so damn good, but it is."

Honey roasted, proclaimed the baggy she upended into her hand, branding previously obscured by the curl of her fingers. She'd opened it upside down so the letters only read correctly when she was tipping some out. "A local dish. Fair enough." A glance bounced to the back of Antonia's board and she smiled. "Was she awake earlier? They seem to have her pretty sedated by the time I get here. Hopefully I'll get to talk to her soon."

Honey-roasted registered as a sort of compromise between dry-roasted and boiled. Had he been paying more attention to the packaging, he might have actually taken her up on her offer. But now he was busy with the miniature whiskey bottle, snapping the seal and tipping it to his lips. "She was, yeah. Spent a good hour telling me how grateful she was for my company, how pleasant I am to be around, and what joy my stories bring her." Thick sarcasm cut by a sly, humored grin. He traded the miniature bottle for the jerky, opening it and pouring himself a handful that he promptly tossed back in the same manner as the whiskey before he set the bag to the floor between them and picked up the cards again, shuffling through them idly. "You haven't talked to her yet? You're missing out. She can't write as fast as the insults hurtle through her brain. Watching the struggle made my day."

"Is that right?" Sly crept into the curve of her own smile in recognition. "I'm sure she drew you a bunch of hearts and flowers too. Were there tears of gratitude? Did she ask for a hug?" Peanut baggy went to the floor so she might swipe a strip of jerky to chew on. "She does know how to write, doesn?t she? I know she doesn't like to read so I was worried we might be in real trouble with her just drawing shapes at us." Shae didn't know it, but she was picturing the cartoon equivalent of wingdings cursing. "Maybe it'll teach her quality over quantity."

He held up a finger, "I am bound by loyalty not to mention any hearts and flowers she may have drawn or requests for hugs," an easily transparent lie. "However, she did make me this." He held out each forearm upon the inside of which was drawn in black sharpie a modest pair of tits and a very poorly rendered donkey with a halo, respectively. Didn't really do much to assuage Shae's fear regarding shapes as communication devices, did it? "She said it would help me with the ladies." That was verbatim. A brow rose as his smile widened. "Well, she's really good with certain letters. Others are a little sketchy. She's got a fantastic handle on curse words and insults so I'm sure some Shakespeare will be inevitable given time." He shuffled the deck of cards and fanned them out in front of Shae. "Pick a card. Any card."

"You gave your word, I understand." With all the false solemnity she could muster. Sideways lean and another nibble of jerky for the time spent perusing his new skin art. "You should take a picture to put in Lucy's gallery. That's some quality art. It has that characteristic of being damned difficult to translate the meaning of. For example. Is she calling you a Tits-sweet-ass. Or a is it a commentary that you are an innocent jackass that likes medium sized breasts? The art world may never know." She bit her thumb. Not at him, but to get a jerky crumb out from beneath a nail. Brows rose at the instruction he gave her. "You don't know a fellow named Eli, do you?" But she was reaching out to take a card from the spread. Watching him like a hawk, even.

"Well, I think we'd frame it as conceptual, let the hipsters draw some deeper meaning along the lines you're spelling out. This," he said, pointing to the haloed donkey, "Is her interpretation of a nice ass I asked for to go along with the nice pair of tits--which I didn't ask for. That's not to say I'm not an innocent jackass, or that I don't like medium-sized breasts. It's just a pertinent clarification. You may choose the interpretation that suits you best, which I guess is how art mostly works anyway." He sounded somewhat hesitant about that last part. He watched her work the jerky from beneath her nail. Had she actually bitten her thumb at him, it would not be the first time; Antonia held that title. "Nope, don't know an elf named Eli," he said, smiling for her shrewd stare. "Okay, look at the card and remember it. Tell me when you've got it in the very forefront of your mind."

"Ahhh." The exhaled sound drawn out in understanding as he translated Antonia's cave paintings for her. "Nice breasts are subjective. Nice ass, I should have probably guessed that one. Oh well." Easy shrug and a wrinkle of her nose. Now, with card in hand, she peered alternatively at it and him. "Eli isn't an elf." The sentence was almost a question with the way her confused tone asked why he'd come to that conclusion. One last look at the card just to be sure. "Alright I've got it. Now what?" Her eyes didn't leave him for long.

There was no possible way he could explain the erroneously attached classification of Eli as an elf except that he'd gotten distracted by the cards. He gave a shake of his head, now distracted by the confusion he'd inadvertently spread over to Shae. He waved it off and fixed his eyes back on hers. See, no sleight of hand. The cards were still fanned before her, and he ticked his chin. She probably knew what was coming next. "Now you can place the card back--" he jolted suddenly, head jerking slightly off-kilter to stare in horror over his shoulder, "Oh shit!" Had she ever seen him wear an expression like that? He sold it so well, so earnestly, mouth hanging agape at the potential terror she'd have to turn her head to see.

That momentary confusion ended up being to his benefit. Her mind, already distracted by the rehashing of her word choices to try and determine what part of her phrasing had referenced pointy ears, was thus more willing to accept his charade at face value. Her hand had just started to creep forward at his instruction when his abrupt jolt drew her up short. Brows drew down in concern, yet more confusion, then raised in alarm as she registered the horror in his words. There was a crackle from the air around her as she rapidly about faced. Threat suffusing the line of her spine, eyes shading to pale. Where was the problem?! The door? The window? Shae looked poised to throw the card as if it were a knife, though what damage she thought it might do to the nebulous threat was unknown.

Ketch was ready, craning his head in the other direction to catch a glimpse of her card when she turned to look. Fortune (and apparently his damn fine acting skills) also aided when she angled the card slightly as if she might hurl it at the invisible offense lurking over her shoulder. The air snapped around them with static teeth and it was only then that he gave a thought to the surrounding electrical instruments in conjunction with what he knew of Shae. Perhaps surprise was not a good idea, and he'd sold it a little too well. Now it was too late and he had to press on quickly. "Thought there was a pixie on your shoulder," like she'd passed under a tree and inadvertently carried one in on her back. "Sorry. I hate pixies," he shrugged, slumping back in the chair and thumping the cards (still fanned in his left hand) with the index finger of his right. It should be noted he had a neutral opinion of pixies at the moment, but she didn't need to know that right now.

The card in question was revealed to be the five of hearts with that glimpse of the potential projectile. Circumstance weighed heavily in his favor. There was always the chance, Shae believed, that Cane Pazzo might have a stroke of actual intelligence. That he might, should he get wise to their planned activities, come to the clinic and attempt to finish the job he?d started. Luckily, her electrical discharge was localized. It died quickly amid the realization that he was putting her on. Only the scent of ozone lingered as she turned a narrowed gaze back in his direction. "Pixies." So flat, the utterance of that single word. Weighed down and squashed by all of her doubt. A perfect auditory representation of 'I'm calling your bluff.' All that doubt might have something to do with how quickly he went back to tapping those cards. The narrowed gaze relaxed all of a sudden. Voice made honey sweet, she asked. "You didn't lose your place, did you? Should I draw again?"

"No, no," he assured her with a salesman's smile that would surely translate as such no matter what realm she was from. He ignored her flat affect completely, committed to seeing this one as far as he could?not that he couldn't feel it falling apart around him; it was the card-trick equivalent to Custer's Last Stand. "Just go ahead and stick your card back in the deck and we'll get on with it. Prepare to be dazzled." The latter a word he didn't use often, clearly, by the way his mouth resisted it. Or that could have been the grin threatening the corners.

"Mm." Head turned slightly to the side, eyes still upon him as she found a place to return her selected card to the fan. If he wanted to ride this pony 'til it fell over she was at least going to watch the whole thing. But first, the hand that returned the card stretched further to pluck the miniature bottle of whiskey from his possession wherever it might currently be leaning. She needed drinks to go with the show, after all. "Oh? Dazzled is a rare one for me. Just don't throw glitter in my face and tell me it's pixie dust." Grinning now as she opened the bottle for a sip.

Card Tricks and Cold Wars, part 3

That sour note was related very tangentially and not in the way she'd assumed, but to correct Shae would require an in-depth discussion on a subject he usually steered clear of, so he let it lie, nodding in assent, instead, for Sabine's visit. "Pretty frequently, I think, according to Jacob." They'd not run into each other, however. Though they seemed to have gained some neutral footing, he was still treading lightly. "Please make sure I'm there when you set her straight," a little schadenfreude at the idea, even if fantasy, of witnessing someone else dish it out to Antonia. And also for the imagined counter-response. It might get messy. "Mmm," a magnanimous murmur offered for her gratitude, and then a short laugh. "Generally acceptable company. That sounds very textbook. Yes, Shae, you are generally acceptable company." He'd only ever encountered her in that way. "Has anyone ever accused you of being otherwise?" Intrigue at the prospect, though he well knew that different personalities brought out different traits in a person. He had friends both well-regarded and otherwise that were proof of that.

Her grin gradually faded. Thoughts pulled her eyes to the sleeping woman on the hospital bed while a frown flickered on her face. "You know, I was going to give her an earful, now that she's awake, about her rejection of magical healing even in extreme situations. Cianan talked me out of it the other night." When her smile returned, it was a rueful sampling. "It's still tempting, but I promised him I would leave it alone for now." The expression shifted again, from absent regret to wry, dark humor at her own expense. "The answer varies depending on what sampling you view from my personal history, but the simple summary is an emphatic 'yes'. The attitudes towards people like myself are, thankfully, much more lenient here. Let's just say that it's a switch from the sort of reception I'm used to. Still, just give me some time. I'm sure to rub more than a few people the wrong way." There were already a small few who tended to express distaste at some facet of her, but compared to previous experiences they were minor. To stand for anything was to invite opposition, and Shae could be opinionated when inspired.

"Yeah? For what purpose?" Asked with interest because he knew Antonia and suspected that an earful like that would most likely be met with sarcasm, though there was a small chance, depending on her frame of mind and Shae's tone, that she might actually listen and take the words to heart. Mouth twisted to one side. Upon further thought, he decided he was projecting his relationship with Antonia onto the one between Shae and Antonia and, from what he'd seen, they shared a different dynamic. Another several moments of silence pondering that 'emphatic yes' and he found himself trying to imagine meeting under different circumstances, without the buffer of mutual acquaintances, without the high-stress environment and drama that served as common ground and, in his experience, hastened bonds out of both necessity and due to the sheer amount of time spent together. "I guess I could make the stretch and see that. Diplomatic, but not a pushover. Strong-willed." He could have chosen other words, but strong-willed served the purpose just fine.

"The vain wish to avoid a repeat of this situation? A month in a waiting pattern, hoping for good news. When I might have--" The woman cut herself off. With a shift back, Shae pulled one leg up onto her pillow padded chair and twisted her torso to look at the fellow beside her rather than the woman in the bed. "Selfish reasons, mostly. My own desire to do what I could to make her well. Born out of worry." Small shrug there. The dynamic might not be entirely the same, but Antonia was still terribly stubborn. Then again, so was Shae with the right motivation. For his continued observation she remained a still target until he spoke again. "A stretch? Now you do flatter me. I should confess that a lot of my reputation where I come from has much more to do with social stigmas than it has to do with who I am. Reality is trying in that way. Sometimes I have had to play the role they gave me to get by. Strong willed. Well. That's just a survival tool, isn't it?"

"Right. It comes from good intentions, but..." he shrugged. "That's her thing. I think maybe in a place where magic is so prevalent, it seems like the easy option? Even if it's also the logical one or the most efficient one?." he trailed off, running a knuckle along his brow. "Where we come from there's a kind of pride involved in doing things the hard way. In persistence and being stubborn. In scars, even." Which tied in rather neatly with her assertion of strong-willed being a survival tool. "What are these social stigmas where you come from?"

"Those who would sell you the tale that magic is easy, that it doesn't have a price...those people I wouldn't trust. There's a difference between making the problem go away and setting her on the road to a complication free recovery. And there's a vast difference in the toll each requires. The first one would be far beyond my skill barring much higher costs." The mention of scars draws a rueful smile. "Not all of us have the luxury of taking pride in our scars, I wouldn't deny her that."

Silence, and then: "Witches are distrusted on my plane. Often outright abhorred. We threaten many of the...conventional magical practitioners. Many of the religious zealots. The complaints range from unnatural magics to consorting with evil. We are hunted, enslaved often. Rare is the witch that has managed to find acceptance in a community. I was branded a witch before I even qualified as one. Much is misunderstood. Much is based in fear-mongering."

Ketch leaned to rummage through the bag again but came up empty handed. He'd had his fill of fruit snacks, jerky, and whiskey. Soon he'd be on to real sustenance. Read: tacos. Maybe pizza. He'd really benefit from an acquaintance that knew how to cook. Caveat: and was willing to be patient enough to show him. "There's a lot of variability here with magic, it seems like. Some sling it around at the drop of a hat, while others are more careful. It's hard for me to judge. My mom has a considerable gift, though the parameters are a little different, and there's a lot of history and ceremony attached to it, meaning she doesn't just throw that talent around. Or didn't."

He found a lazy angle in his chair, elbow to the arm and chin tipping to rest on it, though it was not indicative of a mental slump. Not yet. "Religious zealots," he echoed, "sounds like there are some parallels between your realm of origin and mine. Were you hunted, then? Ever enslaved?"

"Your mother sounds like a woman I would like to meet." This was meant as a compliment, by the way Shae flavored it with honest respect. "I have noticed that variability. Some of it has to do with the will to power of the individual user, but that's not the end of it. I can't explain all of it, but I know, as a rule, that even those who seem to be able to exude magic with each step are mounting a debt that someone will have to pay. That's the tricky thing about magic: the costs can be passed to others, the price will change from day to day for the same thing, and you don't need a conscience to use it."

An empty miniature bottle sailed from her hand towards the trash can, clattering against the plastic bin before tipping inside. "I was. Were you?"

The harder lines of Ketch's features softened, and he nodded without any sense of self-consciousness or embarrassment for the obvious affection he had for his mother. "She's a force," that summed it up nicely. "I think you would like her." He thought for a moment on her assertion before asking, "Don't you think that's sort of a general life rule, though? Like karma?" Or not..."Passed onto others how?" He watched the bottle as it sailed through the air and disappeared inside, touched his tongue to the inside of his cheek, "Hunted or enslaved or both?" She hadn't specified and he didn't want to assume. He was slower to share. Hesitant, most likely, as he often was on more personal matters. "I've never been enslaved by someone else. Hunted, sure, intermittently. Caught occasionally, too"

The affection for his parent was endearing, and she smiled to see it. "Is she here?" Because he spoke as if he was in regular contact with her. "Or do you have the means to visit or communicate with her?" He wouldn't be the first she'd met who claimed travel to and fro, if that were the case.

"I do think that it's a general life rule, yes. And passed on to others much the way many good and ill things in life are passed on. By consent, by trickery, or by force, for example. Take the wards on Antonia's apartment. Cianan agreed to share the cost to complete them. Consent. Take a lord who overtaxed his people to maintain his lifestyle. Abuse of power. A price is paid, not always by the one who benefits."

She had to ask in exchange on that topic of loss of freedom, he was probing into waters she rarely touched in conversation. Her price was a bit of sharing from him, which he met to a degree that was satisfactory. "Hunted. Caught more than once. Imprisoned a fair number of times. The worst occasion involved a long transport towards the slaver cities of the south. Properly sold to another? No. They didn't get that far."

Ask him about his father and watch his mood shift entirely. "No, she's in jail back in Arizona. Being stubborn. It's a long story. I see her pretty frequently, but not so much over the past month or so," a gesture indicative of the obvious reasons.

Ah. He nodded, now he was following. Yes, costs could be shifted around fluidly. That, too, seemed a ubiquitous thing rather than specific to magic, so he didn't offer anything else. "Mm." A frown settled, a half-minute of silence followed. "Sounds like you lived on the lam frequently. And that you?re also a pretty damn good escape artist."

Card Tricks and Cold Wars, part 5

"Not much choice, no." The way she said it, so calmly, suggested some degree of acceptance had been reached on that point of her spontaneous arrival. Shae had another draw or two on her own smoke before it would be depleted, and she took her time with it now. For a short while her attention deviated down the street. "Where the currents take you, hmm? I can respect that." It was the final puff that brought her gaze around to him again. Perched as she was, she only needed to lean aside to be able to smother the dying embers of the hand rolled paper in the wake of his own disposal.

"Ah." Understanding laced that single syllable. "How many would you estimate you have 'on file' as it were?" Short pause, after which her next question began with hesitation. "Do you...can you tell me what the process is? Just a touch? You said Marcel didn't notice." Another interval, equally brief. "I suppose what I'm most curious about is whether you have imprints of the people we know, or if that's considered rude."

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Can't even use the excuse that I'm drunk," he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, hands shoving brusquely into his pockets. "I don't..." he trailed off, gained some distance with a sweeping look over the night-strewn scenery. "I don't know how many. A lot. Enough." But he knew exactly, and he didn't know why he didn't share that fact, just that it seemed too much. He slanted a look in her direction, found her eyes in the darkness. "It's considered rude to me." Answer enough in the decisiveness of tone.

"I don't mean to pry-- actually, no. That's a bit of a lie. I like to know, but I don't aim to make people uncomfortable." Honesty in return for his own, even if certain details were omitted. "Really?" A touch of surprise that he didn't have an estimate, one that was flavored with genuine concern. "You mentioned your desire to... to purge." Teeth worried at her lower lip. "Does your mother have any experience with spells that can alter memory?" The concern lingered, but softened at his clear cut boundary on imprinting. "I respect you for that." Curious though she was, Shae was not the sort to endorse blatant violation of privacy where friends were concerned just to answer questions.

"You don't make me uncomfortable. Shit, I'm probably as close to comfortable as I can remember being in a long time. I'm just stingy, I guess, or selfish. Or something else that's too much to get into over a cigarette break," he took three steps and thought to sit on the bench, but something about the word purge incited a desire to remain standing, instead. "I don't know," he said, "it's a point of contention between us, my abilities. To the degree that we don't discuss it anymore. Or I don't." Stubborn. "I've got someone else here I've thought about mentioning it to, but I don't know how much I trust him. And then there's the whole aspect of living with the burden you know rather than striking out into the unknown." Brows rose when she mentioned respect, a dry sort of amusement to the tilt of his lips. "Part of that's selfish, too. I mean, Christ, take Cianan or Antonia for example. I can't imagine living with what goes on inside their heads." He affected a shudder.

Fingers now free of the burden of a coffin nail rubbed lightly at her smiling lips. Letting the hand fall, Shae leaned forward. Elbows found knees and hands draped in the air between to lace together. "There's no rush, really." He hovered closer to the bench and she tilted her head up to maintain eye contact. "She's concerned that you'll encounter difficulties like your grandfather?" Seemed like the sort of argument a parent might make, unless Shae was missing some dimension to the issue. "Would it be fair to assume that you don't exactly have many first hand sources," read here: other Skin-walkers, "to help explain the removal of or provide guidance for the quantity?" Were not the topics so closely juxtaposed, she might have outright laughed at his final statement, but instead she grinned. "Eva's seen inside Antonia's skull and she survived, but I wouldn't risk it."

"No, no rush," he agreed, a smile unwinding more easily for the momentary ceasefire of questions. That breathing room allowed him to answer freely when she resumed, "She is, yes," and a shallow nod of his head followed, "My grandfather was my primary source of information until he became unreliable. We left the Reservation and, with it, the best resources available. But also, it wasn't...isn't something thought highly of. Actually, it's looked upon as a curse. Dark arts." These were surface layers of a more complex story, but they were enough for now. He shifted his weight to one side, and with it the line of conversation. "I don't know, Eva's been looking a little off lately." A half-smile, and then, "what do you do with all of this information you draw out? I've never known someone to ask so many pointed questions unless I was sitting across a table in handcuffs."

"Wait..." And now Shae was sitting up a bit straighter to study the details of his face and coloring. "Reservation? Does that mean that you're of the same people as Oz? One of the Native Americans from the Earth plane?" Forgive her if she wasn't entirely up to date on the physical characteristics of the individual tribes just yet, but it made for a strange coincidence when she'd been told that theirs was a dying race. She pursed her lips once, relaxing her study. "Some gifts are misunderstood, feared, and vilified. It's unfortunate, but I'd say I could empathize." Her smile came crooked and stayed that way for his next few statements. "Do with it? I don't really do anything with it. Except try to understand people a little bit better. Rare have been my opportunities to ask such questions and, well, I'm somewhat spoiled here."

Her change in posture was reflected in his, attentive, as if he thought she might be about to level something of considerably more weight at him than she did. A roll of his shoulder dispersed gathering tension. "Oz..." ahh, he recalled the face across the darkened table at the street fest, but he was unaware of the shared heritage. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flinch of motion, before relaxing. "In that case, yeah, on the whole, though there are many, many tribes, each with its own history and culture. But I can claim only half: my mother's side." Strange coincidence, perhaps, but then Ketch increasingly found coincidence to be veined through the bedrock of the city. "Figured you might be able to, yeah, judging from some of the things you've said." Maybe that had subconsciously nurtured the level of comfort he felt with her. "You go about it in an interesting way, though. Not bad, really, but almost like a scientific pursuit. A quest for knowledge." A pause. "Different methods, I guess. I'm never so much curious about the entire scope of someone's history as the smaller moments that make them who they are."

The little connections, the small victory of puzzle pieces laid into place, could mean just as much as the weightier things to her. As for Oz and Ketch, they shared the same fraction of the heritage, to increase the coincidence, though she didn't make mention of that. Rather to let him pursue that if it happened to interest him enough to do so. "Hmm." Other questions shunted aside for now, but they lingered in her eyes. "I'm living the little moments with you right now. I can look and listen and touch, but I won't always understand intuitively. See...I ask what I do because often what makes those little moments definitive exists in a past I have no reference for." A gesture between them. "We each place value on moments in different ways. Sometimes it's easier for me to understand the why of the value when I know more about the who of the person. And 'why?' is a question that never leaves me. Does that make sense?" One hand raised to rub at the back of her neck.

She made good points, well-considered ones. Ones that made him feel lazy in his observations. But maybe his motivations were different. "It does," he said, one step taken for the door as he extended his hand towards her to help her down from her perch if she so desired. "It's very thorough and well-considered. I usually just lob some random questions and go from there." That wasn't the whole truth, either, but he grinned like it was. "Let's get back inside. Got another card trick I'll test out on you."

There might be the impression of a bench slat on her backside and, with the potential pins and needles from a long pressed nerve in mind, Shae accepted the hand back to solid ground. Her soft snort of amusement might apply to both her doubt about his aimless lobbing of inquiry and her doubt about his definition of 'card trick'. Hand moving from his to grab the door and pull it open, she quipped, "Another? I ought to switch your cards with a harrow deck, sit back and watch."

"We'd both probably be sorry if you did that," he smiled like a bastard as he stuck his foot in the door to prevent it opening fully in her grip and stepped into the space between, back to the frame and gesturing her inside. "After you." What had once been an attempt at chivalry had now become an entertaining battle of wills. And maybe that wasn't quite what was happening, but he found it amusing all the same.

"Oh you've no idea..." Trailing off in bemusement as the man cut through her intended path, taking the door from her only to plant his body half in the way and then, then gesture her inward. Arms folded as Shae took up the other half of the frame and paused there. "Now I wonder if I should be asking about traumatic incidents involving doors. Are you the victim of being ogled when you go in first, perhaps? Or were you so thoroughly trained in door holding that it's become a compulsive habit?" Dryer than the Arizona heat, her tone, but she couldn't fight off the smile.

"Those are some options. Let me throw out a couple of others: I'm a man and therefore seize any viable opportunity to check out a woman's ass relatively unnoticed; maybe I simply enjoy taking the same easy opportunity away from you. Or maybe it's none of these things, and I'm just being obtuse. One of these is not like the others." And of course, he'd stand there and wait until she walked through. Otherwise they might be engaged in a standoff for awhile.

Shae eyed him, and it was a look that contained a suppressed threat. Not of violence, of mischief. The temptation to start a game of brinkmanship, much like those she entertained with her familiar. Some featherweight decision from the framing of his reply at last moved her off the fence. "You can be obtuse because you derive enjoyment out of being difficult." Leaning forward with a wink before she pushed off the frame and stepped inside. "And yes, my ass is fabulous, thank you for noticing." Offered with a shit-eating grin over her shoulder as she headed back to Antonia's room.

The gauntlet had already been thrown on that temptation in his book. His mouth quirked, a catch of teeth to his lower lip staving off a retort for baiting words. He kept quiet as she passed before him and whistled a few bars, looking off into the yonder and was most decidedly not ogling her ass when she looked over her shoulder. It was a good bet he?d already indulged himself where her assets were concerned on prior occasions.

If he was expecting her grin or stride to falter at the obvious avoidance of his gaze, he'd be disappointed. "See. Obtuse." Waving a hand over her shoulder as she let herself into Antonia's room without him holding the door. "Contrary for the sake of being contrary!" Chuckling as she moved inside and resumed her watch on the sleeping firecracker.

Night Swims, part 2
Dockside, Ketch's Apartment, 2:23 AM, 7/22

Text to Ketch: I prefer to leave some things to the imagination. Prefer not to trade intimacy for money. Something, something, supply and demand. Hasn't stopped a few from believing they could hire me for that.
Text to Ketch: Strengthen rather than shield, yes. I'm pleased you caught the distinction.
Text to Ketch: And really, isn't planning to blow up parts of the city scandalous enough?

Text to Shae: Poor bastards. Or bastardesses, as the case may be. Shit. What is the female version of a bastard?
Text to Shae: Pleased. Like I am a student paying attention in class. Why don't you come up when you're finished. I'll give you an apple.
Text to Shae: I suppose. Never hurts to throw in a little variety, though.
Text to Shae: Shit. That apple reference probably went over your head, didn't it?

Text to Ketch: I think bastard is sufficient. I don't think it needs gender specification in the common tongue.
Text to Ketch: I... like apples? So... sure. Or is that innuendo where you come from?
Text to Ketch: One scandal at a time.

Text to Shae: It's not really innuendo. But it sort of is. It's complex. I don't have any apples. I do have liquor. And some beer.
Text to Shae: Multitasking keeps the brain young, Shae. Something you might want to start considering.

Text to Ketch: So the fruit is fictional, but the alcohol is real, and the innuendo is in a state of flux. I suppose I can live with that. I'm almost finished here, I'd not say no to a drink.
Text to Ketch: Worried for my mental flexibility or trying to encourage my bad behavior? Multitasking is a balancing act. Too much and things start to slip.

Text to Shae: You are correct in your assessment. I am pleased. Ha.
Text to Shae: Come on up, then. I'll tell the goldfish not to storm the door and try to bite you.
Text to Shae: A little of both, maybe? See, variety. Got nothing for the last part. Stop making sense.

Text to Ketch: Have you been teaching them to bite Fin when he feeds them?
Text to Ketch: I'll make sense or not as I please. Knock knock.

Ten seconds later, the door swung wide, one foot nudged up against the inside to keep it from banging into the wall. "I tried. They keep forgetting." He had a glass of whiskey, freshly poured, balanced on the flat of his palm as he ushered Shae inside with a sweep of his hand. Shae would find the place in virtually the same state as their last meeting, though the hall closet door had been removed and reframed into a short hallway that led to another doorway. "Whiskey or something else?" he asked as he bumped the door closed behind her.

"Short memory. Perhaps ask Cris. Antonia is fond of likening him to a goldfish. Maybe he has a way with them." The smell of sanded wood and herb laced oils clung to the woman who stepped within. The sweep of her eyes took in the changes. "Do you have something other than whiskey? I've not known you to favor much else." Again the temptation to peruse other sections of his dwelling came to the fore. He'd taken the liberty with her bookcase, so she now did the same with his. "If the answer is 'more whiskey', then yes," lips tilting with amusement, "whiskey is fine."

"I feel 95% certain that posing the idea to him would result in his standard curse." Surely Shae had heard it by now. "You smell good," he murmured as he started for the kitchen. "Is that a byproduct of your work on the ships?" From within the kitchen cabinet, he withdrew a glass, and then opened another and gestured at the array of bottles within: varying brands of whiskey, a bottle of scotch (half-decent), one sealed bottle of vodka, a bottle of red wine lying forgotten on its side. "Take your pick. And there is beer in the fridge, don't forget." He watched as she made her foray to the bookshelves, which were much more capacious than what her room at the inn allowed, but nowhere near filled: odds and ends, souvenirs, a few gears and other bike parts he'd taken an interest in. Books were spread out among these things. A section of fiction and nonfiction classics from Earth featuring Hemingway, Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, Kerouac and the like. Some read and re read, some just wishful thinking. An equivalent to a high school reading list, really, though she'd not be likely to know that. There were some thicker volumes, too, on anatomy, both human and animal, mythologies, a dictionary, a random S volume of an encyclopedia, visual guides to bike and car repair alongside some magazines of the same nature, and a doorstop heavy compendium of Ansel Adams.

"I have." The grin she shot over her shoulder said as much. "That's why I suggested you ask him. Preferably while I'm around to watch him make that incredulous face he often does while saying it." The murmur distracted her gaze once more from the array of tomes and sundries. "Thank you, and yes. I'll probably smell of here by the time I leave, it only lasts a short time unless I consciously retain it." Pause to study the selection from afar. "Is that a scotch? Let's go with the scotch. It's been a while." Hands brushed against the legs of her jeans before she lifted fingertips to this book or that item. The oddball pieces drew her interest more, such as that solitary volume. "Could you only afford one letter's worth of reference material?" Asked with a finger tapping the spine just below the S.

"I haven't earned that face in a while. Probably need to do something about that to maintain status quo." A thoughtful stare for the mention of consciously retaining a scent, though it landed mostly on Shae's back and he made no comment, shortly turning away to pour her Scotch. Ketch joined her at the bookcase, bare feet barely registering sound against the worn wood floor, shadow preceding him and thrown at an angle across the spines of books. "Open it," urging her with the point of his chin. When she did so, she'd find it hollowed out. "It falls under the category of souvenir. Somewhere scattered across the globe--or maybe beyond--are the rest of the volumes."

"It provides amusement and keeps his attention sharp for things to scoff at." The warmth in her tone could qualify as affectionate. At his insistence, she pulled the volume from the shelf. Both hands were used to balance the book while she examined the hollow within to see if it held a particular shape or was occupied. "Having worked at a library, I suppose this is where I should feign horror at the damage to a book, and one of a set at that, but it's a clever way to hide something." Cover closed, scotch accepted and brought to her lips. "There a reason for that, or do you just like the sense of a connection to a greater whole?"

"I aim to serve," he shrugged with a smile skewed with a dose of sarcasm. The hollow within the book was an unremarkable rectangle with a few bits of gray foam still stuck in the corners suggesting it'd once had some additional padding. "Yes, I have a friend that works at the library here and she gives me an earful over cracked spines and dog ears," both of which were well represented on his shelves. Ketch didn't answer her next question immediately, allowing a mouthful of whiskey to burn and settle before swallowing and replying. "Both. It represents the last successful job completed with my former partner." Partner. A word too small and ineffective for the thick history it really carried. He frowned.

The Midnight Milkshake, part 1
Marketplace, late evening, 7/24

From the hectic noise of the Inn, Shae had retreated to the fountain in the market square. Here there was a different sort of noise. One that dissipated in the open air. One that wasn't as close in proximity, nor shaped in a way that made her uncomfortable. Here, with the faint buzz of summer insects and the burble of the water, it faded into the background. Bringing to the fore the slosh of whiskey in the bottle that, time to time, made the trip upwards to her lips. A heathen drinker in a dress.

There was a man in black winding through the marketplace in no particular hurry. Here and there Ketch stopped to view wares offered by the most stalwart of merchants looking for one last sale before calling it a day. The night had a rhythm that his steps picked up and echoed: sound of cicadas, running water, the scrape of carts on cobbles. He carried nothing;, his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets. In addition to the black stretched over his chest and thighs, he wore a vacant frown directed at no one in particular.

Without a second set of eyes to comb those who wandered the stalls of an evening, it took Shae some time to pick out a familiar face among the throng. A few moments more were needed to confirm that it was in fact someone she knew and not just a look alike. Feeling lazy, the woman didn't move to get up from the bench upon which she had ensconced herself. Instead she allowed the breeze to cross the distance for her. Words born forth to tickle at a singular set of ears, slightly thick. She'd been at that bottle for a while. "You look unhappy."

Ketch?s head whipped up, perusal of a trinket he had no intention of buying abandoned with a sharp twist of his torso. He waved away the seller's urging hand and squinted; unfair advantage, that gift of projection. Around a trio of moving shoulders, he glimpsed Shae's figure first, the bottle second, and split his attention evenly between them thereafter. Head cocked to the side as he approached. "Do I? That must be my natural resting face. Everything suddenly makes more sense now. You look like you want to share that bottle." Or needed to.

The sharp reaction required her to hide a grin. Eventually he'd not be so startled. They all grew used to it in time, but it was amusing while it lasted. "What makes more sense, the way people react to you?" She was obliging, offering him the bottle without a fuss once he was in range to accept it. A decent whiskey, but nothing special about it. Just the sort to do the job without risking the extra harsh hangover from cheap production. "You look like you're shopping. Anything in particular?"

Little did Shae know Ketch had his own version of payback in mind and was simply waiting until he'd better ascertained her schedule before implementing it. It was likely a one shot deal?his privileges with the sending stone were sure to be revoked shortly after. "That, yes," he smiled, mouth breaking wide, a show of teeth whiter than any garment he ever wore. "That better? I used to see this woman walk around here smiling wide at nothing at all. Always struck me as a lunatic. But a happy one maybe." The madcap edge to his smile relaxed into something more natural as he reached for the bottle without a look at the label. He had an artisan's eye for the nuances of that particular color and a sweeping glance was more than enough. He tipped the bottle against his lips and took a swallow as he nodded. "Something for Lucy's opening. I'm terrible at gift giving."

"You needn't spruce yourself up on my account." Offered as if he'd donned a suit instead of a smile. She'd not yet shifted from her cross legged seat, back nestled against the slats of the bench albeit without any slump. It was terribly difficult to slump with corset boning surrounding one's ribcage. "I've seen a few who I'd classify as insane looking positively delighted around here. Perhaps they're onto something." There the ghost of a smile of her own. "Oh." And then it was gone. "I'm terrible. I didn't even think to get her anything. I probably should have, too, as a gesture of congratulations." Lower lip spent some time trapped in the clamp of her teeth. "As someone who has proclaimed themselves awful at gift giving, I may be asking the wrong person...but what do you think would be appropriate?"

"No? Well, I won't bother with an attempt next time," a short laugh as Ketch offered the bottle back over. "They might be," he mused, "but who knows what happens once they get home. Maybe they have a bunch of beating hearts in walls or something." Dropping to the end of the bench she wasn't occupying, he ran a knuckle along his brow and shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought of it myself, but Fin said something about not showing up empty handed so I figured I better make an effort." A grimace twisting over his mouth spoke before he did, "I have no idea. She likes shoes, I think? But that didn't feel right for an opening and I'd sure as **** pick out the wrong pair anyway. Flowers? I was trying to think of something a little different. She's got fancy taste though and clearly..." a vague gesture at himself that filled in where he left off.

"I read a story recently about a man who buried bodies beneath his floor and was driven mad by the sound of a heartbeat." Real chipper aside there, Shae. "Maybe they're smiling because they can't hear those hearts when out and about." Bottle back in hand, she pondered her bench partner over the rim of it. "Mm. I'm not exactly an expert on fashion, myself." The sylph had her own sense of style, surely, but it wasn't on par with Lucy. The redhead looked often like she had stepped out of a magazine while the woman seated next to him might be more at home in a delightfully inaccurate history book when not trying out more modern fashions. "Give me a moment." The bottle stalled on the way to her lips and just hovered there. Shae closed her eyes and did her level best to think of what she knew about the new business owner. One eye peeked open in his direction. "She likes books? Do you know if her ledger for the gallery is a physical thing or something she's keeping on one of the computer boxes?"

"Poe, yeah," the story in an anthology on his bookshelf, but half forgotten and mixed with another Poe tale in his mind. Though he wouldn't disagree with her latter assessment. A forefinger made a lazy circle in the direction of her corset-wrapped torso, "That's kind of a statement right there." Finger dropped next to circle a split at his knee, the threads wound tight until the skin they captured turned white. "She likes books? What kind? You know? Maybe something practical," thinking aloud, though he was unable to settle on something suitable: a general guide to fixing things?--he couldn't see Lucy picking up a wrench or a hammer. After exhausting that avenue of thought, Ketch shook his head, "No clue, actually. I haven't been over there in some time. But seems like for an opening a physical record would be nice," He broke into laughter again, but it was warm and not derisive in the least, "Computer boxes, Jesus."

"Very grim, is master Poe, but I enjoy some of his poems." Gentle shrug that encompassed her dismissal of that topic and his observation of the 'statement' she was making. "They're more comfortable than people realize. The structure is good for the posture." And for the aesthetic effects, let's not kid ourselves. "Well. That was more of a question. I've seen her often in the Tomes, but mostly looking at uhm...the publications with the pictures." Hunting for the word, she found it a handful of seconds later. "Magazines. I've seen her look at the magazines. I can't recall what books she may have read. She enjoys tea, and coffee. And french pastries." Another pause. "Her lover, he's Scottish like Fin, I think." She was distracted from an idea that was forming by his laughing at her. "What? Did I get it wrong? Oz told me that the box went on the desk with the screen and the information was stored in it."

"Looks like it'd be a bitch on the digestive system, but I guess that's not so much of a problem if you're drinking your dinner," Ketch grinned and swiped the bottle back from Shae as if in demonstration. She certainly wouldn't hear him discounting the aesthetic effects of a nice hourglass figure, however. A brow quirked suddenly in physical manifestation of a lightbulb moment occurring. "Tea? Okay, yeah, maybe I can do something like that. That should be easy enough." He had no idea, of course, of the vast encyclopedia of teas that was sure to stymie any attempts at an efficient selection process. "Dair," he said, voicing the man's name; he'd met him once, albeit briefly. Another swig from the bottle and then he parked it in the middle of the bench, mouth twisting as he suppressed a smile, "No, no, technically you're right. 'Box' is redundant, though, but I enjoy it for the way it can be misconstrued as a show of age."

"It's only problematic if you cinch them excessively. Properly worn you can eat a full meal. Or, in my case, a lot of ice cream." At last, something approaching a grin. She would have chased it with a pull of whiskey but she was slow on the draw: he'd stolen the bottle again. "And I'm not drinking my-- actually that's inaccurate. I haven't eaten yet so I suppose I am drinking my dinner." Wrinkle of her nose. "If you've given up on the idea of a ledger, I might end up getting her a nice one for the entrance. Not sure if it would be useful, but..." Then she was nodding. "Dair, right. I've met him, albeit briefly." The whiskey was reclaimed while she hat the chance to do so, but she returned it to the middle distance for sharing even if she was now scowling at him. "Hey. I'm not from the past. My world just doesn't have such things."

Ketch pondered for a moment, and then nodded. He couldn't argue against that, really. "We should get you something to eat. Ice cream maybe? Or a milkshake if you'd prefer to keep on the path of drinking," he panned a look over the emptying marketplace to see if there was an ice cream cart within view. Back to Shae with a wrinkling of his forehead that suggested he'd lost his train of thought. Ironed out when he'd recouped it. "You do the ledger, that sounds like a Shae kind of gift. I'll come up with something else." He stole the bottle back and laughed for her scowl, not persuaded by it in the least. "Probably for the best, really. You might lose an entire generation to the wonders of online porn."

Shae knew she was going to get one of those looks. She'd gotten several earlier on in the day, but she had to ask anyway. "What's...ah. What's a milkshake?" It seemed less confusing than a 'hot dog' had been, though she wasn't at all sure what could be gotten out of shaking milk. "Is it bubbly?" That's all she had. Eyebrows rose with amusement, the scowl vanishing. "A 'me' sort of gift. I'm predictable, am I?" That sigh was perhaps a touch theatrical. "I know about porn." Of course she did, because that was the sort of thing she ended up learning first. "Visually appealing, certainly, but anyone who has experienced the real thing would want to be involved...maybe they'd end up making a lot of it, but I can only imagine that it would affect a growth in population rather than a decline."

"Fuck me, you don't know what a milkshake is? Antonia never introduced you to the kingdom come of sucking down ice cream through a straw? That's unforgivable." The evening's plans had suddenly been rerouted. Objective: milkshake for Shae. The sylph would find Ketch relentless in pursuit of the target. "It's not bubbly, nope, it's smooth and you're going to thank me." Palms to his thighs, he rose, catching up the bottle in his grasp as he did so and extending a hand to Shae to heave her up just in case that corset was cinched too tight, and also because it was mannerly in a way he could afford. "You're predictable in some things. But not all. Same way I'm predictable in my choice of beverage, but you have no clue whether I'm a fitful sleeper or even if I sleep at all," this delivered with a dramatic and ominous knit of his brows that was soon overtaken by a more genuine expression of amusement, "You're one of the few I know that would analyze an offhand comment to that degree. Do you analyze the porn you come across, as well?"

There it was, though expressed more in an incredulous tone of voice. His look was another she was getting used to. The crusade-like determination to correct some gap in her knowledge. Usually for good reason, which is why she accepted his hand up from the bench without a fuss. "Drinkable ice cream? Yes, I'm quite sure I'll have reason to thank you." Even if it did just sound like melted ice cream. She'd learn. For the moment she was on her mostly steady feet. Dancing was an asset where correcting a gait made unsteady by alcohol was concerned. "Let's do it. Yes." Gesturing forth for him to lead the way. "You're right, I don't know that. But I'm going to guess that you do sleep. Else why would Fin be camping on your couch if a bedroom was available for use?" That was her logic and she was sticking to it. "Hearts must be keeping you up at night. I'd believe restless sleep." Rocking from her heels to her toes and back again. "Vivid dreams...not all of them yours. Am I close?" When he moved, she'd follow. "For all that I've been told about it, I've not actually seen any yet. When I do, I'll let you know. Was going to watch some with Antonia, but that turned into horror movies." Was she serious?

Once Shae was up and Ketch was decently certain she was steady on her feet, fingers released their grip on her hand and relaxed back to his side. The bottle swung between them as he led the way, caught up every now and again to make another trip to his mouth. Was there a cap somewhere? If so, he'd not grabbed it. "Your logic is sound," he agreed. "Though Fin now has his own bedroom and still passes out on the couch from time to time." Keen eye kept out for anything in the way of a milkshake, but nothing was immediately apparent. "Close enough, though there're plenty of nights where there's nothing at all but darkness. But lately, yeah, my head's on fire," an understatement that saw a pulse in the muscles along his jaw.
Ketch cut them through a short alleyway to a street that ran parallel to the one they were on previously and then turned right. The Midnight Diner, a favorite haunt, opened at midnight and closed at dawn's first light. During the open hours, however, it was the typical greasy spoon in vinyl cut of bygone eras. Ketch made a grab for the door and swung it open, ushering a gust of cool air to settle around them. Biting back a comment he smiled instead, "Yeah, you let me know about that. I'm not even going to ask how an intention to watch porn turned into a horror fest. But I can't say I'm all that surprised, either." After you, said his hand. His smirk, well, it was less gentlemanly.

The Midnight Milkshake, part 3

"Oh," was all she offered at first to the explanation of his surprise and admittance regarding his notion of her interests. Needing a moment to process this, Shae focused on another subject. "Did you go to high school? It sounds dreadful. Was your experience explosive?" He'd said 'a total blast', Shae wasn't hip to his jive. Questions asked while she attempted to fish out her cherry without sticking her whole hand in whipped cream. Eventually, after licking her knuckles clean, she used the straw to push the fruit to the bottom and made attempts to impale it.

"I did go, yep," Ketch bent forward, stirring whipped cream into the remainder of chocolate shake as he thought about how to categorize his high school experience. He gave a soft chuckle for her interpretation of a total blast, though it wasn't really at her expense because in some ways it fit within the context. "It was alright for me, actually. I avoided the cliques, mostly kept my head down, had a couple of friends to jack around with. What kind of education system is in place where you come from? Or is there no organization to it?"

Glancing at him after a brief cessation in her attacks on the elusive topping, "Village schools are widespread and cover what you would consider a primary education. Older children either pursue apprenticeship or, if they have the funds or aptitude, apply to one of the institutions of higher learning in the nearest city. Certain talents may have longer educational requirements. Certain institutions are highly restrictive by class. Some families hire instructors to teach their children rather than have them sent away. Those with aptitude but no status often work at the institutions to cover their fees." A brief overview granted that missed out on some of the finer details, but he didn't need to hear all that.

A brief overview, perhaps, but incredibly sufficient. Ketch listened and then asked, "Is that how your talents were nurtured?" Catching the futility of Shae?s attacks on the cherry, Ketch removed his own straw and popped it in her glass, nodding to indicate her straw. Teamwork tweezering.

"I was taught in my father's house after a few unstable years at the village school. He didn't hire anyone, he taught me himself. I suppose he wasn't satisfied with my progress at the school, or with the pace of the learning. I spent a time apprenticing to an apothecary, as I proved incapable of pursuing arcane studies with him. Theory was one thing, the practical eluded me."

Shae returned to a prior matter. "Seems fairly straightforward, your art. A little messy, probably questionably legal depending on where you're practicing it from what I've seen of sprayed paint around the city. Sounds like a recipe for a decent time by just about anyone's standards. I'm capable of running if that's a concern."

A warm spread of amusement for her assessment, which was quite on the mark, really. "It's all of those things, yeah, sometimes with the addition of climbing, sometimes with the addition of some liquor." Who was he kidding, 89% of the time there was liquor involved. Tips of his fingers pinched the cherry stem and held it aloft for her to grab. "Aptitude for running is absolutely a requirement. Figure you can move pretty fast, though. So it sounds like you're invited then doesn't it?" Eyes widened conspiratorially and Ketch dissolved backwards into a slouch along the bench.

With two straws in play, there was more success. She reached forward to take the previously submerged fruit off his hands with a smile of thanks. "I can get around." She had so far navigated the city when summoned with more speed than most were capable of pulling off without a vehicle of some kind for transportation. "Sounds like it. Should I need to bring anything? Wear anything?"

Relinquishing the cherry, Ketch stuck his straw back into his own shake, dispatching the rest with a one last long swallow before sharing a bit of earth history, "Where I come from there was an era in which sitting here like this was considered a date.? He smiled broadly before continuing, "though usually the milkshake was shared. And apparently I'm too goddamn selfish, or greedy, or a terrible date because I wanted my own shake." He winked, fished some coins from his pocket, and stood, counting the silver out onto the table. No need for the check; he knew the sum by heart. "Let's get out of here, I'm restless," he confided and reached for the bottle he'd let rest at his side for the duration before offering standard wardrobe advice for illegal endeavors, "Dark clothing, nothing too loose, comfortable shoes. I'll provide the rest." Head tipped to the side in casual study, "I think you'll like it, actually."

His history lesson got her to laugh lightly around the straw. That cherry disappeared, and so did another chunk of her milkshake before she replied. "So simple a thing?" Tilting her head as she considered the course of the evening. "If you were selfish, so was I." A protective hand curling around what remained of her shake as she drew it near to polish it off. Having tasted her first milkshake, the likelihood of her sharing one had dropped dramatically. The telltale gargle of near-empty glass came as he set down the last coin. "You think I'll like it now, but you didn't before, hm?" Extracting herself from the booth. "I can manage that. Shall we see about those gifts for Lucy before the shops all close or just walk and figure it out on our own tomorrow prior to the opening?"

"A simple thing, yeah. The times were different. I think now first dates probably consist of exchanging picture messages of body parts." Ketch was a little removed from that scene these days but he probably wasn't far off the mark. He saluted Nancy and got a wave that devolved into a middle finger in reply, though it was offered with a side of a smile and he debated whether to continue present hunting for Lucy but as soon as he opened the door (making sure to arrive first, of course, so he could continue where Nancy had cut him off before), walking without the encumbrance of racking his brain for a gift sounded like the better option. "Let's leave that for tomorrow,? he said, gesturing Shae out the door with a docile smile. "And just for clarity's sake, Nancy's never caught me in lewd act in the bathroom. I'm saving that for a special occasion," docile to bastard in a turn of a phrase.

Shae's face went blank as she processed Ketch's suggestion of the nature of first dates and then seemed to take on an expression that was a mixture of disappointment and horror, more the former than the latter. "Really?" Her face fell into a frown. She had been told about the risks of photo texts and genitals, but had been reassured that the risk was overstated. Granted, she could see the appeal from inside a relationship. Teasing, for example. Tempting. But that made sense for something that had already been developed. Now here he was telling her such was expected on a first date? The witch groaned and pouted. "That's...that's so... ugh. I'm sorry." Shaking her head. Momentarily flustered, she walked right through that open door without giving thought to their quasi-competition. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the first hand experience rather than you just sending her a picture of it without warning."

"I mean, I think so. I'm not sure, though. I'm not exactly up on the technology associated with dating. Or the habits of teens dating. So it's all hearsay. I don't think anyone in our age pool will expect you to send a naked photo as an admission ticket for a first date. And besides, given your age you're on an entirely different playing field, I'd imagine. If you'd grown up on earth, you'd be harking back to the days when courting consisted of letter writing and carriage rides." Ketch had only recently fully grasped the concept of the selfie and its prevalence and had not sent a nude photo in an attempt to win over a stranger. He imagined that worked out better for the opposite sex. "Takes some of the mystery out of it, huh? I agree." Once she'd departed (and magnanimously not crowing over his own victory, though he was also duly distracted), Ketch released the door behind him and followed her out. "Wait, wait, I'm not planning on sending anyone a photo. Naked or otherwise."

Arms folded, Shae was happy for the fresh air, falling into a walking gait with ease. No particular destination in mind, she would match pace with him merely for the company. "Well that's good, because I can't see myself doing anything of the sort." And there was some honest relief to that, to be certain. Then she was chuckling. "On an entirely different playing field? That right there is why I don't tell people my age." Pointing a finger in his direction. "There were no carriage rides. Letters maybe, but my last relationship started much as I've seen many do here. The last thing I need is to be shuffled into another category when I'm only now starting to get the gist of the default." While Shae was fascinated with pictures, especially moving ones, she was not at all charmed by the notion of unsolicited bits of body. "The mystery and the fulfillment, yes. I was joking about you sending a photo to Nancy, relax. More of an aimless gripe, really. Thank you, by the way." For what, she didn't specify.

Sendings with Ketch
During the wee hours, 8/10

The evening at the Inn had provided few opportunities to talk. Nor were they particularly inclined to do so, stuck in their own heads in the aftermath of what they had done on Antonia?s behalf. Glances were exchanged, but few words crossed the distance. The sudden absence of months of cautionary adrenaline left its mark. An hour after Shae had retreated from the realm of socialization, she felt Ketch bridge the gap with the sending stone she?d given him.

'Was not much for company tonight, apparently. We still have things to discuss.'

'I haven't forgotten that I left a mark on you, nor my promise to remove it.'

'Yes. That.'

'None of us were our best selves tonight. I wouldn't fret.'

'Mm, yeah. Maybe more tired than I thought I was. Try for another minor victory in making it to your bed tonight.' Pause. 'Or get ambitious and go for the major.'

'The major being sleep, or a more challenging bed?'

'Now there's an interesting question. Do you find some beds to be more challenging than others?'

'Some, but I hardly think that's out of the ordinary.'

'We may be talking about two different things, but usually beds are far less of a challenge for women than men.'

'True, very true. Circumstances vary, but generally I'd agree. Goodnight, Ketch. We'll talk soon.'

'Goodnight, Shae. Sleep well.?

One Man's Scrap is Another Man's Kingdom, Part 2

There a grin, some private joke perhaps. "So you behave while building your transportation? I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps some of the activities to acquire pieces might involve trips to the gaol." Somewhere, Shae had caught wind of the less than legal means which had been used to acquire and dispose of all of Sabine's learner vehicles. Ketch may have only been a satellite to that, or more of a direct accessory. She didn't know. The questions thrown his way had a common thread, but certainly not one that would be even remotely obvious. Another example of her thoughts racing past the niceties of communication. Attempt number two lacked noteworthy improvement on that front. "We're not close to the water so...flight, speech, luck or...hells, sight. Which intrigues you the most?"

"I do unless desperate, and it's not come to that yet." A tick of his head in the direction of the yard. "A lot of times two hours worth of digging around in there supplies something useful. If I need something special, there are other middle men that keep me out of the fray." Read: in the absence of urgent or dire, he usually required financial backing or the collusion of friends to thieve. Attempt number two sent him back to the cooler for some more liquid refreshment to pair with the continuing puzzle of her questions. What he kept circling around was luck, and he murmured the word without being fully cognizant he was doing so, engaged with opening the bottle and downing the first quarter. So that was probably his answer. An expectant glance over in her direction accompanied by the arch of a brow.

"That's the easiest one to manifest, also the most subtle." Apparently she was willing to take his murmuring of it as a decision in that direction. "Now for a little explanation." Using the mouth of the bottle as an indicator, Shae pointed to the area on his torso where she had added her scar tissue. "That lets me do things other than strengthen the range of the sending stone I gave you, as I believe I've already implied. One such thing involved the manipulation of luck, for good or ill. Your luck and someone near you, even." As she spoke, the woman was digging around in that ubiquitous belt pouch for something. "Let's go with good for this demonstration. Have you a deck of cards handy to practice your dazzling tricks with?"

Muscles in his jaw jumped, as if he was mildly put off having inadvertently chosen the easiest of the offerings, though he did not counter or change the answer she'd assumed. It could stand for curiosity's sake. Lift of his hand reflexively to alight on the area beneath the ladder of ribs where she'd left her mark, tracing the seam where old was stitched with the addition. As he listened, his eyes narrowed; introspection, mostly, but perhaps some instinctive hesitance, as well. Gaze dropped with her hand to the pouch and then came a slow nod as he reached for the pack of cards twinned with the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, grumbling as he displayed them in an open palm, "My tricks have improved since you last saw a demonstration," spurred on by the diligence of boredom, he'd mastered five new tricks that were almost impressive.

The something that Shae was looking for seemed to be a deck of cards of her own. "Shuffle." She suggested with a nod towards the cards in his hand. The deck she'd pulled out was being treated to the same. Bridge shuffling in midair with the ease of one who'd played many hands over smoky tables in dimly lit rooms. "Have you now? I look forward to getting a chance to experience them." Half teasing, half sincere. She was certain the show would be entertaining, even if the impressiveness of it was in question. She had a feeling what she was about to show would be handy for his card trick aspirations. Alas, it was not a permanent thing. "I'm sure you know something about chance where cards are concerned. You shuffle, I shuffle. What do you assume is the likelihood that each card we draw is the same suit?"

Ketch watched as Shae shuffled midair, a smile building for the deftness of the motion. Looked like she might have a little experience with gambling herself, and he entertained himself with the idea of cigar clamped in one corner of her mouth and an unforgiving poker face. "Indeed," he agreed. "In due time, don't want to overwhelm you by showing them off all at once. We've spent enough time at the clinic as is." A grin that matched the gleam in his eye as he set his beer aside and shuffled, as well. " The likelihood of drawing the same suit?" Head tipped side to side. "Not all that unlikely given two decks of cards and four suits. Far less likely would be drawing the same card of the same suit."

The cigar might be interchangeable with a pipe, or so she might comment could she see that which he pictured in his head. Certainly plausible, either way, that the sylph had sampled of that vice before. "Experiencing your card tricks requires stamina and the appropriate level of awe, to be sure. How thoughtful of you to not overwhelm me." Picking up on his joke and running with it before stopping and setting it aside to clarify. "One in four if we drew only one card, but I meant all the way down. Fifty-two draws with matching suits."

"Much like training for a marathon, really," he agreed, closing the joke with a wink as he let the shuffled deck idle atop his palm. A nod for the pertinent clarification. "Well yeah, that's considerably less likely. The odds on that are infinitesimally small," he'd look duly skeptical were he not certain he was about to get a demonstration otherwise. Instead, he hovered somewhere between amused and intrigued. One might say he was preparing to be dazzled.

"Highly improbable." On the same page now, Shae smiles. "I haven't touched your deck, you haven't touched mine." The witch drew the first card, a diamond, and turned it so he could see. Then added a second (clubs), a third (clubs again), and a fourth (spades). Displayed in order so he could check his own suits while she paused to enjoy a sip of beer.

"Not yet, no." Oh the grin that made a catastrophe of his best efforts at serious participant. It was all devil, and his lips tucked in to keep any further quip from coming out, brows pinching down as he studied the turn of cards. And then he followed up, flipping them one by one, not surprised to see the suit mirrored, maybe, but not entirely unimpressed. "How?" requesting an explanation as he paused for another sluf of beer.

Smirking against the drink, she waited for him to go through his cards before offering her deck to him. "You can touch it now, if you want. Since you're eager." Chuckling. How?, he had asked. "Luck," she answered. As if that explained anything. Shae allowed a pause to stretch before elaborating. "Probability, chance. These are things that can be manipulated. There's always a balance to pay at some point, but luck can be changed. The improbable made probable. Usually in the space of a moment. The cutting a deck here rather than there. Even folding of cards versus a skipping of a few in a bridge. Hexed fortune borrows luck from someone or sometime other than the present. The counterpart, of course, being hexed misfortune. Simple, but potentially devastating when applied with deliberate care, in either case."

"You read that as eager, huh? I need to work on my game, then. No one likes an over-eager hand where decks are concerned." He slanted a look at her that became a Look, as if the luck part was obvious and he was more interested in how it was manipulated. His eyes narrowed as she continued and threw balance and hexes into the conversational mix. It called to mind a previous conversation they'd had. Another clarification was required, and it might seem ridiculous to her, but maybe things were dawning on him in a way they hadn't prior. "You're equating Luck with probability and chance, two quantifiable things equated with a concept that, on the surface, seems to defy quantification." He'd get to the rest in a minute.

"Do you prefer determined? Confident?" Alternatives offered with ill-concealed humor. Yes, she was expecting that Look. Unfortunately she didn't have too much to offer him. "I read a study on the subset of magic based around chance. It was maddening. Don't ask me to try and explain exactly how it works, because I can't. I know the rules, and those are intimidating enough. There will be an exchange. Either one you force or one you bear. Is it hard to quantify luck? Yes." Here she gestured to the cards. "Hard to deny the quantifiable effects, though."

"Confident rather than over-eager yes, most of the time. Eager has its place though, sure...." now he was just getting off-track and he cut himself off with another short-lived grin and shake of his head. He was somewhat surprised that she couldn't explain how it worked, because he'd rarely known her to be without a finite answer or at least strong leanings in one way or another. But here he disagreed, too, perhaps obstinately as if he could not quite resolve Luck as being on the same playing field as chance and probability. In the end, however, he decided to keep his mouth shut, for the intention of this endeavor was not to spark a debate on the true nature of Luck and what represented it, but to show how things could be manipulated, and so he touched on another point of interest instead. "And this manipulation is somehow related to the mark you put upon me?" Another invitation for expansion in his tone.

The woman said she could not explain it exactly, which of course didn't mean she didn't have an opinion, or at least an educated guess. Shae without an opinion, perish the thought. Nor was she willing to use any magic without at least a foundation of understanding on the risks involved. The rules she mentioned she understood were such a baseline knowledge, and as he left a wide road for expansion with his question, she opted to share a few more of her insights. "Somehow, yes. The mark I gave you makes things easier, but it's not necessary. This hex -- if capable of taking effect -- allows one to briefly control their own luck. That is, if you care to quantify luck as being chance acting in favor of or against you. Some force in the universe normally outside your control." Tapping the deck for emphasis. "I wanted this to work, my will to power bent chance to my purpose within the limits of the hex. Somewhere inside of you, you must have wanted to see it too, like an unspoken agreement, or else it wouldn't have manifested so cleanly. That's the risk to such fortunes. The mark merely makes it easier for me to impart that brief control to you and those around you, with greater range and efficacy." Ally or thrall, that scar was an extension of her intent.

He had more questions. Oh how the tables had turned. "So if for some reason I hadn't had an inclination to see the same thing. As in, we did not agree whether outwardly or inwardly--or maybe I even had a strong desire to see you fail--would it still have worked?" That first, then. "And you're also saying you could impart this control without the mark. In essence, you're the power source, yeah? So if you're co-writing me in on this 'loan,' when it comes time to collect the debt, are you the one held responsible? Or am I?"

"If for some reason you hadn't, then it would have become a contest of will. If our will was evenly matched, then there might be a partial success in both directions. Maybe. It's strangely situational. Luck can't be perfectly controlled, after all." That he had questions didn't phase her. Answers were offered without hesitation, trusting. "That's correct, yes. Range is a factor, as is awareness and resistance. Someone might reject the offer of fortune, though few have. Someone would obviously resist a hex of misfortune, or try to. Again: a battle of will, and I have ways to weaken will." Consuming a measure of beer, she took a brief pause before continuing. "In essence. The debt is mine unless the one I am -- as you say -- loaning it to accepts it knowingly. Because the debt is mine, the duration is limited to however long I maintain it. Which, for the sake of avoiding excessive repercussions, isn't long. Seconds. Minutes." Rueful smile. "The longest was the very day I came here. Maybe that was a factor."

Buttons, Part 1
Dockside, Ketch's Apartment, Rooftop, 09/05/15

It was nowhere near a lush oasis, but the rooftop of Ketch's building boasted the same approximation of rustic comfort that the interior of the building did. Scattered among the chimneys and pipes that rose from the flat, gravel-covered roof were groupings of eclectic seating, tables consisting of upturned crates, a few plants that were mostly dead. Someone had re-purposed wine bottles and thick cotton wicks as citronella torches, and Ketch had lit a few of these.

For himself, he chose a wooden adirondack chair with one arm missing. Feet were propped on a crate and a five-pack of beer (the sixth was currently resting between his thighs), a bottle of whiskey, and a stack of glasses were nestled on another beside him. Between his knuckles, a cigarette smoldered as his fingers flew over the glowing screen of his phone.

When Shae arrived it wasn't from the stairs, but quietly and over the roof itself in faded jeans and a dark plaid shirt beneath her ratty leather jacket. She hadn't been terribly far when his text message had brightened her evening. In fact, her hammock could already be seen strung between a pipe and a chimney somewhere just this side of safety at the roof's edge. Those makeshift candles gave her away first, their flames fluttering as her breeze wound through the space, and then there she was. Approaching the love seat whose back was a frayed mess next to the chair he had chosen, Shae sunk onto the sagging cushions with a smile. "Evening, you." One elbow propped upon the broken strut of the armrest to support her chin. "Thanks for the invitation. Pass me a glass?"

Ketch made no comment on the method of Shae's arrival, having perhaps anticipated her quiet method of travel or felt a tendril of her breeze pass over the back of his neck. He looked her over top to toe as was his habit to discern any number of things: demeanor, expression, fashion choices (she more than any other he associated with regularly had a style that appeared fluid, though he'd noticed that barring her performances, her wardrobe choices were mostly modest).

There was an amused slant of brows upon noting the plaid shirt she wore. Ketch looked down at his own, rolled to the elbows and in red. Back to her and then back again.

"Don't steal my lumberjack thunder," he groused with no real heat, one hand already working a glass free from the stack as she made her request. "How is it that a woman can make anything look better than a man can?"

"Lumberjack?" That familiar uptick of pitch that signaled a request for clarification. She caught that it was something to do with what she was wearing at least. Sitting up, she shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over the far armrest. "I've seen a few men about town wearing this pattern as...I think they called them kilts? I was given to understand that it had something to do with Scottish fashion. But maybe I'm confused. Are Scottish people lumberjacks? For that matter, are you half-Scottish?" One hand plucked at her own shirt, blue and black with a thin threading of silver. "To answer your question, though, I suspect that has something to do with your personal aesthetic preferences. I could, of course, always try on your shirt and we could confirm this theory of yours."

"Goddamn, that's a lot of questions," spoken with a hint of a smile. Once Shae accepted a glass, Ketch?s thumb began working around the cap of the whiskey bottle. She got a two-finger pour while he measured out one finger for himself, tossed it back, and then refilled immediately. There was a method in place.

"Lumberjacks...uh..chop down trees," he'd go with basics here. "Plaid shirts are a stereotype associated with them. I am not half Scottish and all Scottish people are not lumberjacks. It's just a general trade. Also, before you ask, I am not a lumberjack either. I'm just a guy with limited fashion sense that finds plaid not unpleasant to look at." Here he clinked the base of his glass against hers and crushed the remainder of his cigarette underfoot. "Are you offering right here and now to take your shirt off and try mine on?" He'd learned that with Shae it was important to have a clear lay of the land.

"I have more, those are just the ones I picked," clarified with a playful note of threat and a rueful smile of self awareness. Once in her possession, the glass was turned in the grip of fingers. Produced for the pour once the cork was removed. "I see. Well. I'll leave the tree chopping style to you, never fear. I wouldn't want to make you feel unoriginal." This could have been expressed as sarcasm if she had chosen to do so, but she sounded sincere. A toast of glasses and then she was sampling the rooftop refreshment. Only after she drank did she respond. "If you're really conflicted about it, why not? I might go behind the access door, perhaps," with a nod towards the aforementioned. "But whether or not I do would likely depend on the motives for your invitation. Plainly social or with purpose?"

"I imagine a space in your mind devoted entirely to questions. A thousand of them jockeying for position among the folds of grey matter. It's a very cutthroat competition," he mused with a wry grin. Ketch mirrored the progression of her glass but kept his close to his lips as she responded, brows drawing down as he began to shake his head and throw out an accusation until she continued, and then he set his glass aside entirely, steepling his fingers atop denim-clad thighs.

Eyes cut to her shrewdly, "Whether or not you go behind the access door?meaning that there is the possibility that you won't if you find my purpose appealing?" This was not unlike a game of chess, really.

"That may not be inaccurate. I've not had Antonia's experience of having someone look inside my skull to check, so we can only speculate." Her expression softened to musing and she tilted her head. "I don't hear any rattling sounds, at least." Her lips drew inward for nibbling upon as she fought off the smile that threatened at his keen interest in her answers. Her glass was tucked against the bend of her leg to free her fingers. "Few things," and she ticked them off, "whether it would amuse me, your demeanor and desire, whether your purpose is too serious for such a thing, and what I might get in return. The weight of each is variable to the moment. Oh, and how much of this I drink." Added as she picked up her glass again.

"That's because there's not much wiggle room in there," he said mildly. Her parameters did nothing to lessen either the severity of his stare or his amusement. The latter seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds, in fact, as indicated by the widening of his smile into something entirely unaffected by his usual temperance of expression.

"That's a whole hell of a lot of factors to consider. I don't know whether to attempt to address them one by one or just make an overruling statement about how goddamn complex you make flirting. You've got a tactician's approach that a brutish mentality doesn't stand a chance against."

"Very crowded." Sage nod and deadpan agreement attached to a sip of whiskey. The widening smile on his face helped her own to grow and it did so absent the constraint of her teeth this time. "In my defense, I offered without all these parameters. You're the one who wanted to analyze the offer." Using her glass to indicate him as the party responsible for the insertion of strategy. "But I will own that I can be, on occasion, inept at flirting due to over-complicating the situation in my mind. I like you, so my best advice is to go with your instincts."

"Mm," a sound of consideration as Ketch turned his glass in slow circles atop his knee. "Well, it's a good bet if you're going to wear my shirt in any capacity, even if only experimentally, what I'm really angling for is to get you topless. Now that confession probably addresses a couple of your factors, but not some of the ones I think probably really matter to you." Heel of one boot settled atop the toe of the other and he tipped his head back to study the stars before lolling a look in her direction. "In summary, though, I'll banter with you because it's entertaining, but I'd not barter with you for anything that approached serious. I'd rather that come of your own volition." Sip.

Calmly, Shae reached up a hand to undo one of the middle buttons of her shirt. Just the one. Then it was back to drinking. "So let's get to the bits that matter to me in the immediate. That purpose. Serious or not?"

The long stretch of silence that came after hung entirely on the curve of that single button. Around his glass, the grip of Ketch?s fingers loosened enough for the thick base to shift in a sideways slide until he snapped his attention away and corrected it. "Are we still talking about you taking your shirt off? Or are we talking about something else now?"

"I was referencing back to my previous question of whether or not you texting me to come drink was just for the pleasure of my company or because there was some matter you wished to speak to me about." She clarified while extending her glass in his direction for a refill.

Lamplight Dance
Early morning after the Fire and Ice Ball, WestEnd, 09/21/15

By the time they had spilled from the warm light of the diner back into the streets, the hour was bordering on absurd. Full of breakfast food, Shae had professed the need to walk off some of the evening's delights and extended the invitation to whoever might take it. The shawl of her sari dress slung over a shoulder as she cut a path in no particular direction. Fin, already full and having worked a long shift at Charlie's Bar, parted ways. Ketch was left to decide whether to accompany the Sylph or trail the Scotsman towards bed.

Gossamer fine threads caught on the breeze and made the decision for him; Ketch sent a salute off to Fin and trailed the banner in red to its mistress's shoulders, falling in step alongside the bob and weave of fabric. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, one hand raking his temple to uncover a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He pinned it between teeth and lit the end with a match from a book bearing the diner's logo on it. First exhale was a transparent film ushered away immediately, and he studied the clouds overhead wondering if it might rain.

Her step tarried long enough for him to find a place beside her meandering. Smile creeping onto her face as she reached over to tug his sleeve once in echo of the tug he had earlier given her sari. "Hello." Ketch's inquiry prompted consideration. "I did," she said at last. "There was room for a few improvements, but it was entertaining enough." Her hand fell from his sleeve. "Did you have a good evening?"

In response to Shae's tug, Ketch extended the cigarette in her direction, brows arching in question: yes, no? He'd share. "Yeah? What would you have improved upon?" Look slanted down at her discerningly as he considered the night. He'd gone quiet prior to leaving the event, unsettled by some minor irritation that food and coffee had apparently remediated. It seemed a distant thing now. "Overall, yes, I did."

The gesture hadn't been a request, but she accepted the offering for a long inhale before the cigarette was passed back into his keeping. Her slow exhale sent smoke cavorting through the shell of air that followed her like a ghostly manifestation. "I would have liked to have danced with you, I think. You were, after all, my first choice."

Ketch knew the gesture wasn't a request, he was just extending a courtesy. Back between his lips once more, the cigarette migrated from one corner of his mouth to the other as he watched the specter of dancing smoke billowing around Shae and made a mental note to inquire further about that ability sometime. For now there was an amused smile that curled higher on one side. "First choice, huh? I suppose that makes me lucky." Another inhale drawn before he pitched the cigarette into the gutter and turned them left down a quiet avenue and held out his hand, palm up. "We can fix that now. I did promise didn't I?"

Her gaze tracked the passage of the coffin nail across his lips, restraining the sudden urge to lick her own. Surprise when he disposed of it so shortly after sparking it to light transformed into flattered amusement. "Yes you did." She had intended to hold him to it. She had not expected him to come clean on his debt so soon, but she wasn't about to object. "And yes, you are. I'm a very picky woman, Ketch." Dramatic air of mock warning added as she took his hand. "Downright unreasonable."

"And bossy, too," he added, smile shading into a smirk while fingers folded around hers and his other hand skimmed the curve of her waist and settled. "It's a wonder anyone puts up with you." Firm grip pulled her feet into alignment between his as he confessed with a grin, "Off-hand I only really know the most basic steps of a few dances and then I just wing it and count on the fact that usually people are too drunk to notice." Shift in weight urged the sylph backwards into the opening count of a waltz. It was a classic, after all. There was no music to be had but for the cadence of an occasional car and the siren song of summer's crickets.

His smirk was echoed on her face, though her chin dipped to hide it. "They rarely have a choice, you see. The perks of being a wicked witch." Her gaze lifted as she stepped in at the pull of his hand, revealing eyes that glinted with humor. "I wrap the will of my chosen victim around my fingers." Said fingers, holding no spell, rose from where they had come to lay splayed upon his chest to comb through his hair before falling to rest on his shoulder. "That doesn't matter. You know I could always teach you, but I wasn't looking to perform when I asked you to dance, just to enjoy myself." Be it the pressure of his hands or the subtle lean of his torso, Shae stepped back as he guided her. A waltz, at least, transcended their cultural differences such that the sylph, already trained in court dances of her home, was able to adapt.

Ketch expected more resistance to his lead given Shae's dance with Cris (memory of Cris spinning in a circle one he'd keep fresh for his own amusement), but was pleased when she fell in step with him. "Among others, yes," Ketch winked and rotated them slowly within the invisible box sketched by feet. "You think it'd work on me? I'm pretty damn stubborn," half-serious, half-jested inquiry for the theoretical wrapping of wills. Hand splayed wide and migrated towards Shae's back, revisiting the memory of the curve of her spine with the firm pressure of fingertips. "I'd make a poor student considering I'd be far more interest in just watching you from the sidelines."

Had the mood been different, or the setting, maybe she would have challenged him for the lead. In truth, spinning Cris had been mostly a ploy to raise her own spirits. "Many others." She concurred with no sense of shame. There were perks, and there were drawbacks to balance them. "Mm. Hard to say." Playing at giving the matter serious thought. "I wouldn't want to break you." Toothy grin and a channeling of her adopted heritage.. "I like them feisty." Then a laugh as she couldn't keep up the maneater facade. "I'm sure I'd think of some way to persuade you to participate. Some sort of incentive, maybe."


Ketch tested his tenure as lead then by rocking a half step back on one heel and dipping the Sylph abruptly, hand sliding up the length of her spine to fit between the wings of shoulder blades. His smile was a smirk trying to play nice as he murmured a fraction of an inch from her jawline where he could feel the breeze rise from her skin, "I might enjoy you trying." His willfulness had no real expiration date, though there were moments when it thinned enough to be persuaded by cleverness--a trait Shae had in spades. And then they were full circle back to incentives. "Something along the lines of buttons? That sort of incentive?"

Where the momentum of a sudden drop might have tested the unwary, Shae's weight seemed to settle more gradually on the hand that supported her back. Yet another hint at a nature that defied gravity, however caged that nature may be. "You would enjoy it," reply made with easy confidence shaded wicked, hand shifting from his shoulder to the back of his neck. "Are you saying buttons will be continuously effective as an attention snaring tactic?"

This advantage against gravity was noted, though not commented on, and when he urged Shae upright, it was with the same suddenness of motion aimed to send gauzy fabric unwinding behind her when he pulled her close. "I'm not saying they wouldn't, but we've already covered that one. Something new might be in order. Unless you're lacking in creativity," rooftop words thrown back at her weeks later with an amused expression driving one brow higher on his forehead.

His intention to add motion to her attire was a success. The dip and lift, in fact, had coaxed forth something else: a laugh. A giggle really, summoned by pure enjoyment. How long had it been? Shae couldn't quite recall. Hands left their stations on his skin to nab the shawl in motion and, with a playful flip, hook it across the back of his neck. Fingers coiled in the fabric, tugging his head down closer to hers as she stepped in close to share a secret nose to nose. "I'm sure I could think of something that would interest you. I refuse to believe that the thought of dancing with me is quite so tedious."

Ketch was genuinely shocked at the giggle that spilled into the diminishing space between them. For no other reason really than the fact that he couldn't ever recall hearing such an unguarded, carefree sound from her. She, like him, seemed to more prone to short, slightly jaded chuckles or quick bursts of dry-humored laughter. It was beguiling in its own way, and he smiled something genuine for it, offering no resistance when her shawl wound round the nape of his neck. The tip of his nose brushed hers, then skimmed the plane of her cheek. Confession came easily in those confines. "It's not at all tedious. I just enjoy listening to how your mind works. It's much more devious than I initially thought." That appeared to please him.

Such sounds were for private rooftops and empty cobblestone streets. The space beneath covers on a late morning or under the shelter of a room full of distractions. Much like the smile that wasn't a smirk, it was personal. The tug of fabric loosened slightly when he seemed inclined to share the close space of his own accord. "Devious? I'll take that as a compliment. I'd hate to be completely predictable to you." Cheek to cheek, Shae swayed gently from side to side. "Now that you've confessed that it isn't a chore, you realize you have signed yourself up to more dancing debts."

A dip of his chin in a nod she'd feel against her cheek. "It was a compliment, though we've already covered your lack of predictability. That's one of those risky qualities that is incredibly attractive unless you're on the wrong end of it." Turning them one revolution to the left, Ketch guided Shae under his arm in a slow spin he arrested when her back was to him with a lock of an arm around her waist. "Is that how that works? What happened to negotiations and incentives? Just because I admit it's not a chore doesn't mean I couldn't be encouraged to perform better with the right proverbial..." he paused, reconsidering. She might not be familiar with the euphemism he'd planned on, so he searched for another instead. "...with the right motivation." Laughter there to mark a tease that may or may not have been earnest.

Rotated as she was, the sari slid from his neck to lay across her shoulder again before her back pressed flush against his chest. Turning her head to the side, Shae's murmur was like a hum in the cage of his arm. "We're negotiating two separate things at once. Dances in general and dance lessons. The first, yes that's just how that works, unless you're suggesting that being able to have me within arm's reach isn't appealing enough." Chin tilting up, her gaze cut to meet his with affected innocence. "The second involved incentives to lure you from watching the lesson to participating in it. I teach you to perform better in exchange for the motivation that you desire. Though really, you aren't as left-footed as you make yourself out to be in the first place."

"Mm," a short hum to signal he was considering her points on the matter. Perhaps not entirely convinced. "I feel like I'm stumbling into a trap with very clever bait." Not the least of which was her figure molded to his. Her affected innocence met a sly wink, one hand gliding the length of her arm to secure it to the hand wrapped around her waist before spinning her outward again. "We're still talking about dancing, right? You're not creating a metaphor for something else? In which case I might be insulted." He was debating. "Not terribly left-footed, no, but it disguises laziness well." Truth or fiction, hard to say. His expression hardly clarified.

"You feel that because you are a perceptive sort of fellow, which I rather like." Another free laugh for the outward spin, now at arms length to him. "Maybe I am." Of course she wasn't going to help the matter when she could sow a bit more playful chaos. "Does our give and take after our card game count as dancing to you? If so, my statement stands as we already agreed to more. If not... my point still stands, actually. Well done me, fantastic point. And in case you lost the point it was:" here using the rebound momentum to curl back in against his side, "that I like dancing with you and I think you should indulge me in the future since you don't seem to be having a terrible time."

"Shit," a long-suffering exhale to mark the sound of defeat. And if that wasn't enough, well, Shae went ahead and congratulated herself. He was not going to bolster her ego further, though he turned a wry smile upon her and bumped soundly against her when she drew in alongside him. "I think that we are dancing constantly, metaphorically speaking. And there are a lot of metaphors to choose from, really. I'd toast your skill in all the varying options, but I don't have a drink." Something he'd probably soon guide them towards rectifying. "But yes, I'll indulge you..." hand ascending from her waist to follow a strand of hair from root to tip. "...so long as I'm not having a terrible time." He smiled like a bastard, then.

The hip check earned a grin as much as his curse and sigh did. "All the reason to keep it up. You're a good dance partner, metaphorically speaking." Despite the lack of a toast, Shae bobbed a quick curtsy to acknowledge his compliment. The hand passing through her hair got her to pause. Not from discomfort, mind you, but to enjoy the sensation. "Do let me know if I fail to keep you entertained." Drawled sarcastically. A tone at odds with the way she had leaned into his hand. "Stars forbid you be bored." Then, impulsively, she leaned forward to sketch a kiss against his jaw. "Want to go get a nightcap?"

Low Key Degenerate, Part 2

The door swung wide and there was Ketch Creeley, still wearing the smirk that '*** you, Creeley' had carved in place of a more welcoming smile. For that sentiment, Shae would have to look to his eyes, which held a warmth for the Sylph that brightened further when lighting upon the milkshakes she carried. "See, I didn't rule out you drinking my milkshake, too. I'm happy to see it survived the trip and the sarcasm." He leaned one shoulder into the door and gestured her inside, cursory glance afforded to her wardrobe choice--enough to ensure it met the prescribed requirements previously discussed. He was in mismatched shades of black, a zippered hoodie being the more faded relic of his nighttime jaunts. But only because the jeans were probably washed less frequently.

Shae's gold eyes were points of predatory light beneath the shade of a hood, black hair down loose over the front of a black hoodie emblazoned with a sideways eye down the center. Supple leather hugged her legs before disappearing into practical boots. Pale skin had been hidden save for fingers with darkly shaded nails. Stepping into the light of his apartment, the faceless hooligan lost her shadow, and her grin was visible. "I considered it, but I figured three milkshakes would make running uncomfortable." The full beverage was handed over to him, the other mint green concoction was less by a third. Hand free, Shae pushed the hood back to rest on her shoulders. "Well, am I presentable for the outing?"

Cursory glance grew more appreciative behind Shae's back as she preceded him into the apartment. Leather. That was unexpected, though certainly not an unwelcome wardrobe choice. Ketch wasn't a man that noticed such things often, but there was no denying the appeal of a woman's figure encased in a texture that provoked visions of what it'd be like to peel it off. The milkshake straw briefly paused mid-air in homage and then resumed its trajectory before Shae might turn around and be the wiser for the length of his distracted blunder. He bypassed her first comment altogether. Might not have even heard it. He kicked the door closed behind him and trailed a certain distance after her. "Very much." Understatement. He thought maybe he should try again. "Is leather a choice you often make in the cooler months?" His subtlety was as terrible as he thought it was, most likely.

He was trailing her as far as his kitchen where Shae was hopping up to take a seat on the counter between sips of milkshake. If she was alert to his lingering inspection or his lapse in conversation, she didn't immediately call him out on it. At least, not verbally. Slow, satisfied smile made a wreck of what was an otherwise impressively nonchalant tone. "When it suits me to. Why? Are you fond of leather? I find I like the smell and the feel of the texture, both." The idle brush of fingers up the outside of her thigh suggested she'd seen through that inquiry.

"I am. I think I'd forgotten I was," he admitted, fitting a hip against the supporting cabinets beside her as he leaned his forearms on the countertop with the shake volleyed back and forth over the marble between his hands. He ducked to take a sip and then ran the tip of his pinky along the outside of her thigh as if testing the texture stretched tight over the muscle beneath it. He'd find her eyes eventually. "Where I grew up it wasn't a fashion choice in most vocabularies unless the person was a biker, and even then, it was still usually too goddamn hot outside to look upon someone wearing it with anything other than pity." Now he found those shades of gold ceding to the lashes that framed them. He winked. That was to let her know he was also in on his own transparency.

Trail of pinky caught her interest during a moment of holding the straw to her shake between her lips. Listening to his response with curious interest, his wink was the catalyst for another grin. "No need to pity me, the sun is down and the temperature is falling by the day. We've established I am not only appropriately but appreciatively attired." Here a small bit of preening via a hand smoothing leather over one knee. "I'm no biker, but I imagine you'll forgive me my stylistic choices given your preferences." Not that she gave a damn, generally, if anyone didn't. "What's our itinerary for the evening?"

"You need no forgiveness from me. Not when I'm the one gaining. Visually, at least." The intensity of his focus had managed to latch onto a single black thread that'd loosened along an outer seam. Corner of his pinky smoothed it down once before he withdrew his hand and turned away to rummage in a kitchen cabinet for a bottle of whiskey. He spoke as he refilled his flask, "Itinerary is simple. We're going to take that bag with us," a pause as he gestured with the mouth of the bottle in the direction of a well-worn backpack slouching by the door, "and go to a spot I've been eyeing for awhile. Then I hand you a can of paint and turn you loose. In a nutshell." The bottle and flask were both capped, former returned back to the shelf, and the latter shoved in its usual backseat position of his jeans. "Sound good? Questions, concerns, comments, disputes?"

The retreat of his hand was probably in the best interest of her ability to focus on the plans for the evening. Turning her head, her gaze followed to the indicated bag before bouncing back to him. "Sounds good." Confirmed with warmth. The rest of her shake was disappearing quick enough. "I can carry it if you want to finish your shake as we walk. No questions at the moment. No concerns. One comment: Thanks for letting me come with. Can't imagine any disputes at the present time, but I live in anticipation."

With hands free and pockets full, he picked up his shake and drained a fourth of it in stops and starts. Not all that elegant, but warranted in an effort to avoid brain freeze. Then he stuck it in the freezer for later and turned, giving her thigh a quick squeeze as a short bark of laughter broke through a grin. "How literal of you. Don't thank me until we're through, though. Never know. I might end up owing you an apology." He waved off her offer to carry the bag, shouldering it in a clatter of metal canisters as he opened the door. "I'm ready if you are."

Shae extracted herself from her perch on his counter post-squeeze. The death rattle of whipped cream and air was prelude to her dropping her empty travel cup in his trash can. "I can appreciate that you were well intentioned at the start, even if I might want to dangle you off a roof later on." Sly smile and a bump of her hip to his as she slipped out the door. No sense fighting him for this passageway when he had to lock up. "Roof or streets?" Pointing to the stairwell. Up or down?

"I usually start off well intentioned. Sometimes it just gets twisted up in the middle," sly hint of a smile as he fit key to lock and pulled the door shut behind him. "We'll walk, actually. This location requires fairly minimal climbing. Thought I'd start you off easy." Once the door was secured and the key shoved deep in his pocket, he adjusted the shoulder strap on the bag and opened the door to the stairwell with a nudge of his knee. "After you," he said, taming his expression into something approaching gentlemanly concern.

Shae had the excuse of a response to pause in the doorway. "Has Cris not mentioned to you the sort of walks I take? I'd be willing to wager that I could keep up with whatever climbing you might challenge me with." Hand grabbed the bar on the door to push it wider. "Wouldn't want the bag to get caught. Really I should be helping you avoid obstacles." Innocent suggestion, so said her tone, as he was the one encumbered.

"Cris doesn't mention much of anything to me, really." The nature of their relationship was one of mutual, mostly comfortable silences occasionally interspersed with poignant looks suggesting a shared agreement on some topic or another. But it worked. "I'm not doubting your ability to keep up, really, so much as I'm just trying to find soft spots to poke at. I'll cross that one off the list." He had not, however, budged from his position at the door, even with her hand crowding the bar. He played his trump card with unabashedly. "You go through this door second and I don't get to enjoy this rare, leather-encased view of your ass. Are you cruel enough to deny me that simple pleasure?"

"That's true. I don't recall either of you having anything resembling a 'chat'." Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure they classified as friends. Did they? They shared company with mutual acquaintances but perhaps she'd been misreading their mutual stoicism for something else. Musing to herself before waving a hand. "Said you were starting me off easy, just wanted to clarify that I didn't expect you to slow down on my account." Followed by a bark of laughter for his 'trump card' and a grin. "I seem to recall you deliberately not looking at my ass at the clinic. Have we completely abandoned subtle now? Will you be announcing each time you are admiring the curve of my backside that I might angle it into better lighting?" Arching a brow as she playfully turned to do just that in the door frame.

"We have on a number of occasions, just not in the usual haunts," meaning the Inn or Teas where the eyes and ears were many and completely unsuitable for any topic requiring privacy. And both Ketch and Cris highly valued their privacy. But a few chats didn't make for a friendship, either, and Ketch was still not entirely sure where he'd assign Cris in his small coterie of confidants, but there was no doubt he'd been one on an occasion or two. A brief frown was replaced by an amused hitch of a brow. "The abandonment of subtle has a purpose in this case, and as far as the clinic is concerned, that was prior to seeing said ass unclothed, which is an all around game changer. So no, I will not be announcing it every time I take a second to admire it, but neither do I feel the need to hide it." Example made as soon as she angled her rear into the light when his gaze dropped to it and he delivered a sharp, satisfying smack to the curve of it that stung his hand if she didn't jump out of the way. Either way, he was hoping one or the other would get her through the door.

Taxonomy, Part 1
The evening after Fright Night '15

Ketch veered off before arriving at the threshold to his room to make a little side trip back into the kitchen. Once a bottle of whiskey and two glasses were acquired (because his generosity always included keeping his guests well lubricated with alcohol), he wandered back to the room. Bottle and glasses were set on a side table and he even went so far as to pass a hand over the rumple of bedclothes to smooth them before sitting atop them cross legged as he reached into the drawer of the same side table and withdrew a notebook, papers, and a baggie of green. That was another habit of the Scot's that'd rubbed off on him.

Likely it was the bottle she'd absconded with from the party. Else that bottle had now joined his personal collection to be revisited at a later date. Shae wasn't about to object, either way. She poured them drinks in her own time while he went about the rest of his nightly ritual. Glass in hand, Shae crawled onto the bed behind him to lay on her stomach and observe. A conversation earlier that week with Lucy prompted her next question as a prelude to her explanation. "Ketch you...you know what I am, don't you?"

Visually, his focus was centered on the assemblage happening atop the notebook propped on his lap, but he was otherwise tuned into Shae as she settled onto her stomach. Tip of his tongue down the length of the tightly rolled cylinder and he sealed it with a drift of flame from his zippo following before he cut a look over at her with a musing half smile, taming the instinct to tease by answering more honestly. "I have my guesses. Your breeze and a couple of other observations made me think elemental."

"Sylph." Supplying the name for him quietly. "It's something like an elemental, yes. Something like a Fae. The definitions change from world to world, I've found. There was a good part of my life where I didn't have a name for it." Necessary exposition was delivered as succinctly as possible. "I wasn't afforded any guidance where my nature was concerned. My relationship with Fox was born from necessity, as a result. I searched for a long time, but I found no one with answers on my world. Then I came here." A pause. A sip from her glass. "I found another one. Recently, with the guidance of mutual acquaintance, I've started to talk to that other in the hopes of gaining insight from their family. It's...it's important to me. Very much so."

A slow nod, "consider yourself officially categorized then." Brief dance of a smile along one corner of his mouth, but he quieted as she continued, listening while his accoutrements were returned to the drawer and he picked up the glass instead, nestling it atop his knee after taking a sip. "Important to you generally, as in terms of lineage, history, etcetera, or is there a more specific reason?"

"Those things, yes, but more importantly: to understand how to control the things that feed into my 'category'. At present I subsist on stopgap measures and imperfect solutions. It's dangerous because it could fail. I'm dangerous. It would give me peace of mind to find a manner of control that was solely within my power and not reliant on someone else." The witch wasn't smiling or joking for this explanation, but she was drinking. "The ones I'm talking to will be able to help me or they won't. They may rule me as a threat. They may simply deny my request. Or they may ask for more in return than I am free to give." As strongly as she craved the information, there were limits.

Ketch's brow furrowed as he listened to the influx of information. "What do you mean manner of control that is not reliant upon someone else?" Invitation for expansion there before he was tempted too far into making assumptions. "This other Sylph you spoke to..was there any indication at the time that they might rule you as a threat. And what is it that you might have that they'd want in return that'd be beyond what you'd give freely?" He was trying to get a clearer picture of the lay of the land, though he might have been asking the wrong questions.

"Hnn." Shae considered how to answer his questions in a way that wouldn't make things more confusing. The latter two were easier, so she started there. "Not concretely. It's a given in any situation where an outsider is inquiring about information that there's a chance that said outsider could be ruled as more troublesome, more of a risk than they are worth. As for what they might want? I have no idea. I'm trying to mentally cover my bases here." And the witch had been asked to do some things in her life that she frequently shuddered to reflect upon. "They haven't asked anything of me yet. They haven't even decided if I can be trusted. But information of that sort is rarely free. Especially when that information presents risk to more than just the one who seeks it."

"And what about the manner of control that's not reliant upon someone else." Gentle vocal prod for the question she'd skipped. "You said until recently you'd not come across any other of your kind here and now you've spoken to one but you imply there are others in association with this one. How many, do you know?"

"Relatives, not quite the same, but relatives. Not related to me, that is. Related to the Sylph I found. I don't know how large their family is. I didn't ask. They don't advertise it so I've only been able to identify a few of them." Shae shifted onto her side to stare down into her glass. Silence, and then: "I currently need help to keep examples of my heritage from manifesting in a manner that might cause damage. Fox helps."

"And any idea when you'll speak with the one representative again?" By this point, Ketch had finished off his first glass of whiskey and leaned to pour himself a second, topping off Shae's glass unbidden while he was at it. "Cause damage how? Give me an example?"

"Soon, perhaps. I'm going to talk to my intermediary first. Fill him in. Get his take and see what he suggests. I have another option, but I'm not going to explore that until I've exhausted this one. It's riskier. And there are other things going on right now that require my attention." Here a nod of thanks for the refill. "An example...you know the damage a violent storm can do, don't you? Tornadoes? Hurricanes? That's an example."

"Mm," a thoughtful nod that gave way to another sip from his glass, and then a frown as she continued. "So you're prone at any moment to setting off a cataclysmic weather event, or does it have to be triggered?"

"It's not spontaneous, if that's what you're asking." Shae rolled onto her back, balancing the glass on her stomach and tucking an arm behind her head. "It responds to certain stimuli. Negative emotions on a deeper scale. Not every frown is a reason to sound the alarm. Things can build up over time. Like pressure in a bottle. Fox helps bleed it off. If he's not close enough or able to mitigate, that's when problems arise. I can usually sense when I'm losing control. Usually. There are warning signs."

Paranoia is Only Human
11/14/15, After the Fists Tourney

Text to Ketch: I know I told you that you were off the hook, but I've had a craving since you mentioned milkshakes last night.

Text to Shae: Let's get one.

Text to Ketch: Do you want to go pester Nancy?
Text to Ketch: I could meet you there.

Text to Shae: Sounds like a plan.

True to her word, Shae was lingering outside the Midnight Diner when Ketch arrived. Fox was with her that evening, sitting off to the side. The woman, herself, was leaned against the front glass of the diner. Hands tucked into the pockets of a Royal Rabble leather jacket. Black hair hung wavy and loose, stirred in her breeze. Boots crossed at the ankle in her lean. They stretched upward beneath the legs of her jeans. Denim was a new experience for Shae, as it had not existed where she came from, but she found herself drawn to the practicality of it and had incorporated it into her wardrobe readily. Gold eyes were drawn skyward, distracted. Fox would be the first to notice an approach, but he wasn't inclined to alert Shae.

They hadn't specified a time, but Ketch left the apartment shortly after texting Shae, meaning he was lagging only a little. Spying Fox first, he nodded an acknowledgement that turned into a longer look when he realized that aside from the night previous at the fights, he hadn't seen Fox around much lately. Shae was subject to his scrutiny next, though it was a more passive affair, lingering briefly in appreciation for the way denim hugged her curves. Didn't even have to be surreptitious about it either since her head was tipped skyward. "You going to open the door for me or what?" Hello. Maybe he was trying a little reverse psychology. He was dressed similarly in jeans, though his coat wasn't made of leather, but weather beaten cotton canvas in barn jacket lines, loose and comfortable.

The canid nodded in return and weathered Ketch's curious stare without complaint. As Ketch's voice reached her, the corner of Shae's lips twitched upwards. "I realize living with Fin may have loosened your manners, but you're supposed to hold the door for a lady. Not the other way around." Hi there. Didn't stop her from pushing away from her lean, but she wasn't crossing for the door. Instead, she was approaching him directly. Fingers reached out for his jacket. A light grip to snare him in place so she could favor him with a smile. "You can be forgiven though, what with the distinct lack of a 'lady' in your life." Tug at his collar, rise to the balls of her feet, Shae greeted Ketch with the kiss Taneth had suggested she bequeath to the winner the night prior. A hint of steam, a touch of enthusiasm, and just a nibble before she broke away. "How was the sleepover?"

"Ah, maybe so," he said congenially and was reaching for the door when Shae invaded and rose on the tips of her toes. One hand fell to the knob and settled there while the other assisted her upward arc by hooking through the back loop of her jeans. He'd missed Taneth's suggestion last night, but he certainly wasn't protesting, lips warm on hers in spite of the temperature, and lingering, tolerant of the nibble that followed and left him with a quirk of a smile. "You think a lady in my life would cure me? I think I'm too far gone." The door opened and a wall of manufactured heat rushed them. Ketch gestured her inside. "There were no pillow fights, late night gossiping or gallons of ice cream. Taneth never really stirred. I don't think she likes me much. But she adores Fin."

"She seemed to think I knew about you being more prone to 'snuggles' than violence." Maybe it was that kiss she'd stolen, but Shae didn't protest to heading in first tonight. "Cianan looked scandalized when she suggested I kiss you if you won the match.? Beat. ?I don't feel so bad about missing the sleepover, then. Fox would have just gone on and on about Taneth." Speaking of Fox, the critter was darting inside. "As for a lady in your life? I doubt that could cure you. You don't need a lady. You need someone who won't swoon at the sight of blood." That transitioned right into: "Hi Nancy. Nancy strikes me as the sort of woman able to cure you. She's got that 'too smart to tolerate your nonsense' vibe."

Ketch made a slight face, the expression being one of surprise crossed with some sort of mild...dubiousness maybe? "Cuddling and snuggling. Not my fort?." Another bone of contention in past relationships, though he didn't bring it up at the moment, laughing, instead, when she mentioned Cianan. "I can't imagine Cianan actually being scandalized about anything." Once Shae swept in first, Ketch tamed the smugness in his expression in favor of eyeing Nancy, who greeted Shae with a smile and Ketch with a scowl that lacked power due to the twitch at the corners of her mouth. "But dumb enough to keep letting this asshole in my restaurant, though," she groused as she pulled two menus from the stack at the hostess stand, "Needing these tonight?"

Ketch waved off the menus, "Just milkshakes tonight, I think," glance over to Shae to confirm. And then back to Nancy. "Your consideration for your customers is damn touching." He grinned broadly and ducked a menu Nancy winged in his direction.

"No, your forte is more 'collapsed in a messy heap' followed by nodding off. And I have no objections." Breezy smile. "Cianan can be quite theatrical when he wants to be. It's when he stops being over the top and dramatic that you need to really be on your guard." Because then he's either going to kill you or has something serious to say. "Milkshakes and... do you have any meat stew?" Fox hadn't been back to gorge himself on leftovers, having spent the day out with Shae. As a result, he'd worked up an appetite. The horseplay between the diner owner and Ketch cemented the warm smile on Shae's face.

"That is--" head tipped to the side as if he might dispute her assessment, but then found he couldn't and ended up laughing shortly instead, "about right, really." He listened to her commentary on Ci while running backwards through his memory to different instances in the drow's presence, nodding finally when he'd decided that she was, in fact, correct.

Nancy looked down at Fox, unruffled by his presence and nodded, "Got something I think will do the trick." With that, she vanished into the kitchen, and no sooner had Ketch leaned on the hostess stand than she barked out, "Get off my stand, Creeley." She just knew. Ketch smiled widely at Shae, easing off the podium as he explained, "It's something like her throne."

"I should hope I know you a little bit by now. Just a little." Hands slipped back into her pockets as she waited for the return of Nancy who, with her easy acceptance of Fox, had climbed in Shae's regard. Soft laugh escaped at the psychic berating of Ketch's lean. "Don't disrespect a queen in her own kingdom, Creeley." Playful scolding without any real fire. "I like her." Nodding in the direction of Nancy's departure. "Thanks for showing me this place."

"You do. More than a little, really." And more than many others. By now time and repetition had made at least his habits and tendencies accessible, even if he could still be tight-lipped about other things. Eyes followed the direction of Shae's nod as if he might see Nancy bustling in the kitchen through the wall, a softer smile illuminating his features then. "She's alright." Which, all things considered, was high praise, and he nodded a dismissal of Shae's gratitude afterwards, turning the conversation to something that'd been on his mind last night. "Were you upset about your fight last night? The air.." he trailed off, assuming she'd pick up on the context, the static he'd felt nearby.

Shae was using Nancy's absence to satisfy a curiosity about what lurked on the worker side of a hostess stand. Looking but not touching. The table map brought out a smile when she realized it what it was. Ketch's high praise passed without teasing or much reaction, really. The playful antagonism between the two had left it as a foregone conclusion in the sylph's mind. His question, however, did draw out an expression. Mild surprise. "Ah. Not exactly. Yes, losing like that was disappointing, but it wasn't the reason for..." Shae trailed off, extracting a hand from her pocket to gesture at nothing in particular. "My opponent. Under other circumstances I'm not sure how...civil I could have been."

He'd missed a bulk of her fight, but now found himself once again revisiting memory trying to recall something that might have set her off, but conversation nearby had overpowered what he might have heard from the rings. "You'll have to fill me in, then, sounds like I missed something."

"Oh, no. There wasn't anything provocative. It's just...there's an air about him that smelled of age and death. I'm familiar with it, and it tends to stir memories of an unsavory nature. Things that live when they should not. I've developed a strong distaste." Gold eyes flickered about the diner, unwilling to settle. Fox yawned wide and sat on her foot. "There are some exceptions. Very rare ones." Her memory detoured to one blonde vampire in particular, a train she forcibly derailed before it could sidestep and linger on another.

"Mm," a measured response as he took that in, but he'd not gotten close enough to the being in question, and it was possible he might not have made the same deduction Shae had, or at least to the degree she had. She seemed to be more naturally in tune with others that way, whereas for him fine discernment required more involved effort on his part. "That whole team is," hands broke apart in a vague gesture, unquantifiable. He searched for a good word, settled for an approximation, "somewhat unsettling, I guess. Maybe it's the conglomerate effect."

The kitchen door swung open and Nancy reappeared, two shakes on the tray she carried and stew in a lidded carton. "Wasn't sure if you wanted these for here or to go, so I put them in carryouts," she said as she handed off the items. Ketch took his milkshake and dug into his pocket for some coins to trade her.

It had not been the first time she'd faced Xanth. This second brush had only added to her suspicions. Observations never ceased for Shae. "Your opponent did nothing to help my unease, truth be told. What with his talk of consuming you and the way he shed parts of himself without care." Quiet addition to his own assessment. Then there was Nancy on the return. The conversation had Shae shifting in place. "We can sit here or-- I don't care if we wander, but I think I'd like to find someplace warm to settle."

"Maybe the city has jaded me, or maybe it's just that comments like that don't provoke me as much as an action would. This place is full of talk, threats. I haven't met the follow through yet. Could be keeping a low profile, or could be sheer luck," a glimmer of a smile, and then he cast a quick look around the diner. It wasn't overly populated, plenty of free space and warm air circulating. "Here's fine." He lead them in the direction of a booth situated out of the way of the entrance to avoid the potential draft and settled, kicking his feet up on the opposite bench. "It's hard to know how to assess threats here, really, so many different creatures and abilities. I guess I tend to just...let it ride unless it's some clear and present danger." A live and let live policy, more or less.

Shae was a walking draft, but at least her air adjusted to the warmth of the interior. "It's my wish that your luck continue." Added as she followed him towards the booth he'd singled out as a likely candidate. Fox was the first to jump onto the bench seat. Leaping over Ketch's boots to claim a stretch of cushioned pleather for himself. She slid in after him. Her milkshake was set down so that she might set up her familiar's meal. "I lean towards reactionary, but I keep a long memory. Unless something presents, as you say, clear and present danger, it will be filed away. Like Xanth and his team. Do I believe they mean any of us harm? Not in the immediate. I won't forget who and what they seem to be, though." Small shrug. "My concern was tied to the matter I was discussing with you before. If my opponent is what I believe him to be, he'd be an ideal candidate for recruitment by a foothold venture from my world."

He adjusted his posture slightly as Fox made himself comfortable and Shae settled in, fingers loose around the rim of his cup, though he didn't test the shake yet, only plucked at the straw a couple of times as he mulled her words. "Then that?s more problematic, yeah. Sounds like it'd require a lot of calculation to pull off, though; doesn't seem like something someone would bother with unless you were a very valuable acquisition and very sorely missed in your homeland." Sorely missed was a euphemism, but he figured she'd catch his drift. "Feeling like you're constantly at risk for being discovered is no way to live either, though."

"I think you may have misunderstood my concerns." Shae spoke after a moment's study of his face. "I don't anticipate being dragged back where I came from. That's not a fear of mine. I chose not to return to my world for another reason. There are things and people from my world that need to stay there. That's the crux of it. This place would be a rich hunting ground for them. A new source of power to fuel despair both where I came from and here. I do not want them to know this place exists. This point in space that can access so many others. So many souls." Fox placed two paws on the table and lowered his muzzle to partake in the serving of meaty stew Shae had arranged for him.

"So I did," he agreed, and lapsed into silence again to let the weight of her words turn over and settle in his mind. His experience was limited to two realms, and he couldn't imagine the former to ever be a real threat to the latter, so it was somewhat difficult for him to put himself in her position. "This place is not without its own defenses, though, you know. Being such a nexus alone is a strength," he said at last. And then he got mildly distracted by Fox's method of eating which (aside from the fact that his muzzle was in the bowl), was just a little too human for him to overlook. He stared for a few seconds and then looked away.

"That's alright, really. I've a weakness when it comes to properly articulating the things that keep me up at night." Her smile was of the disarming variety, self deprecating as she took the first sip of her chocolate shake. She'd not requested a specific flavor, but Nancy had remembered. It was a comfort. "The sheer variety of people collected here adds weight to your point. Technologies and magics I'd never seen before, let alone considered. But I still see vulnerabilities. Points of weakness. Take these fires, for example. A rash of arson that lingers." Her nose wrinkled once. Then, two beats later, she had a question of her own. "Does he disturb you?"

"I do, too," a faint smile, slightly crooked. It wasn't so much a weakness for articulating, however, as it was just an outright act of avoidance. When Shae made a move on her shake, that seemed to prompt him towards his own, straw fidgeting given up as he leaned forward for a sip. Milkshakes and heavy conversation. The juxtaposition amused him. "You know, honestly I'm sometimes surprised chaos is not more prevalent. Crime's fairly frequent, but outright chaos, rioting, arson, anarchy, things like that seem less common until recently. As if the general undercurrent of lawlessness here is some paradoxical boundary." Though if he thought a little harder on it, maybe it wasn't so paradoxical after all. Another glance over at Fox when she caught onto his staring and he shook his head. "Not at all. Just caught me off guard. The paws on the table. Very humanesque."

Baking Bad, Part 2

In the bag, should he take a peek, were buttons. Of a sort that might be found on a man's plaid shirt in a simple, brushed steel. They might even look familiar, for all that he'd spent an evening staring at her fingers playing with them between rounds of cards. Three in total lay at the bottom of the small parcel of black velvet. Something about them begged to be touched. It had taken some weeks to manage just those three, and now her eyes cut to and from his face. "They are meant...they..." Sigh. "Memories. They will keep a specific memory for you, but you've got to decide which one you want them to hold before you touch them. They can only hold one each. If you ever forget, you can touch that one. It will return to you, fresh as the day. You can reexamine it until you sleep in detail. It can't show you things you never knew, but it can return things that you lost. Or thought you did."

Ketch did remember the buttons. Well, in fact: how the surface slid beneath his fingers, how her skin had warmed them. And what came after, too. They were objects of memory in their own right; even without magic, he'd only have to look at them to recall that night, but she continued, and he listened, humor ebbing slowly from his expression and replaced with some neutral stand-in of expression. Something about her explanation sunk a hook in his thoughts and dragged them deeper beneath the surface than he intended to go in anyone else's presence. He found himself struggling for something to say, fingers sketching over the nap of the velvet bag as if restless, though that was far from the case. Gaze dipped over to her, and then away, circulated through their surroundings until he cleared his throat like the gesture would reset his skewed sense of internal balance. He wanted to say something both clever and grateful, but all that came out was a stoic, "Thank you."

While she explained, she set aside her slice of cake. Nerves she suppressed meant her appetite had briefly fled. Hands reached for the counter behind her to grip the edge that her back leaned against. His reaction was difficult for her to read. Ketch out of balance was such a rarity that she still didn't have a firm grasp on its meaning in any given situation, especially this one. His stoic expression of thanks could have meant a thousand things, and her mind raced through a fair number of possibilities before she forcibly aborted the thought process. The fact that he hadn't thrown the bag back in her face or stared at her blankly were probably good things, she told herself. Even so, the details of his motions that she counted between her own heartbeats left her chest feeling oddly tight. "You're welcome." There was none of her usual confidence, what remained was simple, genuine intent.

He was supposed to say something more, he felt, or take an action. Any action. He knew this part of social interaction, but his synapses were misfiring, his arms rendered as leaden as the corners of his mouth that twitched trying to shape a better reply than the one he'd given before. At last he found a confession, "I've traded some memories before. For favors. Memories are...****..." he trailed off, pushing from the counter only to lean back against it again, and reach for the bottle in order to top off a nearly full glass of whiskey. "Now I'm making you feel like you made a wrong step or that I'm not grateful, and you haven't, and I am. It's just a touchy subject for me and I'm pretty **** with being forthcoming about stuff like that." A long exhale subsided around the rim of his glass, half the overfilled contents reduced in a swallow.

Fingers gripped at the counter and she put a number to her breaths before she mustered a shy reply. "You mentioned one occasion. With your ex." She had expressed in that moment her own attitudes on such a trade, even if she understood why he had ultimately chosen to do so. "And it reminded me of our conversation outside the clinic." The one where he'd mentioned his fear of losing himself like his grandfather. "I know it might have been a bit presumptuous of me but..." I wanted to show you that I've been paying attention and what it means. The sentence didn't get finished, but the way she looked at him conveyed a portion of what went unsaid. Ketch was far from an open book. The few things he had judged her deserving to know were all she could cling to, and so she did. Stiff fingers unbent from their grip on the counter to fetch her own drink and hide her face behind the sipping of it.

"It wasn't presumptuous, it was--" a perfectly honed arrow to his psyche, but he couldn't say that. "--astute, and thoughtful. I'm just.." a frown crafted of his own internal characterization. "It just caught me off guard is all," his tone taking on a dismissiveness as the compartments opened and he dropped his thoughts in by the handful and tucked them away until his expression smoothed and his grip on the glass relaxed in increments. "Thank you," he said again, and this time there was earnestness in it. "I will use them well if I need to."

The smile she constructed in response contained a small measure of relief after a larger sip of whiskey that hid a complicated first draft of the curve of her lips. Even after, something lingered in the back of her eyes. She chose to believe his earnest second attempt and the nudge of her boot to his shin was an invitation to move on from a subject that had caused him more discomfort than she had intended. Her voice becoming lighthearted. "Enjoy the cake too. I don't plan to slave like that for your sake for at least another year."

If he'd caught a glimpse of that first draft, he didn't intend to linger on it long, deeming the second draft acceptable enough to loosen the tension from his shoulders further. The nudge of her boot to his shin was met with return fire via the outer edge of his foot, which knocked lightly just below her knee. "You'd do it again, huh? That's some dedication right there. Or just stubbornness, knowing you. I kind of hope your lettering doesn't improve much. Being a 'jerh' has a unique appeal."

"Next year I might get ambitious. Aim for 'jack***' instead of 'jerh'. That's a whole three extra letters. Assuming I think you deserve a cake." Affecting a tone of distant judgment. Tilting her nose up with a sniff. Was that mock affront? "I won, not the cake. Cakes are hard. You should kiss the chef, anyway. I saw that on an apron and I'm told it's important to pay respects in that manner." Now she was just bullshitting.

"Whoa, those extra esses might have you in tears before it's over. Maybe you should baby-step it up to 'd***', see if you can master that 'k' first." Smiling then just like the jerk the botched icing purported him to be, he drained his whiskey and set the glass aside. One forward step and then another taken, head tipped as if judging her affectation. Gaze crested the upturned nose and skimmed the line of her throat until it disappeared into her sweater. Index finger of his left hand traced the pile of her sweater up to her shoulder, while the right thumb nudged the tender underside of her chin, holding that upturn as he bent to brush his lips across the pair below him. She might have been bullshitting, but he took the opportunity anyway. "I aim to be compliant." Ignore the smirk that followed.

"At no point was I near tears, thank you, though I will take your suggestion to heart where the 'k's are concerned. If they're too difficult I could always settle for 'bastard', no 'k'." The affectation of judgment didn't survive the schoolyard tit for tat that he managed to draw out of her. And the bickering didn't survive physical contact. "Liar." Breathed in response to his smirk laced follow-up. "If that were so, you wouldn't make a lady ask in the first place." Stumbling a bit over the word 'lady', as that was never a title she claimed for herself. Normally she might have snared his shirt in her hand, but the absence of one made that difficult. So the deteriorating waistband would have to do for a tug. Careful not to step on his bare toes she leaned up and forward for a bit more than a brush. Getting a proper taste of whiskey and mint from his lips before she gave him a hug with both arms over his shoulders. "Happy birthday." The sentiment repeated as a warm whisper into the skin below his ear.

Sublimation, Part 2

The first milkshake was done, so she helped herself to the vanilla, leaving the mint-chocolate for him in case he changed his mind. This one was consumed in a slower fashion, left to balance in her cross legged lap as she warmed her hands in her sleeves. "That's quite a statement. Did you promise to fix her, or are these two separate senses of obligation?"

"Sounds ridiculous, right? It probably is. I was young and stupid then. Now I'm some years older but odds are high that I'm still stupid about this." He shrugged, lack of pride in the matter, and unapologetic about the way it curled his shoulders inward. "They're two separate senses of obligation: one was an intent, the other was a failsafe if the first didn't work. Neither happened." Eyes tipped upwards to find hers. "You have triple the years that I have, how many of your past lovers do you still have a sense of obligation towards? Any?"

"I didn't say it was ridiculous, just that it was quite a statement. It's the most you've ever seen fit to say about her before and it explains a bit." Waving a hand to reassure him that she wasn't judging him. "People we care for tend to make us stupid. I was telling Cris, and I'll tell you now, I frequently am an idiot where that is concerned." Faint smile. "I chased a past lover for a good chunk of my life, though that had less to do with obligation on his behalf and more to do with an obligation on behalf of my father. If he showed up here today I might well drop everything just to deal with him. The truth is, once you're tangled up in someone it can take a while to extract yourself. Especially if events haven't given you the opportunity to do so. There's two questions I have at the moment, if it's okay to ask."

He listened, expression neutral as he absorbed, a faint smile offered in mimic of hers, rueful when she mentioned being idiocy in the face of people one cared for, though he couldn't help a hint of surprise when she included herself in the category since she mostly struck him as extremely self-possessed and cautious. When she made her request, he nodded easily. "Of course." A curious look darted over her face like he wondered that she'd even felt the necessity of asking before laying it on him.

Self-possessed and cautious, outwardly, save for on her own behalf. Pathetic, Fox had taunted her, because of certain tendencies in that direction. Shae held up a finger shrouded in the end of her hoodie sleeve. "One at a time then. You say you were young and stupid, and I understand well wanting to keep your word, but I'm curious about the nature of your pact that you feel so dissatisfied at being unable to fill it. What did you promise her and, more importantly, why?

He blinked slowly, as if drawn out of a fugue by the volume of her question, one that required thought rather than resting on the laurels of half-answers, though he couldn't deny the instinct roared to life and got his hackles all up when she lifted her finger at him. The gut reaction was tamed through an inhale and a long drawn out moment while he composed his answer. It took a couple of tries, a few false starts and finally he shook his head. "Not ready to discuss that one yet. What's the next one."

Not at him, per-say, but to the count of one of two. The offending digit didn't hang in the air long, for that hand was soon reaching for the milkshake as a listening aid. "The second one is related to the first, so it might be equally difficult. You said you wanted to fix her, and I wanted to know how she was broken."

"It is equally difficult," he confirmed, cheek hollowing as the inside became a playground for teeth that worried the tender skin. And then a twitch of muscle along his jaw saw him changing his answer. "Almost." Another span of silence as Shae picked up her milkshake, like he was waiting for her to get settled before he spoke again. Though really he was just buying more time, trying to order the words that would follow in his head first. "She wasn't born to be what she is. It was a gift..curse, depending on who you ask, meant for someone else. She interrupted and took it for herself. That was enough to start with. A lot of my kind go mad, get lost in the things we take on, lose our humanity, any number of unfavorable consequences. But it can take years, a lifetime. It started happening to her early on. Then she proceeded in another series of bad ideas--at least as I understood them. She left the body she was born into and jumped into others, and lost most of what remained in the process." He took a sip from his flask and let it rest on his thighs. "Broken is not the right word, I guess. Shattered and fragmented is better."

Shae's eyes found Fox's wanderings to be a convenient target as Ketch confirmed her suspicion. It was that unexpected change that drew the weight of her attention back to him. Expression neutral and shading to gentle concern, she listened to him elaborate on the state of the woman who -- in her own fragmentation -- had left his general composure in pieces. In conversations such as this, there often could be seen the pilot light of a question burning in her face, waiting for the oxygen of parted lips to spark into further inquiry, but it was either absent or painstakingly suppressed. Eyes turned inward as her mind reeled back to previous conversations before she framed her own reply. "So she wasn't born to it as you are, and she's lost her original form completely?" A check to make sure she understood the full scope of it.

"Mm," he nodded his agreement. She had the broad strokes of the picture and the general shape of things in place. The details were things he was more reluctant to get into, as proven in his evasion to her earlier question. But he'd not closed himself off completely; his posture still a loose sprawl as he watched her, the drift of her eyes towards fox, and the faint concern visible in the otherwise neutral field of expression.

"I suppose it's a good thing that there's a distinction about her," she supplied after a few sips of vanilla. For locating someone prone to switching bodies felt like an exercise in frustration and futility. "Are you aware of a way to make a whole picture of her from the shards? Curses are...sometimes a different animal than blood given abilities." Now came the questions, cadence measured.

"There is to me." A distinction, he meant. It'd been honed in all manner of stupid games and wild goose chases they'd wrought upon each other. "Sometimes it's faint, thin as a thread, like the difference between someone tugging a single strand of hair and a whole hank of it. I've lost it completely before, too. For months when I was actively looking for her. I'd just stay where I was, feet walking circles around each other until something or someone would tip me off in another direction." A shake of his head was slow, deliberate. "Not outright, no. I researched as I went along, but nothing seemed to fit. Some of the things we tried at first didn't work. I thought we had more time...then she just sort of took off. And now, I don't know. Every body she's left behind, I would assume has a bit of her, too. No way to go back and get all those pieces back from things dead and buried. Once I wrapped my head around that, the rest seemed futile. I gave up, came back here." He rolled his shoulders, glanced up to see if she was following.

"I don't deal in false hopes, so I can't offer you reassurance about all of those pieces. If this curse were not in the way, I might speak with more confidence about options, but outside influences, especially foreign ones, complicate any suggestion I might hope to make." He hadn't asked, but she'd offered more than once, so the weight of the words was one she didn't intend to hold on to. "And now she's here. Likely aware of you, though the game of keep away must be...difficult for you. Do you think she has enough left of herself to be seeking you out deliberately?"

He nodded, though he hadn't been looking for reassurance: that'd be like scraping the bottom of a barrel for the dregs of hope, and he had little desire at the moment to scuff his knuckles any more raw than he had in years past. Though he appreciated her honesty for what it was, a thin smile with a warm curve edging some of the shadows from his expression. "I know," he said lightly, and left it at that. After another long pause, "I don't know what the intent is or if there is one. The one pattern that did emerge way back when was that she revisited places we'd been before. Not in order, but at least they were dots I knew on the map. I suppose it was inevitable she'd circle back around here eventually. Or, hell, maybe she's been here before and I didn't pick up on it." A hitch of one shoulder as if all the uncertainty had weighted down the other. His "I don't knows" were far more prevalent than concrete facts, and he studiously avoided her other intimation about the strain it put him under because, though mild and muted with effort, the signs were still splashed across taxed features and in the watercolor of shadow under his eyes.

Sometimes avoiding a comment was more telling than addressing it directly. She didn't ask if he'd slept when it was so obvious that he hadn't. Instead, she asked: "What can I do that would help you?"

There were many things she could have said. Platitudes were not her forte, though. A problem had been lain at his feet, one that pulled at deep scar tissue from a timeline she'd never experienced. A time where he had been, quite possibly, entirely different than the man that she now shared a roof with. So she kept it direct, simple.

The last might have been the most difficult question of all. Ketch wasn't used to having someone ask so directly, or even at all. Nor had it occurred to him to seek someone else for help; the issue felt so entrenched, so deep in his history as if it were written on his bones, and while he recognized the altruism in the question for what is was--even lifted his gaze from where it'd wandered off along the lip of the building and sent it seeking the fine sculpt of the face across from him--there was no part of him that desired dragging those he cared about into the inevitable mess of things to come. Or not. It was true that the Sylph was sitting with a man who bore only a vague resemblance to the one he had been before. It was an intentional divide he'd made when he'd returned, though the recent events were casting long shadows he thought he'd left behind. "You're doing it, I think, just being an ear to a bunch of nonsense." He wasn't much for platitudes anyhow, and he was glad she didn't lob any his way that he wouldn't know how to respond to. She spared herself some awkward mumbling and verbal foot shuffling in the process.

The shifter hid it well, but he gave himself away. Word choices. Questions avoided. She recognized the soul deep sense of confusion. Frustration in blood shot eyes. Tension in the careful facade. The weight of debt an uncomfortable yoke on his shoulders and a posture ever so slightly unbalanced by the knife of shock in his spine. "I can do that. I will keep my hands well out of it if that's your preference." Another long pull from the milkshake and then, abruptly she shifted to resettle next to him instead of across from him.

Shae was observant. Ketch had known that from the start, and the effort to mask the lead that sat in his stomach and added weight to every step he took was just that, a mask. One it would have incurred greater expense to starve from his body than was warranted in the presence of the woman he knew as both friend and occasional bedmate. Lover? Hard to categorize, especially at the moment, but friend, that much he felt solid in. "It is." Simply spoken, with the undertone that if things changed, he'd tell her. As she settled beside him, he shifted a couple of inches to the side to give her more room atop the spread of coat over snow, shoulders resettling to share warmth alongside hers. He picked up a milkshake for himself, punching at the straw a couple of times with a fingertip before sealing his mouth around it. Mint chocolate. A wan smile as he tipped his head back against the column and picked out shapes from the clouds above them. "Weird fucking times," he murmured, as if that summed up everything.

"Mm." Wordless agreement as she settled her thigh along the length of his with a bit of a lean. Nearby, her familiar was taking his leave of the roof. Whatever he had come to witness, he felt his presence was no longer necessary. Her eyes didn't watch his departure, but a brief tightening of her lowered face suggested he'd had a parting shot. Clearing her expression, she lifted her gaze to the nighttime cloud gazing. "It will be well."

He watched Fox's departure, the brief downward pull of her expression as he felt her thigh settle alongside his. Questions for another time. "Heard that one before," he replied, though not unkindly or bitterly, and there was a sardonic smile to accompany it. The unknown was discomfiting lately, more than he'd ever express, but she knew him to be a man that plodded through steps doggedly towards an end, and so he expected she knew now how disconcerting it was to feel as if he'd lost his map entirely. But there was some sliver of comfort to latch onto in the familiarity of rooftops and milkshakes, and he took advantage of the moment while he could, catching her profile in the corner of one eye as she tilted her chin towards the sky.