Events continued from What Was Missing

S--

You probably think this letter is a ruse. I bet you won't even open it at first. You've let your guard down, I can tell.

Did you think you could be rid of me so easily?

We aren't done, my Wind Demon. It's only a matter of time. Do you think you can protect them all?

I'll be watching you.

--M


Listen.

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you

Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you

Oh can't you see
You belong to me
My poor heart aches
With every step you take

Every move you make
Every vow you break
Every smile you fake
Every claim you stake
I'll be watching you

Embracing the Ironmonger, Part 1
Fin's Forge and Home, Sunset, May 3rd, 2017

There was still the faintest hint of chill to the air - Spring was slow to rouse itself from beneath the earth and stretch her fingers to the sky. However, that wasn't enough to stop Fin from working up a sweat and enjoy the cool touch to his face and neck.

He was on the roof of his building, a new iron fire escape making it much easier to access the flat space atop the forge. The sound of hammering echoed off the darkened shop fronts surrounding his own, the faint sound of far-off traffic providing a subtle background rhythm. Liath sprawled nearby but well out of the way of his work. She panted and listened, perking for certain sounds, sometimes even rising to inspect her territory from the lip of the roof.

The ruddy rays of the setting sun slanted long angles between buildings and over the street. Fin sat with his back to it, taking advantage before he had to turn on a lamp.

The sound of ringing metal led her down the street she hadn't seen in far too long. With many of the other shops closed it was a strange feeling. When she realized just what it reminded her of, her pace quickened considerably in the direction of his building. Then it was a matter of finding him. The sound of forging didn't seem dimmed by wall or door. It felt close and yet far. She peered in windows, but he wasn't in the ground floor that faced the street. Rounding the corner of the building, she searched for another entrance. It was then that she stumbled onto a metal structure climbing the rear of his home and shop.

It seemed as good an access point as any. Shae was alone as she climbed up the flights of stairs towards his roof. She wasn't disguising her approach, but unless the stairs were particularly noisy it wouldn't be impossible to lose the sound of it beneath the beat of hammer to anvil. Thankfully he had Liath to alert him to what he could not hear.

It was the thinner sound of a hammer hitting a nail that she heard bouncing clumsily along the sidewalks. Liath half-rose to a sitting position, whuffling loud enough for Fin to notice in between the swings of the hammer. Brows furrowed together as he swung his face in the same direction Liath was watching, the direction of the stairs that led up here.

Fin sat on the roof with long 2x4 beams stacked in front of and next to him. Four metal joist brackets were scattered around the wood, along with a small tool box. Fin was building a short but long raised deck which would serve as a little patio area.

Once Shae's head cleared the lip of the roof, Fin abandoned his frown for a look of surprise. After her absence, that was the last person he expected to show up here tonight, even with Crispin's forewarning of her presence in town. Brushing off his hands, Fin rose to his feet with a small smile. "Good eve, Shae. I had heard somethin' o' yer return."

She was thinner, but the weight was coming back. All it did at the moment was serve to make her look more fey with the way it sharpened the angles of her. She wore a peasant's blouse of cream embroidered with a gold thread patterning over soft black pants that ended tucked inside a pair of heeled boots. The other features of her weren't any different. The same gold eyes, the same back hair. The same color trapped in her skin.

"Hi Liath." She greeted the dog first, with a slight bend at her waist and a the voice one reserves for beloved animals and small children. Then she was moving closer, across the roof and towards his work space. It's a deliberate thing, and she's studying him as she approaches. As if the sight of him might lay bare how he was. "Hi Fin," she said when she was close enough for the words to pass quietly. There's some weight to the simple greeting. As if she never expected to be able to give it again.

Shadows haunted Fin's eyes but otherwise, his appearance was much like when she left - jeans and boots and a t-shirt with forgotten stains splashed erratically over the fabric. There was a hesitance to him that was new to her, every conversation tenuous these days.

Shae, too, carried a grave weight upon her shoulders and it stole the small turn of his mouth, drew his brows together as he took a step closer. Hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans, consciously making sure he didn't touch her accidentally. Didn't want to startle her. Her tone struck a chord within him as something he recognized, a reminder of days from another life. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what happened but he knew the answer would be too large to fit upon his meager roof.

"Would ye like to visit for a wee bit or are ye passin' by?"

Without the drumbeats of Beltane to bolster her, seeing a face such as his took effort. The shadows she saw in him saddened her. She knew where dwelled some of their ilk, but she suspected others were ones she hadn't yet heard of. The hesitance, too, was out of place for the formerly exuberant Scotsman. "Do I look so much a fright?" The question made pretenses at being light, to tease him gently for his glass house handling of her. As if he thought himself a stone.

"I came to visit. That is, if I'm still welcome?" One hand raised, unsure of its own trajectory. Its progression was a slow thing that reached towards chest. Permission asked silently with each inch, before she tried to touch him.

On the contrary - it was Fin who felt fragile, wary of others for the way they could affect his mood. Wary of the amount of energy it would take to seem invested in the interaction because his inner strength was on short supply.

"Ach, no, lass," offering a half-hearted smile and shake of his head. "Glad I am to see ye here. Alive." A few branches had been pruned from Fin's growth of chosen family and he wasn't so rich in friends that he would turn her away. "Aye, ye be welcome." He spoke quietly while Liath hovered to the side, staring at the both of them, tail swinging from side to side.

Blue eyes fixed upon her hand when she first extended it toward him. His chest swelled with a steadying breath but he didn't stop her. Waited until she touched him first to pull his hands from his pockets and fold her in a hug.

Folded in, she returned the gesture tightly. A tension had lived in her until that particular threshold had been crossed, and now it slowly bled from her. A small shudder escaped along her spine and the slip of her arms up and around his shoulders tightened. Even in the heeled footwear, she pushed herself onto the balls of her feet for the hug.

"There you are...you're real." Relief shifted into a warmer greeting. "It's good to see you," she breathed into his collar.

At first, his hold was loose, returning the gesture of not the sentiment behind it. He thawed some as she sagged into his embrace, relaxing his shoulders and tightening his hold on her.

"Some days, it be difficult to believe tha' anythin' be real. I wonder if this be a dream or if I be dead." Morose but there it was. He spoke this softly against her hair, one hand stroking slowly up and down her back in a soothing gesture that came naturally, without having to think about it. "Have ye been seein' things while ye've been away?"

Made hesitant by the initial lackluster hold, she almost doubted herself and let go, but in that moment where his grip tightened she was able to find some small measure of peace. "Yes," the woman said quietly, her breath warm, but shallow. "I have."

She was grateful for the gesture, and he would find that she mirrored it in the space of his back that she could reach. His question was passed back for him to answer. "What about you Fin? Is it seeing things, or something else? You feel alive to me, and of that I am very glad."

"Then 'haps it be true," he murmured under his breath before stepping back. "Why do we no' go down the stairs an' inside? I could make a cup o' tea for us." With a word, Liath was directed toward the staircase that lead back down to the ground. It didn't look like rain and the wood was treated so he didn't worry over it sitting out. Stooping to pick up his tools, they were carted back inside when he went.

Down on the ground, Fin opened the door for Liath and held it open for Shae, allowing her inside first before he followed. Tools were put aside and he headed straight for the stove to put on the kettle. "Crispin told me last nigh' tha' ye be back. How long?" How long had she been back before she had the strength to step outside and face people?

They likely weren't the sort of visions he was imagining. Still, she doesn't object to his suggestion to quit the roof in favor of his kitchen and a cup of tea. She gave him a hand collecting all the tools together. It hadn't escaped her that he hadn't really answered her question.

Shae stepped inside without hesitation and it really was thanks to Liath. The dog was relaxed and trusting, seeming just excited for there to be a person with new smells interacting with her person. "Did he?" She'd wondered how he had heard and didn't object to the source. "He and Cianan brought me back to town about three weeks ago." Cris and Cianan working together might well qualify for a sign of the apocalypse.

Liath was sticking close to Shae, sniffing her wherever her nose could reach. Including places that might cause Shae to shove her nose away.

Inside, Fin concentrates on the kettle, filling it with water and raising the temperature before it was set on the stove, to reduce boiling time. He could have heated the water in mugs himself but he wasn't in the mood to show off and the ritual of making tea was a comforting thing. "Wha' sort o' tea would ye like?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Brough' ye back? Where were ye, if ye do no' mind m'askin'?"

Shae was tolerant for the animal, eliminating a lot of the more intrusive nose pokes by simply crouching down to pet the wolfhound with both hands. A few words murmured to Liath under her breath, no doubt having to do with identifying the 'good girl' in the room.

At the question about the tea, she looked up but did not straighten. "Anything without cinnamon." It was an oddly specific prohibition, but she seemed adamant about it. "I find I can't tolerate the scent of it, these days."

That last question was one she had expected, and so the answer she gave wasn't as obscure as it might have been. "I wasn't wholly myself. I mean physically. I had lost to my nature. And...and I was being kept."

Liath used the height advantage to push into Shae, burrowing her large head against Shae's shoulder until the woman was in danger of being bowled over by the fully grown wolfhound. Lots of licks to any exposed skin, too.

There was no questioning the tea preference, unable to remember if it was something she'd disliked before or if it was a consequence of her disappearance. Either way, didn't really matter so much that Fin's curiosity was roused enough. Rather, there were greater things to learn.

Some dried leaves were pinched into mugs while he sped along the kettle, heating the water exponentially faster so that it was whistling within a few moments. "Kept?" he asked lightly, once again speaking over his shoulder. An invitation to elaborate if she chose but not so direct that it would be awkward to push it to the side.

The result became that Shae found herself seated on his kitchen floor, the curve of her back pressed against the cabinetry. She controlled the onslaught of tongue lashing by curling a hand gently over the bridge of the hound's nose, the fingers of her other hand passing soothingly between Liath's brows and back around the curve of her ears. Soft, praising sounds hummed wordless from her throat.

The whistle of the kettle, so soon after it had been put on, clearly surprised her. Her gaze assured her that the kettle wasn't itself an enchanted or some artifact of technology she was unfamiliar with. Had it been, she might have asked Fin where he'd procured it. Instead, she found herself studying his shoulders.

Silence lived between his question and her reply, a weighing. Of herself, of his state, of what things he'd before alluded to. "Prisoner." Elaboration granted for remembrance that his curiosity rivaled her own. "A cave system some ways north of here. Shackled by star iron." The last showed careful trust from the woman. He, a blacksmith, often worked with iron, but Shae had never visibly shown it to bother her in any way. On many worlds, iron was said to be a bane to any with Faerie blood. Sometimes a degree of truth was folded into the many myths of how to deter this or that creature. Sometimes it was wishful thinking to create a false sense of security. Reality, occasionally, was a bit more complicated.

Embracing the Ironmonger, Part 3

It was Ketch's fault that she'd gotten hooked on the cigarettes the Scot made, and he was a bastard for it. He'd moved to the couch, so she took the chance to push herself off the floor. Small grunt for the effort and then she was standing, stretching each limb with care. "Thank you. I'll have to ply you for your methods, one of these days, or at least contribute to your materials so as not to put you out by making them." She knew it wasn't just her who stole them from him.

Shae stood on the other side of the room as if she feared to come closer. It was such a change from her previously cavalier confidence that he studied her with faintly furrowed brows. His cigarette was lit without having to take his eyes from her, leaning back as he exhaled. "It be no secret, how I roll them. Ye be welcome to watch." No magic or mystery necessary. "But I would no' turn down the rollin' papers if ye be inclined to purchase them." One corner of his mouth flipped at the corner a moment before lips wrapped around the smoke.

"Salome liked bein' here, more than she expected. But I do no' know if she enjoyed any one place more than the other. If ye know of tha' place, we should set the memorial there. I think I have an idea tha' we could make together tha' may work." If Shae didn't already have something in mind.

The woman breathed in the smith's space, taking her time to cement herself in the little details between words exchanged with her host. Aiming to be fully present, a small smile hovered on her lips and she eventually made her way over to join him on the couch. In passing, her fingers reached out to tousle his hair before she found her seat. She'd noticed the puzzlement as he'd looked at her, that gesture said. "It's a deal then. I'll take you as a supplier of one of my many vices and in exchange I'll make sure you're not lacking for rolling papers."

"I don't. Know of a place that is. I'd still be interested to hear your idea." Even if she couldn't say for certain whether or not the Nephilim would consider a more formal memorial that involved people. One ankle tucked beneath the knee of the other leg and one of the hand rolled cigarettes from his case was being turned over in her hands. She lifted it to her nose to smell briefly, so much better than the months stale ones she'd kept in a small stash.

Liath watched Shae's path toward the couch, tail thumping twice against her cushion before it curled against her leg. Her chin was set to the tops of her paws, obviously eavesdropping.

The touch to his hair sent a crackling sensation along his nerve endings, raising the hair on his arms, some latent charge that lay dormant in her fingers until their magics merged, lightning rippling across the surface of his skin. After a hard shiver, Fin curled the leg nearest to her, angling himself to reflect her pose, inside elbow resting on the back of the futon.

"Lucy is wantin' to build a wee chapel for Reg, a memorial wit' the same intention. I do no' think Salome would like such a fuss but 'haps somethin' more modest would be appropriate? Cris would no' want some gaudy thing."

Shifting her ill gotten sample of tobacco into just one hand, Shae leaned down to give a short scritch to the top of Liath's head. When she straightened again, it was because she noticed the vibration of that shiver in the Scotsman. He mentioned Lucy and her lips parted in thought, as if preparing themselves for the reply that she hadn't fully formed.

They'd jumped the gun though. Instead, she was bringing the cigarette to her lips and curling her hands around the end of it to light it. Soft glow from empty palms reflected in her eyes, and then a wisp of smoke. "It's hard to say what she might have liked, but small and tasteful would probably be the only thing Cris would accept." Shae personally doubted anything would feel right, but her ability to think on it was currently disadvantaged.

"Speaking of Lucy...Cris told me she's been helping you." He'd brought the woman up and that trick with the kettle had been rolling around the back of her mind.

Fin echoed her around a cloud of smoke. "Small an' tasteful. Aye, tha' is wha' it shall be." The vision in his mind's eye solidified and he felt certain that it was something Cris would like. The perfect location was still a question but he had faith they would figure it out. Leaning toward the table, Fin set a plastic ashtray between them on the couch, ashing into it before leaning his cheek in his palm.

"Helpin' me? Oh, aye, wit' focusin' upon m'magic. She has been showin' me a few wee things to do to help me gain more control. It has been some time since I ha' broken any bottles." A quick-fire smile came and went, disappearing behind another cloud of smoke that was tilted away from Shae's face.

"I'll let you know when I've prepared a vessel." And then, perhaps, she would see what it was he was plotting.

Shae savored the first few draws in silence, eyes heavy lidded and sighs for exhales. As had always been the case, the coils of smoke that escaped her lips were made animate by the breeze that never left her. It trickled from the cracks of her and sent smoke cavorting towards his ceiling. Even the edges of his own cloud got pulled into the living currents.

It was only after she knocked a spent section into the ashtray he'd strategically positioned that she replied. "Have you learned anything? Origin, limits, nature?" The hand not holding the coffin nail was resting in a line from her ribs to her hip.

Fin finally put his finger on the difference between Shae-before and Shae-now. Now that he recognized it, it was glaringly obvious and he felt foolish for not thinking of it before. Lips had parted to comment on something but that observation was stifled, saved for another time.

The silence that fell into the space between them was a comfortable thing and Fin let himself rest inside it, shoring himself up to keep the conversation going. Not that it was a chore with Shae, but more that it was a chore with anyone these days. He so often felt the listlessness of depression, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other every day.

"Origin, no. I still do no' know why this happened or how, but...I s'pose I have become accustomed to it." Slowly, Fin was accepting it as just another part of himself, albeit a new one. "I no' be certain wha' ye be meanin' by the nature of it. The limits are...still bein' found. Now, it be limited only by m'understandin' of it, I think."

"When you came to see me last year," she began, with a small hesitation before the time frame chosen as if she had to double check with herself that it really had been that long, "it seemed to be an empathetic tie to water." Magic, he called it now, and it soothed some part of her to hear that there was no hesitation to the way he called it his magic. This observation was reinforced by his statement about becoming accustomed.

"I more wondered if it continued to limit itself to water," Shae explained. "As for the nature, well, perhaps that was an unfair question as I think I would be hard pressed to find anyone with a good definition on the nature of any sort of magic. You can come close though. Things like, where you believe the energy to be coming from, how you control it, and what things you are capable of as a result."

Had it been a year? Christ Almighty, it seemed impossible. And yet, so much had happened since then, Fin figured he was remembering things wrong, that he was messing up the timeline in his head. Rather than the panicky reaction that Shae remembered, the Scot was relaxed, working harder on finishing his cigarette than anything else.

"I ha' no' noticed if it be anythin' other than water. But water be in all sorts o' things I had no previously though' about." Almost any liquid could be manipulated to some degree, though Fin wasn't sure about the mechanics of it, nor could he explain how it worked on a molecular level. "I do no' know where it be comin' from, I think tha' be tied to the how of receivin' it, aye?" Or maybe it didn't but those concepts were too great for Fin to accept just yet.

"I know tha' if I be feelin' strongly, there be more power behind it but it be harder to control. Lucy has shown me some meditations to help me wield it better than I was before." Again, the how of his control escaped explanation though he tried with a frown to think of something that would be acceptable. Cigarette was ashed and then stubbed out in the ashtray, less than a half inch left of the butt. "If I focus well enough, I can make it work by...by thinkin' it, I s'pose." His gaze swung to her, trying to gauge from her reaction if that made any sense at all.

It had been before the new year, of that she was sure. Back before she'd moved into Church House. She remembered his presence in her room at the Inn. She still maintained the rental there, but now it only held her in temporary displacement. Shae had moved late the year before and exiled herself into research not long after. From there to today was a series of mistakes.

Fin's explanation was regarded with obvious interest. He had the full of her attention for it, and the duration wore away much of the remaining body of the hand rolled she'd been indulging in. No interruption was given as he sorted his answers out and laid them for her consideration. Now and then she nodded, though whether for encouragement or to satisfy some inner question was hard to say. "Will to power," the first words came to her as she was stealing the final draw before fingers became imperiled.

"That's what you're describing it. Where you think a thing and focus it into being. Will to power. It's a common tenet of magic." Half a smile then, cigarette smudged into the ashtray to join the corpse of his.

"Will to power." The words were muttered to himself, committing them to memory to share with Lucy. It was a rather straightforward explanation and he was proud of himself for understanding it. "Is tha' how yer magic works? Ye think o' somethin' an' then ye do it?" Other than the warding charms and blood magic, Fin couldn't think of more he'd seen her do.

"Wha' be the nature an' limit o' yer own powers?" He and Lucy had some conversations that compared and contrasted their powers but it had never gotten technical or theoretical, only what each of them knew by experience. "Would ye like a beer?" His mouth felt dry and he wasn't in the mood for more tea. Pushing to his feet, Fin walked around the table rather than brush past her, heading for the small fridge.

"Magic can work like that, at times. It varies from caster to caster. You can perform magic with the aid of a focus or without. The more complex the magic, the easier it is to perform with the help of materials or other people to focus the intent." Both hands came up to rake through her hair. This was a complex subject, and not one she was used to explaining. "Let me see if I can word this better."

Before she tried again, she answered his last offer. "I'm very picky about beer. If that's all you have, then I wouldn't mind a glass of water." She was used to drinking liquor, wine, or the occasional honey ale. The variety of beer brews on offer in this city still baffled her.

"The amount of energy it takes to think something into happening is, for me, related to the size of what it is I'm aiming to do. Something like warming my tea, moving an object, or lighting a cigarette are all examples of things I can just think of and do. The universe doesn't argue too much over these little shortcuts. A little of my own energy is all it asks, and it gets easier with practice, more efficient. Sometimes the amount of energy you'd trade for just 'making it happen' is prohibitive. That's where spells come in. The spells help define intentions so no energy is lost. They take materials, often. Over time, some smaller spells can be shifted, maybe, into the category of 'think and do', but it's often safer to leave complex things in spell form." She cut herself off before she went into a full lecture, mostly to make sure she hadn't lost him.

Fin glanced back over his shoulder once he stood in front of the open fridge, awaiting her answer. He watched as she raked a hand through her hair, the way the dark locks slid and tumbled around her face, accentuating the color of her eyes. It reminded him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Blinking, he barely heard her request for water before nodding and turning his back to her.

Not trying to impress or show off, Shae's glass of water was supplied by the sink although he didn't touch the handle to turn it on. With both drinks in hand, he headed back to the couch, sinking down next to her.

Surprisingly, he did mostly understand her explanation but his curiosity led him in a different direction. "I do no' think I will be doin' much wit' spells." Couldn't think of anything he wanted badly enough to try cracking open a book of magic. If it was in another language, forget it, he could barely read English. "Have ye e'er touched the limit o' wha' ye could do wit' yer will alone? Withou' spells?"

Too distracted by trying to describe her understanding of magic smoothly, she hadn't been conscious of his distracted observation. She may even have missed his clever little fill of the glass he was now offering to her, or she kept her amusement to herself.

Accepting the glass from him came with a grateful smile. She was indeed thirsty, a third of the water level was lost before she lowered it. "Mm." Much better. She brought it to rest in the crook her folded leg made until she needed it again.

Embracing the Ironmonger, Final

Shae pulled her fingers together, considering the way they intertwined. There was a want to agree with Fin, but she couldn't avoid the realistic thought nagging at the back of her mind. It would take time to find them. Precious time. "Thank you, Fin." At least, she told herself, she could accept that offer of help. "I want you to promise me that you'll try to be safe. Keep an eye on yourself, and Lucy. Promise me you'll let me know if you notice anything strange. Anyone following you, or her."

Inhale. Eyes shifting to Liath with a soft smile. "She's wonderful." Warm affection for the animal evident in her voice. Exhale. Her gaze lifted to his concerned face as he extended the offer of company. "And I would like that, but..." But. "I don't want to stir up memories that would bring you more sorrow." He had not hidden the struggle in him from her. She knew her telling him about the watchers was necessary, she owed it to him to warn him, but she had also observed him edging back from the details. "So, only if you're sure my presence will not cause you grief."

"Ach," he scoffed with a chuckle. "I hardly go anywhere, there be nowhere to follow me. If they wanted to find me, they need only stand outside m'door." He gave a half smile despite the bald truth of the statement. Thank the heavens above that Salome warded the forge before...before she left.

A curious frown formed, canting his head to one side. "Stir up memories? O' Stefin?" His frown deepened while shaking his head. "No, lass, those memories be wit' me whether I speak o' them or no'. If I can use them to help another, tha' be all I could ask. Tha' some good come o' them, aye?" The reason he edged back from the details was because he didn't want to push Shae further than she could handle, didn't want to stir up her memories since they were so fresh for her. When he'd found freedom, it had been so painful to talk about any of it, afraid of how others would judge him, and he applied that same courtesy to Shae.

"No, lass, I would enjoy the company verra much." His expression eased into something with a touch of warmth. "No matter the time, please call if ye need someone else wit' ye."

It was an odd way to try and reassure her that he would be safe, but he'd said Salome had warded his property, and that itself was a balm to her worries. "I mean it, Fin. These people...they are ruthless." Sighing, she let it go. Eyes glancing towards some memory hovering in the space over his shoulder.

Shaking herself a little to refocus, Shae stood with her empty glass in hand, flashing him a soft smile as she carried it over to the kitchen to deposit in the sink. Her fingers lingered on the glass, quiet in thought. Moments later she stepped away from the sink. Her lips parted to speak, but no words came out. Mildly frustrated, she brought a hand up to scrub fingers across her mouth.

Rising to his feet, Fin trailed after her toward the sink. "I will be careful, lass, but I do no' think I be one o' those tha' be wanted as much as others. I could no' contribute anythin' to yer cause. I am no' central to yer work." Not even to her social life. "I no' be important enough to kill." Another little half smile on the heels of that statement.

The humor faded as she tried to speak. He could tell she was trying to work something out but was either stymied or was trying to find the best words. "Ye alrigh'?"

"My work," she echoed, not even sure she knew what that was. "My cause. You apply some grand terms to a woman just trying to restart a life and protect people in it." Shae managed a crooked smile that faded as quickly as it appeared. There was no easy way to explain it, but she tried. "Anyone I choose to spend my time with is central to that. And that is probably why they took the effort to look at you."

"I've...a lot on my mind." It was an understatement. Gold eyes studied his face openly with one arm crossed against her stomach. The fingers that had been scrubbing at her lips, hadn't fallen away. They'd drifted to the side and then returned to steeple against her lips. There were a mess of things she could say, but she wasn't sure which ones were right. "I would like to visit."

"Ye've always been on a wee bit of a grand scale." It had always seemed so to the humble Scot, anyway. Shae knew everyone, knew pretty much everything, and was more powerful than most here could dream. In short, she was incredibly intimidating when she wanted to be. "Larger than life," he murmured.

"O' course ye do, sweeting." The endearment tumbled out thoughtlessly, seeking to soothe and comfort. "As I said, call me or come to see me any time ye like. It be rare tha' I no' be home. Yer always welcome in m'home." He wanted to give her a big hug but didn't know if she'd be comfortable with that.

The Sylph would have baffled to hear the full of his opinions about her. Instead, she could only puzzle at the descriptors he shared. Brows drawing together in a slow crimp. When she spoke, her voice was slightly strained, confused and seeking clarity. "What do you mean, ?larger than life?? We shared breakfasts every Sunday for weeks...walked...you watched me dance and made me candlesticks and a lantern to gift to a friend. That was grand to you? In those memories am I something unreal, to you?"

His endearment soothed the edge of the hollow feeling that had begun in her lungs. As did the reiteration of the invitation that followed. Still, as she looked at him, the crimp above the bridge of her nose tightened and her brows raised. For a moment her eyes lost focus. She blinked them furiously to regain it.

Eyes widened for the frail anxiety he heard in those questions, as if Fin were casting doubts upon her or maligning her character. He just thought she was grander than himself. Pushing himself up from the counter, Fin stepped around the corner of the island to take both of her hands in his. "Ach, no, love, no' a'tall. Ye be verra real. I only meant tha'...well, ye be an educated lady with fine manners. Hardly fit company for m'self." A self deprecating smile curled one side of his mouth, stooping slightly to try and catch her eye.

That was when he saw the thousand-yard stare, brow puckered in concern. Her hands were given a light squeeze to try and bring her back. "Yer back, Shae," crooning softly, his thumbs rubbing over her knuckles. "Ye be safe here." He was afraid she was lost in a memory of her captivity, as he had so often been.

It was a ghost of the phantom that had haunted her in captivity, unintentionally brought to life. He took her hands, pulling them away from her in time for her to take a breath. "Lucy is a lady." The first words out of her mouth a quiet rebuke of how he'd classified her and an example of where the line should be. If Lucy was fit company, said the guarded look in her eyes, why wasn't she? But of course, the Trickster had told her why. In detail. Wearing the faces of her friends.

The squeeze pulled at her thoughts, and she blinked yet again. "I'm sorry." Shae swayed back half a step. "I was just reminded of..." Cutting herself off, Shae shook her head. "I should probably go."

The differences between Lucy and Shae were vast but it had nothing to do with how Fin defined them both as ladies. If Lucy had never gone to prison, Fin couldn't say that they would be close at all, maybe not even friendly with each other. "Lucy is a lady, aye, but we did no' become close until she was imprisoned." Just as Shae had been, though the circumstances were different. "I think I canno' befriend people until they ha' been through some grand hardship tha' they will ne'er be able to forget." Kindred spirits and all that.

If Shae pulled her hands away, Fin let her. "If ye wish to speak on it, I would be glad to listen. But if ye want to go, I understand."

Tired, the tension began to bleed out of her, until only the tired remained. "It's not the first time I've been a prisoner, Fin." Her mouth was dry again. Achingly so. She broke away gently, she hadn't pulled out of his touch until that moment, and it was for a purpose. She was refilling the glass she had used at the sink and drinking deeply from it. Once, twice. Silent save for the movement of water. And then: "Sorry." A shake of her head. "Thank you. "

Fin wasn't sure if the wilt of her shoulders was due to weariness or the emotional toll this conversation was taking upon her. Still, he felt a stab of guilt for badgering her and keeping her out so late.

Frowning, he watched as she headed for the sink and kept her back to him while she drained the cup in her hand. By the time she was finished, Fin was at her elbow, concern evident in his searching gaze. Brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder, his hand settled at the middle of her back. "Ye do no' have to be sorry for anythin'. I apologize for pesterin' ye wit' questions." He wanted to know her story, the details of her previous internment, but he recognized it for the selfish desire it was. Instead, he would leave her be until she felt like sharing.

"No. I do. Because my reticence is not your fault." Both hands braced themselves on his sink after she returned her used glass to its interior. The tuck of her hair an the hand to her back shook a slow sigh from her. Her gaze found his ceiling and then found her own knuckles as a good target. "The truth is I'm getting caught up in a memory of your face that doesn't belong to you. And it's not right, because it gives him what he wanted. And it's not fair, because it wasn't ever any of you."

"I don't mind the questions Fin. It's okay." It wasn't the questions that had unnerved her, anyway. Just words. Just words. Inhale followed by a small smile fastened in place like armor.

As long as she didn't move away from him, Fin stroked her back with short movements, attempting to soothe the obvious internal struggle under which she labored. Her justification left him confused, slowly trying to pick apart her statement to see if he could fit the pieces together at his own pace. Nope, he still didn't know what she was talking about. "A memory of m'face tha' does no' belong to me?" Did he get that right?

Slow, steady breathing was what she found herself focusing on. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears, as if it wasn't really her speaking. As if she was just listening, like Fin. "The Faerie who held me borrowed the faces of the people I know and wore them to trick me. To undermine me." To break her, shake her. Several of those faces were now gone, or missing. She had no new memories to replace them.

Shae had come to the expert on having mirages and hallucinations used against him. Releasing a heavy sigh, Fin stopped fighting his instincts and pulled her into a hug. "Wha' sort o' things did they say to ye?" his voice low and soft.

Shae leaned there woodenly when he wrapped his arms around her, closing her eyes and just breathing. "I'd rather not say exactly," murmured into his shoulder, "but it was what I wanted to hear, what I was afraid to hear, twisted in a way that made me doubt myself and others."

The Scot couldn't dredge up anything that she would want to hear from him or that she would fear to hear from him. Oh how he wanted to know what that could possibly be but the stiffness of her shoulders told him he'd overstepped already. As usual, his attempt at help wasn't helpful. Releasing her, he took a step back, the tips of his ears warm. "I am verra sorry tha' ye had to go through tha', Shae. I wish there was somethin' I could do to help ease yer burden."

He couldn't be expected to guess at her insecurities and they embarrassed her to speak on. She knew they'd be dismissed with warmth and good intentions. Reassurances would be on offer, but she wasn't ready to hear them. If she voiced an echo of what she'd heard in the caves it would have been like acknowledging the possibility of them. That some corner of her heart could imagine a world where they were true. Her stiffness had nothing to do with his hug. He pulled back and he would find that she stepped after. Stealing the hug back from him in her own time. Her arms were a tight wrap around his ribs and she sighed.

The lass was no easy puzzle to put together. Her body language sent mixed signals that confused him but he did nothing to deny the hug she sought. His arms wrapped around her back, settling his weight to allow her to lean against him. Fin stroked her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head, keeping his mouth shut lest he spoil the moment. Again.

Eventually, eventually she pulled the pieces back together. "Thank you." Shae sighed and loosened her grip carefully. "That...that helps." That the Scotsman didn't push her away, despite the confusions in her actions as she struggled with the memory of his doppelganger. It meant a great deal, even if she was hesitant to explain why.

"Whene'er ye need it, lass, for howe'er long ye need." That was a promise he would keep. Slowly, his arms unwound themselves from her back, fingers slid from the ends of her hair. "Are ye certain ye do no' want to stay? I ha' blankets an' pillows for ye." Wouldn't be the first or last time he'd kept the company of another damaged soul through the dark hours of the night.

In and out. Steadying breaths. "I'm. I'm certain. I think I need to wake up somewhere familiar right now." For the time being, that meant her room at the Inn. Where her wards weren't compromised. She didn't need to subject either of them to the panic while she struggled to orient herself each time she woke in the night. "But I will see you again soon. For Salome."

A panic with which Fin was intimately familiar. Too familiar. "Aye. But remember tha' ye can come see me for yerself, as well. Ye do no' need a reason to be here." A soft smile followed. "I thank ye for comin' here tonigh'. It was brave o' ye."

Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. "I'll remember. It's good to see you." She still had a few more people to visit. A few more faces to reconnect with. One hand reached out to squeeze his forearm. "The watchers will be hunted."

His hand was placed over hers. "I know it. But while ye be huntin' for them, I will watch o'er ye." Make sure she didn't run herself into the ground in the process. "Please send me a message when yer home, aye? So I do no' worry."

"I may need to ask you for supplies of iron shavings. Star iron if you can get your hands on it." The request was reluctant, but she made it anyway. "I will, I promise," she assured him.

"I will give ye all tha' I can." Fin ushered her to the door, holding it open for her and leaning against it. "I will see ye soon, lass."

Impatient Guilt
One of Cianan's Apartments, Late Evening, May 7th, 2017

As a houseguest, the man who today called himself Ferys was a pendulum between nightmarish and considerate. The fulcrum between these two sides was his blood alcohol content. Drunk, the man left empty bottles and half-eaten food around, threw pillows at walls and generally was a noisy nuisance. These days his windows of hungover sobriety were spent picking up trash and cleaning his own blood out of Cianan's things. At the particular hour, the place was well arranged, save for the man sitting against the wall with all nearby pillows shoved aside. Between his denim covered knees a six pack of local brew was a third of the way gone, soon to be half. He stared at a point on the wall, a very particular point. If one were to draw a straight line between the man and the woman who was currently excluding him from her company, it would certainly pass through that point.

The handle would shake a few times, checking to see if it was locked, and locked or not, Cianan would eventually be coming in with a key. Maybe the handle jiggle was just a sign for Fox to get his pants on, if he wasn't wearing any.

The door was shoved open, and Cianan moved inside, carefully removing his coat to toss over the kitchen counter. A few first sniffs, and it hit his nose. He was kind of glad that his sense of smell wasn't better. Pizza, not on a plate, and left to die... was gingerly moved into the trash can.

He kicked a few pillows out of his way, and took his boots off.. after considering if it was wise to. "I see you've... made yourself at home?" He winced a bit, putting his hands in his pants pockets. His chin lifted slowly, and he eventually angled his view on Fox, "How are you?"

Lucky for the Drow, Fox had needed to buy beer. What space there was to be had in the fridge was now occupied by longnecks. In the time that he'd been fostered on Cianan's hospitality, he hadn't yet had anyone other than the Drow walk in so his level of response to the handle jiggle was underwhelming. There was a grunt that might have served as a 'hello' on offer between pulls from bottle number three.

Fox's nose had told him that the pizza would last a little longer before it poisoned him, but he likely wouldn't notice that it had been offered to the trash can. He lost track of things like that lately. The floor was clean, as sober Ferys had been present up to about a half hour ago. Another grunt, upgraded with a shrug for the statement turned rhetorical question. It was the actual question he couldn't avoid. He broke his gaze from the wall and turned it over and up to where Cianan stood making a study of him in his Hawaiian shirt glory. Hair back to russet red in color looked like it hadn't seen a comb aside from his fingers.

Gold eyes, like Shae's but for the shape of the face they sat in, were bloodshot, staring. "Waiting." The word had a bite to it that quickly died. Irritation subsumed by guilt.

He couldn't help but smile, for the Hawaiian shirt. He wasn't going to share why, but he moved into the room, and kicked over a few pillows to plop, unceremoniously upon them in front of Fox, reaching out to take a bottle from the pack Fox had in front of him. "Waiting. I get that." Gripping the top, he opened it up with a hiss, and a small fizz, before he took a drink. "You look pretty.. not good. I mean, you could use this time to.. learn an art, or distract yourself with something.. not booze related." Not everyone had Cianan's constitution, and his was aided by regeneration.

"Give someone up for dead, find out they didn't die, not be allowed to properly make amends for what happened. See how artsy," finger quotes, "you feel." The words came with an air of sarcastic rejection concerning the idea of him with a paintbrush. It was clear that he had found a hobby of sorts, if one could call semi-regular bar fights a hobby. Faded bruises lived on what skin was visible, and there was a dark scab running along one brow. Thankfully there were a lot of places to drink in this city as he was racking up lifetime bans like it was a competition.

"I don't know. I'd be pretty pissed if someone gave me up to die, and I wasn't dead. In fact, I have been pretty pissed about it." He took a sip from his drink, and snorted. It wasn't helping. "There's a barb in your heart, that gets placed there, and no, you didn't do it on purpose.. but it takes a little while for that barb to meld with your flesh, and become the new you again.

"Right. She has every right to be angry. It's just...she deserves an explanation." Not just why he hadn't come, but about those things she though he'd been keeping from her. Maybe it was something selfish to say that, but he thought he could weather her anger as long as he was sure she had all the facts. Then he was damned because he deserved it. Not because of a misunderstanding. Waiting. He was waiting still.

"I'm far better at playing the jackass." Far better at lashing out to seek some measure of punishment. Self flogging by proxy. Ferys seemed to realize this didn't belong with the people he knew, at least. The people that Shae knew. He'd tried to stay away. "I'm sure I haven't been a treat to deal with." The almost-apology came before a sip and a wince.

"You are pretty good at playing the jackass. Just stop being a sad-sack jackass.." Cianan groaned, "You haven't. Poor Senka.. arm shattered, had to be amputated." He wasn't sure how much of that Fox remembered.

Recognition of Senka's name has him pausing. "You fixed her br-- arm." Half doubtful, unsure if Cianan is making fun of him. The memory of that accident outside the Inn had a haze over it called whiskey. One thing he did remember though. "I tried to climb the wall in the alley. Didn't work." And then he?d tried to force his way past a sober Drow and a beautiful woman he?d mistaken for a tree spirit: Senka. He was staring at the Drow again, trying to weigh how many words he ought to say.

Cianan was Drow, he could keep a stone face, pretty well, with just a hint of sadness in there A slow shake of his head, "Nah. Just busting your balls. She's fine, I even got my back up back." He tapped his finger to his ear, where the ring lay inside. His fingers were full, but he did have back ups.

"I could feel her. Can feel her." He?s not talking about Senka anymore.

"If you try to go at her with an explanation now.. what do you think will happen? She's not ready to hear an explanation. She's too mad, upset, you'll just be talking at a brick wall, and nothing will sink in." Cianan reached out with his foot to gently kick Fox. "So. What would be the point? Wait. Let her breathe. Let her calm down a bit.. let her settle, and then she can actually hear you."

He brushed his finger under his nose, "Just gotta wait it out, until she's ready. She eventually will be, I mean, you're connected.. just give her time. Grab a new hobby or something. Less drinking. Magic the Gathering?" Cianan chuffed.

"While I'm waiting this out, what remains of the cell that was in that cave is making their own moves." Less drinking was a hard sell. Fox felt compelled to do more of it. "Magic what?" Asked with a frown against the bottle.

He tapped his finger against his nose. "They are. We know this, but we're not completely in the dark anymore. We know they've been watching us, and we can start to counter, and start hunting them."

"Just slow your roll. If there's one thing you should have learned from helping Shae, is what happens when you go off half cocked, unprepared, and without taking time, right?" Cianan's seen what Shae does to herself! "Yeah, and I know.. I'll talk to her about easing up at the moment. We're not in full form for a scrap."

Cianan made good sense, even if it was difficult to hear. Along the way, some of the frustration left his bearing, but the measuring stare remained. Several sips of beer passed his lips while the Drow spoke. When the man called Fox chose to speak again, he did so after a small shake of his head.

"You're telling me to wait until she can hear me, but do you actually think she'll listen to you if you talk to her about easing up?" Dry amusement filled the question, and the look he gave Cianan held sympathy. "If you wanted her to do that, you probably should have waited to tell her about the maps and the sketches."

"Enough ice cream and a new Game of Thrones season will distract her well enough." Cianan snorted. "No. I can try to talk to her, though. Once she gets her head on things, it's kind of hard to reign her in." He fell back into the pillows, and threw one at Fox's face, just for the hell of it. "There are ways. I guess. I'm not claiming to have all the answers. But if you go in, she'll redouble her efforts to just not think about you, or because she'll be stubborn, and you'll automatically be wrong, no matter what you're saying. People are like that."

The pillow bounced right off his bonce. Thankfully there wasn't a bottle flirting with his teeth when it did. "You're damn right it is hard to reign her in." Fox considered the pillow as it came to rest on the floor. "I suspect she's getting in her own way, right now, or you'd already be lamenting about how reckless she can be." Shae responded disproportionately to threats to the safety of people she cared for. "At another time I might be worried that her control would slip from the riot I feel coming off of her."

Beer met lips for the last swig needed to kill the bottle in his hand. Looking at the empty, then side eyeing the Drow as he exchanged it for a new one. "Ice cream won't cut it this time, Cianan. I hope you know what you're doing."

"Nope." Cianan admitted, "Rarely. I just kinda scrape on by with grit, pluck, and luck." He wasn't going to make Fox feel better about all that probably.

Cianan fell back into a pile of pillows.. and hopefully not onto any hidden pizzas. He wasn't sure if Ferys ate like a fox when he was in human form.. with the whole mousing thing. "But, exhausting myself worrying about it won't do any good either. It'll just make me more tired for when the problems do come. Gotta take things one step at a time.

There was a bottle opener floating around somewhere. Fox groped the floor for it, found it by his leg, and proceeded to flip the bottle cap at Cianan's head. "Healthy thing to admit, I guess. I was wondering who you were trying to convince in this conversation, me or yourself." Sparing a glance for that spot he'd been staring at and then tearing his eyes away from it, Fox tilted the beer to his mouth.

Silence stretched, broken abruptly by: "I was a dick the other night. With what Senka said."

"Both. Nothing wrong with a bit of self pick-me-up, when you're trying to help out other people."

He shrugged, "And you were. I'm probably going to knee you in the balls for it later." He admitted. The bottle cap would just bounce off, and Cianan would frown!

"Maybe that, too. Senka didn't seem to mind. She got all patched up, might still think, that you think she's a Nympho.. and that you're name is ****er." See? No plan. Improvisation wins again!

The man opened his mouth but, showing an uncharacteristic amount of restraint, changed his mind with what he planned to say. Acknowledgement of a debt, or maybe he'd just decided it was none of his business. He filled it with beer and went with option two. "Territoriality is an unreasonable bitch." Snort. "I'll make it up to her eventually. ****er is a kind of cool nickname though. Sounds a lot better in the common tongue."

"Sure. We can go with that." Cianan didn't agree, but he'd let Fox thing that if he wanted to. "Could you do me a favor, and like.. treat this place a bit better? I know you're all depressed and junk.. and I'm glad I didn't find you in a bathtub, drinking constantly, with the water now mostly being pee."

A small exhale, "But, I do have to, you know, live in and sell this place at some point." He placed his hand on the ground, and shifted back up to his feet. "You need food? Or more talking?"

He had the good grace to wince. "I'll do you one better and leave soon." He nodded towards the wall. "Shae went to Church House." Which really meant only one thing. Which was the real reason he had opted to sit with the wall for support. "She's resetting the wards." It was an endeavor to initially set wards for a property of that size. Cianan might well remember what it had taken to properly hide Antonia's apartment. Shae was just fixing what she had broken, but it was still work. "If she's bothering to do that alone, she's either planning on going back there or just wants to make it safe for Kate. If she stays at the Inn, I'll go to Church House. If she goes to Church House, I'll take her room at the Inn."

"How about I go to Church House, and see what's up with her?" He wrinkled his nose, "You have a phone?" He pulled his out from his pocket. But stood up to write down the number on a piece of paper, lifting it up to Fox, "Call. Text or something."

"Sound good?" He groaned at the thought of Shae resetting the wards now. Of course she would. "I can let you know on where to go. I don't mind you staying here.. just.. you know. He reached under a pillow, and pulled out a slice of half eaten pizza. "Blood on walls.. dents in walls.."

"I don't, but I know what a payphone is. Why do you want me to call, exactly?" Not that he was refusing the paper with the number. Instead he was putting it in the pocket with the colorful flower on it.

Cianan's face and that groan said a lot. And then he cleared up the mystery. "Ah," said the Fox. Frowning at the remains of the pizza, he muttered something along the lines of thought I'd gotten it all. As for the blood and the dents: "I'll do something about that, sure." He was an animal caged, but he did have remorse for being such a feral thing.

He held up his phone, and gave it a bit of a wiggle. Then added a one in front of the number, just to be sure. "Ask any place for a phone, and then dial this in. You'll be able to directly contact me. Like magic. But, not."

"I'll head over there now, maybe I can distract her with a dinner, or something." He was turning to go grab his coat. Maybe thinking he'll need to call some kind of magic exterminator or something after Fox leaves... just in case. "Do you need anything else? More clothes your size? Food? Pop Tarts? A picture of Lucy basking naked on the back of a giraffe?"

"I know how a phone works, asshole. I've stolen Shae's a few times." The resulting conversations were often priceless. More than one strange woman had called Shae's phone to rail at her for stealing the 'foxy redhead from the bar'.

"Right." Good luck with that, that single word said. "No I'm fi-- wait, can you actually get that last thing? I don't know what a giraffe is, but I like everything else about that sentence." Brows up, shamelessly hopeful.

"Probably not. But, I can text her to ask." He's texted her weirder stuff, for sure. "Hey. I didn't know. You spend most of your time as a Fox. You might not want to know, or care." A lazy shrug, he was firing a text off to Shae though, that read, Hey. Looking for You. He moved over to Fox, through the pillows again, and placed both hands on Fox's shoulders, "Seriously. Take care of yourself. You won't be any good to her, if you're a drunken mess."

Grunt and a drink of beer. The hands on his shoulders were shrugged off lazily. Heavy eyed glaze was spreading, suggesting the beer might be his last for the evening. His bonded, after all, was working. "Yes, yes. Go on." Another swig and a wave of his hand. "Let me know if you get that picture."

Coping Mechanisms, Part 2

"Do you believe that's all it is?" Cris holds his next sip of beer under his tongue.

"There is very little she does that lacks for shades of meaning." It wasn't a yes or a no. Not really. The fact that it leaned towards an answer was enough. "She'll push herself more now, to prove something."

He ventures his own guess, "That she is not really as foolish as she feels she is for her desperation?"

"It wasn't so desperate a plan, given the knowledge she was working with at the time. Hell, she convinced me to go along with it and it's pretty much my job to talk her out of things." The bottle was turned in his hands. "Was it foolish to trust a Fae she didn't know? Sure. Even if she did think it was her relative. Blood relations don't mean shit. Still, she will condemn herself for that hope."

Fox sighed. "That's not what I meant though. I feel doubt in her. There must have been something more that happened in that cave to put it there so deeply."

"Hell, it's foolish enough to fully trust them if you do know them," Cris says quietly against the mouth of his beer bottle. Another drink sucked through his teeth, he squints at Fox. "Beyond that obvious fact, why did you oppose this?"

"Why did I oppose what? The wards?" He only assumed that's what the Nephilim had meant. "Because she uses her own strength, her blood, to cast them. If she underestimates the cost she'll be weak and vulnerable. Cianan got wind of it and went to go talk some sense into her, presumably." Maybe not effectively. Shae had finished the wards, but at least nothing bad had happened.

"No, no," he shakes his head, briefly raises one hand. "You said that she convinced you to go along with her plan to contact this-----phantom relative. It stands to reason, then, that you opposed it in the beginning. Was it merely because of what it may cost her, did you have any reason to believe something like did happen would happen to her?"

Understanding finally, Fox took a breath and explained. "I opposed it initially because she was unfamiliar with the herbs. She's never tried spirit magics of that kind before and she was meant to have a guide for it. I wanted her to wait until he came back. Did I think she would be taken by a very living creature? No. No I didn't. I was afraid she'd half-poison herself with the herbs themselves. They are dangerous if mishandled. Of course, she researched them meticulously. Poured herself into testing until I felt secure that I wouldn't need to rush her to a healer."

He nods. It makes sense to him. But Cris cants his head a moment later, "Is that all?"

"That's the second question you've asked like that. Is there something specific you're expecting to hear?" Both brows raised slowly.

"Perhaps. But often, answers can be given in parts. Staggered in a hierarchy, with necessity at the top and privacy at the bottom. I do not think you're lying to me, nor intentionally keeping things quiet. I'd merely like to know as much as I can."

One hand raised to drag down the side of his face and then sketch roughly against his mouth. "I didn't know enough. Didn't remember enough to caution her against it beyond concern over the herbs. So at the time, that was all."

"And what about now?" Cris sets the beer down, "What has changed?"

"The contract." Long draw from the bottle in his hand lowered it to the halfway mark. "The original one was overseen by the divinity who stripped me of who I was and locked me in four legs. Something about the way it broke has given me small glimpses of memory."

His brows pull in. "Does Shae feel the same sort of connection to you as you do her?" It's a tangent, but he humors it.

Fox was about to give a ready answer, but found he had to pause to consider. When he began, the words were measured. "The contract is new. It's hard to say how it might have changed. Before, though, I had more insight into her than she had into me. Strong emotions would bleed back the other way, but much of the point of our bond was me as warden to the parts she couldn't control."

"Is it possible that she can feel all of what you do now? It will not negate the necessity of a conversation, but surely it must soften the urgency?"

"Feeling my regret and knowing what I have to say are two different things." Bottle tilted from side to side. "It may soften her towards me, and that's my hope. She can hold a grudge that lasts a long time and I'd rather not be on the receiving end. Cianan keeps telling me to be patient."

"Is the effort to maintain this patience what's driving you mad, or is there something else?"

"It's part of it." Fox was an impatient creature. "The other part is her, what I can feel. She's a mess, as is to be expected. And I can do nothing but sit here until she's ready to let me in again."

"In your time together, has anything like this happened to her? Not------necessarily an identical incident, but something that instills the doubt that you feel."

"It's rare." He said carefully, aware he was treading on things the woman didn't often share. "And the doubt is only a component of it. Rage. Fear." Slow sigh.

He nods. He can only guess the source of both of those emotions, but he thinks he can get a good idea. He's quiet for nearly a minute, sorting through what he's been told already. He lifts the beer to his mouth, guides its neck on the curl of his little finger.

Fox drank in silence while Cris sorted through his thoughts. Adding only: "She's been held captive before. This time was worse, I feel."

"This time, she was harried by falsehood and forced to remain a state where she could do very little to stop it all," softly. He rolls the beer bottle between his palms. "The divinity you mentioned. The one who stripped you of----yourself----" he looks up, "why did she do this?"

The man grunted once in agreement, drowning the sound in a sip of beer. The last. The bottle lowered to the floor with the others. One bottle remained and he eyed it sullenly. "She wanted revenge. I served someone who She felt had wronged Her."

"How mature," dryly. He scratches his brow. "Do you know what it is that Shae was trying to learn? Beyond the obvious genealogical connect-the-dots."

"No one ever said goddesses needed to be wise or fair." Mature was equally optional. Fox sat back, bringing one ankle up onto the opposite knee as he spread his arms over the back of the couch. "Control."

"Yes, that too," he says with restrained flippancy. "The information she seeks for herself, do you, personally, have it?"

"If you're asking me if I have the slightest idea of what she needs to know to control her nature, I don't. I wouldn't keep that from her." He frowned at Cris. "What I do know is that I recognized the face the Fae wore when he claimed to be her biological father. I think he was the one I served."

"You think?" curious more than accusatory. "I suppose that would quell any suspicion over the Fae fabricating the whole thing. Shae would not know what sort of face she's looking for, the Fae could have chosen anyone. Do you think he meant for you to see it?"

"I don't think he, the Fae, knew who I was. I didn't really know who I was. I still don't. Not much is understood about witches or their familiars. Unless She decided to tell the Fae about what She had done, I don't think he would have chosen the face for my benefit." The frown lingered. "So he must suspect that they're actually related. Maybe he thought he could confirm it if Shae recognized the face."

"What purpose would that serve, if she sought him out specifically to learn about him. Face included." He rubs his forehead, "By the Angel......"

"Shae was seeking the spirit of a relative, we had no idea who would show up. This...Trickster, he had his own agenda and put on a show. I can only assume why. They must want her if she's connected to the man he was pretending to be." Fingers raked through his short hair in a gesture that was similar to one Shae often used.

He pulls his hand down his face, rubbing his mouth and jaw. It does nothing to erase his frown. "She thinks you know something, Fox," he says, after nearly a minute of quiet thought.

"I know she does." He sounded tired. "And to be fair, I do. More than she does. The fact that our first contract was not just facilitated, but orchestrated by another, for starters. That is the only secret I kept from her consciously, because I had to. The rest, well, I didn't remember it until I woke from that creature's slumber."

"Part of that contract, I presume," rolling his hand. He sits back in the chair, finally. Props his left ankle on his right knee. "What is the rest of it?" Then he holds up a few fingers. "It's all right if you'd rather only discuss it with her. I will not ask again, if that is the case."

He considered Cris and nodded. It was a secret that was demanded of him as part of the arrangement. The rest of it...he looked around the Inn and then leaned forward. He didn't see the harm in sharing this with Cris, but his voice was quiet. "I think that face, the one I served, might well be her father. I mentioned before, someone else came through from our world, a friend who has since disappeared. She called Shae Dalharil d'l'Maral?senger. That's a Drow phrase. It means 'Daughter of the Stormlord'. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but that man and that title, Stormlord, go together in my mind."

His eyebrows go up at Fox's covert glances across the room. He'd just gotten settled, but he leans in to match to be certain the account does not travel too far beyond them. Spoken, he understands the Drow phrase, but he nods along for Fox's translation. "And you served this man-----in what way?"

"I feel like he was a comrade, or maybe a leader. I felt loyalty and trust when I saw his face and it caught me off guard." His expression soured. Shae hadn't been the only one to be caught up in the moment of contact after her attempt at the spirit walk.

"You said that your memories are returning, yes? You're regaining knowledge. Does any of this knowledge include that man? Do you know his name?"

"I don't remember it. Not yet. Just the feeling of him." The laugh that shook from his chest was humorless. "It's terribly disconcerting to see a face you know you'd die for and not know why."

"I can imagine," he says, though he really can't. Any that he'd choose to lay down his life for, he knew the exact reason why. "How swiftly do these memories resurface?"

"Not. I'm not even sure they are still resurfacing or if the fractured pieces I got were just what She couldn't completely strip from my mind." The flash of his teeth was a silent snarl of frustration. "Of course, I've tried to knock some loose." Maybe literally if the bruises were an indication. "So far...nothing else."

The bruises, he thinks, are a product of too much restless energy, too much anxiety, too much of the incorrect thing. "It has not been that long, and this last contract you shared with her spanned several years. It may yet take some time."

"I don't know how kindly she will feel about waiting another century for answers, Cris." He eyed the last beer bottle again, but didn't move for it.

"You do not know if it will take that long. By then, you may have reconciled enough that she may be able to help you regain what you've lost. Or perhaps trigger a single memory that will give you several."

"Perhaps." That single word after a long stare towards the wall. Then, golden eyes rested on Cris again.

The Storehouse Ambush, Part 1

One Day Prior, May 10th, 2017

Text to Cianan: What are you doing today? I was going to see if you wanted to do a little scouting with me.

Text to Shae: I can do a bit of scouting, but only if we take it nice, and easy. Not getting in too deep, lest I have to hear a certain fur ball whining at me, and scratching at my door.

Text to Cianan: I'm not aiming to force a confrontation, and that's about as much of a promise as I can give you.

Text to Shae: I guess as much as I can take. I'll join you. Wanna meet me here? Or shall I meet you somewhere? Also, I'm probably going to be ready for action.. just in case, because we're terrible and draw trouble.

Text to Cianan: I can meet you wherever you are, give you time to get ready. Are you at the Inn?

Text to Shae: Yes. Should I just keep bathing until you get here? Or be prepared when you do? I can do either.

Text to Cianan: Do what you like, I'm the one disturbing your bath time. I can be patient if you want to soak more.

Text to Shae: I do want to soak more, but I'll still be ready when you get here.

Knock knock. Knuckles rapped against the door carved with arachnids some fifteen minutes later. The Sylph had come bearing gifts in the form of a cardboard drink container with fruit smoothies. It wasn't as good as wine, heck it wasn't even grape, but it was a peace offering for disturbing his late afternoon bath. The woman was wearing more practical clothing for the weather. Fitted pants tucked into boots, long sleeved shirt beneath and open sweater of grey. A wide black scarf hung loose on her neck.

Cianan would be waiting in his room, his clothes mostly on. Hip pouch, and weapons were stored in correct places. He was just waiting to do up the final buttons, and actually put on the rest of his clothes. He moved and opened the door slowly, checking to see who exactly it was before he opened it fully, "Hello, Shae. Almost good timing." The smile on his face showed he was lying a bit, but he hitched up his pants a bit more, and tugged the belt firmly.

"Hello to you, too." Slipping inside when he opened the door, shutting it with a nudge of her hip. "Almost?" One brow lifting as she looked him over. Head bending to capture one of the straws with her lips for a sip. "I can leave and come back if you want." Pointing at the door behind her with a smile that knew full well she couldn't time travel any other direction.

"Oh. No. No. It's fine." He sighed, tilting his head back, "I'm just so sorry for the delay." The pants were up, and hung on his hips, and now it was time to close up the shirt, button by button. Pausing, to speak. "Oh. You brought smoothies? How thoughtful of you. Thank you. Just what I needed to cool down. And, no need.. I'm almost done." His boots were already on, and all that. Odd way to get dressed, but he was Drow after all. They do stuff weird.

Her eyes followed his hands as he finished dressing. The order might be unique, but that was probably why it interested her. It made sense, in an odd way. Utility before comfort. "I did. It's a bit chilly out for them, but I had a craving." And lately, she'd been trying to indulge those when they happened. "I told you I'm more than willing to wait, you don't have to apologize to me."

"Oh, I know." He sighed, over dramatic, "But we really should get the show on the road, right? We have exploring to do?" He finished up the last button, and now, buttoned up his vest in a more proper fashion, pulling out of the lean, and giving her a bump on the hip, with his own to reach for a smoothie. Tugging everything into place, and making sure the cuffs he rolled into his sleeves were nice and crisp. He took a drink from the smoothie. "Okay. I think I'm ready to venture forth."

His constant sighing brought out an amused smile, and she surrendered the second mixed berry smoothie into his hands when he reached for it. They were topped with a layer of whipped cream and enclosed in clear plastic. He bumped her on the hip and she swatted him with the now empty drink holder. "You sure you're ready? Didn't forget a sock or something?" Another sip, the end of her straw much chewed on in the last few minutes. "Yes, some exploring. Mostly I want to get a look at the store house they were transporting people through. See if I can draw any conclusions or find anything that would help me locate any other staging points."

He sampled the smoothie, and smiled around the straw, "Ooh.. whipped cream." He needed that extra sugar, apparently! "What part of town was it in? Do you remember?" Wanted to be sure if he needed to grab something before he left.. a few switches around, "You have something for melee?" Just in case. Always. Just in case. She was wearing jeans and a scarf, he hadn't checked her out for weapons.

The whipped cream made it, or so she thought. At his inquiry into weaponry, she pointed down to the hilt of a knife sticking out of her boot and then waggled her fingers at him before curling them into a fist. The air shifted around her and there was a strange sensation of static. "Yes. It was near the warehouse district."

Right. He had given her a once over, that went down to about mid thigh, before going back up. "We seem to be good then." He moved in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "I have some iron knuckles, I've been wanting to try out.. enchanted, too." Mm. Electricity spells were fun! "Walk, or Car?" The car was a bit flashy, and electric purple.

If it came down to it, she would bend the air into the summoned blade she rarely liked to use. Fox was the one more comfortable with a sword, but he wasn't here. "I'm not anticipating Faeries. The Collector's men were never Fae. The Fae were long gone from my world before he started recruiting." That said, knuckle dusters were knuckle dusters. "What are they enchanted with?" Reaching out, she fingered the edge of his vest. "Car I suppose. Though we can stop a ways away and walk the rest." It made little difference, given that she'd not been able to disrupt their surveillance yet.

"You never know" Cianan shrugged his shoulders, "I don't want to make plans just yet. Desperate means for odd allies. Especially if they're trying to get a food in the door here." He went for the straw on his smoothie again, and caught the underside of his nose with it. A brief retreat, and he got it. "Now that they're here.. they might have access to all sorts of weirdos." That was a concern. He paused when she caught his vest, and turned back to look at her. "Electricity." He'd answer the previous question, "They're enchanted with electricity.. to pop on and shock who you hit."

"Mm." Letting him go, she turned towards his door and reached for the handle. "You make a fair point. I don't like the idea of them networking. I would like to think that the faerie who held me was an outlier, but he said enough to know that it would be a foolish assumption." She kept waiting, especially after Beltane, for the Trickster's allies to make themselves known. "Electricity." She echoed the word and the edges of it made it clear that it wasn't one she had known prior to coming here. "I still can never decide if I like that word."

Cianan paused a bit at the top of the stairs, and offered his arm out to Shae. "Lightning?" He pursed his lips thinking if that was better. It had a nicer flow to it, for sure. "There are lots of evils here. Let's hope not.. but consider it a possibility. Lots of people looking for easy coin, can jump into any kind of horrid thing." He was happy to escort her down the stairs, "I mean.. Fae often like to trick and use people for their own ends.." He just liked to keep his bases covered, and that was hard to do with Fae.

Amiably, she linked arms with him as she nursed her smoothie. "What you call electricity to power the phones and teevees and lights here, my people knew as caged lightning. It wasn't as prevalent, but it was growing in popularity for the luxury of it. Alchemists, especially, were often experimenting with it." Soft, thoughtful frown for both the memory and his thoughts about mercenary reinforcements. "I can't fathom the motives of the Fae here, or why they would be inclined to get involved. If they are, in fact, from my world I can at least assume they care little about the fate of it."

He happily linked arms with her. "It's strange for me too. I spent a lot of time in the under dark.. then up here, then I started seeing a gradual increase in this sort of thing. Now, I have a phone?" He grumped, "I did used to have guns. Now I find them a bit too impersonal." Distance. No need to aim, so quick.. it just lacked the same finesse that driving your fist into someone's skull did. "Mm. I don't know. Those fae may in fact clash with some of the other Fae here. We might get a bit of a turf war going, along with all the allies they may find." Out the door, Cianan'd hold the door open for Shae, and open the car door for her as well.

"Guns. I still don't know much of anything about them. Save for awareness of their potential lethality." Out the door of the Inn and down the steps of the porch, she took a deep breath in the open air, mood improved. She held no fear of inside spaces, but something about being outside was calming. "Thank you." For the assistance with the door to the building and the car. She settled into the passenger seat and leaned over to unlock his side of the car. Rolling down her window became priority over buckling her seatbelt. "Depends on how long they've been here, and in what force. I'm beginning to wonder if the Fae from my world didn't all just come here."

As soon as the car was started, and the engine roared to life, Cianan lowered the windows for Shae. A gentle pat on the knee as well. Both hands on the wheel, and he'd take things slowly. "They're pretty terrible.. I mean, unless you're the one holding them. Crossbows that are half the size a few hundred times more powerful and easier to modify, and conceal. He might still have a gun on him, for the just in case. He'd make sure he had her seat belt on, too. Just because it made him feel better. "They could have?" Cianan offered unhelpfully, "We have no way to keep track of what comes in and out.. maybe the nexus itself does? Self regulates? I doubt it though. We get multiples of the same people, or creature far too often."

"I'm not sure how well my breeze could stand up to them and I'm not eager to test it out." She brought her right thumb to her lips, trapping the corner of the nail between her teeth to run her tongue over the jagged corner. "Mn." Hand fell back to her lap. "I don't like the thought of them taking guns back with them." Guns were just the edge of the problem. There were many things on this side of the Nexus that would drastically shift the balance for the worse. Buckled in, she watched the streets move past slowly. The smoothie fell victim to the gnawing anxiety in her stomach. Air through the straw was a noisy interruption.

"Let me know when I should stop." He'd keep the car moving at slow speed, obeying traffic laws, and all that junk. Ew. But, generally being a well behaved car person, even slowing down to let people merge and turn in. No rushes!

The breeze that lived with her had blocked its share of projectiles, but a bullet was so small and fast. Mentally, she made a note to look into arcane defenses for gunfire and then tried not to think about what it would feel like to be shot. She shook the remains in her cup to gather them at her straw for at least one more sip. "Let's go a little further southwest. Maybe a few more blocks. If Fox's memories are correct, the storehouse was close to the end of the docks."

Cianan nodded his head, turning a bit the direction she stated. "Let me take you to a gun range, so you can experience it first hand. Why I'm so afraid of them, and why I hate them being pointed at me so much." There were reasons, he tensed when someone touched a gun around him. "You don't have to like it, and we don't have to do it again after that, but it's good information to have." A small glance over, a parking lot in good distance, "I'm going to stop here. We can go on foot, or over rooftop, if you prefer." But, the ride was conspicuous.

"I would like that, the chance to learn I mean." The offer intrigued her, if only so she could better understand the threat. "We had guns back home, but they weren't..." Her fingers grasped for the right word, but she couldn't quite find it. "They were different. Lesser." It would have to do. She would prefer the rooftop, but she knew he wasn't as fond of heights as she was. Shae lifted the wide scarf to drape over her hair. It distorted her profile a little, but was little more than a placebo. "We can take the streets. I don't know what it looks like from above, anyway."

He was fine with running and walking on buildings. He loved floating under his own power, and even walking on ceilings. He just wasn't as much of a fan of flying. Especially when it wasn't under his own power. "Let's do it. We'll keep to alleys, see if we can spot the place from a distance, before we go hunting." Did that sound like a deal? He closed the car door behind him, and stretched out a bit, making sure his hips were nice and workable, in case he needed to go upside down, or do any odd agility maneuvers.

Stepping out of the car, Shae left the empty cup behind. Cianan was limbering up and she was looking around. Eyes towards nearby roofs as if she expected to see a glint of reflected light or the hunch of an observer. She stretched her arms upwards to elongate and loosen her spine and then walked around the car. "Sounds like a plan to me." Easy agreement to his suggestion. She wasn't sure if there would be anyone to hunt, but the thought brought a tingle to her fingertips.

"Whatever happens. Make sure you keep yourself safe." Cianan grumbled as he finished up his stretches. A quick check of his hip pouch to make sure it was still there, and he gave Shae a nudge of the arm and a smile. "Anything happens. Split up. Meet back here. If you aren't here by an hour after we split, I start looking for you." Better to have that plan now, than later. He'd already lost Shae once, he wasn't planning on doing so anytime again soon.

His precautions were logical, and he would find that she didn't argue with any of them. "This is information gathering, not an assault." She'd promised as much over texts earlier and she wanted it to stay that way despite the wild thing in the back of her mind that howled and raged for blood. She would be methodical. She couldn't afford to miss anything. Not under these circumstances. Her feet left the ground as she moved towards the nearby alley. The barest cushion of air between her footfalls and the pavement was all it took to make her a wraith.

"Indeed. It's why we have an escape plan, and not an attack plan." He waggled his eyebrows to Shae. Cianan's feet were naturally silent as he walked along, hands in his pockets. Casual. He was projecting casual. "Hm. Maybe I should have just invited you into my bath, and we could have saved ourselves all of this." too late now!

"You were the one who insisted on being ready by the time I got there," she reminded him with a smile and a side glance as she crossed one street to enter another alley. Evidence of commerce lessened here as the streets gave way to buildings designed for manufacture and storage rather than sales.

"I am the worst." Cianan lamented, tilting his head back with a small groan. There was a childish stomp of feet too, that wasn't audible. Another alley, and Cianan seemed to be at home in them, keeping his posture straight, instead of skulking. He belonged there, and that shouldn't be questioned. Let's see how long that would work out. Scaling fences, and dodging around things with ease.

Shae slowed as they drew near to the edges of the memory. But a scent was already assaulting her nostrils. Char. Smoke. "****." Shae stepped past the corner to stare at the space where the storehouse had been. What was left was a gutted, ruin of black soot and skeleton metal.

Cianan peeked out as well, frowning a bit as he stared at the skeleton of what was. He sucked on his teeth a bit, not saying anything. There was a small sigh there, before he started looking up, and around. It was too coincidental, and he was going to make sure there was no one around watching them. Again.

A fire would have had to rage and settle for at least a day to reduce the location to that state. Frustration lined her spine. He wasn't the only one searching the rooftops. Only she was about to do it close up. Irritated stalk took her to the nearest fire escape and she jumped for the ladder to try and bring it down.

Cianan placed his feet on the wall, and walked up it a ways, before grabbing the fire escape, and pulling it down for Shae, "Here." He couldn't really carry anyone going up walls, it took a bit of focus, weapons and crossbows were enough.

Tight nod of thanks saw her start to climb. She needed the space of the motions, the repetitive grip of metal, to help her lock down the simmer of agitation in her. When she gained the roof it was empty. She immediately began looking around.

Cianan would time his ascent with hers, reaching up to grab the ledge and pull himself over at roughly the same time. Now, with a brass knuckle on his wrist. He dropped down into a crouch, and started to listen.. what Shae couldn't see, maybe he could hear.

There were signs that there had been passage across the roof. Something that had been there mounted on the edge, had been removed. Bright metal where the bolts had scraped away at the weather worn ledge. Two roofs over, a figure broke and ran while Shae's focus was on those markings.

Cianan blinked, hearing the running and spotting the figure. "Shae. Hold on here. Listen for me.." He was now off and sprinting as well. Looking for ways to close the gap between them, he could cross gaps in buildings like no one's business, this was his preferred travel method. Being small on the ground meant he had to deal with big things. Being up high, meant that every now and again he'd run into Saila and that was about it.

"What?" She turned but he was already off and running. "Cianan!" One hand reached out and then she was cursing. The woman shifted from foot to foot, tempted strongly to tear off after him now that she saw the figure he was pursuing in the distance.

The Storehouse Ambush, Part 3

Cianan and Shae, One Day Prior, May 10th, 2017

The figure was swift, it was clear that he was familiar with the rooftops. He led Cianan on a merry chase, further and further away from the ruins of the storehouse.

Cianan was familiar as well! Snarling a bit as he pushed on, leaping pretty quick, he was considering grabbing the gun from his hip pouch and opening fire. A small pause. He was getting drawn away.. he skidded to a stop. It wasn't important, he could chase him down, but the energy expenditure might not be worth it. He slid on the roof and watched.. checking back to look at Shae, and started to back up.

Cianan was gaining, the man he chased taking choices that were poor. Looking back showed Shae hadn't been left alone. The woman stood with hands outstretched and crackling with electrical arcs that jumped from finger to finger back on the roof. The light shrouded her in blue while three figures had joined her on the expanse. One was already prone, twitching and writhing with smoke rising from his back, while the other two circled warily.

Cianan would wait, turning back towards the man, still close by, and cast darkness on him, right before he jumped to the next roof. Maybe that would take care of him. Shae, he was heading back towards her, full speed. He was silently cursing himself out, for taking the quick bait, and now he'd draw the hand crossbow, to take aim while moving, it might be a building before he can be in range, though, unless he wanted to take a wild shot.

Cianan would be satisfied to hear a shout of alarm at the unexpected darkness that dropped on his quarry. The runner hit the side of the next building rather than the roof he was aiming for. Several short impacts later, he was a pile on the ground. Ahead, Shae lunged after one of the circling figures, it darted back while the other lashed a whip at her. The length snaked around her arms and the crackle in her fingers sputtered out.

Well, hell. That wasn't good. Cianan had his crossbow aimed. Silent running, he wasn't sure how much stealth he actually had there, but as soon as he lined up a shot, he fired, aiming for a head. He was staying quiet! Once the fire shot, he'd throw up a faerie fire on the one with the whip on Shae, to hopefully distract them!

They had counted on their associate drawing the Drow away, and so the bolt hit home on the man Shae had been lunging for, his attention having been centered on the Sylph. He dropped with a new cranial piercing and Shae turned on the one who held the whip. Rather than pull against the tangle of corded material, she stepped into the tug to loosen it. Enough to let her get her hands on the man who had panicked in the moment the faerie fire illuminated him. He shouted as her fingers closed on his collar and the sound cut off abruptly, as if swallowed. He froze and she was....kissing him? No. Not quite. He was paralyzed and her open mouth hovered near his face, pulling the air from his lungs.

"Shae!" Cianan called out! Hissing a bit as he skidded to a halt, his hand crossbow out. Ooh, then wincing as he saw the man suffocate.. he didn't want to imagine the popping of lungs. "I'm sorry.." He tossed the hand crossbow to the ground, unloaded. The steel knuckles still on.

The man she'd managed to shock in the first exchange was just picking himself up off the flat of the roof past where Shae was sucking the life out of the whip assailant. He took one look at the crumpled figure and then noticed the Drow. He made a break for the fire escape.

Shae's head tore up and away from that lethal inhale at the sound of her name. Eyes darting towards Cianan, devoid of their usual golden color to be replaced with a stark white. The body in her grip was a limp weight and she, shuddering, dropped it.

"Got him." He wasn't going to move that far away again. He was streaking after the guy, again, throwing another darkness around that guy. It'd be hard for him to see the that fire escape in pitch blackness. Cianan could stalk easily after that, listening, able to go through the darkness without problem, and silently as well. "Strawberry Shortcake." A crackle of electricity would hit the air, and he'd swing the iron knuckles at the man.

Unlike the previous quarry who had been lost to the descending darkness, this target ran right through. He was at the top of the ladder when Cianan and his sparking fist caught up with the back of his head. Shocked for a second time, the man collapsed onto the top level of the escape, spasming.

The darkness was pinned on the man, Cianan scowled a bit when he almost ran through magical darkness. Son-of-a.. He snorted, and looked back at Shae, "You good?" A quick check in. "There's one down there, don't know how long he's down for." He doubted Mr. Collapsed Lungs would be talking.

Mr. Collapsed Lungs and Mr. Bolt to the Head were not in a talking mood. Neither was Mr. Missed His Jump. That only left the twitching, frothing figure on the fire escape if they wanted to question anyone. Though a shock to the skull didn't bode well for his conversational skills in the near future. Shae was shaking, pupils wide in the midst of white, but her voice sounded steady. "I'm fine. Just...maybe don't touch me for a little bit."

Cianan nodded his head, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left.. I didn't hear. He was going to move over to the edge of the building, and pat it down. They didn't need to touch, they could still sit close. He just wanted to get answers so badly, and that was the mistake, all that talk of staying calm, and he jumped at the first chance. "You need anything?"

Shae settled on the ledge carefully and resisted the urge to swat him. She could feel her skin as if it were crackling. "Don't apologize," she insisted. "You didn't hear, I didn't hear. Neither of us did. I would have gone tearing after him myself if you hadn't beaten me to it." At the moment she was focusing on the way her blood was thrumming in her ears. Her pupils were still blown, her system riding on a high of energy that demanded release somewhere.

"...Do we have to go pick him up off the sidewalk?" Cianan made a face, "You probably would have been better taking the runner." He turned and gave her a small smile, thinking she could have just blown him off the side of the building, or given him a sudden downdraft. "So. They kind of set a trap for us." Cianan grunted, "Two fold." A rabbit to run and get a chase going while others stayed behind. He didn't like that, "Chocolate?" Something to get her brain focused on something else, also, his own.

"Hm? Pick who up?" She didn't know what had happened to the runner. She'd been a bit busy. "Oh you mean...oh." Fingers came up to scrub through her hair. The scarf had fallen some time ago to her shoulders. "I suppose they did, but that's what makes them the Collector's hunters." And the thought made her frown deeply. "I need to disrupt however they have been watching us. A trap for me is one thing. I don't want them...I can't bear the thought of them..." Shae didn't think it would be long before they started looking for other people to leverage her compliance. Where her fingers pressed into the ledge, black marks were spreading.

"What?" The mention of chocolate disrupted her train of thought and she looked over at him, confused. Chocolate? "What about choc--" She cut herself off and leaned back slightly.

He reached into his hip pouch and brought out a bar of chocolate. Distracting the train of thought is, exactly what she needed. Obsessing, would cloud thoughts, make people see things that weren't there. Drow behavior, having to jump at every shadow. Cianan didn't want that for her.

"Look. I'm usually fine. Most of my places are warded. I'll avoid the ones that aren't. Even my Inn room is warded." He really didn't like people knowing where he was, though he was doing his best to tone that down, to prevent worrying Shae about it more. "Also, the apartment Fox is in, his warded." As long as he stayed inside. Maybe he'll go make Fox a drop off of booze... and he really hoped Fox wasn't bringing people home. Mental note. Check on Fox, just.. in general.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered the chocolate bar. "I'm not having an imbalance of sugar." The statement was mildly exasperated, but there was affection lurking beneath it. She tried to calm her breathing as she listened to him. Wards. Yes. He was safe where there were wards. Fin had wards. And Lucy. Cris...she'd have to find out. "Fox is back at the Inn." Shae knew only because she could feel where he was. Projecting his hang dog regret at her. He'd left Cianan's apartment much like he said he would, but not until he'd cleaned it up for the Drow.

"Nah. It's a good distraction though. Better than a beer. Easier to carry, too. No worries about getting shaken up while I'm jumping around like an idiot." He drew out some reese's cups, and offered them over to Shae. Blathering on a bit to further distract her from obsession.

Well, good. That'd make Cianan happier, he was happy to offer Fox a space to stay, but it was also intruding on one of his safe spots while Fox was not in a good place, it was a conflicted sort of feeling. He'd still have to move, that that was for his own personal paranoia.

Relenting, she took the package from him carefully and opened it. Everything felt heightened. Each emotion, each sound. She'd experienced it before, but she was never quite prepared for the reality of that particular method of taking a life. She focused on the chocolate with closed eyes. "What about him?" Nodding in the direction of the fire escape.

"He fell." Cianan smacked his hand into the ledge of the building, and raspberries, "Not going to get any good information out of him, unless you can talk to the dead." Taking a life? Never seemed to be a problem for Cianan. At this point, it was old hat. Lifetimes of it.

"Not a cleric." She might arrange such a thing, with effort, but at the moment all she was trying to do was center herself. "The one you just chased fell too?" Damn. She sighed. The fact that the man was dead didn't phase her. It was the method. That was something else.

Cianan's darkness was off at this point, and he'd check the fire escape to see how the one he punched was doing. "I would have kept him alive, but, I saw I got duped. Easier than having him come back.. gotta keep making the enemy bleed resources. Get's 'em desperate." Wars of attrition, and all that, soon, they'll either run out of people, or he'll have to pay to get, make or capture more to use, leads to less funds to use elsewhere.

The one he punched was out cold, but breathing with a guttural finality. His face sagged on the one side and now and then his limbs twitched. "I'm not mourning the loss. As I said before, they don't belong here." Glacial savagery lingered in her tones, warmed only by the taste of chocolate on her tongue. "Four less is four less."

He stretched his hand out for her, palm up. "Yeah." Softly. He wouldn't agree or disagree with her sentiment it was just a thing. "You doing alright?" He doubted they'd get anything out of Mr. Twitchy. It was better to take care of their own at this point.

Shae stood, but she was careful not to touch him. "I might hurt you," she said by way of apology for not taking his hand when he offered it. "The..." Looking over her shoulder, she gestured towards the man whose breath she had taken. "There are side effects."

"Oh?" Cianan leaned to give himself a better view of the person on the floor, "Do tell!" Oddly, he seemed excited to learn about something like, this, and something like Shae. He turned to look at her, more out of wonder than anything else.

"Can we...maybe...get off the roof first? I'll tell you, I swear, but I don't want to be here anymore." Managing a hesitant smile, Shae looked down over the edge of the roof. Getting down was always easier. "It's not exactly a short explanation."

"Let's go. You can tell me on the way back." Cianan stepped onto the ledge, and dropped off suddenly, his feather fall catching him part way, to drift him slowly down to the ground. Always so much easier!

No gasp of shock from Shae to see him step out into open air, she was following after Cianan in very similar fashion. Legs up and over the ledge to drop into the alley below. Like the step down was a single foot descent instead of dozens of them. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept her elbows in as she started back the way they came. The wrapper from the candy crinkled empty in her closed fist.

"You going to be good to ride in the car? Or should we walk a while, and come back for it?" It didn't matter to him, but they'd be in a lot closer confines in the car, and if she was afraid, he didn't want to take a corner to quick and put them both at risk.

She stopped mid stride and considered the way she felt. Lawless city though it often seemed, there were dead men back there and even if those on the roof went undiscovered a while, the one that had been dropped would draw attention soon. "The car." She decided and was moving again. "I can sit in the back." Barring some particularly crazy driving antics on his part, the displacement should keep him safe.

"Understood." He paused to give her a smile, something calm, in the turbulence. He understood, at least some of it. Some of it, just washed over him. He had his own worried, but right now, like Shae he displaced them for someone else. They were heading back to the car, and so help him, if anything happened to his car, he'd eat a face. Literally.

If anything happened to his baby of a car, Shae would certainly feel bad. Really bad, I'm sure. Which is why, after they reached it and he opened the door, she touched as few things as possible when she climbed into the back seat. Buckling in was done as swiftly as possible before hands delved back into her pockets. She made it into the vehicle and nothing exploded. Exhale of relief. Her control was better than she remembered.

"Back to the Inn, or Church House?" Cianan would check back in, after letting them both into the car. He was making sure she had enough room, and didn't mind giving her what space she needed. "Or to one of my places?" All the options. He'd start the car, and get things rolling, she could make up her mind at any time.

"Nnn. Church House or one of your places." The Inn was just a bad idea. Fox was there and she'd never hear the end of it. Already she could envision his disappointment in her. "I need to ground myself. Or take a swim." She fidgeted, bouncing one leg in agitation. Some color was returning to her eyes, but only just a faint layer of gold dust where white had been dominating.

"Will a shower do?" Cianan was heading to one of his place, then. Easy. Off the map places to park the car to keep it out of sight from magical and non-magical sources. "I'll make some food when we get back, so you have something when you get done." It was a bit tub.. or at least, wide.

"I'll try it, if you promise to stay clear of the bathroom." She sat back, not really paying attention to where he was taking them. Unlikely to take note until he parked the car. There was a hum in the air trapped inside his car. It smelled of ozone.

The Storehouse Ambush, Aftermath

Cianan's Apartment, May 10th, 2017

Somewhere on the drive, Shae had figured out what she could do to alleviate the build up that was thrumming in her veins. So it was that she found herself sitting in a bath at one of Cianan's many apartments, leaning over the side with a handful of pearls clutched in wet hands above the floor and an empty velvet pouch. Normally it would have taken days to enchant each one. Exhausting days.

Shae had insisted he stay clear of the bathroom, not because of the pearls, but rather because of the way city water with all its impurities was a damn fine conductor and she was little better than an exposed wire. Even now, small sparks leapt between bare fingertips cradled close together. "I promised you an explanation." Her voice filtered past the bathroom door, open or closed, to whatever safe distance he'd decided to occupy.

"You did." Cianan called back, as he worked in the kitchen, having left the door open in case some weird magical effect would send Shae down the drain. He wasn't quite sure. Chopping, preparation, and pouring each of them a glass of wine for when she got out. And then throwing a batch of cookies in the oven, because, when he was stressed, or worried, he baked. That had replaced his self-tattooing and piercing habit, oddly enough. He paused briefly, and headed a few steps closer to the door.

"It's...not as bad as the last time. I think it's because you called my name and it interrupted me." Her eyes, still pale as the pearls she held, didn't leave her hands. "What I did is something that I'm fairly sure is taboo. Or if not, maybe it should be." The markings on her skin moved more now than they usually did, looking for a crack in her skin from which they might escape. "There's something to a person's last exhalation of living air that has power to me. I think a measure of vitality must escape there." Like the first offering of a body returning to dust. "It's not a soul." There was no lack of art depicting the soul of living things leaving the body through the mouth, but that wasn't it. All those pictures merely tried to explain a phenomenon more obscure.

Cianan would pause in the doorway to the bathroom, not broaching it until he was beckoned to do so. "So. You get a bit.. lost when you take someone's last breath? It does a little something to you?" He wanted to make sure he had all that correct. His head tilted in, "But it's still the last touch of them on this mortal coil. I can kind of see it. I always got a little amped, when I was in combat, and you heard that last wheeze of life shuddering from a person. That final squeeze of fingers, before they went soft." Maybe it wasn't similar at all, but he could relate to it a bit, that way. "Let me know if you need anything in there."

"Yes." Acknowledgement for his described experience. It wasn't surprising to her that he, with his history, had glimpsed that touch. Somehow it felt easier to tell him this than any other time she?d explained this before. "Last Breath." She said it and it sounded like it had the emphasis of capital letters. "It's potent. Like a drug. It amplifies." Shae was on some Sylph version of steroids, charged. "One could get addicted." A shiver ran down her spine despite the high heat she had filled the tub with. One by one, pearls dropped from her fingers into the open mouth of the pouch below. Each new deposit carried fresh enchantment, bleeding the current thrumming from her skin drop by milky drop.

"One could." He agreed gently, "Kept me as a killer for many years.. I mean, I still kill. Just not, professionally." He doubted that sending one man tumbling between buildings, and caving another person's skull with iron knuckles would be considered not-killing. Or the crossbow stuff. "Having a life in your hands and ripping it away." He turned back, hearing the beep of the oven, and went to go sort some things out. "So.. you get a bit of a... power boost, to the living storm that you are? Or do you just lose a bit of control over whose breath you steal, while you're.. amped up?"

Her hands weren't clean, historically. Slavery, rebellion, and war had seen to that. However, she seemed to treat this particular kill as something different. "It's a boost." If a profane, almost parasitic one in her regard. A tactic for desperate rage and little else. "One that has turned tables, but it puts pressure on my self control. Intoxicating, damning." More strain for weakened seams. Her voice carried wherever he roamed, as if she followed him from room to room. Drop, drop, drop. Her heartbeat was calming and the scent of ozone was starting to fade where it had permeated his apartment.

Even though he knew she could do that, and they have had that experience before, it always seemed to throw him a bit, to not trust his own senses. He'd still smile though, it wasn't anything bad, just always took a moment or so to readjust and remind himself. "I have a vague idea then." He smiled towards the disembodied voice out of habit, and then rolled his eyes at himself. "I'll try to keep that in mind as well." To prevent that from coming up. "Take as long as you need in there, Shae." He took a drink from his glass of wine, and pulled some balled up fried potato off to the side, and into the warming tray of his oven. More time for him to keep cooking.

To some degree, she was aware of the havoc it caused when she projected her voice and took a small perverse pleasure in watching people jump from across the room. Still, in moments like this, it was less a teasing trick and more of a desire to maintain the conversation with him without having to shout across the apartment. She stayed until the last pearl was a gleaming lump in the pouch on the floor. Until the heated water went tepid and cool. Until the eyes in the mirror were their proper honey gold. Only then did she climb out. The water drained as she dried herself and, wrapped in a large towel, gathered her things.

He heard the water sloshing about, and tilted his head over, he could hear the water draining, and glanced over towards her, nudging a wine glass. "How you doing?" He turned, and smiled, and then he shoved the tray of potato stuff closer to her as well. Carbs, always good for lower energy! "You're looking a bit better."

Her things, including the velvet bag of pearls, were set on the couch while she continued in her towel dress towards the kitchen, the wine, and the scent of food. Her hair hung wet, towel tussled, but was drying at an accelerated pace as her breeze played about its strands. The wine was her first priority, and she smiled a tired smile at him over the rim of the drink. "Better." Hesitantly, she reached out to touch his arm as he nudged the tray closer. A light brush. It carried with it a hard static shock, but not the same force she might have exerted an hour ago. Her exhale seemed relieved as she echoed again: "Better."

Cianan yelped a bit, and rubbed his arm where he was shocked, and then slid in to give Shae a firm embrace, his cheek pressed against hers. He'd take the shock, and maybe it's get the last bit of a shock out. "Grab some wine, and some food?" A small kiss on her temple. They could relax for now, process all that stuff another time.

Her smile was too satisfied to be truly apologetic for the initial shock, but she hugged him when he stepped in to claim the gesture. Touching her came with a low grade pulse of tingling in time with her heartbeat. No more firm jolts, he was on her current now. "Do you have a robe I could borrow?" Denim over damp legs didn't sound comfortable. She sipped from the glass he had poured her, but didn't yet sample the food.

He moved and planted a kiss on her forehead, nodding his head, "I'll go grab you one." Robes. Cianan had plenty, also various lounging materials, "Dig into what's there." Along with the potatoes, were salmon flanks, the cookies as previously mentioned and steamed veggies. Stuff he could do quick, while she bathed. He moved into the bedroom, to dip into the closet and find a robe to give to her, something soft, smooth, silky.

"Thanks." The towel was comfortable, but needed constant adjustment. Not the best for eating in. He'd return to find her perched on the edge of the table, eating bits of potato with her fingers. Then an entire cookie. Rather than being a complete savage, she made a plate onto which she transferred salmon, veggies, and more potato.

That was perfectly fine! He hadn't gotten to the point of setting out silverware just yet, so stopped short, holding up the robe for her to slip into. Giving it a gentle bounce, "How is it?" The food. He knew she and Fox liked their red meat, but he rarely had any on hand without notice. Veggies were plentiful, though, and fruits.

Stepping away from the table she flashed a smile. "The potatoes and the cookies are delicious." All that she had tried so far. Her arms slipped into the sleeves of the robe held out and she wrapped it closed around her before letting the towel wriggle free to the floor. With a dip she picked up the damp discard and walked it back to hang in the bathroom. Shae was well aware of his dietary choices, and had never found fault for the skill with which he prepared his meatless dishes.

Now, it was his turn to make a plate! Moving over to grab a plate, and fish, and various things. He'd lean against the table as well, piling things on and waiting for her to come back. Well maybe he just wanted to watch her sashay about in the robe when she came back from the bathroom, either way, he has his position, and was eating, eyes peeking up every now and again.

It wasn't long before she joined him at the table, claiming a seat near where he had chosen to lean and dragging her plate over. Her appetite had returned after her extended stay in his bath. Silverware, silverware. She looked for a fork as she pinched a bite of zucchini into her mouth. "Do you think the watch will be able to piece together what happened to those men?"

Cianan shook his head slowly, "They might think the guys ran into some of the various other do-gooders that roam the area." He took a bite of salmon, using his fingers. He was super classy. Steamed veggies, and mushrooms were carefully popped in one after the other. "Will they be able to tell it's us? Probably not. It doesn't even look like my normal sort of thing." He took a breath, "We should probably be in the clear." That was his assumption. Another crunch from a steamed carrot, "We should worry more about if your friends were watching, or if they just sent some goons to distract us from something else."

"It's not like they are wearing signs around their necks that say 'I'm murderous scum who hunts people.' " This pointed out as she gave up on forks and joined him in eating with her hands. "What if they assume otherwise?" So far, Shae had eluded notice for her various antics, but luck didn't last forever. "I don't much like prison." Soft admission. The wind wasn't meant to be caged. It did harsh things to her psyche. She filled the space with bites of salmon. "They'd taken down the mirror on the roof. And they'd set fire to the building. They're fond of ambush tactics." As if that wasn't obvious. "Even if no one else was watching, they'll notice four missing men eventually."

"Nah. But they were dressed in weird robes. Matching, weren't they? Matching outfits tend to be the universal sign of a bad guy goon." He rolled his shoulders a bit, and loaded some potato on salmon, and took a bit bite. "The watch here, also.. really doesn't do much unless you go out of the way to rile them up." He sighed, "And there are plenty of vigilantes, bounty hunters and problem solvers, that roam around.?

?Mm. I don't want to be in another prison again, myself." He was locked away under Lloth's rule, and time in the wood elves capture. He'd prefer to not go back, even if it was far nicer than anything humans could come up with. "We don't have to worry about here.. that, and I have some pull with government and the watch." He waggled his hand.

The hunter's attire had been similar, but not in the robed cultist clothing line. They were deliberately nondescript, but functional. Flat colors of brown and grey. Meant to not stand out in a crowd or against the outline of a roof. Practical footwear, with a few items of use aside from weaponry. "That was the necromancers," clarified regarding the robes.

"I suppose I should be thankful for the lax attitudes of the local law enforcement." It made her wonder about another matter, but she didn't voice it. Instead she looked up as he mentioned his own past incarceration. "Bribing the law?" One brow raised. "I don't know whether to be appalled that it's so possible or impressed that you've done it."

"Mm." Cianan nodded his head, "True. You're right." He held up his hand coping to the error he had made. "Still, a bunch of people dressed, maybe not exactly the same, but similar does speak to an ambush if I were doing the investigating." One that had gone very south. He didn't seem to mind that at all, going over it. He gave her a small up nod if she wanted to ask, she had the all clear for it. "Oh yeah. Very possible. Also, easy to distract if you know people higher up in the chain of command."

"Did you arrange that when you came to town 'just in case' or was there a particular incident that required it?" Asked of his bribery connections while she ate all the carrots out of her scoop of mixed vegetables. Then it was on to the zucchini.

"As it required it." Cianan shrugged his shoulders, "As you know, there are lot of people, and peoples who reside here. Some are.. aggressive, and the worlds they come from are harsh, or they dominated, and now they do not.? He wiggled his fingers, "Things happen.. and you just need them to go away with fewer questions, just to keep things clean."

"Hm." Thoughtful sip of wine. "It's long been my practice to try and not put myself anywhere near the city guards. Of course, sometimes that didn't work." Here she began to smile. "I was thrown in jail the first day I arrived in Ravenhold, for example." The smile gradually turned cocky, proud. "I arranged a rather showy breakout in order to have a word with the guard captain. They ended up letting us go."

Cianan grinned a bit for Shae, and nodded his head, "Very nice!" He clapped his hands, "Most of the dungeon escapes I've had, have been fairly mundane, a few tears, a few promises. Dancing naked with elves in the moonlight to show them I changed.. and then." Well, he hadn't. A life time under Lloth did that to a person, though. "That's how I ended up here. After years." A long, long Con. "What'd you do to be thrown in Jail?"

"I may have called one of the gate guards by some choice names when he refused to relay a warning about what had happened to the nearby town." The smile faded a little. "We had investigated missing trade caravans and found an entire village had been transformed into experimental material." Things like the constructs that Cianan had encountered in the cave where Shae had been held. "It was the first time the Collector took so many."

Cianan made a face, his eyebrows furrowing a bit. "It's been trailing you for that long?" He moved over, setting his plate down, and draped an arm across her shoulders, "I'm sorry.." She'd been here for quite some time, "And those abominations.. constructed undead." He grumbled. A whole town? He exhaled.

"It was a slow build up to an outright war." Shae explained as she realized he didn't quite know how far back it went. "I think I've told you, I was in the middle of a siege when I came here." The hand with clean fingers came up to touch his where it rested on her shoulder. "We were retreating." A nod. Abominations was the right word for it. "Time may pass differently here than it does where I come from, or so I would hope. If his followers are active still then I suspect the war is still on."

Cianan gave a slow nod of his head, remaining in close and listening. "I remember that." Her coming here in the middle of a siege. Something had gone wrong. "Mm. So. Do you have thoughts of going home and resolving this issue? Or, do you just want to keep it from spreading here? And possibly elsewhere." The nexus was weird, but it had allowed Cianan to visit other worlds.

"When I decided not to go back it was because I didn't want the war to spread here." She picked less at her food now, a soft frown settling onto her features. "The Collector is named such for a reason. He has a bargain with a dark god on my world. One that demands souls. An as yet unmet quantity of them. He started smaller. Missing people. Lost traders. But he gained a following and--" The hand not on his gestured to the empty air, as if it held the sum total of everything that had happened since. "Now I...I don't know. Obviously they found a way here despite that decision. I don't know if they followed me, followed Mirini, or found their own way."

"We can.. take it one step at a time." Cianan squeezed her shoulder gently. "Figure out what to do about it... it doesn't matter how they got here, we just have to stop them from continuing to do so." He sighed, knowing that problem himself, even if he didn't want to admit it. There were plenty of times where he wanted to close off all routes to the UnderDark.

Like Cianan, she was only one person. Shae couldn't stand guard everywhere there was a breech, but stars... she wanted to. "Yes. I know. One step at a time." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She looked towards the door for a long moment, tearing her eyes away to find refuge in her wine glass.

Eggrolls and Absolution, Part 1
Church House, Early Afternoon, May 17th, 2017

Along with his atrocious inability to maintain friendships, he has an equally terrible time forewarning his arrival. It isn't until Cris is out the door of his rented room, one of only twelve units spread out on a single level and painted a stomach churning pastel coral, and settled on the seat of a bike that's still trickling into existence beneath him when he digs his phone out of his gear and taps out a couple short messages.

Text to Shae: Are you at home?
Text to Shae: How long has it been since you've had Chinese?

Her reply came back fairly quickly.
Text to Cris: I am.
Text to Cris: Too long.
Text to Cris: This an invitation out, an offer to deliver, or a cruel tease?

It was by the third text message that she had woken fully from her unscheduled nap at her desk. She carried the phone to the bathroom with her and went about the business of scrubbing ink off her cheek and jaw.

Text to Shae: I'm am not so cruel.
Text to Shae: 29 minutes, I will bring it with me.
Text to Shae: What would you like?

He stuffs his phone away in its pocket and starts the engine. Most of the journey will be eaten up on the way to Church House. He can get a head start on Leung's, presuming she'll respond before he gets there.

Text to Cris: That's a very specific estimate. I feel like I should time you.
Text to Cris: Dumplings.

Because really, who didn't like dumplings? Of course, she shouldn't eat just dumplings.

Text to Cris: And, you know, some other stuff. Fox wants eggrolls.

That she was passing along the request could be construed as a positive sign for her relationship with her familiar.

He'd taken some time paused at an intersection to put in a short order to Leung's in accordance with Shae, and Fox's, requests. He doesn't know how many eggrolls the man was after, but if he ordered enough, they'd give him two regardless. He adds a pint of egg drop soup, a small sesame beef and curry chicken, with a pint of lo mein noodles and rangoons. Early afternoon to early evening is the restaurant's peak block, and when he arrives, some eight minutes later, he inches his way through the line of hungry people crowding the counter for lunch.

Text to Shae: He's there with you?

Text to Cris: He is. Place was a bit too empty with Kate gone.

Even if the woman was a bit of a voyeur with the home security system after all the recent 'guests'.

Text to Cris: He's been supervising the repair crew fixing the side of the building below my window.
Text to Cris: They're at lunch now, but I suspect he'll be back at it when they return.

Meaning he'd likely abscond with his eggrolls and leave them be.

Text to Shae: I'm glad to hear that, Shae.

Small talk with Mrs. Leung includes the confirmation of her suspicions that he's eating with another person, because he can't be packing it all away on his own. He assures her that he'll do what he can to let that other party know they're on nutrition duty, that he'll return again in person soon, and will order more than soup for himself.

Text to Cris: Seventeen minutes.

He arrives at Shae's home some fifteen minutes later, he'd overshot with his estimate, and parks the bike in an adjacent alley rather than anywhere on the property. Three cut runes render it part of the detritus that makes up those narrow lanes, with overlapping warding. He approaches the door with the bag of aromatic food pressed up against his ribs, its heat eating through the thin cotton of his white shirt. He rests his hand upon the door handle to wait for its locks and wards to let him pass.

She was either actually timing him or she was messing with him. Even still, his estimate was eerily close. He must frequent Leung's enough to be able to predict the lunch rush. Shae felt him step foot on the property and made her way downstairs. Outside a work crew was lazing on grass that had recently been cut. Most of the land around the graves was still overgrown, but recent upgrades to security had required a little bit of landscaping. Out front, Shae's neglected herb garden showed signs of recent tending.

This time the door didn't open for him by magical means. The temperature had spiked and Shae stood in the doorway with her hair up above a faded print t-shirt in grey with black letters reading 'Polite As ****'. Her legs were wrapped in jeans, and her feat were bare. "Delivery man survival rate is two for two. I feel better now." Half-smile as she beckoned him inside.

His hand jolts back when the handle turns under it. He expects to find himself face to face with open air, but it's Shae that stands there before him, and he blinks. From her updo to the big, bold **** on her shirt. He snorts, chuckles twice through an abrupt tautness somewhere below his collarbones. "Naturally. Your enemies must have some manners, for one dares not disturb the transport of good Chinese, lest one wishes for a painful death." He crosses the threshold. "Where are we to go?"

Several fans were going in the converted building to help keep the air cool. It was still a degree or two above the ideal, but it was an improvement over the exterior. There was a moment of hesitation when she closed the door behind him, she smoothed it over with a light laugh. "It would be a crime that's truly unforgivable." Shae gestured towards the main room and the kitchen beyond. "The couch or the island in the kitchen." Fox, four legged, was sprawled out in front of a floor plan with his eyes closed.

He feels the warmth of Church House wrap him in a welcome he does not want. The air is close, threatening to thicken. Heat will not help, and he has a hot plate up against his ribs already. "The kitchen will be fine." He'd liked the look of it when he was last here, however briefly he'd looked it over, and it would force him to remain on his feet. He rips open the bag through its staples and searches inside for the sleeve of two eggrolls to deliver to Fox as they passed the resting canid by, leaving them near his right flank.

One singular tail flip was as much of a 'thank you' as Cris was bound to get for his eggroll delivery. Shae continued up the steps past the fireplace towards the oasis of granite and bar stool seating. It was warm in the house, but closer to the Sylph her ever moving breeze was a kindness. "Can I get you something to drink?" Maybe she just wanted the excuse to open the fridge. It helped. Her breeze dropped a degree or two in ambient temperature after a minute or so loitering there. Shae's fridge was a thing of bottled beverages and take-out containers.

"Anything cold," he says, a few paces back. He'd run out of Gem's handrolleds last night, and had to settle for a pack from the closest convenience store specializing in Earth vices. He'd brought two, the probe of two fingers on his right hip tells him. It's a blessing when he can pass off the bag of food to the counter. He shoves his palm across his ribs to quell the irritation from too much time spent beside hot food. He busies his hands with the unpacking. "It seems obvious by Fox's presence downstairs that you've, at least, progressed to some sort of tolerance for him, yes? Your discussion went well?"

Snaring glasses, Shae was soon pouring iced green tea from a jug, augmented with a generous handful of ice. She'd have to get Kate to show her how the air conditioning worked when she came back. Shae didn't know how to work the thermostat and didn't want to break something. Drinks were delivered to the island while he sorted through the to-go containers. "It went." To say it went well was a level of optimism Shae didn't quite want to reach for. They'd reached a peace, after much arguing from both sides. "And it'll get better."

He can hardly fault her, he'd told her something cold after all. He sets out her dumplings last, pops the lid on his small soup container to let it breathe. "I see. I'm glad, at least, then that he has this chance."

Given the playfully mocking nickname Fox had burdened him with, Shae was mildly surprised to hear Cris' empathy. The creature in question had picked himself up off the floor and was carrying his eggrolls towards the stairs that led up to the landing library and Shae's room. Fingers snared a dumpling as she considered how to reply, looking at the bits off loose leaf settling in her glass. In the ends she couldn't come up with anything, so she changed the subject. "Thank you for going with him the second time." The fact that Fox had gone by himself for the first go 'round had been a bone of contention after she found out about the fire at the storehouse.

"He asked me to," he says, by way of explanation, but it is not much of one. Just because Fox had suggested it did not mean that he had to comply. He stirs the small cup of soup, invigorating the mottled egg whites and chive onions with a pair of chopsticks he had yet to separate. "It would have been stupid for him to return alone, in the off chance someone was lying in wait for him. Without yours and Cianan's interference, that's exactly what would have happened. Did he discuss with you his theories on just what it was that killed two of those men?"

Her soft grunt was one of agreement. None of them should be moving alone against these people. Not when the number that remained was still such an unknown. "Which two men?" She asked carefully.

He doesn't believe it possible that they hadn't discussed it. Not in at least some short detail. He taps the chopsticks on the edge of his soup cup, then sets them aside on the lid. "There were three corpses left behind across the street from the storehouse. One on the roof, and the one felled on the uppermost level of the fire escape did not die because of simple blunt force trauma. We did not get to look at the fourth. There was a small area of the street a few blocks back from there cordoned off for the removal of another corpse." He looks up, and over. "You do not have to tell me. But when I told Fox what I saw, he insisted returning to the roof to inspect them himself. He was concerned that you'd done something rash." It isn't the right term, but it fits better than any he thinks Fox would have labeled it with.

Oh, they had. At length. Cris recapped the bodies and none of them registered as a surprise. She took her time to organize her response, buying a few extra seconds with sipping from the glass of home cold brew. Of course Fox had insisted. "He had a right to be angry about that." It was one of the few points she had conceded to him during their argument. "I had promised him I wouldn't."

Shae sighed. "It was a dangerous thing. I was angry, and it was thoughtless."

Eggrolls and Absolution, Final

Arms crossed and scowling, the picture of him had her wincing into her glass.

"Granted, I do not remember it all. I recall......" squinting, he muscles his reverie past the vivid imagery of coins and silks and skin, ".....you hadn't the desire to discuss it back then, either. Much like now," his gaze swerves back to hers, catching the tail end of the wince. "What will happen to you if you give in to the pleasure you inadvertently take from this?"

Shae makes a face when he describes it as 'pleasure'. "It's not--" She was quick to try and clarify with a sharp denial, but cut herself off. Slow exhale, she tried again calmly. "Pleasure is a back massage. It's dancing with hot skin and sharing breath. It's collapsing after vigorous sex. This is not pleasure. It's more like an invincible feeling. For a short time nothing is impossible. It's every satisfying punch. Every sense of righteous vindication. It's an amplification to spells and a physical barrier to touch. No I don't like talking about it, because to the person I am now it feels wrong. Ill gotten." But stars, what a power trip. "If I were to indulge I would become as lightning." Chained into a fury. Something base. Rage.

Minute shifts unsettle the depth of his frown. Nowhere close to a smile, but threatening at an even, impassive line. They had different definitions of the word pleasure, that much becomes clear. What she describes sounds more pleasurable to him than its prefacing list. Any of it, all of it, even if it only lasts for a short amount of time. He moves his left hand, presses his thumb firmly against the lean swell of his bicep and the corner of a black Mark. "Could you come back?"

"Yes." Hesitant. The question was not one she expected. "I did, didn't I?" She'd backed down from that electric edge. Certainly all those things felt good. She wasn't denying that. She just elected to draw a line on what she attributed to the word in question.

There, part of his mouth turns up. He looks between her eyes a few beats before he finally nods. "Yes, you did." Then he cants his head, "Looking back on it now, have you any notion on how else you could have responded?"

As if she didn't already obsessively play her lapses of control over and over in her head, now he was asking for examples. "Of course."

"It's always easier to do so in hindsight, when that fire has vacated your body and you're left only with the memory of what you've done. Because you have the time to now, yes?" He scratches his arm where he'd pressed his thumb, two, angry red lines cutting across the diamond corner of the Mark there.

Eyes for the lines and then for the mark itself, drawn by the movement and then by the quiet satisfaction of tracing the bold black on his skin. Clearing her throat she looked away, picked up her chopsticks and stuffed a whole dumpling into her mouth. " 'indsigh'. Yesh."

He snorts, ducking his head. "You did not want to tell me this, did you?"

"No." Soft, that word.

It's rare that he pries, does so only when he wishes to make a point somewhere down the line, as if to give his fervent curiosity permission to drill holes. He counts the beats of silence as they build. Listens to her chew, and the roar of distance fans, mingling with her own breeze, keeping the air from going completely still. "Why?" asking finally, matching her volume.

"Because." She wasn't going to leave it at that, but he was asking for a heavy truth from her. While she hadn't denied him thus far, he was prying into a wound she'd been holding tightly closed for the sake of forward motion. The expression she turns to him is as vulnerable as the night she asked him to stay. Fragile in a way she rarely let show. "I don't think I could take it right now if the way you looked at me changed into something like the face he showed me."

He's patient, often in ways, in places, he shouldn't be. Even in the thrall of a difficult conversation, his patience, and subsequent non expectant silence can hold its own weight. He waits for as long as he needs to, as long as she does, a faint seam returning to the space between his brows when their gazes meet and seeing the rawness in hers feels like trying to breathe around a knife in his ribs. A line of tension rises from jaw to temples, releasing after a slow swallow.

He doesn't ask her what she'd seen, though he wants to know now, more than he ever did, so that he could disprove it all. Slowly, he shakes his head. Right, left, then a fraction to the right again. "Nothing you can do will make that happen, Shae." He maintains the same muted volume they'd slipped, soft, but still a few degrees above losing voice altogether.

The slow shake of his head was in time to the way her heart shifted in her chest, hooked and dragged from one side to the other until the moment he spoke. When he did, she heard her breath hitch in her throat. Hands drawn in towards her stomach crossing tight and gripping at the cotton there like emphasis around the expletive. Her gaze didn't leave his as her own brows drew together. There weren't words for what that sentiment meant to her. There was only a shaky exhale. There was only the way her eyes started to water as she finally looked away. The colors of the stained glass window behind the sink were a kaleidoscope. And then her head was in her hands with palms dashing at her eyes.

It had taken longer than he wanted to utter it. He had not wanted to watch what the dread hollow out her cheeks, or the brittle light in her eyes as she held his. His brows come together. He ducks his head at the same time that she does, a knot of strain rhythmically churning at the back of his jaw. Behind his right elbow, his hand aches where he clenches it in secret, most of the stress on his ring finger, driving the blunt nail into his palm.

It's a different kind of pain than he's used to, to maintain the short, four and a half foot distance still between them. All at once, thirty-eight seconds later, he drops the lock on his arm, pulls his aching hand down his mouth and chin and approaches her. Four and a half become three, become one, until he can feel the curve of her shoulder hit him dead center in the chest. He reaches across her, despite the part of his mind that protests, questions it, tells him not to because it's too warm, and it's too important, meaning to touch the breadth of his palm to her neck, subtle tension in his arm to convey permission to give him the weight of her lean.

Thirty-eight seconds was time where she struggled to steady herself. Looking at nothing but her eyelids. Listening to nothing but her anxious, hummingbird heartbeat. Slow, she demanded of it. Breathe, the instruction for her lungs. The impact of his chest to her shoulder undid almost all of her progress, for reasons both relating to and wholly separate from the drowning sense of relief that came in the wake of his quietly voiced acceptance. Sentiment that had made her fingers shaky.

The pressure of his palm against the curve of her neck ruined the rest of it. Certain he could feel the pulse that hammered there. Surprise registered somewhere in the moments where she took her fingers away from her face. Permission in his body language transformed it into gratitude. Half twist let her rest her cheek against his shirt as her arms settled around the lines of his careworn torso. Her next, forcibly slow exhale was a warmth that skirted his ribs.

In the seconds that followed, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, a gentle greedy snare.

The outside of his hand settles against the warm dip between neck and shoulder, the calloused length of his thumb against her jaw. She turns into him and he raises his elbow so she has room, exhaling when she finds a place to lean and the shape of his chin, rough with a few days' worth of black stubble, rests upon the top of her head. It occurs to him that he is incredibly selfish when it comes to allowing even small moments like this, his own comfort stacked on an unreachable tier when put against a close friend that needed only a brief reassurance that he was not going anywhere, and did not mean to. He watches the kitchen wall across from him without really seeing it, shutting away that part of his mind dedicated to keeping track of her fingers curling tighter. Heat beats through him from the air and her lean, but there's a deeper chill on its heels, a kind of polar anticipation and revs the imagination. He grits his teeth, loops his other arm around her back and curves his hand to the shape of her shoulder. "I mean that," he tells her. Little strands of her hair tickle his upper lip. "I do not know the extent of what you've been forced to endure, but I can guarantee that the approximation of my loyalty to you was greatly, greatly inadequate."

Caught in the space between his thumb on her jawline and the feel of his shirt against her cheek, topped with the dip of his chin to the crown of her head and the loop of his second arm across her shoulders, Shae closed her eyes. The hug felt much like a cage of safety where her pomegranate and herb soap and salt cheek brine meshed with his sun soaked cotton and smoke and metal. She breathed in the security of it, the points where their torsos met, committing it to memory with as much focus as she could spare from just enjoying that reassurance.

His voice caught in her hair, and she would have folded his sincerity into her braid if she could. Would have worn it like a token for idle hands to find comfort in. "I'm immensely thankful for that." The words were chest vibration and the sketch of the side of her lip against his sternum, but they were not weak. They were a squeeze of her arms that tried to convey a sentiment where words fell short. And then, with a small helpless laugh, she added: "I didn't think I would ever say that I was blessed to have someone poison my tea."

He's become used to the smell of their food. Her softer, spicier scent carries easier. His favorite fruit, natural herbs and feminine skin. He snorts for her confession, chuckles only once, but she can feel it where she's resting against him, the brief catch of voice given to the amusement, low in his throat. He locks his gaze with the closed refrigerator, bows his head to touch his mouth to her hair, the firm squeeze from his hand on her shoulder finding the rigid line of bone under flesh and lean muscle. "It most definitely could have been a much more bleak experience."

There were things she needed to tell him about. Things she wanted to give him. They would keep. For now, they would keep. Now was for the hum of his amusement and her breeze that could find no space between his hand and her shoulder. Two years wasn't a large span in comparison with her age, but it felt like an epoch for all that those two years had changed her. "Yes," she agreed after a silence where she just breathed. "I'm glad it wasn't." In the moment was best.

In some ways it seems much longer. Twenty, perhaps, for how well he can remember them both. He smoothes his palm back across the side of her head, the curve of her ear warm, soft, below. "I'd like to think that you and I would have inevitably ended up here." Not entirely here, in this place, at this time, under this stress, but if he'd been destined to die last year, then he does not exactly know how else it would have turned out. He presses his mouth once more, briefly, to her hair, then begins a cautiously sluggish extraction from her embrace.

"Is that right?" Asked as she reluctantly surrendered to the heat and the cues of his withdraw from the gesture he'd gifted her with. Perhaps her fingers lingered on the hem of his shirt just a little before letting go. "The universe and fate shifted to have you bring me Chinese food?" Her words were light, but there was affection beneath them. "Must be some kind of magic. Maybe one of your angels with a sense of humor." Shae didn't like to indulge in 'meant to be' meetings on typical occasions. Fortunes read had never been in her favor, but when she thought of all the things that had led her to such a strange place, where she could experience the sensation of someone dear kissing her hair, her skeptic heart wanted to believe.

He feels the tug of fabric caught, glances down to find her hand retreating a moment after her arms did. Cris withdraws enough only to avoid crowding her, half of his mouth on the rise when he does. "The universe and fate need not interfere for that to happen." He looks aside at nothing, the open doorway leading out of the kitchen to the rest of Church House, but she ultimately draws him back. "But you may be right. Perhaps an incredibly cruel Angel, with errant and inexplicable spurts of mercy."

Her hands found her drink, watered down for the half melted ice but she didn't mind. It was cool and she pressed the glass to the side of her neck before taking a long sip. His addition, when he turns back to her, has her smiling. Her shoulders set higher for the loss of a phantom weight. "You're not cruel." Gentle admonishment. "I'll buy the errant and inexplicable gestures, perhaps. But not the cruelty."

He does not watch her with the glass. He could do with his own, actually, but she catches him before he searches it out with an unspoken connotation that hooks every fraying edge of his mind and pulls it in, cinching it tight. He pauses mid-turn as those three sentence line up and repeat. Bashful is not an emotion he wears well, and it is fortunately not there for very long. He smiles, all white, even teeth and budding crows feet at the corners of his eyes. Despite himself, and the personal belief that he is as far from the Angels as any other Shadowhunter, perhaps more so now for his plummet below the earth and time spent suffocating in a Hell plane. Ducking his head, he exhales a chuckle, returns, slow, to his place some two and a half feet back where he sees his glass, devoid of ice now, and he draws it in across the island. "Thank you," comes four beats later. "I'm glad to hear that."

Consulting the Hunter, Excerpt, Part 1
The Inn, May 18th, 2017

Odd was a good way to describe what happened when their two individual sensibilities interacted. Between cautious editing, accidental offense, sarcastic defense, and unexplained, genuine -- and often hidden -- concern, the dichotomy of the machined, masked hunter and the arcane, tempest woman who refused to be prey was complex, to say the least.

"So what?ve you been up to? Haven't seen you around as late, thought maybe some fellow had come along and made you honest." Dirty little grin accompanied that jesting tone as Mach took another sip from his drink, free hand moving now to pat himself down in search of his smokes.

"Mach, I've always been honest. Think about it." Deflection, but she muscled past her own defense to offer him a bit more truth. "I was preoccupied with being chained to a wall." Why she told him that, she really couldn't say. Maybe just to get him off the topic of her love life. Wait. "Not by choice." Now it should be off the topic of her love life.

Finding that pack the man clipped a ciggy between his lips before offering it over to Shae while listening to her speak on truth and a little of what she'd been up to. The comment about the wall drew a sparkle to that lone cobalt eye if not for the quick addendum which muted such (though didn't exactly shut down that line of thought as, well, yeah... things could be quite complicated in the game of love.) "Why were you chained to a wall?" This asked simply as the man opted to hedge his bets and not place any sort of interpretation to such until he got a handle on just what 'preoccupation' meant in this matter.

His offering stalls her and she darts her fingers to the opening in the pack to pluck a cigarette free. Filter nestled between lips stained blue, half the drink, half the presence of one of those roving marks. Her empty hands cup around the end of the cigarette, a soft glow, and then the curl of smoke past her knuckles. "Because I was an idiot." Dry, that answer. Slow draw, slower exhale as her hands lowered. Leaning to the side to snare an ashtray and pull it close. "I lowered my guard and spent some months regretting it." She knew this was vague, and quite suddenly she decided she didn't give a ****. "Fae creature. Held me captive."

Candid little grin was offered as he tucked away the pack once she'd claimed her own prize. Tucking the tip of the cigarette into the gap between thumb and pointer of his prosthesis he?d wait a moment before puffing a few billows of ashen smoke from the now smoldering cigarette. Apparently his new and improved hand had a few bells and whistles to it! There was a thought to poke a little more fun at her and her love/hate relation with said ?fun? when he saw the woman's expression take on that regal stoicism which he knew her for.

It was an expression that had him hunching forward, elbows on knees as he listened to her as a padre in confession. That tone of self-deprecation, the dryness of the opinion that spoke of dissatisfaction peaked his interest and made him rather glad she continued on than tempt his stubborn. "Fae creatures..." The term rolled from his tongue thoughtfully, as though spoken while he thumbed through his mental encyclopedia of all things that went bump in the night. "What were you trying to do that got you caught and imprisoned by fae? I certainly don't imagine you to be one so easily detained."

He hunched forward and she didn't have to tilt her chin quite so far up to direct her responses to his face. "Creature," she corrected, "singular." There had only be the one faerie, after all. "I was looking for answers" -- wasn't she always -- "of a personal nature. I was trying to contact...I don't know who exactly, but someone. Family. He answered instead." As a hunter, he should know that even difficult prey could be lured with the right bait. "Not sure exactly what he wanted from me, but I suppose I should be--" She certainly couldn't bring herself to say thankful. Never. "Suppose I should be relieved he got so wrapped up in tormenting me that he never handed me over to the group he was working with."

Family. It was a good bait and could snare the most stalwart of the disciplined were they to pine for such a connection. Mach could relate, more than he'd care to admit which had him drowning said thought with another sip of his highly alcoholic beverage. Of course the word 'torment' warranted a subconscious flinch from the man, his own stoic veneer shifting a little in both anger on her behalf and anger all his own. Whatever was the cause for such it was fleeting as he shook it away in a billow of softly sighed smoke.

"I see." He finally breathed out soft yet tired as he reached out and gave her a light pat on the shoulder with his organic hand. "Well it's good you made it back. That's a hard spot to be in..." His words felt a little on edge as he spoke, felt a little too close to personal though he worked to hide such behind a smile. "... particularly when involving the Fae." Withdrawing his hand he took another sip of his drink as he fell into contemplation. "Were you able to get into contact with your family afterwards? Or seek any of the answers you were hoping for?" Mild words spoken almost in a tiptoe around the issue of what exactly had happened to her though it wasn't as though he was morbidly curious of the details of her detainment. No, he knew far too much about trauma than to haphazardly approach such usually. One of those few things the inappropriate man seemed not so cavalier about which was a rarity.

Telling of her recent experience had been much abridged, as he no doubt guessed. It was not a pleasant topic of conversation and she felt obliged to give him the opportunity to gently disembark wherever he saw fit. If she noticed hints of anger in his face she did not make mention of them, especially as they were banished soon after.

She didn't fill the silence between her words and his, nor did she draw back from his well meaning pat. There was a nod for the sentiment, although her eyes slid towards the mirror again for another brief visitation that seemed to be more about checking the door behind her than it did about consulting her own countenance. That sight line was spoken to before she turned her head back to him. "No. I wasn't able to get in contact with them. I haven't wanted to try again until I know that...that the business is fully done." Lingering trouble, that delay said. "I have more information, but I think I have more questions, too. It may not be safe to try and contact them. I want for guidance before I would try again."

Between drags he noted the subtle motion of the woman's head as her gaze averted, looking to the mirror in that familiar room sweep via reflection manner. It was a move along with her words that had the man's expression growing a touch serious, his fools smile sobering some as he looked to his drink. ?Do you need assistance??

This was offered up simply as his gaze now shifted back to her giving the woman an honest assessment. ?Not sure what all I can provide but you might be surprised. If anything I'm at least a pretty decent hammer being so cavalier and stubborn.? There was a slight uptick in his lips as he made light of some previous banter between them though twisting it into a positive light. ?But seriously, anything you need I got your back Shae. That's what friends are for after all. And I can honestly say it really rubs me the wrong way to think of a cutie like you being held captive and tormented.? Those last words, glib as they may have been with that compliment tossed in, were spoken with a touch of strain as he worked to throttle back his anger less it show.

Smoke curled, half forgotten, from the cigarette that hung at the corner of her lips. Were a sign to have escaped her composure, it might live in the corners of her eyes, sleep deprived and short a measure of their soft fire. It might be in the only just artificial image of her at rest and unconcerned in a familiar place, when he'd already made note of how she kept tabs on the space consciously. Perhaps the piece that damned was the absence of a russet shadow shedding the remains of a winter coat onto her lap. None of them openly screamed for acknowledgement in passing. She was curious delight and blue stained tongue, graphic print and lazily clipped hair.

At another time she might have bent his ear about the way he wouldn't let that observation go, but now the one brow just ticked up a fraction for 'cutie'. It was the context which kept that out of the line of commentary. The brow remained elevated, if only so she could consider him and his offer. "I may," she settled on at last. "But I am reluctant." Truth, again. "There is an incursion here from my world. I do not yet know the scope, only that the ones that have come shouldn't be allowed any sort of foothold. They are..." To say dangerous felt like it might be taken as an insult. Or dismissed, as it had been by others. "Their patterns of behavior inspire scorched earth responses for self preservation. They are fanatical, ruthless, and likely responsible for the larger share of the missing persons reports this year."

"My intentions," how careful those two words sounded, silk passed delicately over a serrated edge, "are not upstanding." Reports to the watch and incarceration? Meaningless. Absent context, she couldn't help wonder if exposing him to the reality of her wrathful response would be the thing that pushed their acquaintance from personal to his version of professional.

Watching the woman he noted that dullness, the same sort that hung on him though his was much more excusable as half the portals to his soul were masked by a swath of leather. Nursing his drink he considered all that was, and was not, said. "Dangerous, you mean." An addendum spoken as he noted how she traipsed about the word as an acrobat though he could venture why. Danger was something that felt like it was... numbed, in this land, something that was taken for granted.

But to Mach his entire life was about danger and being the line in the sand between that which was dangerous and that which was not. And so while he may have balked in the face of danger he could still appreciate it, respect it, and fear it as one of any sense should. "But the offer still stands, yeah? I... know the sort you speak of." That prosthetic hand curled into a fist which creaked a little with those words, that lone cobalt eye seeming to look at something beyond the bartop.

Releasing his fist his gaze shifted to the witch as she spoke of her intentions with these elements, the words subtle yet confessional in nature This gave him a moment's pause, his own expression evening out before he finally offered a soft shake of head. "Can I take it your judgment is at least partially based on evidence, on objective reason rather than passion?" He spoke plainly, not threatening or judging in any way. He may have been a hunter but it was based on writ, not some noble mission or whatnot. Mach was dangerous, but only in a self-serving fashion though whether that was better or not was up to the individual.

"Yes, dangerous." Small gratitude that he didn't make her justify the application of the word to the situation. The city was a port of wayward survivors and many had seen hardships the like of which few souls could endure. Perhaps that was some unspoken criteria for washing up here, that knife edge awareness of true risk or the jagged borders of loss. Perhaps it was not even the experience of danger firsthand, but the capacity to survive a sideways step across space and time without losing the core of who you were. In the face of such a shift, the definition of words like 'danger' might need editing.

"You do?" Not doubt to his testament, but a resurgence of the curiosity that tact had beaten back. One that couldn't help a lingering glance at his arm and face. He wasn't the first to offer his assistance, and he wasn't the first to receive her warning. "I discovered that my interactions are being watched. Some of those I interact with may also have been or may also be being observed as well. I suspect you capable of taking care of unwanted eyes on your activities, should it ever come to that, but if you do notice anything of that nature...please tell me."

The witch had little doubt if she couldn't resolve things in a timely manner that the tactics of her watchers might expand to collateral damage where possible. It served their ends and would put extreme pressure on her. These days she lived in an anxiety that looked like sudden radio silence from the people she knew and the possibility of a ransom note, or worse. The glass before her was empty and she wasn't even sure when it had happened. Ash had fallen onto the edge of the bar and she smeared it away with the side of her hand.

"These people started a war on my world." He wanted objectivity, but she couldn't claim it. Not after what she'd seen. Sure, logic was there, but so was the crawling sense of fury and horror that she forcefully wanted to bury. "And while they wouldn't make the same commitment of resources here, they would still take and twist innocent lives for their experimentation." The last word twisted despite her best attempts at showing him a rational, impersonal face. "That is to say, what they would find and create here would not only desecrate but would potentially be passed back to cause more death." Their fixation on her here was still half in shadow, and she lacked the information to understand why they had gone out of their way when they might have avoided her attention altogether, sewn chaos, and fortified. Of course they hadn't expected her liberation, but still.

Consulting the Hunter, Excerpt, Final

It was sort of telling just how worn the woman was feeling that she didn't even attempt to call bullshit to his friendly and optimistic manner that totally dodged the point. Rather than question this he simply ran with it, nodding mildly as her interest peaked. ?The soldiers sleep tab? Yeah, it's got some nasty side effects but it's useful, especially during war when they were intended to be used.?

Taking a drag off his cigarette he pondered on that product for a bit, racking the annals of his knowledge regarding potions and apothecary. ?They're meant for short term use, no more than three days in a row before they start causing irritability and paranoia... visual disturbances, auditory hallucinations, that sorts. But if you space them every other day or so you should be able to take them without too much long term problems... no worse for you than say corticosteroids ? slower healing, decreased immune response, increased chance of injury. That said they're a crutch to recovery, not a solution.? That last bit felt a touch bitter on his tongue which stayed him from the last part of that canned warning regarding seeking psychiatric help. ?I can leave a sample in your mailbox later, don't exactly carry such around as they disapprove of me sleeping on the job.?

And there was that humor of his even if it felt a bit stiff given the headiness of their conversation. Then again the somber admission that the woman made about his other suggestion struck a funny chord with the man as he tried to stifle a chuckle. ?Screening... doses... how clinical.? Hiding his humor behind a literal smokescreen from his cigarette he worked on his composure as the talk turned back to that of her captor and her watchers. ?Could you describe what one of these Fae look like? Or your watchers? If there's a connection between them then maybe trying to get a bead on those who seek you might well lead to some info on tracking down another Fae.? Of course her rather drab reaction to the message he sent back in return did warrant an ever so slight uptick of his lips from that serious expression that held. ?It's translation is crude and it's nonsense to boot so yeah, I wouldn't worry about it.? A silly little shrug offered to that as he worried over the filter of his cigarette.

The side effects he listed, both short term and long, were in line with what she suspected they would be. "I knew a cleric who made something similar once." Likely not as advanced, not as potent as he might be able to get his hands on. The chemistry he might know in passing was probably enough to have made him a passable alchemist on her world. Now potions, ah, those might rival, but even those had their drawbacks, their addictions. "I'd rather you hand them off to me directly, honestly. My mail has already been tampered with at least once." Tight frown and a cut of her gaze towards the cubbies in question. They just weren't all that secure.

His muffled chuckling drew her back, sipping from the bottle resting in the fence of her fingers. "We were talking about drugs, and you have only yourself to blame for bringing up endorphins." The alchemists of her world might linger in partial ignorance, but the woman had never met a book she didn't like. Yes, even the law books. If only to know the ways to get around them in certain situations. "Distraction," or reckless abandon, "is also a kind of drug."

She held off on providing more detail and idly slid her phone closer to unlock it and look at the message he'd sent. It was a puzzle now, and she squinted at it until she understood. Then she picked it up and began tapping at the menus. It kept her hands busy. "I don't think the Fae who held me ever wore his own face. He was fond of showing me faces I knew instead. Illusions, tricks." Cruel mockery. "So he looked like a lot of people." Piecemeal answer could be because of her menu scrolling or because she was gathering words. "Yes...I know a few faces of the watchers, they aren't Fae. Most of them are human." One or two faces, in particular, she would rather not remember. "Their connection was whatever deal they had, which is now in shambles. It's the humans that follow me. I need to deal with them first before I go chasing another faerie. One enemy at a time." At least, she hoped.

Text to Mach: <dog><house>, <eggplant><right arrow><cactus>

There was a note of the way she eyed her mailbox, the notion disgusting him enough to tarnish that amiable smile of his. "Sure, sure, I can message you when I have everything together." Patience was a virtue for hunters too and it paid off as finally she began to speak while working to keep her hands occupied. He listened to what she had to say, a nod given here and there as he jotted mental notes. Face changers were a hard lot to be sure but certainly not outside his realm of investigation, particularly not with some of the... new.... connections he'd forged.

"So do you have many leads on those that pursue you? A point of origin or base of operation? Particular habits or identifiers? Sort of sounds like you've just been taking them down if they get too close without really much headway in cutting the problem off at the source." A mild observation formulated on incomplete data; a necessary quirk being a hunter that could be both good and bad.

"Mm," mouth closing in a hum of consideration. Her smile had disappeared at some point. "I'm putting things together to investigate how they have been surveilling me and my friends. That is to say, I am certain I know the means, I just need to confirm it. To get my hands on a piece of it so I can, with luck, use it to find where they are operating from. The cave in the Fae's territory where they were outpost was fire bombed into oblivion, but they have operated in multiple cells before, and the sense of pressure hasn't abated."

"Hmm..." Chewing over what was offered the hunters thoughts turned inwards as he autonomously nursed his drink and cigarette. After a long pause he finally turned his blue eye blue gaze to the woman somberly. "As much as you may not want to, I think your going to have to accept some help on this. Cause if they're as cautious as you make them out to be and that keen of surveillance it'll be very, very hard to catch them with their pants down and get the drop on them, luck or no."

Taking one last drag from his cigarette he'd pluck this dead soldier from his lips and grind it out next to the other. "At least that's my read of the situation. A little unsolicited advice as I'm sure you have a great shortage in that." His tone was serious but the smile helped lighten the gravity of his words along with the humorous twist at the end. Lifting his glass he'd polish off the rest of that alcohol, a refreshed sigh escaping as the empty vessel dropped from his lips.


"You're right." Don't faint Mach, rare as it may be for a woman to say those words to him, let alone Shae, he was not hallucinating them. "My first attempt to look into it already suffered from ambush tactics. Which is why I intend to take on a few extra bodies for this attempt and work in a proper measure of misdirection, if I can. If I manage to get my hands on what I'm after, the next step will no doubt become a broader engagement based on the intel it provides me."

The man didn't look nearly as pleased with himself as one would have assumed. It was rare for Shae, or anyone for that matter, to admit he was right about something; but Mach had already ventured Shae had or would invariably have come to that same conclusion. It was the simple economics of the hunt after all. "You're part of the diversion, yes?" A mild inquiry as, well, the woman had certainly upended a number of his preconceived notions about her tonight. It seemed only prudent to assume nothing and to reassess his judgements, for better or worse.

"I'll be setting up the diversion." Another bounce of her attention off the back mirror, this time in the direction of a window at the front of the common room. It was a distinction. "It should maintain itself without my constant presence. And then I'll be scouting with the others." Her phone was shifted from the top of the bar to her pocket. The forward slide of her hips continued with a twist that brought her from the stool to her feet. The empty bottle was snared and she aimed her steps towards the corner of the bar where the waste bins were.

"Are you so sure of that?" His tone was mild as he made that prompt, hands moving to draw out a few bills to feed to the till snake. "You are their primary target and the one whom they're willing to go after personal acquaintances to get to, I imagine that means they keep closest tabs on you. This would have to be one hell of a diversion where your participation in the OP doesn't potentially compromise it." He spoke in a frank, almost blunt manner that was perhaps a little refreshing compared to the usual twisting manner which he skipped about conversations. Seemed, despite his best attempts to be anything but, the man could be disciplined and military when the situation or conversation necessitated such.

His tone approaches something serious and it catches her at the corner of the bar, making her stand still for her reply. "Completely sure? No, of course not. There's an informational disadvantage. I do know a few things. I know I've pulled off a similar diversion before. I know that I need to act for a change rather than just react. I know that I trust the people I will be asking along to be able to make sound judgments in the event of a rapidly changing scenario." The pad of her thumb ran a back and forth line over the nail tips of her right hand. "There are always risks, but at least I should have the element of surprise if they discover that what they've been watching isn't real."

He could see the tension in the woman as she justified the acceptable risks and the redundancy inbuilt to try and account for the unexpected. That didn't mean he knew any details but then again he wasn't exactly 'need to know' and it was sound tactics to limit how many extraneous individuals knew of a plan. Loose lips sinks ships and all though the euphemism that Mach was more concerned over was 'no plan of action ever survived contact with the enemy.'

But she seemed to be trying to account for such at least which was the best anyone could do. Rather than needle her with unwanted advice or questions that could shake her resolution, he'd just nod solemnly and accept that she had a handle of things. It was a lot harder thing to do than one might expect, but then Mach was by his nature a meddler. And while he couldn't say Shae and he had a very close or deep relation it still deeply unsettled him that the witch was in trouble and he could do nothing but support them with a cheery grin and thumbs up. Both of which he was most certainly up for giving as he pulled on the leather gloves pulled from his pocket.

"Well you kick their teeth in and get what you need, yeah? But be safe Shae, or as safe as you can given circumstances. And remember, if a situation arises that you need a little more asshole I'm just a ring away." A subtle reminder of what he swore to her before indicated by a motion to where her phone had been vanished on her person. "Headed out?"

No plan ever did survive that first contact, but you did what you could. She was a far cry from her old battle tactics, a year of peace and unfavorable terrain were their own sort of barricades. Her mind was another, but they wouldn't wait, so she couldn't either. Glad that he didn't feel the need to try and wheedle out the details, she shook her head to clear it of the visions that had gathered there. "That's the plan!" As if the problem could be solved in one blow where the hero takes the day.

"I'm short a good deal of intelligence to be able to plan an actual, functional assault. However, if that day comes in the near future, I'll keep you in mind for the raid." Frankly, she'd be happy for the assistance. One more set of hands pulling out the rot. One more set of eyes making sure nothing escaped. His casual inquiry stumped her for a second. Not a misunderstanding, but more like she hadn't put proper thought to her distancing herself from the bar stool. "Yeah, I guess I am." With a glance to the door and a distracted murmur. Something about a library.

Mach well understood how peace could dull ones fangs. Adversity was needed to temper and hone one's instincts and the lack of such could leave one under-prepared for the adversities life could throw at them. As one molded in the crucible of conflict himself he knew these things well and had had more hard knock personal experiences with such concepts as of late than he cared to think on.

Catching the rather bright and optimistic tone of that chirped response the man couldn?t exactly help the snort that escaped him, his own brand of calling 'bullshit' though he'd at least be tactful enough not to say anything more. Conning the con man wasn't an easy task and Mach was well acquainted with heroic bravado. Moving for the break in the bartop himself he nodded to the woman's realization of what she was doing. "Care for some company on the way?" Asked mildly , unassuming. He knew the woman was trying to put distance between herself and her contacts but it never did hurt to ask (well, usually didn't anyway.)

A polite refusal for the offer rose to her lips but didn't escape them. The knee jerk reply was swallowed that she might consider a proper one. Her attention strayed from the door to regard him thoughtfully. Their conversation, her situation, her assessment of him, it all weighed on some invisible scale behind her eyes. It all was slotted into a complex formula that derived and discarded. "Actually," in case he'd caught any part of the suppressed 'no' before she'd shifted her gaze, "I would appreciate that. That is, if you don't have any pressing place to be." Wholly selfish, as many of her recent impulses were.

Completely expecting a ?no thank you? the man was a little shocked by the yes though he worked not to let such surprise show on his face as he moved past, organic arm crooked and offered to the woman. "Me with a pressing place to be? What sort of scallywag and scoundrel do you take me for to have such polite business as to be shackled to some sort of schedule?"

His words were light hearted and jesting, a way to try and alleviate any concern that she somehow was being a bother even if it was true that the hunter had actually been busy as of late; literally throwing himself at his work as it were.. "Besides, it'd be a right shame to waste such good company." And with this he flashed her one of his winning smiles, the urge to add the punchline resisted. "Shall we?" Whether she took the offered arm or not he'd let her set the pace though he was quick to get the door for her showing off some more of that odd gentlemanly behavior of his that could pop up from time to time.

The offer of his arm was met with a raised brow and an amused expression that she couldn't quite subdue. "You don't need a schedule to be inundated with things to do." Nevermind that the both of them had just spent a passing drink and conversation without any real rush. Perhaps for him, like it had been for her, it was a moment of stillness taken for the sake of it. She didn't take his arm, but she had considered it, also for the sake of it. Between that and the door he was playing at courtly manners. Last year's temporary title aside, she would never be royal. Not in any sense that needed to stand on ceremony. If she were to lead it would be to lead the way out the door. And so she did.

Commissioned Work, Final

She broke off a large piece of the crepe and tossed it at Fox to curtail his staring. Teeth worried at her lower lip as she considered the man perched on the bench and then glanced at the box. "Was there something on your mind when you invited me for breakfast?" Eyes for him. She didn't want to hijack the morning with her business if there had been a purpose to his invitation other than the pleasure of company.

"Not entirely," he says, thumbing a blueberry back into the crepe where it belonged. He bites cream and sugar from the edge of his blunt nail. "The other night, we did not get a chance to speak much. Something was on your mind, that much was obvious. The door slammed," he adds after a moment's pause, meaning to clarify without really doing so that he did not mean the part of the night she spent mortified at the bulletin board.

"Ah." The rest of her crepe went to Fox, she'd eaten a third of it, perhaps, but her appetite was gone. "I got a letter a few days ago." Not especially alarming, to most people. "From someone who shou-- who is dead." That was a start. "Mm-" A sound to stall or the beginning of an unfinished name. She changed tracks. "I gave it to Cianan and told him to keep it away from me. Because I know it has to be a taunt." Despite knowing the odds of this, she still wanted to read it. She hated herself, her nature, for that, or so said the bitter edge to her voice.

In comparison, he'd gone through half of his. The crepe droops in his hand, droops in its sleeve. He should have brought back a couple of forks. "Is this person the one you thought was following you in the first place, or is this someone else?"

Her thumb came up to rub at a sticky spot of syrup at the corner of her mouth, as if it was the reason her lips had trouble forming the reply that came so slowly. "No. I think I mentioned her to you before. Not the woman who followed me here from my world." Though, she acknowledged, that was also an 'M' name. "The seal on the letter." She knew it, her hands had passed it to the woman as a gift. "It belonged to Moira."

"Moira," repeating. Mention of the name brings with it the haunting dark and sludge green of a room behind a room, where the only good thing he'd held onto was the fact that while he was there, he didn't feel any pain. Frowning, he lets the crepe droop a bit more. "Do you believe it to be an attempt to draw you out? Where was this letter addressed?"

"To draw me out. To provoke me into doing something stupid." They'd picked a good place to wedge the knife, certainly. The story she had told Cris had been heavily edited, incomplete, highlighting the beginning of a relationship that had stretched past those days under a desert sun, becoming something else, something twisted. "It wasn't addressed. It wasn't marked. It was left in my mail cubby at the Inn."

"Aah," softly. Her urgency to investigate the Red Dragon and its surrounding areas suddenly makes more sense. He could not see himself behaving any differently. Folding the cardboard sleeve down to protect the crepe, he sets it on the bench, next to his left boot.

She balanced the logical urgency with some outrageous impulses when the Fae mood struck her. Thankfully, she'd gotten most of those out of the way. Shae just nodded. "I'm sorry I missed you leaving with Senka."

"No. No, don't be," slight wave of one scarred hand. "The night ran long for all involved, I think."

"Yeah." Longer, even. Sleep had eluded her. To distract herself from the thoughts that went along with the rest of the evening, she caved to her desire to present him with the battered box. "That's for you. Not because I was rude. But, well, you'll see."

He's rarely appreciative of his propensity for wakefulness, but the events of the evening before weighed upon his mind, so subtly at first that he hadn't noticed until it was the deep, silent dark of early morning and sleep was all he had left to do. Frowning, he grips the space between his neck and left shoulder. Shae's presentation cuts his reverie off before it can get started. He looks at the box, then her. Twice, before slowly, he reaches to take it. "What is this for?"

"For you." Helpful, Shae. Thwarting the question with the truth amused her. It's just that 'you' was more expansive in her mind than the limitations of three little letters would allow.

He gives her a dry look, and arch of one dark brow. Thanks, it says, but he finds the seam between lid and vessel, pries the clasp up if the box has one, and pops it open.

The bones of Re'nael, his shattered Seraph blade, had been extracted from the ruins of the cave in which he'd left them to be buried after her rescue. At least, the largest pieces that could be salvaged. The unlit adamas gleamed darkly against metal wrapped hilts, curved and carved into the claw shape of three karambits. Decorated with an unmistakable feathering. The box appeared an unworthy container. Fox was paying attention for the exchange, motivated by his own investment in the working.

Instinctively, he knows what it is when morning's light hits each sickle curve. Brows pull in, cinched tight in their middle and he presses his lips together a moment before they disappear completely into his mouth. It feels like what he's eaten is changing course. He cradles the box in one hand, follows the flat of the blades with his other like each carved detail will tell him its story. "Shae, how-------" he looks up, the strength of his voice fading. The question finally makes its way out in a single exhale, "how did you do this?"

"You gave me the name." The reason she had asked for it that night on the beach several weeks ago, revealed. "And I summoned what I could." That such a rare thing, full of memory, was lost to him for her sake... "You showed Fox he could touch it, and I had him help to shape what was left." She wasn't the only one who felt gratitude, and the sometimes-man had been willing to help. "Don't tell Fin I didn't ask him to help with the metal work." She hadn't been able to make that request on top of everything else. "I found someone else and showed them some designs."

If her response sounded breathless it was because she herself wasn't yet sure if she'd done something taboo, and her good intentions had gotten her in trouble before.

She puts to bed the rest of his bewilderment over how it was done, because it isn't the gathering of the material that baffles him. It's who she had employed to touch it, and to touch it long enough to not only shape the angelic metal, but add etched detail to each blade. She mentions Fox, and his wide-eyed attention shoots to the canid next to an empty plate. They'd spoken on the beach-----weeks ago, now. She must have been planning it, all along. He looks back down into the box, pulls his free hand down his mouth and nose, stubble like sandpaper on his chilly palm. An exhale comes in a rough burst, he clamps his mouth shut before any more escape, a line of tension running down his throat when he swallows and drags down the dark, iron curtain of composure.

"They're beautiful," he tells the box, but he means it for them, "I don't------I do not know what to say. Thank you." His rucked up scowl is soft, bruised more than it is harsh. He nods, thrice, in quick succession. "Thank you both."

"Did I..." The question begins and ends there for the staring done in Fox's direction. Did I do a bad thing? The weapons were of his people and she -- that is to say, they -- were not. They weren't even of his world. And then he speaks and she could feel the vice around her chest squeak as it released the pressure of anxiety's clamp. She bites hard at her lower lip to hold back the smile of relief that threatens to surface there. Fox, theatric, chuffs a cough in her direction. "Fox says you're welcome." Beat. "I do too-- Thank you." No, that's what the present was meant to say. "I mean, you're welcome."

With care, he digs one of the blades free of its rest in the box and runs his fingers along each etched ridge, his thumb over the ring meant, the grip tells him, to hold a finger. His smile comes easier, this time, when he looks up. "Did you?" prompting.

Back to biting her lip, she shakes her head again. Nevermind. The gesture said. I misspoke. "I'm glad they please you."

One brow goes up. He doesn't press. Instead, he tests how the weapon feels in his hand, index finger slid through the loop. He closes his fist around it, admires the wicked, glacial curve of it swooping from below his clenched knuckles.

When he opens his hand, the blade spins backward, twice, then he catches it tightly a second time. "Pleased is a grossly insignificant assessment of what I am."

"By all means." Her smile grew a bit more genuine as he began to manipulate one of the blades in a skilled hand. "Expand on it if it's too understated. But be warned, Fox's ego will be unbearable." The canid sniffed, but didn't drop the smug set to his narrow shoulders.

"It's warranted," he says. He runs his thumb along the sharpened tip of the blade. A thin line of red opens in the center of the callous there. He seems wholly unaffected. "The working, crafting, and shaping of this metal is a ferociously guarded, secret practice of my people. That I sit here now, bearing the fruit of both your efforts, would be inexplicable to them, were they to discover it."

For all her warnings about Fox's ego, satisfaction was riding high in her own shoulders after he continued. Nevermind that she'd done none of the shaping. The notion of foiling a held assumption always managed to please her. That contrary thing that was told 'never' and heard 'challenge'. She did her best to keep it out of her reply. "Fox says it was a pain in the ass." He'd leaned on her, at times, to brute force his way through the demanding process.

"And maybe...don't tell them." That last suggestion lived purely in the realm of self-preservation as she repeated it aloud to Cris. Her own attitude sobering. The last thing she wanted was to be inquired after.

He chuckles, gently. Bites the itch and the taste of blood off his thumb, then carefully cleans the tip of the blade on his sleeve. "I'm glad. Their collective ego has taken a venerable beating, of late." He looks up, holding the small blade with care between his fingertips. Part of his mouth turns up. "You need not worry about that. The only connection to the Nephilim I have is with Nicanora. I've not communicated with Idris, or anyone within its walls in over a decade, and I do not intend to."

Fox, at least, seemed to relax from a subtle tension. Paws moving as he stepped down from the bench. Caught up in watching his reactions, she temporarily lost her hold on the paranoia that had become a second shadow. Now, armed with the reassurance that she'd not offended him, it began to creep back. "Would you mind...if maybe we went somewhere else?"

He nods, safely tucking the blade away with the other two. The lid closes with a gentle click. "Not at all." He tucks it under his arm and gathers what's left of his droopy crepe.

Neighborhood Watch, Purge and Recovery, Part 2

Shae was finishing her illusion. From inside the spell, it was an odd sight. Doubling haze at the edges that began to sharpen. Phantom limbs that moved of their own accord to take up the game where they let it stall out. Outside of their vicinity, only that mimicry of them could be seen. For a few long seconds, Shae's posture sagged. Relief, perhaps, or evidence of strain. Either disappeared as she shook herself. "We'll split up. I'll go..." A gesture towards the south. There was the alley and the area near the portals to the north, and buildings across the street to the east and the west.

"No, it doesn't," he says, "but I feel slightly better about it not being the same creature." However, where it was not the same, there were many. "I shall take north," he says, reaching for the cards Fox puts down. "How is it that we have not noticed this before? Or are they simply showing themselves in droves now that they know we're after their devices??

Cianan was sure that Fox was cheating somehow, with the terrible cards he was getting, and narrowed his eyes at him. The illusion was taking place, and he checked his hand one last time to scoff at it. "How about I go east then." Resisted the urge to flick a card at Fox, "You wanna come with me." Or separate, either way.

The answer was no, he didn't, but the way Shae was looking at him from under her lashes made him say: "Nnyeah." Smooth recovery. "I'll go with you. We can circle west after." Nails scratched at his scalp as he shifted in his seat. "It's recent. The scent. And there's a lot of damn shifters in this town. People bring their dogs about. It's hard to tell, sometimes."

"It might well be a counter to the fact that I didn't run into whatever trap they were trying to bait me into with that letter." Shae murmured. She was standing now, and the ghost of her image remained seated there, a hollow refrain of her looking at her cards.

He looks aside at Fox, his gaze lingering a beat longer than he means it to, then he looks to Shae when she stands. "What are our objectives?"

"You don't have to." Cianan snorted, rather bemused at Fox, for his reluctance. He was up out of his chair, stretching out a bit, "There are." Cianan agreed with Fox about there being a lot of shifters, as well as a lot of dogs. Too many. Far too many. He glanced at Cris, and then over to Shae, waiting for the mission parameters.

"Be safe." Hands brushed at the side of her thighs to wipe away some trace of moisture. "Note the locations of the mirrors." Hesitation, a small slice of indecision, spaced her continuation.

"They'll move them after tonight, it?d be foolish not to." A reminder to Shae from Fox as he stood. His afterimage continued to deplete the chip stacks of the other three.

"If possible try to obtain a mirror," she continued, now decisive. "Whoever does that will want to keep the glass of the mirror covered. Dirt, cloth, pressed to some surface, whatever." Pause. "If there's someone to question, try to get hold of them but only as a secondary objective." She wouldn't mourn the loss, but the target, her emphasis, was getting her hands on an active mirror. "If you can't recover a mirror, destroy it." Bleed resources. Any damage was better than none.

Cianan stood, adjusting things, and making sure all of his hidden weapons were in the right place. He nodded his head towards Shae, taking all that in. "Got it. Find mirrors, keep an eye on them, if you catch them, cover them." Outloud, for himself.

Part of his mouth turns up. He's the last to rise. Sucking the back of his teeth, Cris looks over to Fox. "Have you a pair of gloves?"

He glanced down at his knuckles and then back to Cris. "No."

"Damnation. Cianan?" turning to the Drow.

Cianan shook his head, "I have.. surgical gloves?" Probably not the kind Cris was looking for, but he reached into his hip pouch, and drew out a box of them. Jiggle, jiggle.

"Why?" The question came from Shae as she eyed the front door and someone's cloak hanging beside it.

"I would like to loan him something." Cris holds open the left half of his coat and searches through its inner pockets until he comes up with what he's looking for. A bladeless hilt, it looks like. Solid, the color of pewter, with an intricate ivy wrapping of small, meticulously etched runes. There is a piece of parchment wrapped carefully around the hilt, tied off with a red thread that looks like it's been undone at least once. He offers it to Fox.

Cianan leaned forwards to look at the sword hilt. "What? Makes a blade of light or something? One of those, what are they, lightsabers?" He doubted Cris would just give Fox a useless non-weapon. He glanced over to Fox's hand, wondering if Fox still had the ring he gave him a while back.

The man looked at the empty hilt with a neutral expression that took in the parchment and the runes without comment. It was the look he shot Cris that said volumes in the arch of a brow. Anticipating some manner of reaction, Fox steeled himself before reaching out to take the offering. The hand that hung by his pocket was the one adorned by the fire laced band that had been passed his way in the cave.

Anxious though she now felt, eager though she was to move, the Sylph came to stillness for the exchange. A shiver that started from Fox's grip spread sympathetically to her spine half a second later.

Dry look shot to Cianan, Cris rolls his eyes. "The parchment will tell you its name. I do not know how long you will be able to handle it whilst it's activated, thus the gloves. Though given how well adamas performed against the last beast we all met----" He lets the hilt go, wetting the seam of his frown. He has three left, he tells himself, and they have not spent as much time with him as the other two had.

"Mm. What are the requirements of holding it? Or is it just Fox who can?" Just in case Fox gets taken down, or there's a weapon scramble, Cianan didn't want to make a grab for a useless sword, or worse, one that would actively hurt him.

"Divinity," he answers. "It is the same sort of weapon we all witnessed him handle at your apartment, albeit a technologically upgraded version. I would advise against touching it."

Cianan glanced over to Fox, questioningly. And, then shrugged his shoulders, "Got it. No touching." He imagined flesh peeled from bone, or wiped away. Or just burning. None of those were high on his to-do list, so he was nodding his head. He doubted that surgical gloves were going to do anything for Fox, too. So he'd store those away. Thin. Melty. Both bad.

Cris mentioned the hilt came with a name. Parted lips and an incredulous stare, naked on Shae's face for several seconds, as she turned and looked at Cris. Gold eyes passed over to where Fox was easing the red string away to be able to read the lettering hidden against the hilt, and then she forced her expression back into composure.

There was a heat to the edges that touched skin not buffered by paper. It wanted to touch something deeper. It wanted to burn something away. His brows drew together to note the name before transferring both parchment and hilt to his pocket. "I'll take care of it." It was quite possibly the most respectful manner in which Fox had ever spoken to either of the other males, absent any hint of casual tone or snark.

Cianan glanced over to Shae, "I'll take care of him." Just in case, a small up nod over to her, "Whisper if you need me." He'd hear it. Hopefully she could do that without a lot of focus, even then Fox was around to let him know, too. A brief smile, and a kiss blown to Shae. "You ready?"

"I...yes." Shae's voice finally caught up with the 'where were we' of it all. She was moving, reaching for some stranger's cloak by the door. Borrowed, she intended to return it, probably. It smelled of horse and the dusty end trailed the ground when she pulled it around herself. The hood drowned her face and she moved for the front door before her light fingered activities could be taken exception to.

Fox turned to Cianan. "Door, window..." Which way did the Drow want to make his exit from the Inn? He was willing to follow Cianan's lead in the path to the eastern block of buildings.

"Be safe." Cianan moved along, sadly the piwafwi would have given away too much when he arrived, and he didn't have one here. He'd wait for Fox to be ready. His voice was calm, focused, even when his fingers interlaced and popped his knuckles. "Window works." Cianan was small and can fit through it easily, "..When you're a fox, does everything you're holding go with you?" To wherever it was?

Window would be a tighter squeeze for him, but he'd survive the scrapes to his shoulders and knees. "It doesn't, no." There wasn't a case of casually shifting back and forth with his coverings intact. If he had to cut and run in that manner, he would be leaving things behind.

Cris takes another seraph blade from inside his coat and stuffs the hilt into the empty sheath on the outside of his right leg. The loops of electrum chain at his left hip whisper and shake with each movement. He gives Fox a short, solemn nod. Another one to Cianan.

He withdraws from the limits of the illusion, angles his stride through the center of the room. A passing glance over the room key board lets him know which ones can be counted as vacant. He chooses one closest to the northern side of the inn and takes the stairs up.

No time like the present, Fox moved for a window that didn't face the front street. An alley exit. He waited to make sure Cianan was with him and then wrangled his way through the window by the bathrooms when no one was looking. Thankfully, the alley beyond was empty. Small stumble to gain his balance, and then he was making space for the Drow. They still had to make it across the street and work their way east. "We could start with the western buildings," he suggested as casually as possible. They were closer. It was a delay between them and the dogs.

"Damn. Too bad. You'd be easy to carry as a Fox." But that'd leave him with clothes and getting back into his armor. Not worth it. Cianan watched him scramble out the window and then repeated the motion with a smoother finish. All that time growing up, going into small caves, and twisting around, you get good at squeezing and wriggling through things. On the other side, he'd stretch his hands out to close the window behind them. He was snorting and turning to see Fox there, "I like that idea better."

Neighborhood Watch, Purge and Recovery, Part 4


North

Two more whisper sharp bolts crack the tile in a line that would have intersected Cris' ribs were he not up and moving. Instead they were black spines sticking out of ruined clay. The body of the second chimney provided cover from further shots when he threw himself behind it. A third shot cut a shallow line across the back of his thigh before he made it.

He hisses a breath to kill off some of the heat of battle abruptly surging through him. There's an achey itch at the back of his right thigh that he quells with a rough squeeze of the offending area. Swords, he tells himself, the second quick note of the evening as he tugs the hilt free of its ill fitting sling on that same leg. He'll need a pair regular ones on the off chance he finds himself in another situation like this, where the reflex to kill his opponent is fought down by the necessity of keeping them alive. He tosses the hilt. It flips over twice. When he catches it, he rolls from his lean against the chimney, ducked low, but not low enough to hinder the zigzag sprint across the building's wide apex.

Halfway there, he barks the clipped word, "Etalah." A streak of white blue light lances through the darkness, illuminating the tight lope of his legs before it swirls figure eights, cutting infinity loops of lightning to ward off any subsequent crossbolt fire until he can get in close.

Two shots when the Nephilim broke cover. One missed, too high where the shadowhunter crouched low. The second was deflected by the purposeful weaving of named adamas. The crossbow clatters aside to the tile as the figure frees both hands. Metal hisses when drawn quickly. A short sword and a parrying dagger brought to bear in a two weapon guard. The dagger would seek to turn Cris' blade strikes while the sword would aim for blood.

It must have been some kind of cruel luck that an Angel's name cut the air immediately following Shae's announcement. He hadn't drawn a second blade for a reason, keeping one hand open serves as a reminder to battle with the intent to capture, or incapacitate, instead of outright kill. He parries as much as he attacks, the clash of metal on metal its own kind of lightning storm.

Caught up high, he pivots the rest of his body to follow his opponent's thrust. The sword point sketches a line across his coat, catching on the zipper's teeth forcing it wide. Cris brings down his own hand in hopes of catching the other man's wrist, to strong arm his weapon wielding arm down to meet the upward jut of his knee aimed for the outside of his extended elbow.

The exchange of blades was a furious affair. While Cris' intentions were to capture, the man he faced had no such room for leniency in his goals. Each attempted slice or stab sought lethal purchase to sink itself into. An overly ambitious thrust is turned against the figure with that timely pivot. Outstretched arm bends and then pops sickeningly in the wrong direction thanks to the impact from the knee. His sword clatters to the flat of the roof, but not before blind panic and a roar of pain herald an attempt to stab Cris in the side with the dagger that remained.

Their crossed blades split apart with a shriek of metal on adamas. Free of their stalemate, at the same time the figure panics and lunges in, Cris tightens his hold on its ruined arm. Pulls his own sword wielding arm across his chest, then swings it back, the solid pommel of the seraph blade bearing down swiftly on the figure's temple. It's worth the blow he takes, the air driven from his lungs, if he can render his enemy unconscious.

Pain flooded past shock as Cris' swing uses the ruin of a limb to help pivot that pommel back.The impact is a solid collision of bodies and a satisfying reverb in the fist holding the seraph blade. Struck squarely, the man crumbles after. Bone piercing through skin at the broken joint as the weight of his fall meets the leverage of the Nephilim's grip.

Cris sweeps his right heel against the crumbling figures', aiding in his boneless descent to the roof. The sole of his boot forces the fallen body up onto its side, over onto its gut. "I've got one," he says aloud as the light from his seraph blade winks out. He doesn't doubt that the Sylph is listening, in her own way. He stuffs the hilt into his coat pocket and unclips the sheng biao from his left hip. A series of figure eights wrap the fifteen foot length of electrum chain around the unconscious man's neck, drawn hands, and one foot. He forces the knife dart in between the forest of loops he'd made, and pulls it tight. "I shall leave him up here for you to collect."

When he rises, he finally tugs the knife free of his side.


West

Joining the drow on the tower was a large canine. Features too pointed to be wholly of the wolfhound blood it was bred with. This was a halfbreed of the large elven hunting dog and the space to maneuver was made smaller by its presence. Fox, below, heard the growl and now, now he was climbing.

"...Why is it always dogs?!" Cianan hissed when he turned and looked, the growl wasn't doing him any favors, and he was scrambling for his hip pouch to grab a weapon. First the hand crossbow, with a fist full of bolts, a quick load, and then a fire, straight away. "**** **** **** ****!" Back, and kicking the shirt over the mirror as he loaded up another bolt.

Fox wasn't a shoddy climber, but he wasn't going to get there in time to flank that initial volley of bolts with something substantial. The crossbreed is quick, not quite the same level of ridiculous speed its full blooded parent might have, but the first bolt from Cianan runs a line of damp red down its side as it sidesteps and lunges towards his legs. The shirt flutters over the mirror and hangs there as the Drow backs away in the limited space.

Cianan was moving as he could, glad he kept the chain mail on, and leaping! It was going for his legs, he'd take a diving roll over the top of it. Losing the bolt he had currently placed in the crossbow, and backing up quickly to give himself more room, to load up another to fire, and keeping his footing. "Fox. Situation. Situation, Fox!" He harshly whispered, as he released the next bolt.

The canine's sharp dash pulled up just shy of smashing muzzle first into the stonewall thanks to Cianan's artful dodge. It turned with a scrabble of black claws, bloodied flank leaving a smear on the bricks it rebounded against. Another bolt fired caught the animal through the ear. It yelped and then snarled, its left ear now an odd parallel to the Drow's where it ended with ragged abruptness.

Fox didn't bother to reply, he was busy heaving himself past the crenelations just near where Cianan had recently retreated to. Perhaps it was good timing, because a second hound was stepping off of the teleportation circle. The thirty foot diameter tower felt cramped and the air was full of angry snarls.

Dogs weren't good up high. This dog was also angry, and Cianan was loading up a new crossbow bolt to fire at him, while stepping backwards, and backwards, finding himself on the edge of the building, cramped for space, and now wavering with his balance. A hasty bolt lined up again, and he was fumbling with a small quake in his hands, his eyes dropping off of the beast to look at his hands to make sure the bolt could be reloaded. More dogs?! More? Really! He was working on trying to slow his breathing.

The bloodied canine followed its training and surged forward after the retreating Drow, teeth snapping ferociously just shy of his legs. In so close to its quarry, the next bolt sank into the dog's flank. Its spittle coated jaw now had red flecked between its fangs. It was slower now, but furious. It would pursue Cianan over the edge if that's what it took to taste flesh.

The second smelled prey. A different kind of prey. One that spoke to the hound and not the Cooshee. Fox had very little time between gaining the top of the tower and finding the weight of the large animal bearing down on top of him. The bar of his arm just barely caught the dog by the throat while hard nails tore at his jacket and raked against the mail beneath.

Which was fine. Cianan'd been hoping for that. He could leap back, and activate his levitation. It was just the simplest way to get the dog out of his face, no need for ground, or gravity. He was dropping a lot of things off buildings this week! There was still the other one, a new bolt loaded up, and he was taking a quick shot towards that one, hoping that the dog that would fall, didn't have any more tricks. A furious twang of the bow, as it sent the bolt towards the target, distance was good, he could think better, react, his nerves were calming.

Blinded by rage, the hound leapt after the drow and discovered rather quickly that certain things do fall at different speeds. Especially tricksy dark elves with the ability to slow fall. It twisted in midair to try and catch a limb and drag Cianan down with it, but it missed and soon it was a dark heap at the base of the tower.

Fox fumbled for the hilt in his pocket while straining against the half breed. Cianan's ring stared him in the face. So it was that the man gave up a cry for 'Spicy Meatballs!' to save his hide. Light bloomed in close proximity as a fireball both consumed the bolt meant to assist and burned the neck fur of his four legged assailant. Singed, the man rolled to his feet as the smoking hound reeled back.

See? Cianan just sort of smiled when the command word was uttered, even with his anxieties running amuck, he snorted. Loading up another crossbow bolt, and throwing out another shot. "Hey! C'mon you mongrel" Twang. And then another bolt loaded, ready to fire, while Cianan kept his feet from touching the roof. "He's all skin and bones." The Drow had muscle, as well as lots of scar tissue to gnaw on.

Cianan's shot knocked the burned creature off-course. It granted Fox enough time to draw out the hilt. A name rose to his lips, wholly foreign and yet disturbingly familiar for the weight it carried when he breathed it. "Yeqon." He'd felt this sensation before. It was the ominous, distant crackle across those slow forming clouds, only it was in his bones. Heat in his hand as the evoked name summoned a sharp edge. The hound snarled a second charge, and with a low brace the redhead let sharpened adamas impale it through the burn ravaged throat.

Fox stared in shock as the dying hound writhed and burst into flame, so much so that he let backpedaled in an attempt to yank the borrowed blade free of the deep char in progress.


There's no answer from the Sylph, but there is a change palpable in the air. A bank of clouds, sickly green with the heat of the evening, has parked itself to the southeast. Low hanging over a particular block, it appears to be growing as it coalesces from empty sky.

A flash of light illuminated the late night, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The portal that had spewed forth the duo of hounds went dark, inactive.

Neighborhood Watch, Purge and Recovery, Part 6

"The dogs are asleep. Don't strike them. They'll stay that way unless injured." Now was the time for stall tactics as she snuck about the interior of the compound to keep a healthy distance between herself and the two figures still inside.

Fox had almost reached the compound when a blood curdling scream cut up from inside.


Above

Cris follows the courtyard wall that faces the inn, chin kicked up with his gaze aimed on the jut of a figure patrolling the courtyard wall. He skids to a halt at the corner leading into the narrow, adjacent alley. A single motion slides one of three silver daggers from its sheath on his right leg and turns it over. The swift rubber band drawback and follow through send it zooming toward the thin juncture below the patrol's skull.

As one, the figures on the roofs turned towards the sound. It was a man's voice, agonized and screaming. Distracted, the patrol on the roof of the compound nearest to Cris was soon choking on a gurgle of blood and metal before collapsing to the tile.

Cris had never slowed, plants one boot to propel his upward angled launch back at the wall opposite the courtyard. He catches its slanted edge with his hands and heaves the rest of his weight smoothly up. He uses the scream's distraction to rip another projectile free of its sheath on his right leg and whips it without hesitation at the closest of the approaching figures.

Having seen their ally fall, Cris' ascent would not go unmolested. Two men paused their advance to open fire with crossbows in his direction. The other two pressed on, after needing to dodge the projectile thrown their way, crossing the compound roof with the intent of investigating the screams below.

The open fire only serves to further prove that he needs a collection of more reliable ranged weapons all his own. He can feel the trajectory of the bolts as they whiz past his ears, his cheeks, temples. He pitches forward, refusing to lose any of his momentum, and rolls, the hard shingles of the roof below him meeting his shoulder and spine soundly on the way back up to his feet. As he runs, leaps over apexes and uneven terrain, his right shoulder jerks back with the sound puncturing of a single bolt and a lightning strike of hot pain that momentarily numbs his arm.

He still has one left. He palms a knife from his left leg, iron this time, snarling his indignation at the blow that had struck him when he sends it hurtling in the direction the bolt had come from.


Below

Screaming? Cianan's good ear would pick up, and whatever wrapping up of his hands, would be cut short. Ripping the bandage off from the roll, he was sprinting as fast as he could in the direction that Fox had gone in, keeping low and keeping to cover, drawing out his baseball bat, and tucking it under his arm. He'd grip it when there was need, but for now he just wanted it to be in reach.

Fox reached the outer wall of the compound and circled until he found a door. It wasn't the most dignified use of the borrowed blade, but Fox was pressing the hilt he'd been lent against the older looking lock and harshly growling the name to summon it forth. The lock was in shambles, impaled by the glow of divine metal, and the door swung open.

Cianan was coming in hot, after Fox, watching him use the magic sword as a terrible lock pick, "Well, I guess if you really need to open a door.. divine might is a way." He snorted, and skidded to a halt after Fox, ready to take up arms if he needed to..

With the door open, the screaming was louder. There was only a wide hallway between them and an exit to the courtyard. Fox wrestled the adamas blade out of the door and ducked inside. "Don't tell Cris." He didn't have time to fiddle with lockpicks.

"It was a demon door." If Cris does ask. Cianan will have that ready for him, he'd line up next to Fox, and proceed to go on inside, after the breech, he'd shift off to the darkness on the side, which, hopefully fox is used to and envelop himself in shadows, like a protective pocket. His eyes would burn in the dark, picking up whatever was inside so he could make plans for what was going to come next. Grabbing the bat, he bit down on the inside of his cheek, to stuff the searing pain that arched through his body, a bit less than before, but still, no doubt, bad.

The hallway Fox and Cianan approached through cut through the interior arranged rooms, and led out into the courtyard proper. There, true to Shae's word, two half-breed hounds slept despite the ear splitting racket. One man was down on his knees, clutching at his head and screaming. No visible wounds existed to explain the apparent agony. Of the witch, she was currently immersed in an exchange of blades. Her own seemed summoned from the air for the somewhat insubstantial quality it appeared to possess. Translucent or not, it parried like the real thing.

The people descending from on high would soon cut off her access to the entrance Cianan and Fox approached from.


Above

The second knife had been dodged, and Cris? target attempted to do the same with the third, but instead it bloomed red where it lodged in his shoulder, forcing the man to drop his crossbow. Only one shooter remained. The screams from below hadn't stopped, and the other two figures were now making their descent into the courtyard.

His concern, at present, is only to disarm them of their ranged capabilities. He has weapons and hand-to-hand skill enough to carry, should, even with the two opponents, though it had been some time since he'd done battle against adversaries that knew what they hell they were doing. His misses the sheng biao for its reach and versatility, even as he pulls the seraph blade hilt from its ill fitting sheath on his left leg, ignoring the stab of pain in his shoulder, through his arm when he forces his hand to close around it. When he barks its name, and the length of the blade shoots free of the hilt, it lengthens his reach by a few feet. As with the first, he does not pause in his loping stride, intent on crowding into the other shooter's space, in attempts to batter the crossbow aside with an abrupt halt and a swift, spinning hook kick.

Perhaps contrary to what Cris expects, he is not facing two people. Or one and a half, considering the injured shoulder of the first. He hones in on the second shooter while she fires bolt after bolt at him. Her injured companion is fleeing. Not in fear, but with the air of purpose moving northeast along the rooftops. Cris' kick finds empty air instead of a weapon. The crossbow dropped in favor of a strategic step back and a reach for a sheathed blade. It seems this shooter had gone to a similar school of abandon-the-ranged-weapon-in-melee.

The sharp spin flares the open halves of his coat. He yanks one of the last two dormant hilts he's carrying with him from a much better sheath that gives it up smoothly. When he faces his opponent again, it is under the blazing light of not only one, but two blades that he shoves up into an X to catch the first of what will no doubt be several subsequent incoming strikes.


Below

Cianan was going to stick to the shadows, letting Fox draw attention. Fox could handle that, right? Shae seemed to be handling herself, which was as expected. A quiet shift, moving at a slower speed before he pounced at middle one, the baseball bat swung as hard as he could, aiming for the man's skull, with a loud bellow, maybe he could take their attentions away and let Fox and Shae get in some good swings while the men were distracted.

This probably wasn't going to feel good, when his hands took the brunt of the brunt of the bounce back, but he wasn't going to bother thinking about that just now. There was a job to do and people to put down. If he could line up with the second swing, he'd take that, this time going low, for a knee or ankle, if he could .

Fox was more than willing to make a spectacle of himself to draw attention, and a wild eyed redhead shouting obscenities and waving a glowing sword about did accomplish that goal. The two recent additions to the courtyard turned to deal with Fox with swords drawn in an approach designed to flank him.

The Drow's stealth meant the hunters were outmaneuvered from the start. The shout that was prelude to the crack of a bat against the side of a helmet added to the confusion. Cianan's second swing neatly took the dazed man out at the knees.

Fox stepped into the opening to engage the opponent not being beaten to death. Although lacking the room or subtlety to display so before, he was a fair hand with the weapon. It clashed with a violent pulse against an overhand strike.

Across the courtyard, Shae was concentrating on evading the strikes of the woman opposite her. They were closely matched, both having scored hits on the other that left red lines and blood splatter on the dry earth. However, there was a change happening as their exchange progressed. Under Shae's intense stare the woman faltered. Missing strikes, delayed parries, nearly losing her grip. Skill alone saved her from these misfortunes, but Shae was doggedly looking for an opening and employing a hex to coax it into existence..

With one down, and the other locked up with Fox, Cianan was going to help Fox out a bit, turning and swinging the bat into the back of the knee of the warrior Fox was contesting with, hoping to open a spot for him. He had a few seconds before the man on the ground gathered his wits, so he stretched out his hand, and light up the woman who Shae was fighting with, with purple flamed faerie fire. She'd be a nice, big target for Shae now, and for the rest of them when they finished up.

The blood on the bandages was turning a deep crimson, and Cianan was constantly undoing the work his regeneration was trying to get done. Holding back a few huffing coughs, he was lifting the bat to finish off the man at his feet, and crack his head like a melon.

Cianan's assistance was the catalyst for three deaths in quick succession. First, the stumbling blow to the back of the knee for the opponent Fox was clashing with. With that buckle, the man jerked forward, right into the path of the blade strike aimed at his belly. The holy blade cleaved a path through his opponent's gut, blood snapped and popped where holy fire living in the metal beckoned it to boiling. The man collapsed and flames began to eat at his body while Fox hastily stepped back.

Bright faerie fire startled the focus of both Shae and the woman she faced, but one of them recovered faster. Shae recognized the spell and who it must belong to, her forward thrust sent the wind blade through the other woman's neck. Her opponent choked and clawed at it, but when Shae let go of the handle, the blade dissipated into the air. Crimson ran from the vacancy where the conjured blade had been, and the swordswoman was no more.

Dazed and prone, the man who had worn a helmet to protect from hand crossbow bolts had lost his precious head covering in the fall. The last thing he saw was the scarred visage of red eyed disdain bringing the heavily enchanted end of the bat crashing down against his forehead. With that skull splitting impact of aluminum, only the burning corpse and the sound of sleeping dogs remained in the courtyard. Oh and that one man on his knees, screaming and screaming.

Cianan flicked the bat out to the side, to send blood, and thicker things off to the floor, before he glanced back over to Shae, "Where' Cris?" She had called to him as well, right? He was going to quiet down after that and start listening, maybe he could pick something up before Shae told him. A trail of blood was also making its way from his hands down the bat. This just wasn't a good time to feel pain. He'd ignore it for the moment, lips puckering. All he could hear was the man in agony. "Want me to take care of that?"

Shae looked around for Cris at the question from Cianan, but she didn't see the man immediately and that agonized yelling made it near impossible for her to hear the fight going on above. She shook her head once and Fox walked over towards the man whose face was a rictus of pain. Tears, mucus, and drool dripped from his chin. The span of Seraph blade that plunged between his ribs was done in such a way that it looked like a mercy strike. With a sobbing gasp the screams cut off and there was another self-immolating corpse adding morbid light to their surroundings.

When the screaming stopped, the sound of swords clashing drew Shae's face upwards. "He's on the roof."

Neighborhood Watch, Purge and Recovery, Part 8

"We're coming over." Passing in range of the illusion she'd created was all Shae needed to be able to dispel it. Apologies to those inside, she couldn't bring herself to be subtle when a nearby rooftop might have answers. A nearby rooftop that they'd need to vacate soon. Shae was running on fumes, but the sound of that scream kicked her further. Fox gave her a boost up to jump for the edge of the roof in question. He followed not long behind after she scrambled onto and up the inclined portion.

"See. He doesn't play nice. So, I suggest you behave a bit." Cris can be bad cop. Sure. Someone from another world might possibly believe Cianan to be good cop. He turned and sat down on the edge of the roof, four balls of glowing light appearing behind him. He could make them dance as a signal so Shae and Fox could find them, putting them out, one by one as a guide, when he heard them coming close.

He does not want to enjoy it as much as he does. The thrill that agony kicks to life skips through his blood. Icy and swift. It is not all that often than he feels anywhere in the realm of powerful, despite his abilities, or his knowledge. Cris allows three beats to relish in it, the clench of muscle around the expulsion that of that scream beneath his knee. Because this man, however small and insignificant, was a part of a whole. The whole of an army, a coup, an organization, whatever the **** it was, that had stolen his friend. And for that crime, there would be a myriad of consequences. He raises his chin, slowly wets the seam of his frown, and eases the pressure off.

The lights helped Fox, but sound was all Shae needed. As he gained the roof half a minute after Shae, the redhead nodded appreciatively to Cianan for the visual cues.

Further up, Shae was approaching where Cris loomed over the restrained watcher. Her steps grew slower as she neared, until they stopped some five feet away. There was a crackle of static to the air as nothing short of molten fury was running its way up her spine. Gold eyes shaded towards white as she looked at that scarred face. There was recognition, to be sure. The sudden dart and the savage kick she aimed at the tied man's rib cage said as much. She, herself, said nothing. Only a savage snarl as she drew her leg back to kick him again.

Cris jolts in time with the sound connections, refusing to let up the weight he's using to keep the other man pinned. A thin seam pulls his brows in tightly at his effort, at the response it evokes. His fist white knuckles in the man's clothes, a tremor through his open, bloodied hand where it lingers near the ruined arm. He rolls his shoulders, dispelling an abrupt sting shooting through muscle. Straightens to relieve some of the pressure on his spine. He'd been looming low, after all, and he does not need to be in this man's face any more than is necessary.

"Ease it up a bit there." Cianan was blinking a few times, and gave an unsteady smile towards Cris, "Don't go too far. We still need him just a bit." That, and what Cianan had was probably far worse in mind, he just didn't want all the fun to be done before he got his chance. As soon as Shae and Fox passed the dancing lights, they'd vanish, not needing to exist any longer. Pop. Pop. Pop. He'd leave one glowing orb, just for those without infra vision, including their prisoner.

Despite the way he wheezed and hacked around her assault, the blood riddled cough was giving way to hoarse laughter. "Kill me, bitch, do it."

"I. ****ing. Will." It was a promised hissed with all the venom she could muster. She was reaching for the hunter with her hands like claws aimed for his throat and it was Fox grabbing her from behind to keep her out of range of the visceral, personal murder her expression demanded.

He looped strong arms through her elbows and hauled backwards. "Calm the **** down!" He demanded harshly, for she was struggling against the restraint, eyes lacking any of their golden warmth.

"You don't think if you'd die, this'd be all over, did you?" Cianan adjusted, to bring himself more into the light. "We can wrangle to have your soul as long as we need it. Personally, I'd rather not have to go through such a whole ordeal. It's just messy." He fluttered his hand away, "You're here, in a new land. That you can easily vanish from your past, were to choose to do so.. leaving behind all debts, and alliances, and all problems, just by jumping somewhere else." A soothing and sweet lie from the Drow, not entirely untrue. "We've made deals before.. We can make more."

"Shae." Cianan turned and smiled calmly to her. He wasn't going to tell her she was wrong, or that she needed to settle down, he was more calling out to her to establish a contact between the two of them, so she could hear his voice. Soothing, calm. He glanced back over to their captive, and stretched his legs out, his arm dropping between them, blood pooling at the ends of his finger tips. He needed to change the bandages, but he could wait. Another slow, deep cough, his eyes closing a bit, and he took a second or two to recompose himself, "Sorry. Where were we?"

Cris puts his bloodstained hand against the man's grimacing cheek, redirects his deathbed bravado from the Sylph Fox is trying to restrain, onto him, and Cianan. The tip of his index finger touches at the corner of the man's right eye. "The other devices," he says, his voice placid and smoothed out to a gloss that's too perfect to be anything near genuine, "you know where they are, do you not?"

"No deals." Forgive her Cianan, she's too close to this one to be able to play along with the sweet lies of an interrogation. Shae was on the rising edge of mindless fury and Fox's rapidly bruising ribs were currently the only thing keeping her from ruining Cris' efforts to question the captured hunter. She looked at Cianan when he called her name and forced several sharp breaths through her nose, grinding her jaw closed where it had parted, hungry.

Denied a swift death at the hands of the witch, the man scowls, or perhaps it is a grimace. The scarring twists his expression at the edges. His eyes flicker towards that finger, over to the Drow, and then back to the face of the man above him. "So what? They'll be moving them already."

"How many," simply.

"Enough," spiteful.

"Where will they be moving them to?" Cianan's head tilted to the side, his chin lifted up, eyebrows raised. A pleasant smile on his face. He was just going to use this time, to unwrap his old bandages, and start re-wrapping his wounds. Also, Cris' question was brought up! "I can make sure we can find you a place, where they won't find you. Where they won't go, and where you can life out the rest of your life. I'll even.." He took the potion out he intended to give to Cris, and put it on the rooftop by his feet, "Throw this in."

"Different buildings. You can break as many as you like, they'll just make more." Blood stained the hunter's teeth red. He managed a shrug with just the one shoulder.

Cris moves his index finger onto the seam between upper and lower lash lines, reaffirming his careful grip on the other man's face.

Shae had gone still, but Fox had not yet released his hold on her arms. He could feel the tense shaking in her arms and her eyes still stared with the desire to open veins and collapse lungs.

"Who is making them?" Cianan's eyebrows went up, and he leaned back, his fingers brushing against his nose, "And where are they? From this plane? Yours?"

His middle finger joins the first. Together, Cris puts steady pressure on the other man's eyelid.

"The architects." Strained sound of fury from Shae. Her eyes broke in Cianan's direction again while the hunter spoke. "Don't know where they are. None of us are from here. Not me, not the bitc--" The pressure on his eye had increased past discomfort and showed no sign of stopping. His words cut off with a groan as he tried to pull his head away to no avail.

"Take care how you address her," evenly. Cris glances over at Cianan.

"Well. Duh. She's not from here. I'm not from here. He isn't from here." Cianan pointed his hand all around, "That's usually what happens to this place. No one's from here. He pointed his finger at the guy, "And why. Why are you here? Why are they doing this? Undead."

The pressure driving his fingers halts, but Cris does not draw them back.

Pain spread from one eye to the other and outward into his skull. The pressure there had him sweating from the forcefully maintained level of discomfort. He could feel his eye throbbing in time with his arm and it made his voice weaker to have to focus around it. "He needs us." The way he uttered that pronoun, reverent, was almost like he expected the man himself to appear. "The Collector will wipe it all clean for us. For that he needs the ones hiding here."

"What do you mean, the ones that are hiding here." Cris had heard the same, in bits and pieces before.

"You're stuck here with us for the moment. If you need a new God Head, I can offer you a Giant Spider, with a super hot Drow upper torso, but that's about it." He shrugged his shoulders. A good bit of the Drow pantheon was dead at the moment because of all of their stupid in fighting, and a Moonblade. He brushed his fingers on the underside of his nose. He was also.. going to detect magic, just in case they were missing something that couldn't be seen with the normal eye.

"If he needed you, you wouldn't be stuck here, with us, looking your own mortality square in the face. Hell, I'll even make sure your soul doesn't go to wherever you think it will. I'll keep it. Forever. Here. Separated from The Collector. " Niceness might not be the key, desperation? That could be the way to do things.

The eye not slowly being vice gripped into his ocular cavity cut in Shae's direction for Cris' question. "Her kind." Those two words laced with a deep distaste he couldn't fully hide.

"The Fae," It was Fox who spoke over Shae's shoulder, quiet and thoughtful. They'd theorized before that the Fae of their world had gone somewhere. This sounded like that somewhere was Rhy'Din. Or, at least, Rhy'Din adjacent.

For the man, he was just a man. His crossbow had been enchanted and his weapons had been of good quality, but the detection of magic showed nothing especially remarkable about him. "Sacrifices must be made," said with the tireless tones of cult rhetoric. "He will remake us all. Once he finds the right shapes."

Shae lunged against Fox's arms, but his connection to her made it next to impossible for her to surprise him into letting her go. The fury was back and she could taste the blood from biting her tongue.

His gaze narrows. "This Collector is seeking to replace an entire race of people by snuffing out this plane's transplants? And for this, you required her," they all knew who Cris meant, "why. What purpose could that possibly serve." Even as he asked, he could think of a few. A catalyst for a special, a sleeper, one that did not know she was being used to spy on them all---- But there had to be a real answer, and not just speculation.

"Mm." Cianan stood up slowly, and moved to place his hand on Shae's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He was quiet for the moment, Cris was asking the questions. He could pass it over.

"Their souls belong to our world. They hide here but he needs them to complete his Work." His breathing was ragged, and his bravado was returning. "The bitch is the leverage we need to get them back. They want her, they'll come out of hiding to claim her. They made that clear already."

Little muscles above his upper lip jump in time with the man's answer. Cris drives his two fingers into the fleshy hole of his eye socket like the organ within is a button that desperately needs pressing.

The scream cracked his voice with the volume produced by it. Blood and fluid welled around Cris' fingers. The force had ruptured the eye itself and done damage to the surrounding tissue.

"I said......" muted, in comparison to the anguished wail. Withdrawing the length of his two fingers, Cris flicks them free of the viscous mess clinging to his scars, "........take care.? He didn?t wait long before resuming the questioning. ?Why do they want her, what is it that they think she can do for them?"

Cianan didn't exactly know that was coming, but should have expected it. Passively, he looked back at the man, and continued to hold onto Shae's shoulder.

That squelch and subsequent scream cut the edge of her rage back again. Her thoughts had been running through visions of violence she wished to bestow upon the figure they were interrogating, enough to have made Fox's face a stony mask of concentration. Under Cianan's hand, her muscles were still tight, but they had stopped their shaking strain. Her breathing was as a small bellows, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Focus, calm, a cold corner to tuck fury into so that it could be molded into something else. That's what she needed. That's what she was working on.

While he was concentrating on keeping her in check, Fox was also concentrating on their surroundings. It might have been too little, too late, but he nudged Shae with a pointed look. One agitated flick and clench of her hand later, a large shell of air trapped the sounds of the man's pained screams on the roof with them. Someone was going to come investigate, it was only a matter of time.

Fresh trauma had overwhelmed the hunter and he writhed through shock and pain, cursing all of them in a far away language. It parsed for Shae: promises of retribution upon his rebirth, Collector take the worthless souls of meddling foreigners, and several anatomically impossible suggestions. If he'd heard Cris' question through the destruction of his eye, he wasn't inspired to reply in any meaningful way. Not with the blood seeping into his hair like that.

Cris is content to let the man beneath him scream and thrash as much as he likes, jostled by the pitching of the hunter's hogtied body, but it only inspires him to drive more of his weight down into the man's gut to hold him still. The closure of Shae's air bubble gives the man's screaming something to bounce off of. He can't hear himself think with it going on. After some time, he presses his other palm over the hunter's gaping mouth. He can't stifle all of it, but maybe he can cut it back enough so the rest of them can talk.

"Excuse me, Shae." Cianan moved away, pulling a bottle out from his hip pouch and shifting back, to draw out another wand. He wanted to keep his promise, and needed to be prepared in case Cris killed the man, or trauma took him. He brushed his tongue across his lips, prepared to say the command word he needed.

"Is there anything else anyone would like to ask of this man?" conversationally. The fury that had fueled the destruction of the hunter's eye had since blown out, leaving only hot coals behind as evidence.

Postscript
2:15 AM, May 22nd, 2017

When Cris finally circled back to the western tower, he was greeted by a solitary figure leaning against the stone. As the Nephilim arrived, Fox pushed away from his resting posture and spoke, guessing at the questions that would be apt to crop up with the absence of the other two. ?Shae went back to Church House with the pieces of the mirror. Cianan went to go do something about his hands. I told him I?d fill you in.?

There was another reason for it, and he fidgeted slightly, toying with an item in his pocket. ?Also?? The pause stretched several seconds before he pulled out the hilt Cris had lent him, its parchment hastily rewrapped and tied with string. ?I wanted to be sure you got this back. I appreciated the loan of it greatly.? Fox offered it back to Cris respectfully.

He?d had some time to calm himself, but he could still feel the unrest shifting in his spine. The appearance and offering of the Seraph blade gave him pause, something else to focus on. ?What is its name??

Confusion was foremost on Fox?s face, he closed his fingers around the hilt and turned his hand so that he could look down at the parchment and then back up to Cris. "You don't know?"

"I've only used two of the four I've brought with me from my brief respite in London. Yours was not one of them. So, no, I do not know the name on the scroll."

Fox shifted his grip on the hilt, the scroll tied hastily back in place shifted with it. His thumb grazed the edge of the paper, but he was careful that his skin touched none of the metal. "It's Yeqon," He'd say quietly.

A stretch of silence passed, during which he studied the man before him. He may not know exactly what manner of parallel divinity lived in Fox?s veins, but he couldn?t deny that the adamas accepted the man?s touch. ?Keep it,? finally. ?It served you well, yes??

Fox?s reply was faint with mounting surprise. "It did, yes." He had hesitated in returning it to Cris, but he?d never anticipated that the man would be willing to part with the weapon.

?Then it should continue to do so,? after a short nod.

"Are you sure?" Even as he asked, he was aware of the possessive curl of his fingers. That sensation, that sensation he?d felt before...he wanted it again.

Another nod. "You come from Angels, as I do. That much is certain. It is not my place to deny you their aid, if you wish to have it. Keep it."

One beat later: "If it eases you, this can be considered repayment for Re'nael."

"Let's call it an extended lease. In case the day comes that you need it back." In case the day came that Cris went through the supply that he had and found himself bereft of adamas in his hand.

Slight smile, then a final nod before he turned to quit this place so heavy with the scent of ash. "Then it is settled."

--------------------

An hour later
Text to Cianan: Thank you, for tonight.

Text to Shae: No problem. Let me know if you need anything. Even if it's just a punching bag.

Text to Cianan: I hope you're not volunteering yourself as the punching bag.

Text to Shae: No, I meant a literal punching bag. I can bring one over. Good for working out aggression.

Text to Cianan: I can't argue that point, but I'm not sure if aggression is what I'm feeling.

Text to Shae: It can also work out other feelings. Sometimes just being physical can help, or shove it aside. Or, I can just bring over ice cream and movies, and we can do the opposite.

Text to Cianan: I'm sorry you had to use your rings again, because of me.

Text to Shae: The regeneration one is always on, anyways. I don't take that one off. I'll be fine. Some of the regeneration just went to the newer problem. It's not your fault. I can't run away or hide, and you needed help.

Text to Cianan: I don't want to be the reason you have less time.

Text to Shae: So. I should just sit back, and let weirdos who tortured you and kept you in prison roam free? Not how I roll.

Text to Cianan: You know that's not what I meant. I can feel guilty and still appreciate what you did.

Text to Shae: Let's not.. do the guilt thing. Let's just enjoy.

It takes some time before she responds again. Several responses considered and rejected.
Text to Cianan: Enjoy?

Text to Shae: Enjoy. Being together. Being alive. Company. Friends. Cards. Dinner and dancing. That kind of stuff.

Text to Cianan: I'll try.

Text to Shae: Thank you. Want me to come over and dance around in a thong and silly hat for you? And boots. Cowboy boots.

Text to Cianan: No. I think I need to be by myself.

Text to Shae: Understood. If that desire changes, just give me a message. I'll be here.

Text to Cianan: Do you need it? The company, I mean.

Text to Shae: I'm okay, I was more worried about you, than anything. If you need to process, think and alone time? I understand.

Later:
Text to Cianan: Thank you.

Text to Shae: You're always welcome.

--------------------

Some hours later:
Text to Shae: If you need me, Shae.

Her reply was slow in coming.
Text to Cris: Thank you, for tonight.
Text to Cris: And what you offered Fox, thank you.

Twenty minutes later:
Text to Shae: You do not need to thank me.
Text to Shae: I would, and will, do it all again.
Text to Shae: As many times as it takes to stop them all.

Text to Cris: I will remove them from this place. I have a mirror, broken though it may be. I will find them.
Text to Cris: And I will thank you if I want to.

Text to Shae: I shouldn't like to keep you from any desires you have, anyway.

Text to Cris: You shouldn't make a blanket indulgence of my desires, either.
Text to Cris: Not all of them deserve to be acted upon.

Text to Shae: I shall trust your judgement.

Text to Cris: That will make one of us.
Text to Cris: That was a poor joke.
Text to Cris: It doesn't translate well.

Text to Shae: It does, more than you think.

Text to Cris: It will be well, Cris. I can feel you fretting from here.
Text to Cris: Were you hurt?

Text to Shae: Nonsense.
Text to Shae: I took blows, yes, but nothing life threatening nor not easily handled.
Text to Shae: My threshold for physical pain seems to have gone through some sort of evolution.

Text to Cris: You went through a lot.

Text to Shae: We have that in common.

Text to Cris: As shared subjects go, it's a really ****ed one.
Text to Cris: Still.

Text to Shae: I'm fine, Shae.
Text to Shae: I'm fine, I promise you.

Text to Cris: I believe you.

Eleven minutes later
Text to Shae: I meant it.
Text to Shae: If you need me.

She'd start and erase several replies, unable to word a particular request in a way that she was happy with.
Text to Cris: Thank you.

Sun Soaked Stone, Part 2

They weren't the only things bearing that stain, maybe he's imagining it, sure he can't want it to be there. The color of a bruise along the inner line of her lower lip that would taste like fruit. His own press together. Slowly, he cracks the small lid from his water bottle. "What have you tried so far?" The breeze, hers and Rhy'Din's own, disturbs his hair. It's been some time since Beltane, its length threatens to return.

"Some spells I know, similar to the one I used in the clock tower for you. The trouble is trying to do it in a way that doesn't raise any flags and working with the remnants of a broken enchantment." Fox had accidentally broken the mirror in jagged halves and the active magic had faded. She had become a forensic arcanist in her struggles to piece it back into a whole that made sense. "They used mirrors before, but not like this. This is new. They used to use mirrors to help them steal people." Her smile had died with the initial admission, and now a soft frown had taken its place. "They stopped being covert about it after a while and didn't bother with the extra effort." Open abductions that stepped up to groups, and then a whole town.

"I do not understand what their purpose even is," he says, taking the first drink of water. Chilly through his teeth, washing the taste of fire from his tongue. He sets it aside, reaches into the bag for a popsicle before he changes his mind. It doesn't really count as food, it can't do much harm. "Their allegiance to this------Collector. And I suppose their motives aren't supposed to make sense to me, for I am not within the folds of their cult. But he must have a reason, something he wants from your people, to go through as much trouble as he is."

"The Collector is so named because it is rumored that he seeks to harvest souls for his own purpose, for some bargain he made with an old, old demon. No one knows what he's supposed to get out of this deal, or how many souls it calls for. What he hopes to accomplish I can't begin to guess at, I only know the slavish devotion of his accumulated followers turned my world into a nightmare." Having picked her way through the broken masses, she tugged the wrapper down to get at what remained on the stick. "There are several 'end of the world' groups that threw in with him. One group believes that there is a strict balance to the living and the dead, and that if too many souls are let to the afterlife at once it will feed the dark oblivion there to bursting and that insatiable hunger will consume what remains of the living. Hearing that-- hearing what he--? Shae couldn?t bring herself to name the hunter they?d questioned-- ?what was said about the 'remaking'... that's different. I suppose I can see where someone might look at the abominations the Collector created and paint them in the light of seeking some sort of perfected form. All I see is desecration and the twisted desire to cause suffering."

Belatedly, she realized she hadn't entirely addressed his question, only attempted to give context for the senseless violence. "My best guess is that the bargain requires a Fae soul... and there are none left."

He tears the wrapper at the top and pushes it down in a white bunch to collect any juice that melts. Grape, the purple ice says. He takes a bite, holds the lump of flavored slush on his tongue as he listens with a pensive frown, his brow tight over the thin gold-green of his eyes, sharp in their dark frame of lashes. "Whatever it was they needed you for, they needed you corporeal," he says, a bit askew for his chewing. "Or so the three I overheard stated as much in the caves when we came to collect you. Two of them were upset with the third for his impatience regarding your capture, I'm assuming."

Squinting, he straightens, slightly. "Do you think it may have something to do with the other half of your nature?"

"It would be awfully difficult to torture me into compliance without a body to experiment on." Murmured darkly around a bite of tart ice. "I can't imagine they liked the idea of dealing with what amounted to wind on a leash. Harder to kill that. Harder to cut it open." The hand not supporting the popsicle curled in to touch at her ribs. There was a thoughtful pause. "They must have been upset with the Trickster. It was a little while before he let on that he had me, after all." She sounded a bit distant for the way her eyes threw the words out at the horizon. It was his question that brought them closer and she turned to look at him. "The other half? You mean my mother?"

The back of his jaw moves, the tip of his tongue pressed up against his teeth. The popsicle droops, slightly, in his hand when he puts his forearms on his knees. Nods to answer her question. It may simply be a tangent of thought that makes no sense. "Had she the ability to live as air, as well? Do all of that lineage have such an ability?"

"Mm. No. She wasn't a Sylph. She wasn't Fae." There were mages who could draw deeply from the elements in ways that transformed them, but it wasn't the same. "I believe she was a witch, but I have no idea what that meant for her." Here Shae's attention deviated down to a patch of shadow where Fox had been gorging himself on store bought jerky. No contract was quite the same and she knew nothing about whatever one gave her mother magic. "And witchcraft isn't a lineage, so much. Not...not the way you're thinking. It's true, obviously, that people in the same family might have the call to it, but it's just as likely to not happen that way. And I think that unpredictable surfacing is another reason why people fear it." She paused for the space of a bite that made her teeth hurt from the cold. "No, I think her heritage was human."

He blinks, surprised certainly, to learn that there was a streak of mundane braided in with all the Fae wilderness, Sylph wind, and magic. Then he nods. Lifts the popsicle to his mouth and sucks a second bite free. "S'a thought. Perhaps I am trying to explain the necessity of their constructs, their attempts to find a perfect form. After all, without your connection to Fox, you would not be sitting here with me now. If they mean to bring the Fae back with the promise of new, stronger flesh to hold them. Or if they're building some sort of army to be presented as a gift when they return, I have no fucking idea. No explanation would absolve of these atrocities, but------if they had a plan aside from senseless abduction and faux scientific discovery, it would make their actions at least a shade less heinous."

"Perhaps there is a way to use the mirror we have to connect to the others and direct some sort of strike in reverse." He takes another bite of the popsicle, and scoots back.

There was something to be said for dominant genetics, and faerie blood overwrote a lot of her mother's contributions. Perhaps that streak would offer explanation for the pieces that didn't quite fit with the stereotype of pure blooded wildness. "The purpose of the constructs, from what I have seen, is to find a use for all the dead that furthers their agenda." Why fight those that oppose you when you can make the shell of their loved ones do it for you? They made war machines of victims and called it fate. "They made an army of them, and they turned that army on the cities."

The stick in her hands was empty, but she bit on the wood anyway to taste the remnants of the juice that had soaked into it. "That's the hope," regarding the mirror. "Use the network against them, or trace it to wherever they are observing from."

He grunts in comprehension, glad for it even if what he understands is another sliver of evil. He turns to sit beside her, stretches out the full length of both legs in gear before him. The slouch of his spine pulls its network of muscle comfortably taut, relieving tension. There's a faint, black shadow in between his shoulder blades, a large Mark the size of his hand, its details fuzzy for the cotton laying against it. "That sounds viciously familiar. Psychological warfare does more damage than physical. Why waste your time with the effort of slaughter when one can make your enemy slaughter themselves, or wish they were dead."

"Mm." Thoughtful sound as she watches him stretch. Her eyes linger on his back and, rather than comment further on ruthless wartime tactics and the monsters it made, she couldn't help the question that haltingly escaped her. "That evening...on the roof.." The stick taken out from between her teeth and slipped into the empty wrapper. The trash put in the bag in exchange for a water bottle. "Did you, ah, feel anything?"

He pinches what's left of his melting popsicle between teeth and tongue, tugs it sidelong off the stick and drops his head back to catch it all. He frowns as he chews, for the size of the bite and for the topic change. It takes a moment to catch up, "Plenty," he admits, "but I feel you've a reason for asking me this."

She focused on opening the water bottle and bringing it to her lips. The first few sips still tasted like raspberry. "Yeah I-- I mean I know you were angry." Such an understatement, they all had been so much more than angry. "I meant...physically. On the beach we talked about--" She cut off, tried a different approach. "Fox saw the shape of you, and it was different again."

He snorts, the edge of his brief smile sharp like the trio of blades laying against his thigh, above his right knee. "Angry is---------is such a grotesque misrepresentation," gently. He sucks his teeth, squints a moment at the seawater in the distance. His fingertips are sticky from where the remnants of melted ice and fruit juice drips on calluses. A beat later, he looks back, "I was absolutely, irrevocably furious."

He caught her looking then. She'd been staring at his profile as he squinted out into the distance and the expression in her eyes was a complex one. Small inhale through parted lips at his clarification. A breath held so that she might lick her lips before releasing it. "I know," whispered with weighted effort, recognition of his reaction carrying so much more than simple acknowledgement. Thank you, she meant. A deep gratitude that two words were insufficient for, but two words were all that escaped her in that moment.

Caught, but he doesn't look away from it. An admission of this weight did not belong buddied up with shyness or refusal to meet gazes. He is not ashamed of how he'd felt, or what he'd done as a result. Only in the moment, here and there, when recognition of his own sadistic pleasure wormed its way through all of the righteous, white hot fire. He inclines his head. "If you mean to ask if I felt such a change," he shakes his head, "no. I felt nothing but my own response to the man's vitriol. Hot----" frowning, now that he's dedicating some mental energy to thinking about it, "-------but no other such physical reaction. Throughout the night, here and there, however...." here he turns back to the sea. Sets aside his stick and wrapper, rubbing away the stickiness of his hands. "......and not just that night. There's discomfort, there. Strain, but it isn't as it was before, it does not feel as though it's coming straight up, out of my bones."

Another lick of her lips as she listened to his reply with the due attention of holding his gaze for it. She saw his acceptance there. That he felt that his response was one that was warranted, given. She found herself still speechless. It shifted something older, calcified inside of her, a piece she hadn't realized was movable again. Its new position had her breath sitting heavy in her lungs. He turned away and she released the air shakily. The errant sensation started to fade when not faced directly with the evidence of regard. "He said it looked like fire, fanning out from your spine." That cool sensation was her water bottle chilled finger tips finding a home on the closer of his shoulder blades. She leaned back to touch him there, but of course there was nothing. Her hand settled her palm against his shirt and her thumb gently traced the line of bone beneath his skin. "I didn't see it, but then, I was only seeing one thing." Red.

Fire, she says, and he nods for the fitting description. "I felt nothing, and it did not seem that-----" the hitch in his answer caused by a restrained jolt of surprise. He isn't looking, so he could not see her move, and he hadn't expected her to touch him either. "------that anyone else did, either." She can feel him breathe under her hand. Deeply in, and out, veins of scar tissue like a forest of roots, raised under the thin fabric of his shirt. He wished she'd never done it, and hoped she wouldn't stop. "I check for them every day," quietly, "nothing has returned."

"Except Fox." Murmured as she looked at his back and the way it shifted across his scars as he breathed. Her hand smoothed to the far side for the same treatment over the other shoulder blade. Fingertips, the press of palm, and the line work of her thumb. The pass making briefly visible the hazy shadow of the mark that lay in the valley of his shoulders beneath the thin white of his shirt. "Maybe his shock at you lending him one of your angelic weapons went to his head." Gentle teasing in her voice as she poked fun at her familiar. Absentmindedly, her fingertip began to follow the line of darkened skin over his spine, pressing the shirt against it to make it visible. "I will admit, I was surprised by the gesture, myself." The motion paused and then drew away hastily as she realized what she was doing. "I know you would tell me if something had returned."

It's always a strange sensation when one touches his spine, his skin interspersed with patches where can barely feel anything at all, and then too much where it's smooth between scars. He bows his head, pulls his shoulders in as far as he can, to stretch his back under the gentle pressure of her palms. He grips the space above his left collar bone, muscle and white cotton dimpling under his fingertips, nail beds white with tension. "As was I."

The speed of her withdrawl leaves him, momentarily, breathless. Rueful, mourning, and lonely. He grits his teeth and squints at the ocean beyond. "Selfish, perhaps, in the moment. I felt better about him holding a weapon that I knew would serve beyond all others."

"Did I hurt you?" Hesitant question for the tension she saw in that grip on his collar and the way his posture had shifted. She remembered a time where the space had been sensitive, painful for him. He said he was checking it everyday and she couldn't help but wonder if that sensitivity had returned.

"No," he says, starts to turn his head. Even on the back of his neck, there's evidence of old runes cut in. The most prominent of the silver scarring is an oblong circle slashed through with a long line. "No, you didn't."

Relief as she sipped. He'd invited her out here and she didn't want to make him regret it. She veered back to the subject they had been discussing. "It meant a lot to him, I know. He might not say so, but it did." A pause. "You mentioned there was something on your mind when you texted. Were you just curious about how I was coming on with the mirror pieces, or...?"

He nods, dropping his hand. The roll of his shoulders is meant to dispel any lingering sensation from her hands, because if he does not feel it, he will not want it back. "I could tell," he says. The flavor of what he'd edited still sits bitter on his tongue. He swallows it down with his own sip of water.

How easy would it be to just lean back? He does not think her lap would be anything but soft, her fingertips anything but soft where they'd skip trails through his hair. He takes another drink. "Adamas is not a finite resource for my people. It seems that we've always had access to it, and that we always will in the future. A seraph blade is a common tool, even though it's a special one, but-----I had no desire to take that away from him. He deserves it."

"He deserves more than I've been able to give him." She doesn't comment on the fact that while adamas as a resource isn't finite, his access to it might be. She doesn't know what the future will hold for his connection to his people and their supplies, especially given some of the ties he had already cut. Her nod was, possibly, out of sight, but she didn't articulate her understanding. Her eyes skipped to his back again and when she spoke it was to gently prod him. "And what you texted about?"

He shares her discretion. It isn't something he generally likes to think about. He can wear all he owns that came from his people and have space left over. The rest is a pipe dream of a memory. He hadn't laid eyes on Idris in over in just over a decade, now, and he'd lost much of the finer details of his life there anyway. He pours some water into his hands and rubs it in, cleaning them of dirt where it had stuck to the juice left behind from the popsicle. He caps the water, sets it aside. Dries his palms when he pulls them down his face, then bends his knees. The sole of his right foot rests on the arch of his left. He hooks his elbows around his knees. Turns his head like he means to look at her, back there, but he doesn't.

"I was thinking about you."

She's patient in the stretch between her reinforced question and his answer. His change in positioning is observed before she attempts one of her own. She felt the desire to see his face, and so she shifted until she was sitting with her back to the precipice just in front of and to the side of him. Legs folding again as she shifted from side to side to get comfortable. Finally settling with another forward lean so she could look over at him. "I'm glad you were, because it meant you invited me to come see you. Still, I hope they weren't thoughts that were too worrisome. I promise, I'm taking care."

Left hand clasps his right wrist, the lock of his grip holding the pretzel of his limbs together. He watches her as she enters his sight line, her black hair harsh against its pale backdrop of seawater and quarry stone. "No," with a half shake of his head, "I'd hardly have room to rebuke anyone for negligent self care. I'm glad to know that you are, but it was, honestly, not at all complicated. It's a beautiful day," he says, motioning to the sky, somewhat, with one scarred finger, "there's more than enough space for the both of us. You crossed my mind, as you do. And so-----" He ripples his fingertips against his arm, "here we are."

Her eyes fell on that motion of his hands and then raised to where he shook his head. Back to his hands, the sky lingered upon, his hands again. The water bottle held in her lap was turned in place as she listened. The smile that came was a slow, genuine thing, the corners of her eyes wrinkling where her gaze slid back to his face. There it rested with gentle weight until she turned her head to the side to look away along the line of the quarry. Faint blush of red rising to color her cheeks. "Thank you." For the invitation, for allowing her to cross his mind, as she did. Whatever that meant, even if it was the thing that had pulled faint color into her cheeks unbidden. "Not terribly important, like you said, but appreciated all the same."

They're a sight, his hands up close, perpetually ruddy in places, especially points of contact. Flecked with scars as the rest of him in a messy, nonsensical way, like buckets of nails and broken glass had been dropped on his fingers repeatedly. There is only one uniform scar, spanning three of the four fingers of his left hand. It lines up if he'd straighten it out, suggesting the blow was delivered all at once.

Part of his mouth turns up at the slow growth of her smile, and the subtle flush he decides to believe is from the ferocity of the sunlight, could be if he believed in it hard enough. He tightens the lock of his hand around his arm. "I'm glad I was, too. Or did, contact you."

Gentle Lies, Understated Truths, Part 1
The Inn, Late Night, May 29th - 30th, 2017, taken from live play

It was a long walk to get to the favorite watering hole from Church House, but it helped to have company for the distance. Her eyes stayed at street level by sheer force of will as Shae approached with the phone a friend escort. Her hands were folded into the pockets of a newer leather jacket, this one actually cut for a female form rather than the ratty oversized version that had become a stolen hand-me-down for the redhead in her life. The whisper of denim marked her steps, each shift of her gait revealing lettering on her leather cloaked t-shirt. 'Don't be a Basic Witch' it cautioned. Her black hair stirred with motion and her breeze as she drew near. "... was just gone in the morning. I can only assume that Fin left to go to his forge and wasn't eaten by Kate."

Thank the Angel that long walks and good company mixed well. He's shortened his stride to match Shae's, bootheels muted where they hit cobblestones below save for the shiver of buckles like phantom spurs. Cris mirrors her posture, with his fists buried in the pockets of his hoodie. She keeps an eye on the street, he raises his gaze a little higher, and it wanders. The pressure of surveillance isn't a foreign sensation, but it isn't a friendly one, either. "I'm certain there would have been evidence left over, as some sort of warning for the next poor soul who happened to pass out there."

"She was adamant about keeping the graves out back," Shae also had wanted to keep them, but that didn't matter for the airy joke of speculation. "There are quite a few of her party boys I haven't seen but once." She directs a smile to the cobblestone and the toes of her boots as she walks. He didn't have to curtail his stride too far, the wind moved when inspired. And anxiety, no matter how suppressed, inspired motion.

"Shall I keep a lookout for freshly tilled earth?" with a snort. He tugs one fist free to scratch the length of his jaw with his thumb.

"I'm just saying don't believe her if she says she likes to garden." The smile sketched a bit wider. There, the steps to the porch. The invisible vice unwound a few threads where it squeezed at her lungs. "I'm the only one who really does anything like gardening there."

"Well, technically, burying a body could be considered a form of gardening. Nothing will grow, but it'll at least feed the earth around it." He takes the first two porch steps at once. The door is swinging slowly closed. He heads forward to catch it before it clicks into its frame, pushes it back open with the splay of one hand.

She passes the dark stretch of him and moves inside where the common room already hummed with bodies. There was the slightest pause in the doorway, flicker glance from his hand on the door to his face. An impulse from memory suppressed. "The weeds aren't suffering back there, that's for sure."

He hums a low sound of agreement, reins in a little quirk at the corner of his mouth to only a subtle shift. Once she's in, he follows in her wake, scowl tight for the shift in lighting and lets the door swing closed, without interference.

The sanctity of four walls and rafters eases the raised hackle posture of her spine. Her exhale is a release of palpable stress and the cut of her eyes towards the Nephilim holds gratitude. "Now that I've dragged you all the way here, would you like some tea?" Even if the answer was 'no', Shae was going to be making for the break in the bar.

Snort, "I must have missed the part when a leash and collar was attached. Tea would be great, thank you."

Shae paused, barely a step away. Perhaps it was the giddy withdraw of adrenaline, but his snort draws her attention back. It's just a reach. Just a stretch of her arm, and fingers curl into the hood of navy blue to give it a single, playful tug before letting go. "I forgot them. Next time." Wicked amusement as she resumed her progress for the bar. There were faces there she knew, and she lifted a hand in greeting as she passed to the space reserved for tenders and those, like her, who were impatient and irreverent.

Bumping his shoulder into the alley door, Cianan was rolling in. His shirt partially unbuttoned, his tie was loose, he wasn't on the clock, he didn't have to look like it. At least his haircut was fresh, and the hands had a new wrapping on them, which might look nice with the vest, shirt and pants. His tongue briefly appeared and the tip wiggled a hello to everyone, before the Drow used his hand to do so as well. Oh. There was someone behind the bar! Cianan moved in, and planted his elbows down near Izumi, "Bartender! Bartender!" He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. He pitched up his voice, and added a bit more nasal to it, just to make it irksome when he called. He turned after that and twiddled fingers over to Senka and Droet.

"Cianan." Shae smirked at those nasal tones while she filled the kettle with fresh water. It needed time to boil, and her muscle memory grabs for mugs and spoons and tin could survive the distraction. "Want something?" A nod towards the bottles.

Her touch is foreign enough to sing against his body twice as hard as it would have, or should have. Tugged, but the mischievous way she does it does not offset the line of his shoulders. Surprise briefly cracks the dark wrinkle of his scowl. It's Cianan's call for a tender that snaps him out of it. He'd fallen behind. Cris rolls his shoulders to assuage the echo she'd left behind on his collarbone, and resumes his trek in her wake.

"Oh. Body shots would be lovely. But, I can just take some.." He plucked his bottom lip out, his head rolling to the side, "Scotch. On the top shelf. Glass too, if you'd be so kind?" He'd given up the days of just drinking it straight from the bottle, too expensive.

"Senka, Droet, Izumi." The names were a warm hello where her hands busied themselves. They succumbed to a sigh as she began what had become a near ritualistic hunt for the honey jar. "It's too early for body shots, Ci." She was getting him a glass though, and some top shelf scotch to go in it.

"What? Since when. I can hop up on the bar any time. I'm sure Cris would be happy to take the first shot out of my belly button.? Oh, that was a mental image that had Cianan snorting!

"**** off, Cianan," Cris says, tucking up firmly against the bar. He crosses his arms on its edge and leans in until he can feel its harsh edge cut into his ribs. His gaze wanders. Shae had, luckily, called out names that he knew. Izumi is the only one to receive a muted raise of one hand. He nods to Droet for his ?Evening folks.?, and squints at Senka for ?Hello Banana.?.

The requested scotch (and glass) was set in front of the Drow. Shae?s eyes wandered, still hunting for the sweet amber that her sweet tooth demanded. The tea tin soon found a home within reach of Cris, open and lacking one bag that already hung in her mug.

Cianan gave Senka a smile, and a thumbs up. She was getting closer! It still twisted his heart around, but he wasn't going to attempt to correct her. Not tonight. "See?" A gestural point over Cris' way. Sure. Droet gets Draw-It, and he gets Banana. That's fair! "Try behind the bitters." He blindly guided Shae, and he picked up his glass, with a small wiggle. New skin. Always so sensitive. "Thank you, Shae."

Three beats later, Cris focuses instead on the tea tin in front of him. He chooses one, a simple white tea, earthy but light in its aroma. He sets it aside, next to the tin, and looks back down the bar.

The rising whistle of the kettle draws her away from the search for her preferred sweetener. Shae lets it come into the full of its boil for just a second before shifting it away from the heat. The jar must prefer Cianan to her, there it was behind the bitters. She reached for it and then paused, tossing a suspicious squint towards the Drow. As if to accuse him of colluding with the strange curse.

"I have to hide it from Fae, or she'll just drink it or eat it by the spoonful." He admitted to the collusion! "She's the reason I keep my sugar, literally behind lock and key." Cianan stuck his tongue out, "I tried hiding it in my oven, but I'd wake up at night to find her curled up in there around the sugar."

"Are you telling me you're the reason I can never find the ****ing honey?" Strain in her quiet voice that predicted some form of retribution. Huff as Shae snared the tea bag that had been quietly selected, draping it in the second mug. The pour of hot water summoned a narrow wall of steam in front of her.

"I've seen Fae. Are you sure you're describing the right person?" Droet moved to sit at the bar next to Senka who was drinking her vodka and discussing her recent change in hair color with Cris. "And I'll bet you're one of the great bakers," Droet said with a happy smile. "Senka, how's the ink?"

"Fae is.. Odd." Cianan nodded his head, "But, sweet, and kind. Mostly. Cianan beamed a smile over towards Shae. Then glanced back over to Droet, "Undoubtedly. Spoonfuls of sugar, if she's not just trying to dump the bag in her mouth. I couldn't bake at home for a while." She could ruin his mystique, so he could ruin hers.

"Senka can do dis now. V'hy not." A quick shrug. "I's still gettin' used to. V'will see if it for keeps." Where her eyes were pale just a little earlier they were vivid and bright now. The inky color of her hair made them look vibrant and intense.

"You should," Cris decided with a nod. The sharp contrast is arresting, a dark vortex with her eyes at the center. "I simply wasn't expecting it, it's only been a day since we last spoke." Glances aside at Shae, then back.

"It looks good on you." Shae volunteered towards Senka, a distraction to keep her from lobbing a lemon slice at the Drow.

"Mush can happen in j'es v'one day Crispin." She smiled down at her paper and when she looked back up, she thanked Shae. "Yous v'would know about lookin' good." Shae got a wink. "V'what yous meat Draw-it? V'what about de ink?"

Droet tapped on his own shoulder, added the words, "Body art?"

Smacked in the face with a lemon slice. Cianan just sighed, and flopped down on the bar top. "So tart.
Oh. I think that's more my thing, Droet." Cianan curled his lip to the side. Cianan was just grumping, the lemon wedge laying before him. He was defeated.

Shae?s hand must have moved on its own. Oh well, he deserved it. Honey was applied liberally to her mug before the jar and the second vessel of steeping tea were shifted to where Cris could sweeten to his tastes. The wink from Senka earned a small smile. "Can't help it if I like the darker haired ladies." Stars only knew where that lemon slice had been before she winged it at him for hiding the honey from her. She was waiting for her tea to steep and the talk of body art had her looking from Cianan to Cris, one thumb passing over the back of her opposite hand. She looked down at her skin there and listened.

"Oh! Dat. Is good, Draw-it." She looked to Cianan. "No no he v'right. Senka gots little sumsing." She looked like the cat who had caught the canary or at least a child who had been caught being naughty. And then to Shae. "I's still gettin' used. Is bit dark for Senka. Maybe I's try de blonde nest." Next.

Lucy left Sean, her bodyman, on the porch after a quiet offer of a drink that he declined. Slipping through the front door, brows lifted at the size of the crowd and she started to work her way through the crowd towards the bar.

"Ooh. What did you get?" Cianan blinked a few times at Senka, his chin lifting up. He stood up fully, having recovered from the horrible lemon party that Shae had given him. At least Cianan didn't wing the lemon back at her. At least, not yet. Movement in the mirror drew his attention, and he wiggled his fingers over the shoulder towards Lucy. He could wait for Senka's reply, he'd just sip at his scotch.

Golden glance from tiefling to local artist and back again. Motion nearby catches her eye, and Shae?s smile returns for: "Hi Lucy."

"Shae." A smile of greeting---is she still behind the bar and out of kiss reach? If not Lucy tries to buzz one to her cheek before waving back at Cianan. "Hey there." Cris gets a smile as well as Senka and Droet. "Evening."

She was behind the bar, it was a space she was fond of, even if she didn't properly belong in it. A kiss would be blown to the redhead in lieu of the hands on greeting. She might extract herself, but first she was waiting on her tea.

All the better for Shae to fix her a drink. She slides up onto a barstool, just inserting herself in their gathering there. "What are we drinking?" Looking aside at Cris' mug of tea with disapproval.

"Clearly, nothing you'd like to share," slight smile for the face she pulls. Cris covers his tea protectively with his hand, half of the runic eye above his knuckles showing thick from the ruination of his sleeve cuff.

Senka?s head dipped down as she attempted to hide her growing smile. Damn them all for bringing it out. Another thanks was murmured to Droet as she closed her sketchbook. "Hi-low, Loosey." There was a heavy emphasis on the Loo sound as it was slightly drawn out. Looking back up, she spoke to Cianan. "I's got dis little cherrv'y blossom dat Tsoo paint for Senka. She say'd dat Senka v'remind her of dis flow'vwer an' tell'd v'what it mean. It is like, mmm sumsing so beautiful b'ot v'remind how quick de life can go by. So j'es see beauty in sings an' be happy an' do v'what yous v'want 'cause it end too soon."

"Lucy. Shae threw a lemon at me." Tattle. Tattle. He pointed a finger at her as well. "Tsoo. Tsoo." Cianan was trying to parse that out, confusion on his face, "Let's see! Or is it somewhere we shouldn't show the world." Maybe. Probably. "I'm drinking Scotch." He'd nudge the bottle closer to Lucy.

An amused look for Cris' protection of his tea before she looked back at Cianan. "You probably deserved it." Shrug. But scotch sounds good. Lucy checks out the bottle to assure herself of its quality.

"I did." Not even a bit of remorse as Shae cops to the accusation. "He has been hiding honey from me for almost a year." She was reaching for a clean glass from the nearby rack. It was deposited on the bar in front of the gallery owner with a small smile.

Climbing off the stood, Senka moved down closer to Cris so that she could show him, Cianan, and Shae all at once. Tattoos were likely not a big deal to any of them, but for her it was life changing. One long finger hooked in the neck of her too big sweater and pulled it to the side. Her nail caught the thing strap of black lace beneath and pulled it too until both hung to her shoulder. Just beneath her collar bone where it began to fade out into her shoulder was a pale single branch with one blush colored cherry blossom that warmed in color towards the center. "I's gots it on mmm Sunday mornin."

Lucy was terrible too! Cianan leaned in a bit to get a closer look at it, "Wonderful. I'm glad you did, and got something you wanted, for you!" He put the glass down and, unwisely clapped his hands. After the second clap, he was dancing in place, and shaking them out a bit, preparing to swear. Then checking the palms of his hands to see if there was any red.

The showing of the tattoo certainly captures Shae?s attention. Her fingers find her mug blindly and draw it to her lips. Was that a flash of envy? Perhaps. Her words were genuine. "It's lovely, Senka." Cianan's clap and dance stole her attention from the branch of petals. Teeth found her lower lip as she looked at him. His hands, his face. She turned to find bourbon she could use to fill the loss of volume in her mug.

"It's very tasteful." Cris is as good at giving compliments as he is getting them. Note: terrible.

"It's lovely." Lucy smiled at Senka, and then nodded her thanks to Shae for the glass before promptly filling it. Another glance around the Inn, and she raised her glass in greeting to other familiar faces. She had filled her glass rather liberally from Cianan's bottle and now she was drinking rather liberally too.

"You okay there, Cianan?" Droet asked, a bit concerned at the, er, dance.

"Mm. Fine. Just.. New skin. Sensitive." He wriggled his bandaged hands at Droet. "Fresh. Uncalloused and untattooed." And unscarred. Woof, he was distracted a bit when he saw Lucy going to town on the drink, "You alright?" He slowly reached for his bottle to give her, and himself a refill.

"I'm catching up." To who? The tea drinkers? It's unclear. She offered her glass towards Cianan's for a clink though. "Cheers?"

"Shae's tea is spiked." She got the next wink, and a warm smile from Cianan, who noted her concerned look.

Lucy's drink order was easy. Shae augmented her tea with Bulliet and settled her lower back against the rear counter. The inside of her cheek got a small chew and she nursed her hot toddy with measured patience. "Lucy..." Shae began. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"During the day?" She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, a faint smile as she looked at Shae. "I can make time."

"If you could. There's something I wanted to talk to you about. And I think there's something Fox might want to show you, too." Flicker smile against her mug, just the outline of the expression and not fully fleshed out.

She quirked a brow at that second thing. "Alright." She tapped her fingers against her glass. "Just tell me where and when and I'll be there." Eyes shifting aside to watch Senka and Droet peel off further down the bar.

Cianan blinked over towards Shae, a bit surprised, if he was picking up what she was laying down.

"Come to Church House, when you're free." No hints, Cianan. It wasn't a guaranteed thing. There were still many hours between tonight and the next day.

Cianan wasn't sayin' nothing. He was just surprised! Eyes wide, he was just going to sip his drink in silence. Cris will be thankful.

He is, most definitely.

"Alright." Lucy nodded again. "Did everyone recover from the other night?" Eyes moving between Shae and Cris and Cianan.

"I was asleep within minutes of you and Cris leaving. Fin was gone first thing in the morning. I told Cris that Kate buried him out back." Sipping over Cris? snort of amusement. "Did Fox behave himself?"

She perked up immediately, smiling. "He did! We had a dance party after tacos." Lucy sniffed a laugh. "Did you stay over?" She asked the question of Cris.

"No," answering, his smile becoming a ghost. "No, I left shortly afterward, as well."

Gentle Lies, Understated Truths, Final

Ezra requested a minute. A minute for a year. Shae swallowed and looked at the empty mug past the curve of his arm before she followed the limb back up to the face of her looming neighbor. "Where?" The yes was implied.

Silence was often louder than drum beats, even the war harboring ones that seemed to coincide with his pulse. His chin redirected itself to gesture towards the booths on the far wall, a place that was still present in the public yet further from involving her friends. They may be concerned, supportive souls but Ezra was in no mood to knit them into the web that Shae had spun for herself. Her reflection could be caught in the burnt umber of his eyes until he looked directly at the booths. That hand a top the bar left no fingerprints, no smudging, when he lifted off to motion for the aero sylph to lead the way. Opposite hand had snuck into his denim pocket, fooling with the brittle feel of paper.

Desperately, Shae wished she had something to hand to drink, but the pressure of his presence bent her steps towards the booths without detour. She kept him in her peripheral as she moved, half convince he was some phantom that would disappear the moment she took her eyes off him completely. The riot of her response to his appearance was a beast she struggled to put behind an impassive face. Damp palms skirted against jean covered thighs before she settled onto a bench at the farthest booth.

They could all watch, voyeurs from the sidelines, but what they got was the canvas of his back where he filled in the rest with his presence, his body, keeping Shae captive between his image and the booth. And that is where he stood for a moment that felt too long, fingering at the paper in his pocket and skinning his thoughts for the pulp of words he wanted to use. He was no phantom; his aura was almost tangible and relentless. As if he had seen the first sunrise and would be the one to witness the last sunset. Finally he relented and placed the letter a top the table. Ezra didn't explain what it was. She was soul mates with the calligraphy written words as it was from her own hand. He eased to sit down across from her, hands firmly placed a top the table that separated the mountain from the wind. And he was quiet, allowing her to find her own bearings during this exchange.

It's rare for Cris to see Shae as the size that she truly is. She isn't the smallest woman he's known in his life, but in contrast to the looming shape following in her wake, she may as well be a speck. His gaze thins, he makes no motion to hide the turn of his head. Reaches only to ash the handrolled in the tray he'd tugged over. In the shadow behind his elbow, he picks at a crag of stiff, healing skin next to his thumbnail.

That letter. She'd almost forgotten about it, but laid there in front of her it was an undeniable, damning testimony. Shae didn't touch it, she just looked at it. She knew what it said, she'd written enough drafts of it to have it memorized. He seemed to be expecting her to break ground first, to dig a hole at his foothills and bury herself in it. One hand rakes through her hair with an almost violent expression of helplessness. Those words had been the first volley. The first confession. Immovable as the mountain he was often likened to, she bent in the face of his composure. "How long have you been in town?"

"Few days," he assures her, answers her, is respectful enough not to play the silent treatment game even if his eyes are interrogating past the colored harped strings of her own. Stalwart, an immovable beast who has taken residence in a mirage of manskin. She knows a sliver of what lurks beyond the nerves, tendons, sinew, all the things that make up a mortal which are there just to keep the masses from glimpsing the truth. And in this close of space to him she can be reminded of all the scents of the world he carries on him like a voyagers cologne. His hand moves forward and nudge the letter at her. Explain yourself, is what this motion encourages.



His eyes close. Cris peels from his lean and turns his back on the side of the room lined with booths. Handrolled tucked into his frown, he takes what's left of his tea to the sink to empty it out.

"Cris?" Senka?s voice was quiet. "Who dat mans is?"

"His name is Ezra," repeating what Shae had exhaled, what he himself had read, multiple times, during the first of a two and a half day descent into visceral panic and a suffusing sense of destitution. "And, they have a matter of import to discuss." He rinses the cup and sets it aside on the counter near the sink, turns to face Senka instead, "Beyond that, I do not know him." Well aware the brief conversation with Seph is left in tatters, he can't think of anything to venture after her answer. His next drag finishes the cigarette. He thought he'd had another few left.

"I's didn't know Shae v'was into importin' an' esportin' sings. It looks serious bizness." Something was likely lost in translation. "Yous look so, mmm, tense. Is she not to be left alone wis dis mans?"

Seph would not hold him to the conversation if he wanted out. Likewise, she'd not keep anything from him if asked, but if she were to say anything at all right now, it would be to agree with Senka. Not just Crispin, but everything in general seemed tense.

"Importance," he corrects, hoping it will take care of the gap in meaning. He stubs out the cooling filter in the tray, rubs an itch to death on his jaw. His gaze rises, he does not let linger on the occupied booth. "Don't I always?" slight smile. It feels like an eggshell. He curls his chilly fingers into his palm. "She is not to be underestimated. She'll be fine."

It would take her a minute but Senka would finally understand. "No, yous don' alv'ways." She frowned at him. One glance over her shoulder towards the booth and then she was looking back to Cris. "Yous v'want to v'walk? Or maybe go to de place v'where yous say dere is fightin'? Yous could ponsh sumsing?"

"No," exhaled, playing at resilience. Halfway across the room, for reasons worlds apart, there's a mirror of indifference. "No, thank you. I'm fine, as well." He has the grace to appear appreciative by her offer, with the depth of his nod and the negligent way his hip touches the bar and he gives it his weight. He crosses his arms.

"Yeah." She slid from the barstool and tucked the inky strands of hair behind her ears. Concern was etched into her expression but she didn't voice it. She collected her sketchbook and held it to her chest. "Have good night." She backed away from the bar and then turned her back to it. The walking sweater headed for the door.

Blinking, Cris looks back to find Senka withdrawing. A thin seam starts to cinch his brows together as he watches the chain of his only anchor slide silently off, into the dark. "Good night, Senka."

Senka paused at the door, her look would be familiar. The same she often gave him with her chin pressed to her shoulder and her big eyes staring at him from over. Tonight the stare was heavier, the darkness of her hair making her eyes so vibrant and the concern making them look so intense. Soon her body fell in-line with the way her head had turned and she was facing the bar again but her back was to the door. The word, please was on her lips but she couldn't find her voice. The door opened as she leaned back into it and the porch swallowed her up as she turned into and out.



The sigh Shae heaves is a weary one. She'd invited this upon herself, confessing beforehand. Premeditated disaster. "I researched. For the better part of a year." A year and some months. It had been more than a year, she suddenly recalled, since she'd last seen him, truly seen him and not just a shade. "I know. I know you wanted me to wait. I know. But it was right there." Her voice got quieter. "He fooled me, Ezra. He did." The man probably had no idea who 'he' was, but some part of her felt like he could read it from just the tectonic weight of his eyes, the way they demanded answers. "I never expected someone alive to answer, and he fooled me."

It's there, just at the tip of his tongue and the cusp of his mouth but it's all being kept on lockdown behind his lips. Impassive might have been a term to use for his expression but it ripples for a second into confusion, curiosity, immediately replacing it with a curl of his brows into a frown that makes his features that much more intense. "Who?" A guardian to the core; his marrow was made of a hunters pedigree, a bestial leash that kept him as a great and semi-forgotten entity. The letter finds itself being wrinkled between the thick of his fingers. He's still upset; he speaks low to keep his timbre from shuddering the establishment. "You had no right, Shae. You had no right to go against what I told you, what I wanted for you with that gift. You could have --", but he grit his teeth to consume what wanted to be spoken. Wasted temperament that he ravenously devoured; it wasn't a place or time to make her taste his contempt. "I would have come back. I did come back. I would have been there with you. There was a trust there, Shae."

"The...the Trickster." No, she didn't know his real name. She only knew the way he slipped faces on. The way he plucked them from her dreams and turned them into a waking nightmare. And then came the part she had expected. The disquieted earth that threatened to open up and swallow her along with her guilt and recrimination. She found some measure of her spine. "I didn't know if you would come back. Not after--" Constance. "I know. I should have waited. But the promise of 'next week' turned into months. And I've seen this place eat people, Ezra. Even ones as permanent as you. I wanted to know. I needed to know before it ate me. You gave me a shred of hope and I would have chased it with you as my anchor but I've chased it for a century and yes, I was a fool. And yes, I should have waited longer. I couldn't. You weren't there...when I lost control again, you weren't." Emotion seeped into her voice and it was a bitter flavor of self hatred. "No one died but stars, Ezra, they could have. It was only a matter of time before this place consumed me or I destroyed another person who dared to be close to a monster." Her voice had grown in strength without her realizing it and just like that, it dropped off again. "I needed control. I had hope. I was wrong. I found pain instead."

Hard to navigate the hurricane when it was cooped up in the brittle seeming glass house sat across from him. She spoke with rich emotion, the wavering cinching of her vocalizing things he had missed. Guilt was there to gnaw a long his insides, a splash of empathy that took over the clockwork of his features, the pinch of salted frustration to not being present. He left the letter to be a reminder of her own faults, and his, to rub the rough skin of his palm across his brow. "You didn't have a guide, Shae. There was no one there to help you see, to know what was truth and what was lies. You could have been killed, you could have gotten lost." Ezra has had enough with attempting to make her understand more than she already did. Her pain was flavored with a sweetened sourness and he could taste it as if he was breathing it off her lips. "You're not a monster," quietly confessing to her even as his attention slanted to browse the slim collection of faces still at the bar, primarily the glyph skinned man that he knew mostly by name and not much else.

A rumpled hoodie and the otherwise disheveled shape of his hair and three days' stubble does not chip away at the stalwart and compact picture Cris cuts at the corner of the bar, near its break. His arms locked, jaw tight, the compression of his mouth could have been cut from stone for its hue and cast. His gaze pans from Senka at the door, to the booth, catching the tail end of Ezra's sideline perusal. Defiantly, he does not allow his own focus to waver.

"I was lost." Shae breathed that understatement like it couldn't go farther than the booth, though she hadn't had the presence of mind to close off the air around them. Not with the way he hypnotized her. Lost, but not in the way he meant. "And I know it's my fault." She didn't implore him for understanding or forgiveness, she just confessed. Just the reasons she had told herself and the open acceptance that she had delivered herself to hell with a dress of herb paste and naive hope to be whole. "I'm...I'm cleaning it up." Another confession. "I had help. They bargained for my release."

"Release?" This single word skins the rest of his thoughts alive. Leaves it as road kill for later ideas to pick up because he is utterly bewildered; this is what makes his attention snap away from Cris though had she not beckoned him with that admission than the two could have stared for hours, unwilling to be the one to back down. Ezra's features express his emotions well. "What do you mean release?"

Ezra?s gaze returned to her face and once more Shae felt pinned to the bench. She forces herself to lean forward. Forces her hands to find each other and lace together on the surface of the table. Allowing the polished wood to hold her up even though the answer to that question was one that threatened to take all the composure that she'd managed to scrape together out at the knees. Her lips moved but the sound was only for Ezra's ears. "The Trickster that came, he pretended to be family. And he used that to imprison me. He was working with some people that followed me here from my world. He put me in star iron." The answer was short. Shorter than it deserved and longer than she had the strength for, but he had asked and she wouldn't deny him.



Cris can feel it snap, even from that distance, the breadth of a tree's fat bough finally cracking under strain. Released from their contest, for Ezra still has a conversation to participate in, he shoots a dark look aside to Seph who had chosen that moment to make a playful joke of his name. In contrast, the cheerful twitter of two birds sounds from his pocket. Sucking his teeth, he withdraws his phone with equal parts gratitude and irritation. He wishes there had been more. To read, and to respond, because he looks up too fast. His other hand smears the crease of his lower lip flat. He aims his scowl with renewed fervency at the dark screen in his hand.

"He may be a little stale." Cianan admitted to Seph, and glanced over to Cris as well, he was keeping his eyes on Shae, and checking in on her. "She had a little.. problem" A soft sigh rocking through him, down play, and mitigate. "We're working on all of the the threads that need to be cleaned up."

It was the time of day that usually heralded the arrival of the imp and with the soft jingle of bells, Fae could be seen heading towards the porch. Each graceful step caused the drift of silk to swirl around her in a rainbow cloud of colours. Wild flowers peeked between the messy curls that fell haphazard down her spine. Bare feet making swift time towards the steps. Dancing up them and hip bumping the door open. Soon as she was inside. A lift to tip toes to be able to give the room the once over to see who was where and be perfectly nosy too. No shame in in that.

"Mm." Canan didn't even have to look, when he heard those jingling bells, "I smell a horrible, wilted carrot." He sighed, over dramatically, and took a bite from his burrito. Tensions in him, seemed to lift a bit. He took brief solace in conversation with his sister.

Cris does not answer the final message that appears at his silent wish. Quiets his phone instead, and tucks it back into his gear. Gaze studious under the overhang of his brow, determined to keep it where it is, despite what he sees. Pull the tangible from behind all the incensed fabrication. His shoulders pull in. He feels warmer than he expects to, as he watches.



It's the lack of a response through his body language that is much more powerful than anything else Ezra could conjure. Her words twist at all the dark parts that he has worked eons to keep balanced, to keep from consuming. It's all in his eyes, the display of a warped tension that edges his pupils to pin points. The imagery is possibly worse than what Shae vaguely describes but is enough to throttle at the savagery in his ancestry. For more than a moment he just stared at the sylph before him, at the glisten of electric light beneath her skin, the iconic shape of her jawline and the pulp of her mouth. Every detail was absorbed before being mutated in his skull; he saw her restrained, heard the quiet chorus of her panic, and tasted the kerosene of any fear. Ezra tilted his chin up to realign his sights on her collar bones, on her shoulders, the horizon of her bonework that wasn't her eyes. "Is he still here?"

"I don't know. He shouldn't be. It was my release for his safe passage and his promise not to return, but..." She licked her lips and continued with eyes that skirted the edges of his face. "He was Fae and the bargain was a hasty one. There may have been a hole for him to dwell in." Her eyes turn north, a beeline for a roof nearby stained with a fresh coat of red paint that was no doubt curing in the sun of the past week. "It's the ones that are left that I'm trying to focus on."

You've been gone long, a realization that makes his eyes twitch beneath a flicker of lids. Ezra has no right to investigate and become a piece in this ever intricate puzzle. There, at the edge of his mouth, cuts a thin line that borders on a sneer; she doesn't make him sneer but the situation spills venom between his teeth. I should have been here. "If you need help --", he allows that to uproot from the field of his tongue. Leaving it to hang there like a thread she can take or deny.



?Do you have claws now?? At the bar, Fae had pointed to the bandages on Cianan?s hands. ?Or get greedy and try to eat cake straight from the oven??
That seemed to go with his original story, "Cake, straight out of the oven." Cianan nodded his head, "Couldn't wait. You know me with sweet things. I had to gobble it up before you caught wind of it and broke in." Fae managed to have him chuckling again, even if he did glance back over to Shae, and give her a warm smile, a bit of concern still there for her.

Agreeing with her seemed the wrong thing to do. Now she was doubly suspicious. Brow crinkled up a little, head slanted to the side. The curtain of raven fell to cover the one side of her face, casting her in shadow. Which made the next statement rather eerier that it might have been. ?That is good, because if it was something else. Like somebody hurt you. I'd have to do something nasty.? And as quick as that, hair was flicked back and the smile was bright and sweet again.



Her inhale was jagged and tasted like metal. The expression on his face gripped her ribs hard enough that she could feel her pulse in her spine. She swallowed hard when he spoke and cut himself off. It sounded like 'If you need help, go **** yourself.' for the venom that wanted to escape, but she chose to believe otherwise. Voices in the Inn, a casual lie overheard for the...third?... time that night. It's the lie that decides her. "If the Fae resurfaces...there are answers I don't have. His Court, what they want."

That letter was the catalyst to everything. His return had only been a handful of nights ago where the moon guided him back to the known avenues of this strange place, where angels and monsters were all accepted but even he was a bizarre creature here. Shae knew, few others did. But, again, it's the letter that makes him lumber here, has him angered and impatient and guilty. The reason for how he looks at her with a variety of different emotions playing hide and seek along the umber woodland of his eyes. And it's the letter that he leaves there a top the table, like the memento of her handwriting is not gorgeous enough to have him keep the confession of her own fault but one he undoubtedly led her to make with his absence. Ezra stands and his shadow stretches. "I'll be around if you need anything." Which could range between uncaring and too protective; he offered himself without pressuring. There was still a thin veil of disappointment a long his shoulders. Ezra watched her when he stood there, unknowingly looming with his height and build; there were other things he wanted to say, the romanticism of unspoken admissions, the spritely back and forth of intellectual teasing, but none of it seemed important, or even necessary, after he had read that damnable letter. He couldn't bring himself to recite anything else so turned to begin a formidable stride to the door.

Cris? head lifts a fraction, breaking the contact of thumb and lower lip. He smears that callus over the scars on his knuckles instead, narrowing his eyes as half the conversation he'd been watching breaks itself off and stands. Ezra seems to dwarf anything he stands beside. In his wake, the booth, Shae, return to normalcy.

Her fingers were a white knuckle braid that loosened long enough to draw that crumpled letter closer to herself. Shae had promised she would take it back to give him the opportunity to express his disappointment, and she had kept that word. Her hands fold over the broken wax seal and the parchment dents where her fingers dig into it. She didn't shy away from his parting look. Frail though her armor had become, she exchanged a look with him that was deep like the night sky, full of all the corner of the eye haunts and hollow spaces. The partitioned stars blocked by walls she built as slapdash defense. Things to say, but it wasn't the time or the place. Gold eyes followed his retreat and she, in spite of herself, still tried to commit the details to memory. To correct the little things that had slipped by. Her lips part and she bites them to the point of pain. "Thank you." The words she let escape during that brief parting chase him through the door before she can lose her nerve. And then he was gone. She wasn't sure how long she sat there. A few seconds, a few minutes. She stuffed the letter into her pocket and dipped her face into her hands with elbows on the table.

Cianan paused, and tilted his head to the side, looking over at Shae, his eyebrows raised still, and he was quiet, smoothing his bandaged hand across his cheek, he stared for a bit. This wasn't one of those ones, where he could immediately shake it off, and move along.

Head dipped as Fae looked at her brother. Voice dropped. ?Oh my gods. Just go over and see if she is ok already..? Fae was not empathic in any shape or form or at least she never claimed such a ability. Still it was kinda easy to read the situation. Even if it looked like she paid no attention. She did.

"Excuse me, Fae." Cianan mumbled, and was heading out from behind the bar, heading towards the Booth and Shae, food left behind

Ha! Was so right.

Little lines of tension ball and leap from jaw to temple. Cris sucks his teeth and breaks the stone of his stance for the last, well, it seems like forever, now. Pieces of that marble determination crack, crumble, and fall. His gaze follows Cianan, his own motions slowed as if through water.

A touch to Shae's shoulder, gentle, he didn't know. Cianan was unsure of what was going on, but he wasn't going to say anything just yet. His eyebrows drawn in, and a slight tightness in his jaw. Bandaged hands didn't seem to mind the pressure when it came in contact with her.

Cris can guess which abandoned vessel belonged to Shae, but he feels better with the acquisition of a clean lowball glass. The bottle of Bulleit stands like a faithful sentry, apart from the others. He chokes it at the neck, twists the cap free, and glugs what amounts to a couple shots worth into the waiting well. He replaces the bottle on its shelf and takes the glass with him out from behind the bar.

Shae stiffened at the touch, the sound of bandage against leather. With effort, she forced herself to lower her hands. The curve of her teeth had left an imprint on her lip, but it had been released. When she raised her head to look at the Drow, her expression was exhausted. She doesn't have words for him at the moment.

"Need to go to Church House?" Cianan offered, she wasn't talking, he could talk instead, his grip on her shoulder tightening a bit "I can.. call you a cab, or something?" He, didn't know. There was confusion on his face. He glanced over to Cris, not sure why, he doubted it would help.

The tawny liquor within catches each light as Cris moves beneath them. The trek across the room is too long, and too short, all at once. Cianan does not need to look long. There is no pretense to keep up. They'd both been watching. Wordlessly, he sets the glass down on the table before Shae.

That glass was a lifeline and there was naked gratitude for its presence. Her hand curled around it and drew it in with a scrape. There was nothing to savor, her tongue was ash. She drank in silence that drained the glass. "I need to go for a walk." She said at last with a voice hoarse with repressed words and the burn of whiskey.

"Alright." Cianan moved, and stepped back, letting her free from the booth.

Cris isn't in a position to block her exit, but he does not withdraw like Cianan does.

It takes her longer than it should, but she gets up. Just to stand. Just to look towards the exits and remember which one pointed away from North.

Cris latches, mentally, to what had spurred their collective presence at the Red Dragon in the first place. Presses on before he can, just as swiftly, talk himself out of it. "I'll come," offer, request, all in one.

His tongue ring clicked over the back of the enamel, and he glanced over to Cris, and then back over to Shae. He'd at least, see them out.

Shae nods. It's an acceptance of that offer. Pauses to place a kiss on Cianan's cheek, and then turns for the door.

Cianan took the kiss on the cheek, and smiled as warm as he could muster for Shae. There was a tingle in his skin, a small wrinkle on his nose. He wasn't going to chase afterwards, sometimes time and space were needed. He took a slow breath himself, holding it for a ten count, before exhaling out his nose. He turned to head upstairs.

Quietly, Cris watches the exchange, as tightly coiled in repression as he's been the last hour. He offers Cianan a nod, withdraws a single step, and turns to follow a pace behind, and to the right of Shae's back. He puts a bit more urgency into his stride when he angles around Shae to make it there first and press outside into the welcoming dark with the outside of his fist. The door doesn't swing shut.

Out into the air, hands in the pockets of her jeans so she doesn't have to feel the crinkle of paper. Shae didn?t have a goal in mind beyond south and west. Away.

Reclaimed Steel, Final

Her lips were parted, excuses for the primordial hovering behind them. He believed in me enough to think that I succeeded anyway. He doesn't know what happened. They vanished with the caress that clears the hair from her face, where it had been tossed by her breeze. Voices often assaulted her wherever she went, bits of conversation that would distract her focus. Tonight, the hour absurd, the street was quiet. Even if it had not been, she wouldn't have been able to focus on anything other than what Cris was saying.

Up close, her often curious eyes were demanding drinkers of detail that raked across his face. She felt her pulse in her palms for her fervent grip on the cotton that shrouded his torso. Each sentence was a stone levered off her chest, his regard the hand that stopped her from piling more on. Teeth abused her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and the sharp ache against recent, self-inflicted bruises of the same sort helped her stem the moisture that threatened to well in her eyes. When she released it, the freedom came with a shaky exhale. Fingers forced themselves to release their cramp inducing grip.

To move it, only. Her step forward granted her arms the reach of his spine, hands finding new purchase there as her face dipped into where the hood gathered above his collarbone. "I'm sorry." The words were muffled against him, choked. If asked, she would be hard pressed to explain what for, only that she felt the regret in her core. "Thank you, Cris." That was much easier to explain, though equally distorted in quality. She had needed to hear the things he said.

Her curiosity is rewarded with a picture of aching vehemence, puckered in his brow; bruising entreaty. He does not blink often, his gaze sharp where it's narrowed at the corners could have flashed in enough light, moves between her eyes as they threaten to fill. Runs circuits of her features, of every stressed wrinkle, every little shift of muscle that affects her expression, and the bitten cherry of her lower lip when she lets it go.

He's still when she gathers herself against him, pulls and holds on, presses her face so close to his neck he can feel the vibration of her shaky confession and gratitude against his throat, through fabric. Impassioned by what he'd been telling her, he hadn't had any mental power left to note where she'd gripped before, but the press of her body against his irons out the wrinkles of his clothes. She's light, he does not struggle to support her weight, doesn't stumble back for its addition. He puts his arms around her, to cage her there with him, until he feels the strain of his own grip. His right palm glides over the curve of her skull, he shoves his fingers down to the webbing in her hair. His frown breaks apart at the seam, his scowl pulling in harsh in the dark where she can't see relief, pleasure, or his own wealth of anxiety breaking through the gates he locked it behind to hold against the attention of others.

Time had slipped and stretched in captivity, bent and folded and crawled. Some minutes passed as hours, some hours passed as days. There in the fierce shelter that let her keep her face buried in his clothes, she couldn't say what shape time took. Only that in the moment she would have been glad for as much time as she could steal. She knew the scent of him, and could even cite sources for some of the individual strands that wove together to make it, but it was the the night air she inhaled from his clothes and her harsh swallow tasted of the trace of peppermint and the whiskey he'd poured for her.

The slight turn and press of her face gave his own that privacy it needed, but she was aware of his breathing and of his pulse near her ear. Both were a soothing percussion from his solid frame, no matter the rhythm. The ladder and its promise of escape were forgotten.

Alleys aren't strangers to couples embracing like they can strangle the breath out of one another. They're left alone in the shelter of the early morning dark. Still slight where she holds on, but steadily filling in bone with muscle through hours of daily effort. His inhales halted by the ferocity of her grip, and his. The pulse beat below his jaw had leaped from its gate, thundered like it would die out if it didn't run, but the longer their embrace lasts, the more it calms. He lets his eyes drift open, half mast, to force something tangible into his senses, a defense against the blank, black canvas of his eyelids and each breath that brings the scent of storms, herbs, and flowers.

"You need never thank me for this," he tells her, the wall between mind and mouth crumbled down and left unguarded while he keeps his imagination in check. "I would never believe you deserving of any of this, of any pain that you've suffered at their hands. Perhaps it is you that they want------but that does not mean they will have you again. That does not mean that you will not fight them, or that I will not be there with you as you do so. That Fox will not be there, or Cianan. They do not belong here, and for what they've done here already, they must be driven out, but for what they have done to you, they will regret coming at all."

Earlier in the evening she had questioned her sanity for the unexpected sight of the painted mountain, but the body in her grip was thankfully, blessedly real. Solid despite the lean cut that lingered. Lulled by the way his heartbeat slowed, her desperate grip eased to give space for their rib cages to swell with proper breaths. She didn't step back, didn't let go completely. Selfishness refused that step. Selfishness focused on the way the sound of his voice felt.

Her head turns the other way, forehead pressing to the side of his neck. Her own eyes open to skim over his collar and take in the growing grey light of pre-dawn. The streets were still in shadow, but she could see the creeping fingers of it snuffing out the stars. Still and quiet, she listens and processes. At last, she settles on a reply. Just a few scant words, but they were flavored with reclaimed steel. Protective, possessive. "They don't belong here." Here belonged to her, so screamed her wild blood with indignant tones. She whispered and it was a violent promise. "I will remove them."

His own hold eases in preparation to withdraw, expecting her to, but she doesn't. She lingers instead, with the smooth curve of her brow against his throat. He's careful not to swallow more than he needs to, despite feeling, abruptly, that he needs to all the time. With the tidal wave of emotion ebbing, he becomes viscerally aware of just how much he can feel of her, pressed up against him. How their breathing matches, her hair like silk ribbons between his fingers, the leather of her coat like supple armor under his palm. She looks skyward, he keeps his gaze, unfocused as it is, aimed down the narrow length of his nose to the street at her heels.

And he smiles for her proclamation, steel in the quartet of words, somewhat secret, perhaps from her perception. In it, he can imagine that she's reaching out to who she really is: a hurricane in flesh, with a wealth of knowledge, experience, evidence of august strength, courage and an endearing stubbornness that will not allow for vulnerability for very long. Humbled by her quiet permission to see her resolve petrify and crumble, he is even more pleased to see it return. Proud, to call her his friend, to lend her what strength he has left, for as long as she needs it.

"You will remove them," repeating, to cement it into being, his unwavering faith and confidence in her warm.

Forgive her for the way she leaned on him. His reassurance and his acceptance were a much needed support while she put the jagged pieces of her composure back together. It felt like hours since she'd remembered what composure was. Forgive her, too, if it took her a bit longer to remember just who she was making a crutch out of. That realization came as a suppressed twitch and a stretch of stillness. Her mind working overtime to replay his reactions and soothe her sudden anxiety with the realization that he could have pushed her away at any moment. The stillness slipped away, she lifted her head to drop a kiss on his shoulder in thanks for its presence and gently began to pull away before she could allow her selfishness to get carried away.

Still, her hands lingered in the front of his hoodie, returning to their first position. "I don't have to, but I want to. Thank you." There a light smile that was able to fit itself onto her lips without disturbing the fragile peace she'd stumbled into.

He could have. He could have ducked her contact, stood still under her desperation to sew herself back together. But, he could have also not been the first to reach. To touch her, pull her from her spiral of escapism. He could have not took her face in his hands, put his head to hers. He'd hurdled most of the barriers against personal contact on his own and without hesitation.

He withdraws when she does, easily though it's slow, like he too had come to realize just how long they'd been entwined as they were and thought they should part. The lies he tells himself are always the easiest to utter, and the most difficult to believe. Her hair slips through his fingers. He does not need to spread them as he does, just to feel it, mindful of snarls whipped into being by her breeze and the fury of their walk. His other settles on her shoulder. He skips the side of his thumb against the sharp line of her jaw, gently, with a nod once they're set back enough.

"Anytime," he says. Reassurance and invitation, all at once.

The ebon expanse of her hair was a thing much conditioned to combat the playful breeze and her own general abuse. His fingers found a slide that didn't tug excessively unless he curled his grip around a black wave. His hand was going to smell faintly of pomegranate for its time spent buried there.

She was used to him putting cautious inches between them at the first chance, and she found herself grateful that he didn't rush to do so, even if she felt heat in her cheeks when his thumb skimmed her jawline. "I...I'm a little embarrassed to ask, after trying to sound as resolved and menacing as possible," she admitted quietly with a fidget to her grip. She really should, could let go but she knew the morning air was going to feel colder when she did. "Would you walk me back to Church House?"

That part of his mind seems to have been inexplicably bound and silenced. He's searching for it with every passing moment. As the leather of her coat sleeve warms under his hand, and the count rises for how many times he can feel the curl of her small fists press against his chest. His pauses near her jaw, after its touch. He thinks about the line of her collarbone, behind her coat, the angle of her upturned gaze, about just how much distance there is left.

His rescue comes in the form of a half smile. He lays his hesitating palm across her knuckles. "Of course. If it eases you, you could think of the escort as something of a precautionary measure. If we are accosted, I shall remind you of our stockpile of enemy corpses, for surely your graveyard garden has no need for that much compost."

Perhaps the real inexplicable miracle of the early morning is the fact that his call back to their conversation about the graveyard on her property surprises a laugh out of her. It's a solitary sound, but a genuine one. It settles rapidly into a smile that is less fragile than her last attempt at the same. "Kate would be furious if I took up all the real estate, certainly."

His hand has dropped atop hers and she takes it as a subtle hint. Her grip loosens on his hoodie, but slowly, until the presence of his hand is the only excuse for keeping them there. "I feel like I should feed you breakfast for robbing you of sleep."

His own humor rarely shows itself, save for those nights where they play their degenerate card game, and rarer still does it line up with someone else's. He considers her laugh a victory, the perpetual darkness of his own features warmly easing back. "Lucky for you, in that regard, that sleep remains an ever evasive quarry." Granted, he hasn't really tried all that hard, either. Her fists iron out between his palm and chest. His gaze drops from hers to the curve of her smile. Lingers there, then he ducks his head. Both of his hands slide free of where they rest against her. He withdraws one step backward and pivots to resume his place at her shoulder.

How quickly she almost shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, just to do something with them, but the crinkle of parchment on the one side prompts her to rapidly abort that idea before her recently lifted mood takes a nosedive back into more morose territories. "So," she begins as she makes her arms straighten and hooks her thumbs behind her in the edges of her rear jean pockets, "is that a yes to breakfast?" One cautious step in the direction of Church House to start them off. It was still a good walk away with a healthy slice of the market in their path, but her gait now would be considerably less hasty.

Likewise, with nothing to do with them, he tucks his own fists away into the pockets of his hoodie as he falls in step at her side. Inches between their elbows to play at accidental contact with the cadence of their alternating strides. "That is a yes. Though, I can only promise you company and my best attempt at consumption."

"I'll take it." And she angled them towards a diner she knew.

Support, Part 2

"Okay." Lucy was having trouble following a little. Well. More than a little. She lifted a hand to rub the pad of a finger in the furrow of her brow. She was giving herself wrinkles at this rate. She looked back at Shae a moment. She obviously wasn't in a rush with her thoughts here. "Have I--have I overstepped with him? With Fox?"

It seemed obvious, that confusion, and Shae winced for it, but now it was Shae's turn to look perplexed. "Overstepped how?"

She sighed softly, her head bending slightly as she dropped her hands in her lap and then looked at them. "Reg and I--we were very close. It seemed sort of--" Her words were coming slower than ever before. "--it seemed natural with how much time we spent together. Even before--" before what, she doesn't say, instead moving on in her thoughts, finally looking up at Shae. "It was easy for me to fall into--into some companionship again with someone like--like Fox." She shook her head a little, cheeks blushing with embarrassment. "But I hope--I hope I didn't do anything with him that--that made you uncomfortable." Friends before foxes, as it were.

That sound was Shae gently snorting. "Stars no, you haven't overstepped anything. You've not the faintest idea how refreshing it is to have a break from one another in an arrangement like ours. The responsibility of it can be straining. No, he wanted to spend time with you and I was more than happy for the space it gave me." Her tone gradually sobered. "I think he's more afraid of how you'll feel, than anything. I admit, that worries me too. It may seem hard to understand, I know. His situation."

"Oh--" She exhaled her relief. Then she reached for her handbag and started fumbling for her cigarettes and lighter. "Do you mind if I smoke?" Prioritizing this before saying anything more.

"Go ahead." There had been quite a bit of smoking over cards the other night, she wasn't going to object.

Lucy tapped the cigarette on the case before setting it between her lips so she could light it. She exhaled over her head closing her eyes. "I'm not--really sure how I feel, to be honest." She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Embarrassed, I guess." She looked past Shae, then let her eyes shift to where Fox had exited. "Pretty sure I danced in my underwear in front of him the other night."

"That's more than fair." It was not the sort of situation one dealt with everyday, to say the least. There would be some time needed, most likely. "And to be honest, this is not me telling you to feel any particular way. If you decide you never want him around you again, that's your decision." Her mug was set aside and she folded her arms as she leaned. "Is that right? That dance party you mentioned?" Shae could almost picture it. "Your underwear is like one of your bathing suits. Only different for the connotation. And you walked around in public in your bathing suit."

Lucy looked aside at Shae, her eyes narrowed with vague humor. "Are you trying to make me feel better?" She shook her head, looking away, her smile fading. "He lost someone he loved?" Quiet. That was the only thing she thought she understood from the story, really.

"Of course I am." Not going to deny it at all. That's what friends were for, right? Lucy's quiet inquiry deserves a little bit of thought before she replies. "The definition of 'lost' changes how I answer that question. It's been a year and a half since I last heard about Okori, so I don't know how she is. There's a war on, so I don't know how anyone is. That aside, he effectively lost their awkward, budding relationship the moment we agreed to stay here." Fox hadn't been the only one to leave the comfort of another behind. The decision had been hard. Sadly: "Recent evidence suggests that sacrifice came to no real good. The war followed us here despite the intention to keep the two places separate. If he still wonders how she is, he doesn't discuss it and I don't ask."

After a moment of thought, Lucy nodded. "Okay." She slid her compact from her handbag, then popped it open, deftly juggling her cigarette. It may seem a strange time to do so, but she checked her makeup, touched up her lipstick, carefully adjusted a wing of her eyeliner. Then when she was done putting everything back away, she nodded towards Shae once more. "Should I go get him?" Looking for a place to ash her cigarette while she asked.

The ritual with her makeup is intriguing enough for Shae to watch it. There wasn't an ashtray nearby, but when Shae noticed her looking for one she offered her empty tea mug. "Do you want to?"

There was actually a pause while Lucy thought about that. She wanted him to come back, but she did not want to go retrieve him. She ashed her cigarette, then nodded, almost reluctantly sliding from the counter stool to her heels. "I'll be back." She crushed out the half-smoked cigarette, caring nothing of the waste, and discarded the remainder in the empty mug (though she scrunched her nose in discomfort at doing so). Then she moved to the front door to follow where Fox had gone.

Just outside the front door, Fox was leaning against the stone of the entryway and looking out across the front walk. It was an absent gaze, without real purpose. When the door opened behind him, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Surprise registered to see Lucy there and he made a point to straighten and turn. Was she leaving?

She searched his face a moment, then stepped out to join him, closing the door behind her, nearly all the way. "I'm not upset with you." Trying to set him at ease. She understood secrets. Her eyes fell to his shirt, looking at the center of his chest a moment.

"That's..." He could quite find the end of that sentence around the rush of relief that it offered. A rush he cautiously accepted. "Thank you," and yet he waited. His hands slid into the pockets of the wrinkled jeans. Of his chest, there was not much to see with the opaque shirt in the way. He waited, for it seemed like she was still in the process of finding her thoughts.

"You can't sleep over anymore." Her voice quiet, but resolute. She managed to get her eyes up to his chin, then glanced for just a moment at his eyes. There was still more coming, but she paused here, arms sliding around her waist.

"Oh." Half exhale that was determined to sound neutral. "Yeah. For what it's worth, I'm grateful for what you did allow, and I'm sorry."

Lucy shifted her weight on her heels, not quite ready for that apology. She nodded a little. Then lifted her blue eyes to his again. "I don't--I don't know what it's like to--to have different--" her brow furrowed again and she let the sentence hang. "If you're looking for someone to berate you, you're looking at the wrong girl."

"Different...?" He coaxed gently, wanting to hear what thoughts were weaving around behind her eyes. "No, I'm fine if you don't want to berate me. If you do, you deserve to, but I'm fine if you don't. Believe me, Shae did enough. I'm sorry because no matter my reasons for wanting to cling onto the easy company, it wasn't wholly honest. You deserve the apology at least."

Lucy drew in a breath and looked away, out at the front, at the lawn and hedges. She wanted to confess how lonely she had been. How dull the world seemed. How most of the time the only company she had was a disdainful cat that was left to her along with a broken heart and a crow who only tapped on her window when he wanted some sunflower seeds. She didn't want his apology. She would trade all of his apologies for another day of his company. In any form.

Instead she shifted her weight and looked back at him once more. "What's your name?"

"I..." His hasty wall of neutrality crumbled, letting out a measure of anxiety onto his face. He'd been very concerned about how she would take things, and had been determined not to show his disappointment at any new boundaries she threw up in response, but that question throws him. It takes a long moment of studying her face -- and his gaze hadn't left her since she stepped outside -- before he could offer a quiet reply. "I don't actually have one. At least, not one I can remember. Now and again I go by Ferys, if the mood strikes, but Fox is just as well."

Lucy nodded, eyes shifting away again, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Fox," staying with the name she was most comfortable with as she met his eyes once more, "next time you want to dance with me you're going to need to ask me out on a date first." She didn't smile, but there was a little glimmer of humor in her eyes before she opened the door once more and returned towards the kitchen.

He blinked several times, still trying to process the tone with which she'd said that. Hey... wait. She was already inside and moving while he'd been staring at where she'd slipped back through the door. The hand he lifts belatedly settles for pushing the door wide enough for his own passage. He shuts it behind him and moves in her wake towards the kitchen.

Lucy slid back into place on that counter stool. Her tea was long cold or at least lukewarm at best, but she slid her hand around it and shifted her attention to Shae. "So, you said there was a way I could help you."

The man paused at the top of the kitchen landing, and then, before he could talk himself out of it, settled onto the stool next to Lucy.

"I'm hoping so." Shae had cleared away some of the mess, including the remains of the cigarette. She'd left Lucy's tea and hadn't quite gotten around to reheating it. Her hands reached for the shirt bundle and fidgeted with the knot of sleeves. "I confirmed what my watchers were using to surveil so many at once. My world doesn't have the same technology as can be found here, but they managed to make what you could think of as a camera network...only using mirrors instead of cameras." It was only thanks to her roommate's security system that she was navigating this comparison. She'd been forced to learn. One hand patted the bundle. "This is one of them, but it's broken. I'm trying to find a way to use this network against them. Either to trace it back to wherever they are watching from, or to lure them out by manipulating it. Trouble is, I want to do it without them realizing. For that, I need help. I could brute force it, but it wouldn't be pretty and they'd know. Subtle takes more energy than I have by myself."

Lucy looked aside at Fox when he settled beside her. It was a strange sensation---this feeling of familiarity, even though she knew in her head that they had just met. It was almost unnerving. But once Shae began to speak, she focused her attention there. She knew this was important. This revelation about Fox was just a sidenote, and she tried to remind herself that so she could focus on Shae and what she needed. Throughout the explanation, Lucy nodded to indicate she was following---and for the first time that day she actually was. Using mirrors as cameras made an easy, if disturbing, sense to Lucy. "I think I can do that." She tapped her fingers against the side of the mug. "I mean--I seem to have plenty of energy." So far she had not found herself ever drained.

He did his best not to stare at her, though this close he just wanted to look at her from a level that was not her knees. The brief, small smile was meant to be reassuring before he turned his attention to Shae. He knew, of course, what she intended to ask, but he didn't want to be a disturbance.

"There's a chance that even with that extra energy we would not succeed. I don't know how much went into the workings for these mirrors. How many casters...I don't know. There's also a chance that if we fail they will notice. So I want to make the attempt only in a place of our choosing that we can have help to defend. I will talk it over with Cris and Cianan." Pause. "And mayhaps Fin as well, if he's keen." The more sets of eyes watching out for the two women, the better. "This is, of course, only if you feel comfortable making an attempt."

"What--I mean, what exactly, would you need me to do?" She twisted the mug in her hands, her eyes on Shae. The danger she would risk---for Shae, she would risk it. But she didn't want to be the reason that it failed. She didn't want to be the reason that Shae was at risk.

"I want to try a few things. First, I want to try and get a handle on where the other mirrors are. That's plan 'A'." Her fingers pressed the shirt fabric against a jagged edge of glass, outlining it. "Plan 'B' is a bit more ambitious. If these pieces are still connected to the original working and we don't draw undue attention, I want to try and use the magic lingering on the mirror as the basis for a locator spell. To find the origin of it and look in that direction. Using someone else's working for such a thing may draw attention."

Fox spoke up to add on to Shae's commentary. "The idea is, knowing where the mirrors are, we can plan to exploit them. Lure out the watchers by setting bait for a trap to pick them off. Or draw their attention to their base to get them in one place for an assault. What we decide to attempt depends on what you and Shae are able to accomplish with either attempt."

Shae cut in again. "I can show you the spells later. Both are variations on scrying, but while one is a wide net the other is a targeted. What I need you to do is to lend me your intent and your power. To maintain and balance what we do while being an extra set of senses wary of another caster detecting us."

Lucy looked from Shae to Fox and back again. "It's more than anything I've ever tried," she confessed. She lifted a hand to tug her left earring, then dropped it back to the mug. "It might--it might be a good idea for us to practice. I mean--if that's something we can do."

"We can practice scrying, certainly." Shae offered. "If you trust me and aren't comfortable with performing the spells, we can make it simpler by having you open yourself to Fox that he might connect your strength to mine. He did so with L-- with someone else before." She cut herself off, as she'd almost forgotten her promise not to mention who. "Do you...think Fin would be a help in either regard? I've been debating on drawing him into this. I don't want to upset him."

Lucy shook her head immediately. It was just a protective thing. "I don't know. I don't--" She shook her head again, brow furrowed in worry. "I don't think he's ready for that." She drew in a breath, and looked aside at Fox, then back at Shae. "But I'm sure he'll want to know what we're doing."

"You think I should discourage him if he offers to help?" Shae worried at her lower lip and withdrew her hand from the cloth bundle. She exchanged a glance with the man sitting adjacent to Lucy before turning her attention back to her guest.

Lucy pressed her lips together. She was reluctant to tell Shae what to do, or how to handle Fin. "I don't know--" Truth was she hardly felt ready for something like this herself. She looked down at her mug, twisting it back and forth, then looked back at Shae. "I just know he'll be upset if we do something like this without telling him."

"Mm. I'll tell him." She said it, and so she would. Another exchange of glances with Fox.

"I suppose if you don't discourage him I'll have to out myself to him as well?" Aloud for Lucy's benefit, or so his look to Shae insisted.

Shae nodded. "It only makes sense. If Lucy's able to get a handle on the spellwork you'll be more useful with Cris' sword in your hand."

The man sighed, scrubbing a hand across one side of his face.

In Confidence, Part 1
Fin's Residence, Evening, June 1st, 2017

Text to Fin: On my way.

Text to Shae: will have tea waiting

But he did not, in fact, have tea waiting because he took too long in the shower and was just getting out by the time she knocked on the door. "Eh....just a moment!" he called out, hoping she heard him. Maybe not. The door was unlocked but at least he was shielded from immediate view in the bathroom.

Alas, she was half to blame. The promise of tea had spurred her steps a bit faster. She told herself that. That it wasn't the constant paranoia everytime she stepped outside that quickened her steps. No, she just reminded herself who she was as she knocked. She was a woman on a mission who liked tea. If his home wasn't soundproof, her sensitive ears did hear him. And so she lingered on his doorstep for five more seconds before 'the love of tea' chased her indoors and out of sight of the rooftops. "I'm not looking!" She called as she closed the door behind her, one hand half-covering her eyes. Detour made to the kitchen. No tea. Damn.

Eyes rolled while he fought a smile once she came into the house. Was Fox with her? Fin had no clue but hoped the canid did not have a proclivity for licking damp skin. What was that about, anyway?? The door of the bathroom looked out on the futon's profile. Leaning just beyond the open doorway, Fin called out, "Eh, Shae? I seem to have forgotten a towel. Could ye bring me one from m'bedroom?"

Fox would be horrified at the thought of licking Fin, especially licking a wet, naked Fin. Fox had standards. Currently he was prowling through Fin's kitchen to put the cupboards between himself and any unfortunate sight lines. Doubly so at Fin's call from the bathroom. Shae had been reaching to fill the kettle when he made that request. "Ah, sure." Hands rubbed against her dress and she made the short trek towards his bedroom to look for his forgotten towel.

Liath did it but she wasn't sentient in the same way Fox was. However, there were no unfortunate lines of sight from the kitchen! Shae had to walk toward Fin's bedroom just to see him peeking out from the bathroom. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about the towel so much as he didn't normally need to cover nakedness when he was home by himself. His skin was dry, hair a little damp but he figured the company didn't want to see his junk dangling. "Thank ye, lass. Sorry to be such a bother."

"My fault for being impatient." Shae could handle the peek of a head and shoulder. She'd seen him walk around on many a Sunday morning in nothing other than pajama pants. Hell, she'd caught more than an eyeful of his bare ass swimming in the Glen, but that was neither here nor there. She was passing him the towel she had retrieved and bouncing back towards the kitchen as soon as he took it from her.

"It no' be yer fault," he said with a small smile as he took the towel from her. "I have grown accustomed to bein' alone here an' sometimes forget wee things." Like this. Once the fabric was slung around his hips, Fin stepped out to greet his guests. The sight of Fox widened his smile as he moved toward Shae to drop a kiss to her cheek. "How are you?"

The curve of her lips appled her cheek where he leaned to kiss it, becoming a proper smile when he drew back. Tea was required, she was determined this time. Filling the kettle in the sink as she replied. "I'm...better I think. A little better than the last time you saw me." Though much had happened since then, sinking her lower before she found a lifeline to pull herself up with. "How are you?"

Allowing her to fiddle with the kettle, he listened even while he walked away from her to enter his bedroom and rummage for pants. A pair of black jeans with one torn knee and frayed hems were on him next time he emerged, barefoot and shirtless otherwise. The towel was getting scrubbed over his hair before being tossed over his shoulder. "I be alrigh'," shrugging his shoulders as he moved to find Fox and kneel down for a head scratch.

"Mm." A single syllable that recognized his vague answer for what it was as she began rummaging through his cupboards to look for mugs. Nosy thing. Fox gave Fin an upward tilt of his chin before lazily leaning his head towards his scratching fingers. Shae, herself, was in a long peasant skirt dress with sleeves of wide lace. The whole affair was a sage green and her feet were wrapped in leather sandals.

Shae looked like a forest spirit come to life and Fox only reinforced that imagery. Even if the garments she wore were too delicate for walking through a dense treeline, it still put him in the mindset of the cabin and the marshy grasses around the lake. One corner of his mouth rose for Fox's shameless submission to questing fingers. And that was when Liath roused herself from her sleep to amble over, still shaking the slumber from herself with a wide, toothy yawn.

Fox's lazy lean froze at the scent of the wolfhound pushed into the air by her sudden motion. A split second later, Shae echoed a fainter version before sighing down at her familiar. "It's Liath. You remember Liath." Chided softly as she finally found wherever Fin hid his mugs. Two for the counter, now it was a hunt for the tea supplies, and spoons. Reluctantly, Fox stayed put for the approaching canine.

The mugs and other tea supplies were all in the same cabinet, the tea kept in tins rather than bags. He preferred loose leaves. Despite feeling like a poor host, it was nice to see that Shae felt so comfortable that she didn't mind looking through his cabinets. Her comment brought his eyes to Fox, bounced over to Liath (who approached Fin first), and then back to Fox. Did they not get along? Hnh. Crooning in Gaelic to Liath, Fin made sure to keep his body between the two while Liath burrowed her head against the Scot's shoulder. "She be friendly," he murmured to Fox.

Currently, she was sniffing her way through his collection to find something that sung to her. Maybe she was related, distantly, to some sort of house sprite who accepted payment in hot beverages. Maybe she was just a little thoughtless and selfish of late. "We had a run in with some nasty hounds recently, it's made him skittish." Fox huffed a protest in her direction and gradually made himself adopt a more relaxed posture. He remembered Liath, it's just that she was big. Look there, he even waved his tail once.

"Nasty hounds?" he asked quickly, glancing up to Shae with a frown. "Wha' sort o' hounds? D'ye know where they came from?" It worried him to think that his sweet puppy was being associated with nasty hounds attacking people, but it worried him more to think about Shae being set upon in the city. "Ye were no' injured, were ye?" Rising to his feet, Fin warned Liath to be nice and gentle. She nosed at Fox for a few before wandering in Fin's wake to bump against Shae's hip.

"Cooshee, and Cooshee hybrids. The Cooshee no doubt came from my world. The hybrids were probably bred here." A frown at that, if anything was evidence that she had been followed much earlier than she'd realized it was the grown offspring of those aberrant hunters and the local hounds. "I was able to handle the ones I encountered." Fox tolerated the nosing stubbornly, proving he wasn't afraid of the wolfhound like Shae had inferred. When Liath bumped against her hip, Shae dropped a hand to pet the canine affectionately. "I was injured, but it was minor and I'm fine now."

"So ye ha' proof tha' more people followed ye? Or d'ye think it be the same person ye found last time?" It was as troubling as she implied, and gave credence to her claim that there were creatures still after her. The frown deepened to hear she'd been injured. "Where did they hurt ye, lass? How long ago did this happen? Did ye kill the beasts?"

Shae held up a hand with a rueful smile. "I promise to answer all of those questions, but first I need a cup of tea, and first I'd like to get that memory I requested of you before I cock things up again." She didn't want to distress him with her updates, but she could see that happening. Her last attempt at collecting it from him had certainly gone sideways for both of them.

What a tease, to dangle something like that in front of him and then ask him to think of happy memories. Fin grimaced at her (impatient Scot) but with a grunt, he acquiesced and slipped away to fish a cigarette from the coffee table. Liath was sticking close to Shae since she was getting pettings. "I do no' mean to distress ye, I apologize, lass. I merely wanted to be certain tha' ye were alrigh'. Also, if ye do no' want to sleep here, I will be walkin' ye back home." That was non negotiable.

"I'm not distressed by it," at least, not at present. She drove a hard bargain, certainly, but she knew it would only be harder for him to think of something happy the closer his questions probed to certain facets of her current reality. She knew, because he had that curse of curiosity just like she did. "Your papers are there." A nod given to a shopping bag she'd left on the corner of his counter on the way in. He'd be well stocked in cigarette rolling papers for a while. He could take it as a sign that she intended to pilfer yet more cigarettes from him. No comment for or against in response to his mandated escort. They'd get back to it later. For now Liath needed some more petting while she waited for the water to boil.

"So, eh, how will this memory be taken from m'head?" Lips formed the question around the end of the cig in his mouth. Shae's gift was unloaded, tissue-thin papers fanned between his fingers. So delicate, unpainted butterfly wings to be born as something else. "Thank ye for these, lass. I will pack a small tin for ye, aye?" Elbows rested on his knees, hunched toward the wide surface of the coffee table.

The water was boiling, and her hands moved to address it, and all the steps that would come after. "I suppose you don't remember from our last discussion, but it won't be taken. It'll still be yours. I will give you an item, a pearl. You will want to concentrate on the memories you wish to share and then touch the pearl. It will make a copy of them within itself. Such that whoever touches it next will experience them in detail." He'd want to be careful, naturally, with what he chose to share.

She smiled over her shoulder as she started dosing out honey into steaming liquid. "Could I trouble you for a few extra? I'll make it up to you. And, I thought I should mention, people seem interested in them. I think you could make a small profit if you felt like selling them in your spare time."

Apparently, he didn't remember! But then, his memory had ever failed him and that shouldn't surprise Shae. "Eh, I was wonderin' more how it would be shared. I mean, the pearl be takin' it from me? How do I know it no' be takin' any other memories? How does it know when to stop? Or are ye controllin' it?" So many questions all at once.

"It only will copy what you focus on, and when you are ready for it to stop, all you have to do is let go of the pearl. It will run through the memory as you share it, so you will have a sense of what is being copied." Tea was carried over towards the couch and set down on the coffee table. Then she took a seat herself. "When I enchanted them, I set the spell up with those rules." She didn't seem to have any trouble answering his questions, nor was she bothered by them. "They are now very specific vessels."

What Fin was hearing was that he would need to concentrate only on one specific memory at a time lest something else sneak through there. It was a testament to his trust in Shae that he was willing to allow her a spell that infiltrated his mind. Uneasiness was hidden in the swift movement of his hands that organized the rolling papers in a neat row, pausing only to ash in the nearest plastic ashtray. "I think I ha' chosen which memory I will use." Sort of.

"If something goes wrong, we can break the pearl and I will give you another so you can try again. I made a few extra for that reason." Her mug was cradled in both hands for a sip. "You can do one or several memories. Whatever you want."

Hands slowed and then still as he turned to cast blue eyes in her direction. "Have ye had somethin' go wrong before?"

"Well, sometimes you change your mind about the memory you want to make a copy of. That's about the worst it could get. There aren't dire consequences here." She did her best to sound reassuring when she noticed the way he'd gone still. "I wouldn't suggest it at all if there was a risk of such. Memories are...a tricky subject that I don't play at lightly."

Nodding, Fin cut his gaze back to the table, further betraying his uncertainty. However, it wasn't enough to stop him. The cause was something greater than himself and the Scot would gladly surrender to it. "I trust ye," he murmured, nodding again. Sliding back onto the couch until, he asked, "Could I have a few moments to collect them? The memories?" fingers twirling a vague gesture toward his head.

"I'm not going to rush you," said gently. "Thank you for trusting me." She'd be more than fine with sitting there and drinking her tea, she had craved it and now it helped her calm down. Fox had joined them near the couch and let out a sigh as he leaned against Shae's calf.

Liath was already collapsed on her bed near Fin's side of the futon. With a long drag off his cigarette, the smoke was held coiling in his lungs until his chest felt as if it would burst. White smoke poured from his nostrils in a thick plume, obscuring his face until it passed. Eyes closed, sealing the silence that settled between them. Fin fell inside himself to concentrate on Salome.

While he gathered his thoughts, Shae reached a hand into a pocket hidden in the seam of her dress to pull out a small velvet jeweler's bag and rest it on her thigh. One hand dropped to pat Fox on the head where his ears seemed to droop, absently sipping at her tea.

Struggling up through the foggy haze, Fin finally opened his eyes, focusing on the physical things in front of him. Reaching out, he touched Shae's arm just to make sure she was real and this wasn't a hallucination. It was a light touch, fingertips brushing against fabric for the grounding sensation before his hand was retracted. "I think I be ready," his voice low, quiet.

She was still for his cautious reach, like he was some skittish thing. When he drew his hand back she set her tea aside calmly. Fingers found the small patch of black and offered it to him. A single lump filled one corner. "Touch the pearl inside here to start, then just think on that memory, and let go when it is through."

Cupping his palm, the small velvet bag was cradled there and drawn closer for inspection. How odd it was that such a small thing had such power. The lump was worked closer to the opening of the bag until a pale white moon peeked from the velvet darkness. Smooth, there was a multicolored sheen to it that enticed the eye. With a last glance to Shae, the pearl fell into his free hand. Again, he closed his eyes and worked to be specific before tipping his hand. The pearl fell to the futon between himself and Shae, rolling toward her leg.

Her leg shifted slightly, but the barrier of cloth was there to keep her from touching it. "Have you done, then?" Glancing down at the rogue saltwater moon that rested against her thigh. Her hand didn't move to take it, yet. "You'll know if it was successful by touching it after a few seconds. The memory should play back to you in a sort of immersive detail." Vivid, actually. The detail might even be clearer than he could recall on his own. Such was the nature of the spell meant to preserve thoughts.

"I think so," he mouthed, voice betraying him. Clearing his throat, Fin tried again and managed to speak the words. Transfixed by the pearl resting against her leg, the Scot forced his hand to cover that small distance and touch it again. Sucking in a breath, he was hit by the memories of her smile, those big eyes filled with such a fierceness, the way she loved completely. It felt as if she were standing in front of him, yelling at him, until his finger lifted from the smooth surface. Nothing else, nothing but Salome, nothing that would bare him to anyone else. "Aye, it worked." Black velvet was deposited on top of Shae's leg, inches from the pearl.

"May I?" She would need to anyway, to set it into the final work, but she asked him out of respect for what it was, what he had offered. Her other hand picked up the rectangle of black, but she waited for his permission on the pearl.

A tight smile flattened his lips - reflex to showing a vulnerability. What Shae would see was more a collection of impressions rather than one cohesive memory. Smiles, tears, hugs, harsh words. All of it was undeniably her.

There was no wrong answer to what was shared, and in truth, Shae found the impressions to be more impactful for the variety they offered. For the experience of it, her face is a shifting pattern of quiet regret. She felt each hug, each surge of reaction to the memory ghost, and she found herself needing to concentrate on her breathing. Once the imagery fades, Shae is quiet as she slips the pearl into the bag and closes the drawstring tightly. Shielded from touch, she simply holds it, shifting the capsule of memory beneath the barrier. At last, tones thick with suppressed emotion, "Thank you, Fin. This is perfect."

In Confidence, Final

This was a bit easier than the last go round. Or so the man's face said. He took the hand for an easy shake. "Maybe not if you see me in public. It depends on what feels right that day. That said...I'd appreciate if you didn't mention this in public."

Shae exhaled and leaned back into the couch. Thank the stars for that. She was thanking them a lot today.

Hands shook, Fin glanced to the kitchen. "Would ye like somethin' to drink?" He didn't understand why it was such a large secret but he had no objections to the request. "Aye, o' course I will keep yer secret. But...why? If ye do no' mind me askin' ye."

"It wasn't always this way. And no, but thanks." The man looked over towards Shae with the hope that she'd try to explain.

"Strategic value. His comfort level. It's saved our lives before." Three short reasons floated from the couch. "People underestimate an animal, and he has only been able to shift like that in very recent years. It took some doing to make it possible and, well--"

"What she's dancing around is the fact that I didn't want to form attachments here until I was sure we weren't going to be going back. There were people back there I wanted more." His shoulder finds the frame of the bathroom door.

That was a lot of reasons so Fin merely nodded along, lowering himself back to the couch. Just as his butt started to touch the cushion, he shot back up. "D'ye want somethin' to wear besides tha' towel?" Duh, don't be a rude host, Fin. "There were people ye wanted more?" he asked with a curious smile. "Wanted for wha'?"

The shot up causes both the man and the woman to start at the sudden motion. "No, I'll change back shortly. Just didn't want to have to explain this the day of." Fox says before shifting his weight. The questions that follow make him sigh. "Doesn't matter," and a shake of his head that said he didn't want to explain.

"We're here now," he continues, "but it's still dangerous. So, I'll take you at your word." Referring to Fin's assurance that he'd keep mum.

Again, he lowered himself to the cushion but stayed this time, the tension a leaden weight that pressed him into the futon, made his chest feel tight. Deep, slow breaths were taken while blue eyes bounced back and forth between Shae and Fox-Man. "Aye," he murmured, nodding twice.

Leaning forward, Fin grasped a cigarette and lighter. Mostly because his craving was intense but it also served to help distract him from the atmosphere. Questions filled his throat, swallowed down with the last of his beer, burned to ash by the hot smoke sucked into his lungs.

Shae reached a hand over, placing it gently on Fin's shoulder. "Thank you." Sincere, half apologetic for what may seem like a strange request. He wasn't the first to question why the secret lingered in the form it did. "There may come a time when it no longer needs to be what it is." Maybe that time was sooner, even, than either of them realized. "Until then, thank you."

The gratitude of the man was less vocal, but it was a steady gaze and a single nod. Then, a smile. "Any questions not about the people I used to know?" Just to give the Scot some breathing room. He knew well that Fin's capacity for questions was an easy rival for Shae's.

Smoke filled the spaces in his mouth left by unasked questions. Not just tonight but reaching back through the past two years. It was a tight fit, crowding down his throat. Fin had to swallow hard to send the lump plummeting back down to its resting place in his gut.

Shae's hand was a weight that drew his gaze, first to her hand and then her face. Breaking the surface of his reverie, the Scot sucked in a breath. Slow to string his words together, lips parted to answer Shae when Fox inserted smoothly. A new focus, a temporary reprieve. "Eh..." Here, too, he took his time, shuffling one question to the front of the line. "Wha' be yer true form?"

"That's... a matter for some debate." Weight shifted from foot to foot. "I had a life before this one. One I don't exactly recall. One that led to me crossing paths with a goddess who decided I ought to serve her purposes instead of whatever it was I was doing at the time. Some sort of debt, she claimed. So I was born a fox. Those are my earliest, clearest memories at this point. Being a fox, hearing Her voice." He frowned, fist curling into the towel where he held it to his hip.

"I was a fox, albeit an evolved one, for... hell, over a century. What you see, this man? It wouldn't be unfair to say he's an illusion for all that I remember anything to do with him."

Fox's fable unfolded, complete with unwanted Destiny and a capricious deity. In any other place, it would have been unbelievable. Insane. Delusional. Fin didn't doubt one word. Leaning forward to ash his cigarette, words were expelled by the action. "Wha' be tha' purpose?" Blue eyes dragged back to Fox, taking in the notable landmarks along the route from toe to top.

Lines of past injury existed, faint on his skin, but they paled beneath the work of art that raised keloid flesh beneath his left collarbone. There flesh had been purposely scarred into a tribal vision of a fox's form. The lines were clean, the healing precise, but the color of the scar tissue suggested it was a newer addition. Fin's question provoked a faint tightening of Shae's hand before she let it slip from the Scot's shoulder. That squeeze was mirrored by a shift of Fox?s eyes to Shae. "I was meant to protect her, for the goddess. She...orchestrated events that Shae might be inclined to become one of her worshipers. Given recent events, recent hints, I suspect the goddess may have had some idea of her heritage. Or maybe a grudge against someone in Shae's family."

It was in no way a Bill of Guarantee that the existence of this deity in any way confirmed any others, nor did the twisted pathways of his mind take him near that assumption. His gaze cut to Shae when her hand slipped away, remaining there. "And are ye? A follower o' this goddess?"

"No." The flat tone in her denial hid a riot of annoyance, not at Fin, and a flavoring of distaste. "No, I most certainly am not, though I came to know one of her most devout followers at one point. I didn't know that she had orchestrated my bond with Fox until very recently. When it broke and he was no longer bound against speaking of it."

Here guilt winced through the corners of Fox's eyes. "Neither of us are," he feels the need to confirm that.

That answered that. Another story lurked just under the surface of that explanation, fathomless and unknown as the ocean. It lured Fin like a siren but he resisted, saved himself from being dashed upon the rocks. "Will ye be brawlin' or lendin' magic for this work?" he asked Fox, blues steady upon the other man.

"That depends on Lucy," another shift of his weight. The discomfort didn't seem to have anything to do with his state of undress, but rather because Fin was the first to ask some of these questions where he'd been in the position to provide the answers. "If I am needed to be conduit to add her strength to Shae's for the working, I will be in their circle on four legs. If not...I'll be on guard on two."

Now he looked between the both of them. "How will it depend upon Lucy?"

He gestured to Shae, and the woman now spoke: "I've asked her to help me with the spells, but she's not familiar with them. How well she'll be able to assist will depend on whether or not she can get a feel for them before the attempt. If she can't, I will just be borrowing her energy directly. And if she's not used to sharing it, Fox may need to be the bridge. He's done similar before."

That was more the role in which Fin had cast himself. "How much energy will ye need to power the spell?" He could be an excellent battery if that was all that's needed.

"I could do it myself, today. But whoever cast it would have a strong chance of detecting my interference depending on their skill." Briefly she chewed at the inside of her cheek before continuing. Fox took this moment to take a step or two back into the bathroom, quietly disengaging from the shop talk in preparation for changing back. "The more energy I have the more chance I will have to make the casting subtle enough to avoid detection. But at the same time, energy is lost if people aren't familiar with how to perform a shared casting. That's when it becomes a situation for Fox's help. And I also have to balance how much to put in so as not to be vulnerable if things go south. So, to try to answer your question, more is good. An exact amount is impossible to say."

Fox quietly slipped from the conversation and the room, apparently finished with his grand reveal. Uneasiness still roiled around in his gut, encouraged by the uncertainty he saw in Shae's stormy golden eyes. "Magic be a shifty thing," he murmured, cutting his gaze to the table and the weed that lay there, waiting to lull him into a sense of safety and comfort. He knew it was false but his chest itched with the urge to reach for it. "As I said, I will help ye in any way tha' I can."

The door was nudged until a crack was left. There was no light show, no sound of ripping flesh. Just quiet, the rumple of a towel, and a faint thud. There was very little that felt grand about the black nose that nudged the door open and slipped out through the widening gap, even if there had been something about the man's carriage that seemed larger than his bones. "Thank you Fin," Shae said quietly, watching his face for that murmur. "Is there aught else you have questions about? I feel like I have handed you more than you realized you were asking for."

No one was what they seemed in RhyDin, not even the Scot. Fox was a fox again, registered when an orange streak wound its way back into the living room. Thankfully, Liath was dozing. A wan smile started and failed before he lifted his eyes to Shae. "No, lass, I do no' have anymore questions. We shall see wha' happens, aye?" One could only prepare so much for the unknown.

She bit her lip and nodded, then reaching for the half-life cigarette she'd left balanced on the edge of the ash tray. Something to do with her hands while Fox settled under the coffee table and laid down there. Thought captured her focus and the resulting smoke trickled past her lips to the rhythm of her breathing. Eventually, she spoke to the opposite wall. "It doesn't have to be the magic, maybe." Then she shook her head. "Just promise me you'll tell me if any of them get bold enough to start in on malicious tricks. The watchers."

A pall settled over them, the rough edges sawing against his skin, wringing a shiver from him before leaning forward to swipe a plastic lighter from the table. End over end, he spun it slowly between his fingers. Like Shae, he couldn't sit completely still. "How will I know wha' be a trick from them?" he asked without looking at her, staring down at his hands.

"I don't know. Tampering. Visible stalking." She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture she couldn?t stop repeating in her anxiety. "I'm sorry, I can't stop worrying. It's..." she grew quiet. "It's driving me crazy, this fear that they'll hurt someone." They probably knew that it would. She was convinced they were just waiting for her mistakes when it did.

Her confession pulled a soft sigh from him. The lighter stilled in his hands, one of them reaching to lay over hers. "Fear be one thing, but do no' blame yerself if someone is hurt. Ye no' be the one doin' this, ye no' be the one hurtin' others."

It wasn't fair to say 'someone' when she meant 'someone I know'. Already, and maybe still, others were hurt. The longer she planned, the larger that number grew in her head. She couldn't acknowledge it. There was no easy way to explain the feeling that her decision to stay, to keep separate the world she had been from and this one, had ultimately been the thing that caused them to come here. "Not directly, but guilt is irrational, isn't it?"

Fingers slid along the back of her hand, noting the texture of her skin before pulling away. "Only when ye be tryin' to take on somethin' tha' no' be o' yer doin'."

She looked down at where his touch had been, loosely curling the fingers of that hand closed. Her skin was smooth, absent the ability to keep a scar. Something that irritated her when she chose to think on it. "I thought it was human to tend to take blame for things that were out of your control." Her reply is quiet, and eventually it moves over to him. "What about when you acted but didn't know the full scope of the risks?"

Fin snorted, leaning forward to satiate the nagging urge. "I do no' think it be only humans." He was in a minority here, he knew, and now with the addition of powers, Fin didn't even know if he qualified as human anymore. Didn't know where that left him. Setting the joint between his lips, flame touched the twisted ends before he answered. "Eh, which time would tha' be, lass?"

"I decided to stay because I thought they couldn't follow if they didn't know where to look. I thought it would be safer for everyone." And then. "I thought that I could have answers for the asking, that I understood the risks of reaching for them, and it resulted in... in being taken." She shook her head. "It feels like there are a lot of times it would apply to."

The question had been rhetorical, not specifically asking for personal examples? An arched brow later, Fin spared her a sidelong glance. "Are ye a god, Shae?"

Shae had a bad habit of answering those rhetorical questions, often because she missed the 'rhetorical' part when she was distracted with her own thoughts. "No, are you?"

A slight twitch of his lips. "No. Since we no' be gods, d'ye think tha' everythin' tha' happens to others be our fault? Tha' we could control it but chose not to?"

Her smile was genuine, if small. "No, but of course we lament our parts in it. Especially for the bits that happened to ourselves, don't we?"

"Lamentin' no' be the same as guilt, aye?" She received a pointed look to drive his point home but it pulled short as he glanced away. "We canno' control wha' others do to us, either. Only how we act when it happens."

He was right, and she knew it. The last pull from the cigarette was enough to prompt its return to the ashtray, this time for good. Impulsively she slipped an arm through his and gave it a hug.

His mouth twitched again, just at one corner, but he leaned into the contact. Fin pulled his arm free just so he could settle it around her shoulders. He took another pull of weed and then offered it over to her. "This will help ye sleep. Ye will be thinkin' better in the morn."

Her fingers closed on the offered joint and she brought it to her lips. This time she was cognizant of how strong his supply was and her inhale, though deep, was singular before she passed it back. "Thanks."

"Ye be welcome to stay here. Both o' ye," glancing down at the bushy bit of white and orange peeking from underneath the coffee table. This place was warded well enough to ease her fears for a night and, in Fin's experience, having another close by could be comforting in its own way. "I will leave ye be an' sleep in m'own bed," offering a half smile.

He'd offered to walk her back earlier and her eyes lingered on the door. Eventually, she nodded to the offer of his couch. She could deal with the pearl in the morning. And the rest of it. "Alright, thank you."

"Good. When ye start to feel weary, I will prepare the couch for ye, aye?" For now, he was content to stay on the couch with her, trying not to think about their shared impending doom.

Dry Run, Final

Lucy wiggled her hands, then released a breathy laugh. "I'm fine-- I think I just--I overreached?" Her magic retreated, that charged sensation withdrawing from the air around her as she sank back into the chair.

"Where did it seem to go wrong? What were you reaching for at the time?" Her gaze cut aside to where the statue looked on before returning to the woman sinking into her chair.

A little color rose into her cheeks. "I got curious." Lucy shrugged a shoulder. "Tried to see if I could see who created it."

"You-- ...hnn." Teeth abused her lower lip. "Is it because it's an object?" The question didn't sound like it was directed at Lucy. Thought made her gaze lose focus. Several seconds passed in silence before she shook herself out of it. "I'm sorry. You're not hurt, right?" Now speaking to Lucy again. It was a repeated question, almost, but she wanted to make sure.

"I'm fine." She smiled softly, her brow slightly quirked in confusion---had Shae been asking her about the object? Regardless, Lucy reached for the tea cup finally, both hands, and took a sip. "It's not easy, is it though?"

"You've done amazingly so far. It takes skill to be able to get even a hint of the location, and you got a specific building." The expression Shae showed Lucy held pride on her friend's behalf. Her hand hand lowered in the interim and now conveyed her tea to her lips for a sip. Lucy's progress was very hopeful, indeed.

The tea cup trembled in Lucy's hand and she turned to set it back down on the table before she dropped it. As soon as she was free of it, she looked back at Shae. "Should I be this tired? I feel like I over did it on weight day." Her muscles trembling as if she'd gone too far on her workout.

"That can happen with a new spell, or if you are using your gifts in a way you are not accustomed to." Though there was concern lingering for the fatigue Lucy claimed to feel. In truth, she didn't know Lucy's limits. "You know yourself best. Do you feel too drained to try anything further?"

Lucy drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly. "A little more." But just a little. She nodded towards Shae for whatever was next.

Shae hesitated, but decided to press forward. This was a controlled experiment. "Alright, but promise me you'll stop if you need to." Her mug finds the table again with a muted clink. "If you can, try to follow the scrying back to its source. To look through the other side at whoever is there. You'll be resisting the flow of the spell, but think back to how it felt when you were scrying on your own."

"See whoever is there." As before, Lucy repeated the instructions. She also looked down at the book again. She read the description, once, and then twice, turning the page. Then she drew in a breath and closed her eyes. Immediately, she could see the warehouse. Empty still. Details fuzzy. Charged electrons buzzed through the air like a cloud of gnats. Lucy flexed her fingers, the air around her charging once more. She visualized the electrons organizing themselves into a square. Into a window. And then she tried to look through it at whoever was there.

The dancer's featureless face comes into mind before the window zooms into that crystal surface. The interior of the warehouse swims into focus. Dusty and half-lit from newspaper covered windows. A figure sat on a crate in center view. It was Fox as man, though he seemed to have nodded off with his side slumped against a support beam. A torn piece of cardboard in his hands hung crooked in a slackened grip. It read: Well Done, Beautiful

Lucy smiled. "I see him." Her voice quiet, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, observing the man she hadn't seen for some days now, as he dozed, maybe. But she couldn't keep the window open for long. She tried, another pulse of charge making the the hairs stand up at the back of her neck, but then it was gone. She withdrew back into herself and opened her eyes. "I saw him." A bit breathless, she was relieved she was seated, certain she would not have been able to keep her feet were she otherwise.

"You did. That's amazing, Lucy. You're amazing." Shae's smile was bright, congratulatory as she brought her hands together once. The woman had surpassed her expectations and she was quite happy for it. "Are you okay? Can I get you anything?" Relief shading towards concern again. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could sleep right now until tomorrow." She laughed softly, tipping her head back against the chair, pressing one hand to her cheek. "Do I look awful?" Always concerned with how she looked.

"Not at all." And it wasn't a lie from Shae in that moment. "You're a sexy badass." It came with a genuine grin. Lucy had picked up on the spellwork very well, despite her fatigue. It was an advanced effort, and she'd seen success. "You deserve a good sleep. Rest. Recharge."

"Fox looked a little tired himself." She slipped a hand into her handbag for her phone. A quick tap and Lucy was calling for Sean, though instead of the usual quick missive, Lucy was tapping out something longer---asking for his assistance to come walk her out. She wasn't sure, but she thought she might need a strong arm to lean on.

"I've been relying on him a lot, lately." Admittance with a glance towards the decorative statue. Fox wasn't the only tired one, but his dreams were more peaceful than hers. Still, in the distance, he stirred at the poking of her mind. That wasn't a safe place for a nap. Turning back, she asked, "how do you feel about what you've managed to do? Do you think you could repeat it with me?"

Lucy nodded. "I do." She swapped her phone for her compact mirror, checking her own reflection as she usually did, fixing her hair, redistributing her lipstick, before snapping it closed and tucking it back away. "I might take a day off from practicing tomorrow, just to rest." She looked at Shae to see what she might think of that.

Shae's expression didn't even waver at the suggestion. "Don't overtax yourself on my account, please. Do whatever feels best for you." The whole plan was a shot in the dark, but it certainly wouldn't work if Lucy was exhausted come the day. "I feel better about our chances, honestly."

That hint of optimism made Lucy smile. "I'll do my best." That was all she could promise. The bell rang, and there was Sean in the doorway. Blonde and strapping, he was dressed in jeans and a sport coat like usual, the bulges here and there hinting at the concealed weapons the young man carried. Lucy raised a hand to get his attention, but she waited until he was beside her before she picked up her handbag and started to rise. Sean offered Shae a polite smile and nod of his head, but beyond that he did nothing but offer his arm to Lucy. "Do you need a ride somewhere, Shae?"

If Shae noticed that Sean came in to offer his arm rather than just standing at the door or with the car as usual, she didn't comment upon it. "Do you think you could drop me off at home?" She asked as she stood and crossed towards the dancer to pick her up from the display table she stood upon.

"Of course." Lucy smiled, tucking her hand at Sean's elbow. Sean nodded to Shae with what passed as a smile from him, and he assured her in his low voice, "I know the way."

Other than Lucy's hold on his arm, she seemed entirely steady as she walked beside him. "Have you been keeping safe, Shae?"

The dancer was coming with them, tucked into the crook of her arm. "As much as possible." Here she looked at Sean. "They've been getting more aggressive. Making themselves visible at times, deliberately tampering with things to make known their presence. So I'm glad you've been taking such good care of Lucy for me, Sean."

"Ma'am." Sean nodded to Shae, both for his understanding of her message and for the compliments. He opened the back seat of the sedan and helped Lucy in, though while he did so, he managed to split his attention between her and their surroundings. He surely wasn't just a driver. Lucy looked back at Shae as she slid over to make room for her friend. "Are they taunting you?" Her brow furrowed as she looked at her intently.

"In a way." Shae replied as she climbed into the space Lucy had made for her, pulling the hem of her dress in so the door could be shut. "They've tampered with my mail and are most likely trying to provoke me into making a mistake. They have the upper hand on information." And on stress. She couldn't watch all of her friends at once and the threat against them loomed in a way that was quietly breaking down her composure in the quiet hours. "For now, at least. I hope to change that." That was the point of this effort with the mirrors.

"We'll fix it." Lucy reached out with a hand for Shae's, fixing her with a confident, if tired, look. As Sean started the car, his eyes glanced in the rearview at the two of them in the backseat, his look lingering on Shae. Lucy gave Shae's hand a squeeze before settling back into her seat, legs crossed, angled slightly towards the window. She would likely be asleep before they arrived at Church House.

Taking the hand on offer, Shae gave it a reassuring squeeze of her own. We will, that warm pressure said. "Thank you, Lucy." For the rest of the ride home she was a quiet passenger, silently tracking Fox's progress across the city. She wouldn't disturb Lucy's well earned rest with undue noise and so when they arrived at Church House her thanks to Sean for the ride was only in the form of a smile.

The Risks of Looking, Part 2

"It be the warehouse, then? Aye, wha' will ye need once we be there?"

Shae cast a look at Cris now. She'd been unaware that he'd taken to using the space as a training location. Then she glanced back to Fin. "If you're not comfortable with the magic, you can always help out with the general defense. I don't want you to feel pressured." He'd be useful in either capacity, Shae was sure.

"Unless anyone has any objections, I think the warehouse might be best." Fox chimed in as he stepped forward to place his empty plate on the table. "I could head there covertly with Cris and Cianan to start securing the place if you want to follow with Lucy and Fin shortly. Ideally not taking the long route. I know it's energy used, but it's better if they don't know to start watching us all and think we're still here."

Lucy nodded, looking at Fox a moment, then looking back to Shae. As far as Lucy was concerned, Shae was in charge.

Gaze pans to Fox. Cris nods, breaking the gentle lock of his hands. Palms to his knees, he prepares to rise.

Shae exchanges a look with Fox, laden with the small tells of silent communication, and then nods. "Do either of you have anything against spells that move you from one place to another?" This to Lucy and Fin.

"I'll tell you after I do it." Lucy had never done it before.

From next to his thigh, Fin set a leather-wrapped bundle on the coffee table. Unrolled, it revealed some simply wrought but very sharp iron knives. "For those o' ye tha' can use them, these are pure iron." Belatedly, he shook his head at Shae.

Shae's expression flatlined and slowly turned in Fin's direction exclusively.

"Let me know where the place is. I'd love to scope it out, and get a look at what I could do" He clapped his hands. Cianan glanced over to both of them.

Fox cleared his throat. "I meant now Cianan. We go now. And make the attempt now." He too spared a look for Fin. "We're not expecting Fae involvement, but...things have been strange around town lately."

Both of Cris' eyebrow rise as Fin unveils a collection of knives. "Iron will cut through them just fine." He reaches for one of the weapons like it's a longed for main course at a buffet.

Indeed they had. Better safe than sorry. Shae's flat expression was obliviously ignored.

He slips his finger through the wide loop that serves as a hilt and spins the blade forward. Back. "Thank you, Fin." Cris wouldn't turn down a weapon.

Lucy didn't even pretend to move towards the blades. But she was looking at them with focused interest.

"The three o' ye be leavin' now?" Fin asked while glancing to Fox, Cris, and the drow.

Cianan nodded his head, planting his hands on his knees and pushing himself to his feet.

With an apologetic look to Shae, Fox also takes one of the iron daggers. Shae's face remains neutral and she settles it on a few measured sips of her tea.

No knife for Cianan. He had plenty of iron things. There were too many Fae things around not to have something like that. He stretched his hand above his head, and turned over to Shae, "If you or Lucy need some armor." He reached into his hip pouch, and drew a ring. "Bought one, recently. Good for finger wigglers."

Cris clips the freshly acquired blade into one of the empty rings near his left hip and collects his coat. Shrugs it on despite the weather outside and the sheen of sweat already on his neck, even in the wake of Shae's generous air conditioning. "Are we to go together, or split off and meet there?" of Fox.

"Is it metal?" Shae glanced at the ring. And then back to Fin. "You may want to let go of any metal if you're going to be in the circle with Lucy and I." Shae might be largely immune to the shocks Lucy could output, but limiting conductive materials was just smart. She cleared her throat and went for another sip of tea.

Fox glances down at her and then rolls his shoulders, looking over at Cris. "You know where you're going, but one of us has to show Cianan. I can go with him and meet you there if you'd prefer to move individually."

"It is. But.. it helps give a bit of protection to those that aren't armored. I was going to give it to Fox, but he seems to have protected himself today." Cianan just set it down on the tabletop next to his empty tea mug. "Sounds good, Fox."

No...metal...? Blank looks for Shae from Fin. One didn't just ask a blacksmith to divest himself of metal. In that case... "I will join ye, Crispin."

"Oh. Is that what the yoga pants and yoga mat are for?" Ahh! That made sense then. "Well. No ring then. I'll see if I can find something else later." Maybe find a major armor spell scroll somewhere.

Fin tugs his gaze up from where it's been perusing his phone, putting a name to the inopportune message he'd received. "In the interest of avoiding suspicion." Cris looks between Fin and Fox. Then behind the Scot to Shae.

"If you all are protecting us, I'm sure we'll be fine." Reassurance for the Drow and a faint smile that died a quick death. Shae doesn't acknowledge the blank look on Fin's face, but she does meet Cris' gaze and her open handed gesture says do what works for you.

Cris thumbs short messages in response, then turns off his phone. Tucks it away into a secure inner pocket of his coat and takes stock of the weapons he's packed. He holds Shae's gaze, his own narrowing at the corners. Then he gives her a nod. "The trip isn't all that long, nor is it all that short, either. Will you be all right with a ride?" for the Scot.

Quick nod for the Nephilim whilst making sure he's got all the blades he wanted to bring.

He nods, pulls his stele from the sling he keeps over his heart and leads the way toward the door. "We will see you there," for Fox and Cianan. He holds Church House's door open for Fin to follow him.

"We shall do our best, Shae." Cianan gave her a warm smile, before turning, and nodding for Cris. "We'll scope it out. Limited time, I might not be able to do as many traps, or pitfalls, but we can at least close off doors."

Before leaving, Fin leans toward Lucy, plants a quick peck against her cheek. "Do no' fear, love," he whispered to her before following after Cris.

Fox brushes his hands off on his jeans and upnods in Cianan's direction. "Shall we?"

"Let's go, Fluffy Butt." Cianan turned towards the door, and was soon out it, ready to run where needed.

"Call me that again and I'll leave a dead skunk in your apartment." Fox chimes cheerfully as he slips out the door after the Drow.

Cris had parked the Kawasaki halfway back along Church House's western wall. Three wards and two glamours taken down reveal its shape. He takes the time to cut in two Soundless runes, one for each tire, two for each tailpipe, and one for the engine. "I haven't a helmet for you to use, but I will endeavor not to make any sharp turns." Leg swung over the seat, he churns the key in the ignition and a puff of exhaust is the only indication the motorcycle comes to life at all.

Though a bit awkward to climb behind the smaller man, Fin held on as best he could once they took off.

The Risks of Looking, Part 4
Church House

Once the house had emptied, Shae exhaled a shaky sigh and flashed Lucy a small smile. "How are you feeling?" She asked gently, having not had the chance to catch up with the woman after that afternoon of practice.

"Rested." She smiled faintly, turning her bottle of water in her hands. Then admitted, quietly. "A little nervous."

"What has you feeling nervous?" She set her tea down and folded her hands together in her lap.

Lucy dragged in a shaky breath. "I just--don't want to mess up." But she smiled a little. It wasn't something Shae needed to reassure her about. It just was what it was. "I'm alright."


They waited for a half hour more, giving time for the others to move to the staging point across town.

Shae stood and offered her hand down to Lucy to help her to her feet. "You're going to be fine. You did very well the other day and I'll be there to direct things. If anything goes awry, it certainly won't be your fault."

Lucy reached for Shae's hand, making sure to pick up her bag too. "Are you alright?"

"I feel like I've been punched in the stomach, but that has nothing to do with what we're about to do." Once Lucy was on her feet, Shae let go in order to reach for the cloth wrapped mirror on the table. It shifted with a brittle sound when she lifted it. "For what we are about to attempt I am focused, and will continue to be."

Her eyes on Shae, her brow was furrowed with worry, but she nodded. "I'll be with you. We'll do this together."

"Alright. Time to see how you hold up to teleportation." She put on a breezy smile. "We're going to have to step outside, as it's impossible to do in here. You'll want to take my hand and not let go. It will be...a unique sensation if you've never done it before. There will be a feeling of resistance, a sense of moving in slow motion, and then the world will right itself. It's like...a step to the side in your mind, only with your whole body."

"Do I have to do anything?" Lucy shifted her bag on her shoulder, then started to follow Shae in the direction of the door.

?Try not to resist? You have to be a willing passenger to come with me. If you panic you may be left here instead." Before she went for the door, she stopped by Kate's computer. A code was typed into the keyboard and a small backpack was picked up from the chair. Now her steps went for the door. "So just...trust me."

"Okay." Not, 'I do.' More like, 'I will.' She made sure her yoga mat was safely tucked in before she readied herself for the trip.

Door opened, she let herself out and held it open for Lucy. Once they were both out of the house she let the door swing shut and lock. A tilt of her head indicates a stroll towards the end of the driveway. Shae's eyes lifted to the building across the way, where a shape disturbed the line of the roof. "Yeah that's right...go on and watch." She murmurs under her breath holding out her hand to Lucy. "When we hit the sidewalk," she says softly to the woman beside her. "We'll go."

Sean was there, in the car. He looked towards them. Lucy held up a hand. She was fine. He nodded and remained where he was while Lucy took Shae's hand. "I'm ready." She didn't realize she was holding her breath.

Shae also gave a signal to Sean, but hers was a warning that informed him there was a figure on the roof above where he'd parked his car. She didn't know what would happen when they were gone, but she hoped Sean was worth the money Lucy had paid for him. Her fingers laced through Lucy's to make sure her grip was firm. The moment they both crossed the property line the world slowed and blurred around them. Sound and color faded out and faded in.


The Warehouse

"Oh. There might be some undead abominations in their group as well. We've seen some before. They have been, apparently, a thing." Cianan?s lip curled saying it, not at all pleased. "A troll, some other stuff. Not fun." Troll with a flamethrower!

"How d'ye kill somethin' tha' has already died?" Fin asked.

Cris motions at the Drow. "Fire is a good start. Dismemberment, drawing and quartering. Decapitation," squinting at Fox. Did he miss any?

"Crushing it back down to the grave." Cianan shrugged his shoulders. Cianan was going to back up as well, for a different reason. He was looking for places to start. Upstairs? Maybe.

"Excessive damage is usually the safest option. These things are puppets, so the brain is not always a viable target. Hit hard and don't assume it's down until it stops moving completely." Fox adds before reaching out a hand to wave at Fin and Cris. "Back up a second. About three meters."

Fin did a requested, hopping up onto an empty metal drum that sat abandoned.

Cris leaps backward most of that distance. Another few darted steps clear him of the radius.

Some few seconds later, space distorted in the area they had recently vacated. It was where Shae had been standing for Salome's summoning those nine months ago. From the distortion two figures stepped, slipping into existence where there had been empty space before. Shae had a tight hold on Lucy's hand, and almost immediately turned to make sure the other woman was alright.

It was surely a strange sensation, but no more strange than many other sensations she's experienced in the past couple years. Lucy exhaled the breath she'd been holding, took a step forward, then nodded to Shae. She was fine. When she released Shae's hand, she immediately lifted her own to make sure her casual upswept bun was still neat.

Focusing on the two women as they appeared, Fin watched them closely.

"Huh." Cianan stared as the display of magic drew his attention, and glanced over to Shae, his eyebrow raised a bit, "I didn't know you could do something like that."

Part of Cris? mouth briefly turns up. There's something in his core that unknots itself when the two women join them in the warehouse. He doesn't allow his relief to live long. He shakes out his hands, begins his own second circuit of the warehouse's interior now that Cianan had finished his fortifications.

Lucy did a half turn, taking a mental roll call. Cris, Fin, Cianan, Fox. She took a deep breath, then looked back at Shae.

Assured that Lucy was fine, Shae's smile to the woman was oddly proud. Commentary from the Drow distracted her. "Teleportation isn't just for stuffy wizards, Cianan." Shae spent a long, long time surviving on what people didn't know she could do. The safest bet was that there was always one more thing she hadn't let on about.

Fox exchanged a glance with Shae, whose smile hid a sense of urgency. "There was a watcher when they left." He says aloud. "We're officially on a clock."

Lucy shifted the bag on her shoulder and pulled out her rubber yoga mat, preparing to unroll it. "Where should I set up?"

Shae was shrugging a backpack of her shoulder and carefully setting the bundle with the mirror down on a stretch of empty floor. She pulled a few maps from the bag, including the one that they had picked up in the cave where she had been held. "Here is good, Lucy."

"Well. I am impressed." Pleased, he clapped his hands together, "You may not be a stuffy wizard, but you'd look great with a pointed hat and a beard." There was still some time to be jovial, but his smile quickly died when he heard Fox, and got back to making arrangements. More caltrops spread by the doors that weren't the main entrance. They needed a way to escape after all. Cianan blinked at Lucy a few more times, confused. They had never talked about her magic before, had they?

For now, Fin remained crouched on top of the hollow metal drum, waiting to hear if he'd be needed to help charge the working or to fight off those that threatened it.

"How long?" asked Cris, near a window.

"No idea." Fox replied.

"I would hazard no less than twenty-four minutes." Cris pulls back from the window to join them in the center. "Positions?" If Fin joined them in their protective efforts, they could have a body on every corner, but he may be needed in the middle.

"I'm going to go high with a crossbow. I can jump down after, into Melee if need be. But, I'd rather not take any damage before I have to, I'd rather thin the numbers first" It would make him far more effective. Cianan pointed to a wall, with no stairs.

"You don't happen to have an extra on hand, do you?" he doesn't think so, but this exact scenario is why he'd posed the idea to Fin. Once this is over, he makes a note to discuss it with him in further, more serious detail.

A fifteen second staring contest between Shae and Fox resulted in the redhead breaking off in Fin's direction. "Come on then, let's leave this to the ladies and you and I lend a hand with Cris and Cianan." His head turned and his voice raised towards the Nephilim. "Where would you like us?" Casual deferment of strategy to the Shadowhunter.

With a nod, Fin hopped down and trailed after Fox, waiting for direction from Cris.

Casual for Fox, but it hits Cris like an uncut stone to the side of his head. He sucks his teeth, frowning in thought as he looks between the two of them, then over to where Cianan is ready to literally climb a wall. He trusts that Fox has brought Yeqon with him without needing to ask, and Fin's scrappy, instinctual style made him versatile enough to put anywhere. In truth, he wished that one of them had another ranged weapon. He huffs a sharp, steadying exhale. "Fin should stay inside. Not because you aren't useful, but in the off chance they need your help, you should be closer to them. Your abilities, the Angel willing, have not yet been discovered, fully by these people. It may be a surprise to them if one manages to get beyond the three of us."

It was something he was going to suggest himself if Cris hadn't beaten him to it. Another curt nod before he backed up, placing himself about ten feet away from Shae and Lucy.

Lucy unrolled her yoga mat in the spot Shae indicated. The men were talking fighting and positions, and for now, she slipped her earbuds back in, listening to her meditation recording while she settled down on the mat cross-legged, set her water beside her. She was wearing no jewelry, but she removed her ward ring from her bag and set it down on the concrete nearby so she could see it. She was officially grounded. Lucy closed her eyes, palms up on her knees, and began rolling her magic---just a gentle prod to draw it to the surface.

Shae settled the mirror bundle between them and spread the maps open closer to Lucy. She nudged the woman gently for her attention, pointing to the maps and waiting.

Sound cut on her meditation recording, she tugged out the earbuds out, and looked to Shae. She looked at the maps. "Okay."

"I'm going to lead the spell, but if we get information on the locations I want you to try and mark down as many of them as you can while I hold the focus." There was a plastic pen on its side somewhere between the Inn and the Marketplace. "Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes." Lucy leaned forward, picked up the pen and uncapped it, then set it down again. She looked across at Shae, eyes open and clear, ready. She was trying very hard to tune out the conversation between the men.

Creeping near to the two women a moment, Fin dropped into a crouch as near to Lucy as he could, giving her a small smile. "Ye alrigh'?"

Shae was going to help with that very soon. First, she was up and reaching into that bag again. A thick wedge of chalk came to hand and she set to the task of making a large ring around where they sat. "Don't break this line unless you have to." She warns, mostly for Fin. "Pick a side and stay on it until it becomes paramount to do otherwise."

Lucy didn't reach out to touch him, already humming with faint static electricity. She nodded to Fin, smiling faintly, the smile fake but the idea was there. "Yeah."

Backing up, the circle parted him from Lucy but he wasn't worried, the redhead could definitely take care of herself. An encouraging smile was tossed her way before he turned around to wait.