(Taken from events surrounding this ongoing story.)

Bird's Eye View
Phone call in the streets, 5/4

The streets folded her form into their elongating shadows. Lamps flickering to life as the dark of the evening settled in fully. The woman with the Fox stalked through them like a dark breeze made manifest. Slipping through bodies to escape down side streets and around corners. As she walked, she raised a phone to her ear. Ring Ring.

... ... ... "Shae," slightly surprised, "good evening."

"Hello." There was a pause in her speech, but not in her motion. "Bad time?"

"Not in particular. I'm delighted to listen to something other than this yapping dog across the street. How are you?"

"Making it through the week. Avoiding some of the festivities to take care of personal matters of work. Yourself?" Her tone kept light. Three more streets. "What are you doing with your evening?"

"Much the same." Outside a rather nondescript cafe, his was one of two occupied tables. The other shared by a middle aged couple. One, a halfling, the other some sort of amphibian. They were sharing an iced coffee shake with their own straws. He shifted his gaze from them and scanned the nearby intersection. "Nothing, at the moment, but I've the distinct feeling that is about to change."

There the fire escape. Sandals on corrugated metal and the dull echo of her hand on the railing. "Have you? Expecting company?" The flutter of bird's wings.

"You tell me." The sound of a soft sip. "Has something happened?"

"That depends. What is your social calendar looking like after the events of Beltane are over?" The flight of birds rose, taking her senses with them. For a moment, she only breathed.

"....I don't exactly tend to plan that far ahead. The blonde working for Robert invited me to some sort of museum exhibit taking place within the next two weeks. That's it, really."

Silence for a long minute. Then a bird landed on the back of the chair opposite Cris. The pigeon tilted it's head to look at him. Such strange gold eyes. Shae spoke into the phone. "I was wondering if that might be the case. I was just gently discouraged from attending by Robert."

He frowned at it, lifted his boot to put the sole against the chair's leg and push. Not quite forceful, but enough to dislodge a common bird. "Were you?"

The bird took off with a noise of protest, landing on the ground nearby to peck at crumbs. "Yes I was. Though part of me wonders if that was an attempt to peak my curiosity to ensure that I will show up."Another break, after which she spoke with a touch of humor. "You should be nicer to animals, Cris. Some birds have long memories."

"And some are said to be Angels in disguise," he looked after the bird. "But that was you. Is there a reason for that?"

Soft snort, the sound of fabric rustling and the creak of roof beams. "Disguise isn't only in the realm of the divine. Is there a reason?" The bird took off to do birdlike things. "Practice. And an answer."

He exhaled and put his free hand against his face. His skin smelled like iron from time spent against the arm of his chair. "Do you believe it to be some sort of trap?"

"I believe that if he chose to tell her about me he likely may have confided in her where you are concerned." Said after a moment's pause as her eyes opened to the bright of the moon rising in the sky."It would be foolish to go the without some measure of caution."

"What do you think he would tell her of you that would cause such concern?"

"He doesn't surround himself with people. The words he shares with those in public are not ones that seem to center on speaking of other people unless pushed to the point. Yet one of the first things she said to me was to toss in my face that I was 'just like he described'. It's a deviation from the pattern. Therefore it concerns me. It suggests they have a closer relationship."

A string of white lights flickered to life behind him, bordering the height of the cafe's windows behind him. The warm glow welcomed the night owls just beginning their routines and others that needed one more espresso shot to make it home. Elbow to the chair, he slid his hand into his hair and rested his temple on his palm. "She mentioned she was working on some sort of exhibit that included an artifact from a Phillistine war. Heavily devoted to Angels.

Do you know where this museum is?"

Soft sigh. "It's a hunch. At best. The museum is his territory. You've been invited to it. She knows or she doesn't. Either way, there is a potential for confrontation. His suggestion that I not show up put me on edge, I suppose. Ours is a strange dance." Did she know? "Yes." A very reluctant 'yes'.

And it became stranger with that hesitation. "What do you know of it?"

"It's been converted from a mansion. I've not seen very much of it, just some of the interior on the lower floor where the exhibits are held. There are more on the second floor, but I never progressed that far."

"The address?"

"Not sure. I only know how to get there in travel. Though I'm told flyers will be up soon. Look for them. I'm sure it will be plastered all over."

He was quiet for a moment. Then an extra three. "I'm going."

"And if it is nothing more than the charity event it seems to be? What then?"

"Why does that matter?"

"I'm wondering if you're going with the intent of action, or reaction. If nothing happens. If no attack comes. Will you keep the peace?"

Another three beats. "Why does that matter?"

"Because I want to know. Your intentions will affect my actions. I warned you I would want to know."

He rubbed at the inner corner of his left eye. "My intentions of going are not battle oriented." Yet.

"Then what are they?"

"Reconnaissance."

"Fair enough. You've been invited."

"That was what I was told."

Long silence. "Would you prefer if I did not come? I'm still debating the matter."

"You can do what you like. If we're to perpetuate an air of lacking communication, my decisions shouldn't influence yours."

Another long stretch of quiet. A sigh. "Nevermind. I'll let you get back to your bit of fresh air."

"Shae."

"Be--" Pause. Her farewell interrupted. "Yes?"

"Is that all that's troubling you about this? Or is there something else?"

She chewed at her lips, eyes searching the strange stars that glimmered past the line of clouds. "I'm..." Thinking, clearly. He'd caught her off guard with those questions and the hesitation was in her voice. "Nnn. It all feels strange. I won't voice fanciful thoughts on the matter." He couldn't see it, but she was frowning. Frustration adding lines to her face.

A pause. Then he nodded. "All right. Enjoy your evening, yes?"

A sound that might have been a consonant half-formed. Smothered and changed at the last moment as she spoke a different word than what she had originally intended. "Yeah." Click.

Different Pages, part 2

"Still. A clever mix, and easier to pull off here. Where I come from, chances are the milk or yogurt would go off unless it were made fresh." She screwed the cap back on, having almost forgotten about what she promised to tell. Almost. A few more bites of crepe were in order first.

"Go off---as in explode? By the Angel, what sort of cows do you have?"

"No. Stars no. Go off as in spoil, don't be silly." Snorting softly in amusement.

Chuckling, "I'm having trouble banishing the image of a field spontaneously combusting cows."

Shae cast a glance over her shoulder with a laugh. Fox was licking his lips. "He mentioned that steaks raining from the sky was a dream he had once."

"Mm?" Sliding a look to her, then Fox. He snorted, wiping his lips once again with the heel of his hand. "I suppose they fell rare."

"He imagines that the explosion would provide a gentle sear, but yes. Rare and bloody." Cue a bite of crepe.

"I'll be sure to purchase an umbrella for that." Crepe set down carefully, he shook his own Vit. C and cracked it open. "Have you taken any jobs since your last one?"

"Mm. No. Not since that one. I wasn't...stable for it." Small exhale.

Shae raised a hand and pushed outwards, the breeze that clung to her expanded, surrounding them in the sensation of silence and isolation, much like what she had done in the bookstore. "Do you mind?"

Another sip, he shook his head as he swallowed. "No, by all means."

The crepe lost a bit of its flavor. The smoothie aided her dry tongue. When she spoke next it was with a sense of detachment. Fox didn't look happy. "You wanted to know what I did to her? We fought and I nearly killed her. Then I did kill her when the temptation was too great. I took her last breath."

"For academic curiosity," but he nodded, giving her his attention. Even as he ate and fought a losing battle with chocolate sauce. "I assume you mean something far more meaningful than simply causing her life to end. A leech taking a mundane's last drop, as it were, yes?"

The look on her face at that comparison. It was a kaleidoscope of emotions centered around disgust. For a time she just sat there, and didn't say anything.

Likewise, his own inner storm was half regret and half amusement. "I'm sorry. That was a very crude comparison."

She shifted in her seat, setting the bottle and crepe aside to free her hands. Palms scratched across her thighs. Her features settled into a frown, and when she spoke again it was with a touch of bitter and no trace of the comfort she had held a moment ago. "It's a specific way to die, but it so happens to have an effect on me. One which you witnessed. It's not a craving of feeding. It's a drug of power."

His expression matched hers, but only in name. His own frown was weak and pensive in comparison. "Tangible or intangible power?"

Her arms folded across her torso, and her eyes rarely desired to look his way. By comparison, Fox stared at him. "Tangible. It's a risk for me losing control. It's why I was shocking the shit out of Oz when he touched me, if you happened to notice that."

"It was hard not to, he yelped and it crackled afterward." He leaned forward, forearms to his knees. "How did that happen?"

"Me killing her or me shocking him?" A lean back against the slats of the bench.

"Killing her." He thought that was obvious, but perhaps she needed the extra moments to order her own thoughts.

"The woman didn't want to let me leave. She seemed to think I would be interested in a more intimate dance and that her money should be enough to buy me. I objected. She insisted. We fought. At one point she was down. Had she apologized it might have been enough. But she spat threats about making the ones I knew suffer and made to call for backup. In the next moment my hand was on her throat and I was yanking the air from her lungs."

He took in her story like water to a sponge, nodding after she'd finished, his hands sliding together and locking at the base of his fingers. "I find it very difficult to admonish you for that."

"I didn't tell you this while looking for reassurance. I know I crossed a line. There's something a bit more intimate about a last breath than a simple kill." How to explain? "There are tales that say your soul comes out of your mouth when you die in some cultures. Perhaps it's something like that. Not... not a soul... but something raw, primal, vital. It can heal injuries. Your body thrums as if filled with a current. Whatever you turn it towards is amplified." She licked her lips. "If I can get to a dying person before that last breath, I can breathe life back into them. I can also take that last breath and give it to another. When you're angry...it's like an infusion of righteous satisfaction. And that can be addicting." She really should stop talking. She forced her mouth shut.

Often, he found himself on the receiving end of a verbal deluge. There were times where he minded more than others, but that usually went hand in hand with his understanding of the subject at hand. The thumb of his left hand traced the silver scar on his right palm. "Would you still have killed her had you not done that?"

Long silence. "I want to say no, but I'm not sure I can."

"You were not wrong. I don't believe so, anyway. Perhaps the method used was," trailing off with a frown, "overkill---" that was a good way to put it---"but it was no more than she would have done, had she stuck to her threats. At the same time, do you think that was a chance you were willing to take?"

"No. I wasn't willing to take the chance. Better to have her dead than to have to be watching my back and avoiding the few people I talk to in order to prevent my problems from becoming theirs." Her eventual response had the ring of reluctant agreement.

"It's unfortunate," he said quietly, "that you were forced to do something like that. But if she'd been ambitious enough to make good on her threats, I think you'd feel worse about your inaction than you do now."

On the other side of the coin, she put more than herself at risk with the current she had let to seep through her veins. But she didn't bring that up. A hand rubbed at the back of her neck. "Yeah probably." And then she was looking to him with a note of expectation.

In the lull, he'd gone back to his crepe, which now resembled a poorly fashioned taco that was barely holding itself together. His next bite was full of fruit, and he knuckled a smear a chocolate from his chin as he chewed. A glance aside caught her look. He swallowed part of the massive bite and cleared his throat. "What would you like to know?"

She shifted, relaxing her defensive posture to force her hands to her empty lap. Her eyes found the remains of her crepe, but she couldn't muster the hunger to retrieve it yet. "I feel like I keep foolishly telling you parts of myself, but in the end I don't know much about you. I guess I was hoping you'd think of something you felt comfortable reciprocating with. I have a thousand questions, but I'd rather the answers be volunteered than confined to a near-business transaction of vulnerable secrets. So tell me what you want, if you still feel inclined to do so."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard that. Others seemed to find it as puzzling as he did, the fact that he seemed to be some sort of sounding board for secrets and emotional turmoils. "And my direct questioning was not a business transaction? There's several things I could tell you, Shae, and I will volunteer just about all of them. You said to reveal something comparable, yes?"

It was something she was struggling with. For she was usually on the other end. For him, of all people, to inspire her to speak on such things, was somehow painful. Yet it was as it was, and now she sat rueful. Waiting. With an expression kept as neutral as she could manage, Shae nodded her head. Briefly, she considered leaving again. Instead, she curled her nails into her palm on the other side of her leg. "I'd like to know a little more, yes." And that was the reason she stayed.

He waited through the silence. Her desire to escape their bubble of silence was almost palpable and as much as she wanted to, he wanted to tell her to. Something comparable, of equal weight. It did not necessarily have to do with battle, or murder, but those were the only things he could think of. "I haven't the ability that you do, but I've taken lives before in the heat of losing control of myself."

The sigh of her exhale filled the space in front of her as she dipped her head. The curl of her hand loosened and in that moment a smile touched her parted lips where teeth were held closed. Tension bled from her until she was nothing but calm again, perhaps a little amused. Though at what might be hard to define. "Not quite what I had in mind, but alright Cris. Thank you."

Brows rose, then he sighed a chuckle. "That's all you wanted to know?"

"No. Not even a little bit, but if that's what you want to share, I won't ask anymore." Her smile was crooked as she reached for the crepe, bringing it back to her lips for a bite. It had fallen apart slightly, in her neglect, and she used fingers to corral the stray bits towards her mouth.

"Are you reluctant to pry for politeness' sake, or is there another reason?"

Her head tilted, but any sense of urgency seemed to be gone from her. "Both, I think." What he had said spoke a lot to the differences in the frequencies they'd been operating at, and that realization had shaken her tired mind loose from where it had been. "I'm not sure if it would be appropriate right now."

He folded the sleeve over and crushed it around the remainder to of the crepe, setting the ball aside in favor of the Vit. C bottle. "You'll not offend me with your questions. You do not ask them for malicious reasons, and you take great care in the fashioning of them so as to not sound intrusive or rude. I like speaking to you."

(Taken from events surrounding this ongoing story.)

Decisions
Texts with Cris, 5/29

Text to Cris: What have you decided to do?

Text to Shae: There are thing I need to discuss with him.
Text to Shae: But I think I might let Robert have him.
Text to Shae: May I ask that you don't tell him that.

Text to Cris: Of course, I will say nothing of it. When you say 'let Robert have him', do you mean to retrieve the man yourself?

Text to Shae: I may have to. That's something I must discuss with him. There is too much I still do not know about it. But if our assumptions are correct, because he is a demon, he will not be physically able to reach this man.
Text to Shae: Nephilim security is medieval, but it is tight.

Text to Cris: You know you have my help, should you need it.

Text to Shae: I know. Thank you.

Text to Cris: I need a bit of yours. Help, that is. A friend of mine, Serah, has gone missing. Jo and Graham have spent time with her before. Could you perhaps give me a number I could contact them with? I want to ask when last they saw her.

Text to Shae: She's missing? What else do you know about it?

Text to Cris: I have attempted to locate her via a bracelet I gave her. I cannot find it. Which indicates it has either been destroyed or, assuming she was wearing it, she is no longer on this plane.
Text to Cris: The Watch is looking into it, as is her sister but...information is scarce. They seem to know no more than I.

Text to Shae: Of the two of them, I think Josiah knows her better than Graham. I'd advise delicacy. This matter with Robert is already weighing on both of them.
Text to Shae: You can reach him here.

Text to Cris: Thank you. The timing is, of course, dismal.

Text to Shae: Isn't it always?

Text to Cris: We can but do our best.
Text to Cris: I don't imagine liberating the guilty from custody will be easy. Nor that he will come quietly. Be safe and call if you need a hand.

Text to Shae: The trick is keeping him alive long enough for Robert to take him.

Text to Cris: How so?

Text to Shae: What he has done is vile. It goes against our very nature. He is a disgrace that should have been killed long ago, and it's embarrassing for my people that he still lives.
Text to Shae: I would kill him myself, and enjoy it.

Text to Cris: I had gathered some of that from your reaction. So the real threat is your temptation to end him yourself? I can't say as I'd blame you.

Text to Shae: The most prevalent threat, yes. The others follow close behind.

Text to Cris: Those that will give chase, I imagine. Those that might want a piece of him if they hear he's out of custody?

Text to Shae: We are sworn to protect mundanes from the dangers of the Shadow World that they can't see. We are not supposed to be that very danger to them. They can not fight against us, they have no skills to, and the battles that would arise are incredibly one sided. There is no excuse for such a grievous lapse of judgement.
Text to Shae: Those that guard him, perhaps. Either he is being held in a facility of other Nephilim that are sympathetic to him for sentimental reasons, or he is not being held by Nephilim at all.
Text to Shae: He would be stripped of his Marks for his crimes, if not punished by death outright. There is more going on here than it seems.

Text to Cris: Either situation is alarming. The first would imply a schism. The second...I don't know but it doesn't sound good. Would it be safe to expect that this will not go unanswered?

Text to Shae: I must speak with Robert about it. That is all I know for certain.

Text to Cris: Don't go alone when you do, yeah?

Text to Shae: I'd prefer to.
Text to Shae: He will do nothing to me until he knows where Tim is being held, and I can hold on that for as long as I need to.
Text to Shae: Who is to say that, should I even come with back-up, he'll not simply trap them in an illusion to render them useless anyway?

Text to Cris: I'm sure you would, but... If you insist, at least let someone know where and when. Should you also go missing, you don't want to give him a head start. He's desperate enough to do any number of things, and back-up would at least make him work for it. His deadline only reinforced that. Hell. Insist on neutral ground if you must go alone. Just...I'm concerned. That's all.

Text to Shae: I planned on neutral ground, at least. There are still a few minor details that need to be worked out. I will tell you once I have them decided.

Text to Cris: Alright. Be safe.

Text to Shae: You too.

Scorched Earth and Determined Responses, part 1
Dock pier, 10:47 PM, 6/23

The water of the docks was choppy that evening, slapping muted insults against the plinths and the docked vessels. Random gusts of wind careened off the water to snap lines from hands and to knock over signs. At the end of one of the branches of sun bleached wood, Fox was taking advantage of the fickle weather to steal the occasional fish that swung itself off the drying lines of local fishermen. The pier in question was largely deserted at this time of night, but a lantern could be seen fluttering at the far end.

The docks were only good when they were empty. He had visited recently, but some subconscious part of him hadn't gotten its fill. The salty spray washed clean the scents of the day. Old wood and sweat and rusty blood. The sewer tang of dead fish. He walked where none would expect him to, a little wink of light bobbing like a firefly in the distance.

The bobbing light was enough to distract Fox from his most recent prize. The canid tilted his head towards the teasing illumination. Kept one eye on it, even, as he chewed through the muzzle full of scaled flesh.

It wasn't until he laid eyes on the lantern glow up ahead that he closed his palm over the stone in his hand and snuffed out its light. Witchlight stone slid into his back pocket, he squinted in the distance.

Shae was perched on the terminal rail of the pier in question, back leaning against one salt stained pillar. Jean covered legs folded before her. One side to the water, one side to the planks. In front of her, hanging from a nail on the opposite pillar, was the lantern she'd brought with her. It threw most of her into relief, but left her face to flicker in and out of shadow when a breeze caused the lantern to sway.

All details that it took the murder of distance to ascertain. He approached with a shade less urgency, watchful of the bob and sway of the lantern until there was black hair to go with it and familiar features. Twenty-seven feet away, he paused. He watched one more wink of light play across her stern features. "Shae," some measure of surprise, spoken to be heard over the angry surge of water.

Fox noted the approach of the light and it's end. So it was that the scrabble of canid nails on wood clacked up behind Crispin. Fish in mouth, Fox paused there to resume his meal. Name spoken, Shae's attention deviated from the water to the source of her moniker. "Oh." A touch of surprise for her as well. The volume of her voice was not greatly raised, but it would find his ears. "Hello Cris." Eyes fall to Fox, look past the both of them, and then return to the man's face. Her eyes didn't squint at him. "Been a stretch of days. What brings you to the docks tonight?"

He'd given the scratch of claws a short glance. "Similar reasons," turning back. "I rarely find myself lingering in this part of town, but a change of scenery is always nice." She had some open space at one of her sides. "May I?"

"By all means." One hand gestured him welcome to the stretch of rail. Perhaps it was timing, but his arrival saw a local settling of the chaotic air. Then again perhaps not. Shae was taking calming breaths in the brief silence.

He took her up on it, settling in as she did, with scarred hands folded and held at a loose dangle between his knees. Gaze caught up by the push and pull of the water, he kept it there. He was without a mallet to break the ice starting to spread, and simply let silence reign in place of conversation.

The stretch of quiet wasn't uncomfortable to her soul, but she was the first to break it some few minutes later. Words pitched quietly, weaving over the sound of water to the doorstep of his senses. "Still planning to extract the figure of disgrace from wherever he's been hidden?"

He hadn't expected her to speak, even. It seemed like one of those times where silence was not only a good option, but the better one. She asked her question, and the sound of her voice turned his head. He kept his gaze on the water. "I do plan to, yes."

"I've been concerned. I'm sorry I've not been as present, of late. Has Robert been giving you grief with his impatience?" She was still. No fretting of hands, no swaying of limbs. Only her face betrayed her, painted with gentle disquiet on his behalf. Eyes reflecting in his direction when the light swayed away.

"No. He's behaved much as I presumed he would. His threat was an empty one. Without my aid, he's no closer to his goal than he was years ago. He needs me, and would not risk losing such an asset." Rough tips of his thumbs tapped together. "He's been remarkably cooperative. I've spoken to him recently, in fact, regarding the matter. It seems that his demonic investigator turned up photographic evidence of two women with whom I am intimately familiar. I'm having a hard time thinking this is only mere coincidence."

Relief to hear that the curator had seen reason where patience was concerned was followed swiftly by an alarmed raising of brows. "Two women you're close with? Was this the reason he decided to single you out or is this new evidence?"

"He was unaware of my connection to them prior to my pointing it out. But he'd had the photographs all along. He merely did not think them important."

"I can see why you would be unwilling to dismiss that as coincidence. Frankly, I can't imagine it being so. Have you spoken with those two regarding this rogue member of your order?"

"The one who is alive, yes." He nodded. "I have her searching for anything we might use to track either Nephilim. It turns out that Timothy went to them for aid concerning a highly personal matter," he spoke with the same kind of emphasis that warranted air quotes, though he did not use them. "The two Nephilim were sent to this plane for the women's protection. She isn't confident she'll find anything, but she's doing it anyway."

"So I take that to mean she is not opposed to your hunting him." Pause while she licked her lips. "Timothy and...the other Nephilim was who? Sent here to protect the both of them." Another pause, this one longer. "I think I asked before, but why were you sent here Cris?"

"She believes that I'd be putting myself into unnecessary danger. The personal matter I mentioned is a condition that afflicts my kind after, most often, sexual contact with demons. It's known as Astriola. Untreated cases cause the ultimate transformation into a violent demon for the victim." Over the lip of the pier, he swayed his right leg. Once, twice, four times. "She sent me here for my own protection."

"This one woman, who was here with Timothy and another of your kind, sent you here to protect you." Confirmation requested in the slow reordering of fragments. "Am I to assume that this affliction is the reason for his objectionable actions? They were unable to help him and his behavior became erratic?"

She was close. "Timothy and the other Nephilim, Marion, are from the same plane of existence I am. The same one Canaan is. The two men visited the two women, and I'm told that for a while, the best efforts were made. There's a considerable amount of external factors that tie into the reason why things happened the way they did. "Astriola affects the mind as well as the body. Subjects exhibit extremely violent tendencies, a hike in paranoia, insomnia, agitation. I think that played a part in Timothy's actions here."

Scorched Earth and Determined Responses, part 3

Were he any other man, skilled at comforting another in their time of duress, he would have found a place to lay his hand. Or slipped his arm briefly around her shoulders for an empathizing squeeze. The sentiment was there in the weight of his gaze, but he did not move otherwise. "You said she had been revived. Have you been to see her?"

Here another note of contention. "She's at her sister's place. Her sister is off-plane. The fellow who called me didn't think he should tell me where that was. So no. I'm late to be informed and consigned to wait several more days until she's moved back home."

There was very little he could say in the ways of comfort, even. How could he know for certain that if she heard nothing, it was good news? Perhaps that meant Serah had taken a turn for the worst and they were merely trying to keep it quiet. "Did he have a reason for that, at least?"

"Not his place, security objections. Understandable on reflection, but still... frustrating." The word felt an understatement and she let the matter trail off. "I'll see her when she's moved home." Assuming she was told.

"Understandable yes, but I do not see why he could not simply connect you to Serah's sister and have you speak to her instead. I suppose his intention was to let you know she's once more among the living, not to offend you by making it seem you were unworthy of such sensitive information." He said the words, but he did not fully believe them. "I'm sorry that this has happened to you."

"She's off plane, which has meant out of contact in the past." Even with this, she might have contacted Claire, but she felt somehow that it would merely be an intrusion. Her eyes deviated to the water again. Further words caged behind frowning lips until she could offer up a set that didn't shame her. "It is Serah who deserves the sympathy here, not my annoyance. I hope she recovers fully."

"She does, but forgive me in saying that I am closer friends with you than I am to her. My sympathies would be a bit empty." Finally, he turned his gaze back to the sea.

One small huff of air through her nose came with the fraction of a smile at the sentiment. "I appreciate it, Cris."

Shift of his mouth, nearly breaking his frown. "I do remember her always being incredibly kind, however. A bit---lonely, perhaps. But sweet. I met her shortly after I arrived in town. She rarely went anywhere without a slice of pizza."

One hand rubbed at her face and then combed through her hair. "She distanced herself from people because of this condition. That'd be the loneliness there. She is very sweet. I suppose I feel a bit protective of her, because of that."

There it was, a minute curl to his upper lip. "I understand. I'm certain you'll be able to speak to her soon."

Another soft sound that agreed without words. Silence fell in for a moment, but then she remembered the other people she was protective of. "I know you roam the city sometimes. You trust me, don't you?"

It was clear by his expression he hadn't expected her to ask something like that. Puzzled, a shade wary, but curious of her intentions, he nodded. "Yes."

"I may text you one night in the near future to ask where you are. If I do, please be honest. That evening there will be some trouble in the city, and I don't want anyone hurt." No one innocent, at least.

His mouth formed a line. It was better that he did not know the exact location. In the off chance that he found himself present in the wrong place, at the wrong time, it would be entirely by coincidence. He nodded. "All right."

"Thank you." Genuine gratitude there. She was aware that wasn't exactly an easy request. "We're...mostly alone here. The initial paranoia has died down. I promised you some answers when the dust settled. I haven't forgotten."

"Of course," quietly. They really could use a drink. "You mean about Antonia, yes?"

Had she succumbed to the whim to steal Ketch's flask a month ago, they might have had one. She was not without the ability to procure a drink, only the ability to read minds was lacking. "Yes."

Another nod. "I'll be honest, I did have the desire to speak to you about it. I received a very bare bones account from Fin, though he has since gone from caring deeply about Antonia to not caring for her at all. I fear he may be a bit biased," sarcasm thick.

"A breakup often colors opinions, but if he'd seen the state she'd been left in he'd have to be particularly bitter to not feel sympathy." Small shrug, then curiosity. "I wonder if Ketch told him...maybe Sabine."

"Indeed." He put his hand once more through his hair and as if taking her claim of their solitude to heart, he eased back against the pier until the sky was overhead. "But I was there when he offered his sympathies to Jacob. Knowing it was Antonia made everyone's surrounding behavior make sudden sense. "He mentioned that she was beaten to hell by her employers."

"Broken ribs, broken arm, blood on the brain, multiple contusions." The catalog was clinical but the picture painted was ugly. "Yes. It was her employers. They dumped her out of an automobile on the stretch of sidewalk in front of the Inn. It was punishment for her missing a few days of work. Not savory people, as you might gather."

Belated Birthday Gifts, part 1
The Tomes, 1:22 AM, 7/11

These days it was rare to find the tea shop empty of bodies this late. He took the opportunity for some coffee scented solitude, eased back in an overstuffed armchair with a white box and travel cup of tea on the table beside him. His phone was dark, resting on his right leg and he watched the black glass of the shop's front window even though there was very little beyond the reflection to see.

This was not Shae's evening. At least, so said the frown she wore as she nudged her way into the Tomes for a pick-me-up. Either the job she'd come from had been trying -- for the outfit she wore betrayed her recent dancing -- or some other matter was weighing on her mood. Flat shoes, a jangling skirt, glitter which made her skin swirls look like body paint instead of native topography. Her torso was shrouded in a ratty looking leather coat and Fox entered at her heels. Fox was more attentive, noticing Cris shortly after entering. Shae tossed a scowl at the globe and detoured towards the counter to order a hot cup of tea.

Jingles continued even after the bell. A short turn of his head pulled his attention from the window to the door. He blinked at the sight of her cut glance, followed her path toward the back of the shop. Then he leaned to see if Fox's bushy tail shadowed her steps.

That tail, like a periscope or fluffy flag, navigated around chairs and table legs in a lazy zigzag that approached Cris. Over at the counter, Shae acquired a cup of hot water, added her own tea bag, and was presently using more honey than was strictly needed for a normal brew. At last Fox rounded the corner of the couch to fix the Nephilim with a toothy grin.

"Good evening, Fox." Frowning, "Am I to presume you find her apparent ire amusing?"

Furred shoulders rise and fall, but after a moment Fox nods. How difficult to communicate the nuance with just those gestures. Luckily, Shae could translate, which she did as she crossed the store. Voice carrying without shouting, as it was wont to do. "He's amused that I, quote, got glitter in my fur for nothing." Her tea was in a to-go cup and she had yet to even taste it by the time she encroached upon the seating area.

Fox's answer did not seem confined to the question he'd asked. When Shae approached, spoke, he looked up. "What then does he consider a worthwhile reason?"

"None, if you ask him." Shae found a chair nearby. Belatedly registering that Crispin was actually seated for a change. This revelation was accompanied by a squint in his direction. Slowly she sipped at her tea, an action that caused her lips to pucker slightly at the bitter taste of the herbal mix. Muttering to herself, "Never enough honey." Then, louder, "I was late to a job tonight. Got put together only for them to decide to just have the band play a double set as more people wanted to dance at their party."

It seemed to happen only when he arrived first. Silence and solitude led to a level of comfort rarely achieved in public. But, even though she'd joined him, he did not look keen on getting up anytime soon. Glittered for nothing made sense, finally. He nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that."

There might have been a touch of masochism in the next few sips of still hot, persistently bitter tea. Waving her hand to dismiss it. "It's hardly a crisis, I'm just...pouty." Saying it seemed to be enough to shed some of the shadow from her face. A reinforcement that her complaints amounted to very little in the long run. Idly she stretched out a foot to nudge Fox until the canid fell over onto his side. A thread of communication broken with another sip of tea. She looked to him, parted her lips, then paused. It was visible, the remembering. Brows furrowed as his face stirred her memory. Lips fell into a small 'o' shape. Finger pointed at him. "You! That's right. I've been a horrible friend. I owe you an apology."

He reached for his tea, a silent witness to the connection between woman and beast that spoke strongly of familiarity and comfort. He took a sip, taken aback by her sudden revelation. "I beg your pardon?"

Her tea was set aside as her hands delved for inner pockets on that jacket. "Your birthday. I gave my word," emphasis here, "and I completely forgot to give you your present." The tsk sound was exasperation at herself. "I've forgotten a few times. I've even been carrying it around." Not that pocket, maybe...oh right, that one.

Well, thank the Angel she went into her coat instead of her skirt. Though, that would have been an intriguing search to watch. "Oh," brows pulled together. He set his tea aside. "That does not make you a horrible friend, only an occupied one."

Rather than argue that point, Shae presented him with his present. The length of his palm, two-thirds the width. Wrapped in a curious shape of black fabric and tied with twine. "Don't rip the cloth, that's part of the present too." Excitement crept into her voice as she shifted her chair closer. Fox merely rolled over to avoid the chair leg.

"You did not...." What was the point? There it was, tangible and within his reach. Frowning, he took the item from her, advice taken to heart when he attacked the twine instead of the cloth. He untied it, found the fabric's edge and carefully unveiled the item in the well between his legs made by the way his left ankle rested on his right knee.

It was a palm sized, crystalline carving of a feather. Freed from the confines of that black fabric, it had a magical aura. The black cloth itself was shaped, with a moment of study, like a patch of fabric one might sew on to create a pocket. "I'm going to assume you may not know about these items, so stop me if you've heard of them before." Pointing first to the feather carving. "That's something called a snapleaf, though I took a bit of liberty with the shape of it. And that," pointing to the fabric, "is a concealing pocket."

When he held it in his hand, the tension holding his expression taut became the product of a different emotion entirely. He left the cloth to its wrinkles and turned the crystal feather over in his hands. "I know nothing about them. What is it?"

"The snapleaf is something for an emergency, one use. If you activate it it will break, releasing two contingency spells. The first renders you invisible to the eye. The second slows your rate of descent to something akin to a safe downward glide. They activate at the same time, regardless of which one you need." Fingers laced together on top of her lap to keep from using her hands to talk with. "The cloth is meant to be sewn onto an article of clothing, where it will blend itself to the fabric. It can hide items with magical auras from detection, and aids in concealing items in general if they are not too large. It's difficult to remove once applied to an article of clothing, but it can be done if approached with care."

As she spoke, he followed the crystal's details with his fingertips as if he were blind and meant to commit the item to memory. The use of both would take serious consideration and he found himself already keen on the task of assigning one to each. "You said you took liberties with the shape of this. Did you craft them both?"

"Ah, not directly. I commissioned the feather and selected the base fabric, but I applied the spells." One hand raised to rub at the back of her neck. "I'm not quite talented enough to carve something like that."

He held the feather up to the light, turning it, forcing fractured rainbows to glisten across its surface. Then he smiled, shifting his gaze to her. "I do not know what to say other than thank you, Shae."

The woman smiled broadly, her earlier annoyance completely forgotten. "You're welcome. I hope they're of use to you." Forgotten, that is until she reached for her tea and took a sip. That taste had also slipped her mind, but she choked down a good portion of it. "I hope you aren't disappointed that it wasn't tea." Pause. "Or body parts." Did he remember that conversation?

His emotional reactions were often subdued, but the truth of his mood showed in how easily he laughed. He remembered. "No. No, I'm anything but disappointed." Setting the feather back in the cloth, he took care in wrapping it back the way he had taken it, securing the black folds with the twine. "I know, I think, where I would like to put them."

The laugh reassured her more than anything else. "Good!" Toasting her tea to him as she sat back in her chair. "Happy much-belated birthday, Cris."

Belated Birthday Gifts, part 3

Parcel swapped to the arm of his chair, though he didn't think he would have a careless moment and spill on it, he felt better with it out of harm's way. "I do not tell you these things so you'll ponder them. Yours and the other minds connected with your project have been made up for some time now. I think your venture will go as smoothly as you expect it to, and I'd rather know nothing about it. I'd be less compelled to discuss it, with any party."

"I apologize. I didn't realize the question was rhetorical." Cup set aside. "It wasn't my intention to burden you with details." And, truly, she'd not conveyed anything pertinent to their planned activities. Just an explanation of her rationale for scapegoats. "If it helps, I was speaking figuratively there."

"It wasn't." He put up his hand. Tipped his head to rest a pair of fingertips against his one dark, tense brow. "That wasn't what I meant."

"Ah, my mistake. What was your meaning?" Lifting her chin from her hand, Shae settled back into her chair.

"I meant not to have you believe you were burdening me, really." Slight pressure visited on his temple. "My ability to hold a comprehensible conversation has been waning with extreme efficiency."

That was enough to give Shae pause. With a voice pitched just for his ears, she addressed him. "Be honest with me, Cris, are you alright? I've been concerned. The matter with the rogue..." Fox pushed himself to a seated position. "Do you need help?"

He shook his head. When it came up off his hand, he left his eyes closed. "I don't know." He meant the answer to be for her last enquiry, but it could have been for the first too. "Salome was unable to come up with any possible leads. At the moment, I'm biding my time to see if Robert's man turns anything up about Timothy's partner. But that is not the matter plaguing my mind."

"Years can make a trail cold, you'll find something. There's more, it seems ..." Her following quiet was an invitation for him to continue, should he wish to. Concern lingering in her study of him.

He could have said anything. His lack of understanding of Bianca's motives with Timothy, the absence of his memories containing Marion. Anything involving the time of year. But he decided to cave into the perpetual desire for honest connection, and told the truth. "Taneth."

"She's returned early." Pause. "Absent some memory. This plagues you? Or is there some other dimension to the matter that I'm unaware of?"

"She is not only absent some memory, but emotion as well. The entire process has turned her into a shell of her former self." He put a hand through his hair. "We're told that this was intentional on her part, but we do not know why."

"Emotion? A specific emotion, the whole range, or just a general dulling?" Being unfamiliar with the process, her questions were largely motivated by simple curiosity. There was likely little help she could offer. "Perhaps...the reason for her passing before had to do with an emotional imbalance or a surplus of feeling that escaped her control." Speculation based on what little information she had. "Or maybe it was what she chose to sacrifice in order to emerge ahead of schedule." Brief lull, and then: "Is there any reason to believe the memories and emotions are gone for good?"

"I think it's a combination of a wide range, general---suffocation." His look to her was paired with a nod of acknowledgement. Her intelligence and mental fortitude were two of several reasons he enjoyed their talks. "At present, we do not know. We're in the process of figuring that out. Everything that has transpired from her request to her return has had nothing to do with what she told us would happen."

"And I assume she wasn't very forthcoming about the reasons for the alterations when you asked her about them?" Mused with a pursing of her lips in thought.

"It's Taneth," dryly. "I did not think I'd see her again so soon. And technically, given her behavior, I haven't. I've seen her body, alive. But whatever it was that made her her is still trapped, buried in soil or gone entirely. What bothers me is the internal strife I feel with my own desire to correct this, and the equally strong feeling that I must leave it alone. Because if this truly was a voluntary decision, what right do we have to fight against it?"

"I'm aware she's often vague, but do remember that my personal interactions with her are few to none." Pointed out with some amusement at his dry exasperation. "So I had the vague hope that she might be able to manage 'lucid' where more important matters are concerned. Has she made any further requests of you?" Fox's head tilted to one side and then to the other, listening to something. "Cris. What would you even do to correct such a thing? You've no easy way to know what, if even anything, is wrong at this point. I know the frustration to be confined to a role of observation, but maybe that's what she needs. Protection for the shell. Patience. Dare I say, a little faith since people like to speak of her like she's some deific manifestation all the damned time."

Snort as dry as her exasperation. They were going to need a humidifier soon. He looked up from his knee at the sound of his name and answered with another honest, gentle shake of his head. "I don't know. That likely adds to my desire to do nothing. There is nothing to do but watch."

"Do you still trust her?" One leg shifted to cross the other before she folded her hands in her lap.

Their conversation cast him back mentally to the urgent discussion he'd had with Mesteno within mere feet of two girls who could not care less what they were planning to do. He recalled his own vehemence then, his desires, his suggestion that should they find a satisfactory solution, they would implement it without Taneth's knowledge. An exhale brought him back to the present. "I trust that she knows, better than anyone else, what she's doing. She has gone this long without anyone making decisions for her."

"Then for your own sake, my advice is to find something to investigate or let go of your fears that action must be taken now. Don't borrow concerns that you may not need." Tone practical. "If you're worried so much about having missed something, you might inadvertently overlook the obvious when it does occur."

Letting go sounded like the best course of action. Music to his ears actually, like the revelation he had done nothing wrong to force it into being. He nodded. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Though she felt she had done little more than provide an outside voice to a conclusion he had already reached, sometimes that was needed. Rising from her chair, Shae nabbed her cup from the table. "I ought to head off for now. Go wash off the glitter."

"Good luck," he offered, chuckling. A weak, grateful sound when he looked up. "Thank you for your gifts, Shae. And council."

Good luck? Here a crooked smile. "Be safe, my friend. You know where to find me if you need my help." Then she was following Fox towards the door.

Nephilim had a funny relationship with such well wishes. In truth, he expected her to fail and keep finding glitter weeks later in areas most uncomfortable.

One word. Prestidigitation.

It was not until the door had closed behind her that he pulled a cigarette and lighter from his jean pocket.

The Limits of Delivery
2:37 AM, 8/8

For all that she had made a point to bring that bottle on their wanderings, Shae wasn't yet cracking it open. From the Arena, the path she trod would have entered the city, winding towards the docks via a few side streets and even the occasional alley. The result would be to deliver them to a certain point along the boards of the docks, close to where the rowboats were moored.

Likewise, Cris did not speak until it seemed like their destination was just on the horizon. "You seem in rather low spirits for one who was a part of successful mission of pain," tone soft, like the creak of the boardwalk underfoot. He referred, of course, to her business with Antonia?s demons.

"It's a strange mood." Eventually she turned down one of the smaller piers meant for personal crafts. "Antonia should be made aware soon." As if that explained some of her confusion. "It's all reminiscent of other times. Other places. A lot of it is the fatigue when the need to be so alert begins to bleed away."

"Do you feel as if it's not yet over, or that the task itself was simply too easy?"

"There's going to be a need for vigilance. To watch for a resurgence. That's not unexpected. Do I feel it was too easy? No. I am grateful that it was not harder." Crooking a smile in a sideways glance to the Nephilim. "Thank you, by the way, for keeping an eye on the clinic."

"I meant only that those are some of the reasons why I feel as you do, after a particularly taxing stretch of time." He met her sideways glance, part of his mouth turning up. "I doubt any of you would let it spread that far inland."

"Do you think it was too simple?" The hand not holding the potential libation found the security of a pocket on her leather coat. Yes, that same one that had seen better days, and not in her hands, from the size of it. "No, we wouldn't have. But that was always a concern. Hence the rotation of people parading through the clinic."

Slight shrug. "I've no basis of comparison. And I honestly thought the "parade" of people was to simply keep her company. You all care for her, but also need rest."

"Well, it was. Especially so after she was awake. I think Cianan would have slept in the hospital bed with her if Eva or Mason hadn't kicked him out a few times. I didn't mean to imply that it wasn't also to keep her company. But, at least for me, it also felt like guard duty." Shoulders rose and fell.

"I would have come better armed had I that feeling. Though that may have given her a hint that not all was well."

The woman zoned out briefly, gazing to the water. Soon enough, they ran out of pier to walk on. In the distance, across the water, was the lighthouse. "It was a balancing act." Then: "How did you get there before?" Nodding towards the lighthouse and then looking at him.

"There's a boat down below that you supposedly rent for a round trip to and from the lighthouse. The man in charge has been dead, drunken asleep every time I've come across him. We should be fine to cross without alerting him."

"Oh. Huh. Sure." Shae gestured for him to lead the way. Something in how she reacted would suggest that she was entirely unaware of the existence of said boat.

It was not often Shae carried such a despondent air. "I've only done it twice." But he picked his way down a set of rickety stairs toward a smelly, slick bit of rock on the water. A thick rope attached a rowboat to a rusty iron pole drive into the rock's flat surface. "There should be oars inside."

Setting the bottle she carried in the interior, Shae moved to help Cris prepare the rowboat for travel. Stepping in with ease and extracting the oars from where they were tucked beneath the seats. It wasn't that she was unaware of her surroundings, more that this was probably not her usual means of transport. Explained: "I think I borrowed another one for one trip." 'Borrowed' used loosely.

He joined her, a light leap touched down upon the empty seat of the rowboat. He turned to face her, reaching for the oars. "Did you? I suppose it makes sense that there would be more than one."

Oars passed to him, Shae detached the rope that secured them, pulling the length into the boat. "I returned it." Smiling again. "Eventually."

Snorting, "Yes, well. The man would do well to take lessons in either how to hold his liquor, or how to get better rest when he can." Oars set in place, he looked over his shoulder to gauge their course, then rowed.

"Wouldn't be the only person in this town guilty of the same. I can't judge him too harshly." Wouldn't do to become a hypocrite, after all. "I'll spell you with those, if you get tired." The lighthouse wasn't terribly far, but it was out a ways to allow ships to dock without drastic maneuvers.

"I'll be fine." Likely a combination of masculine pride and the desire for a good, warming work-out. There was a good chance that even if he did feel tired, he wouldn't say anything about it. "I trust, however, that you know the difference between when to indulge and when not to."

Smile smothered at his chest puffing reassurance. "Alright." Managed to keep the amusement out of her voice, at least. "I tend to. Though lately I've been having a little trouble indulging when I want to." See: wasted bourbon. "Mind keeps wandering. Think I could use another form of vice." Not above taking shots at her social life, clearly.

"What exactly were you thinking?" A bit tightly, but their course, and speed, did not alter.

In that moment, she remembered just who she was chatting with. This might have resulted in a slightly altered answer. "I'm going to probably end up throwing myself at some fights. Physical exertion until thinking isn't as prevalent."

"Well." Six more pulls later, they ran aground with a gentle bump. He pulled the oars in. "Considering that you had ample opportunity, this evening, to engage in such activities, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that a battle may, in fact, be the wrong sort of physical exertion you need."

"The only one looking for a fight tonight was not the one I wanted to test. I was waiting for an opponent against which I wouldn't be unduly punished for any inattention. That said." Smirking as she passed him the rope and moved towards the landward side of the craft. "I certainly would prefer another sort, who wouldn't?"

It was dark enough. He let himself chuckle and traded the oars for the rope. "True enough. What's stopping you?"

Almost forgot that bottle, but she took a step back to grab it. "Caution. Timing." Pause. "Standards." This last with a smile aimed at levity.

Stepping out of the shifting boat, he looped the rope securely around a matching iron peg driven into the ground. "I'll ask you that again once you've finished that bottle."

"You think my answer will be that different?" Arching a brow as her feet found land beneath them instead of a rocking rowboat. Head tilted up to the light that revolved above their heads.

"Not---entirely different. But somewhat, I think. Tell me you're not as cautious as Fin and prefer to be romantically inclined toward whomever you sleep with."

"Well now I'm curious." Gold eyes came back to earth. "No. That's not been a prerequisite. Trust generally is, though. Enough of it for me to take a risk.? A few steps up the beach. "Did you climb?" Motioning to the lighthouse.

He nodded. "Thank the Angel. The man frustrates me, sometimes." And once again for her question as he followed. "I did, yes."

"I take it you're from the more progressive camp." Drawled softly. Gesturing with the bottle. "I'm not climbing that with this. Wouldn't want to drop it. Care to take a shortcut or should I meet you there?"

"That is one way to put it, yes. A shortcut would be fine." It was his turn to look up. "I can't help but recall the last time I was here. Fin was adamant in making sure I knew exactly what he thought of Antonia and why."

"Oh? Was this where you were when you told him about Antonia in the clinic?" Shifting the bottle to tuck it under one arm, she extended a hand towards Cris, palm out. "Going to need contact for the shortcut."

"He mentioned that he wanted to see it, to share it with someone. I agreed to accompany him, and saw my opportunity to ask." When he looked down, he saw her arm angling in his direction. He touched his palm to hers, fingertips curved around its outer edge.

"Now step." Gentle tug at that point of connection. One step forward. From beach to the salt stained balcony outside the housing for the light in a flicker of motion. Their shadows looming like frail titans against the sea where they blocked the light's path. Just like that, she let go. A maintenance ladder on the landward side was her goal to access the roof. Conversation continued. "I guess she really broke his heart, but now that I know the both of them better...the match seems unlikely."

He stepped when he was told and had the acute sense that he'd left all of his internal organs behind. Clearing his throat, he took the time Shae used to climb up to reorient. "I agree with you."

Shae didn't seem alarmed that he took a moment, especially after he spoke. "So...was he romantically interested in Sabine? I've never really noticed that sort of thread between them."

He started his own climb. "That is an entirely different matter that I've been more than happy not to understand. In short, I can't say anything with certainty."

"Well. He's allowed to contradict himself. I've yet to meet anyone who doesn't, from time to time." Making space for him before finding a spot on the slope to settle down. "What about you and Leena? That romance or just sex?"

He gave the rungs before him a briefly dark look. It faded once he joined her on the roof. "I may be from a slightly more "progressive camp" as you say, but that does not mean I do not find myself feeling a certain way about someone. I meant only that there does not need to be an emotional attachment. There does not need to be an attachment at all. Merely a willingness to bid existence farewell for a few hours."

"So...trust and a mutual escape?" The bottle was pulled into her lap, and only then did she register that it was a whiskey she had grabbed. Fingers working to open the vessel.

Legs pulled in beneath him, he locked his arms around his knees. "Sometimes, trust does not need to be a factor either."

"You don't trust her?" Brows rose over the first draw from the newly opened bottle, which she then extended in his direction. She couldn't help but wonder if his own answers might differ after some libation.

"I wasn't aware we were still talking about Leena." He took the bottle. "Of course I trust her." And took a drink, then handed it back.

"I know you don't like to talk about her. But yes, I was talking about her, and you, from the moment I asked." Bottle back in her possession, she gave the liquid inside a tiny slosh before tilting the lip of the bottle to her mouth. "Have you told her about this business with Robert yet?"

"You're correct, I don't." And yet they still were. "I have. She reacted in much the way I presumed she would. Which was, to say, irritated and confused as to why I'd gotten myself involved in the first place. She thinks I should merely help Robert find Marion, and Timothy by proxy, then back out."

Yes, Shae could be stubborn. Another pull, then the bottle was offered his way again. "Whatever you decide, you already know I'll help. I have a feeling you're not going to be satisfied with backing out. Am I wrong?"

He took it, but did not take a drink immediately. "I know you will." Thumb traced the soft threads of the open bottle's mouth. "You're not wrong," he said quietly. "She knows that I will do what I want to, regardless of what she says. She's never once, and never will, force me to choose. The pressure of such freedom can be titanic." He drank, then passed it back.

"You struggle with that freedom? Trying to balance what you want against what she thinks? You do realize there are many men who would do much for such leeway with a partner, right?" Accepting the bottle, but not imbibing just yet. Her gaze shifted over the water. "Do you worry that because it goes both ways she might weigh the differences in action and depart? Or is it something else?"

He snorted. To busy his hands, he found the cigarette and zippo he kept in his front pockets. "It isn't that. But, sometimes, such an open opportunity can be overwhelming. What do you do when you don't know what to do? You sit, and think. You analyze your options and wish there was someone with more wisdom willing to tell you what that right thing is."

The sound of the lighter drew her attention. In that moment, with his words, she reconsidered what she might have said next. Opting for: "Do you trust yourself?"

He answered that with a flick of the lighter's wheel. A molten dot appeared briefly in the dark, in the wake of a long inhale. And he breathed a cloud of smoke back to the sea.

Forgive her for taking that as a 'no' if the answer was otherwise. "Why not?" The level in the whiskey bottle decreasing further.

Her ability to connect even the most vague of dots was one of the reasons he liked her. "I've not yet been able to fully articulate why. I just know my own feelings about it."

"How long has it been that you've been without that voice of wisdom to rely on? I don't see many of them here, and I know you've been here longer than I have." She busied her tongue passing more liquor back to resist the urge to fish out one of her stolen smokes.

Soft snort. "You're very kind. If I think about it, my situation is not that unique. No one wants to make a bad decision. Everyone has in the past."

"I'm not that kind. Take a look at what I did today. A kind person wouldn't have done that." Lips slanting wryly. "Unique or not, we're the ones breathing, yeah?"

"If you're free to give your opinion of me, I'm free to give it right back." He took another deep, reverent inhale. "I've not decided yet what I'm going to do about it. My presence will be ineffectual, really. Robert wants Timothy, and I'm inclined to let that happen. If Marion is willing to protect him, as it seems he's wont to do, Robert will have to fight to get there. He'll more than likely be fine alone."

"Do the ones infected with his disease... do they have any control over what it is that they do?" She was beginning to feel that comfortable numbness settle into her bones. The extra concentration needed to shape her words with precision.

"At first, they do. That ability degrades the longr astriola has to percolate in one's system."

"Mm." Something to consider. Nothing that changed a thing, but something to consider. For a time, the sylph had no other questions. How rare.

"Their mental state begins to falter. They become subject to paranoia, anxiety, insomnia, hallucinations." Rolling his hand, as if to illustrate that the list went on. "One can not contract this disease, however, without making the conscious choice to engage in the activity that brings it about. A demon would rather see a Nephilim dead than **** them and titter about their well being afterward."

So much for that lull. "Is it contagious once contracted?"

"Not unless they feel inclined to **** someone else." Blame the cigarette. "It is unique to Nephilim, however, if that's what you meant."

Some small relief. "So he may have gotten it from someone else who was infected?" Bottle tapped against her lips, but she didn't drink. An exhale produced a quiet tone as it whistled over the opening.

He frowned. "That does not change anything."
"Didn't say it did. At this point there's no cure for him, right?" Gentle shrug.

"No." He turned the cigarette on its head and stubbed it out on the lighthouse's roof. An old lesson kept him from flicking it away to the water below. Instead, he curled it into his palm and stood. "It would be more merciful to kill him."

"Then that's all there is to it. You know what needs to be done." One more draw from the bottle. She trusted him to know the way this business should turn out, even if he might not always trust himself.

Dealing with Timothy was not something he needed reassurance on, but he wouldn't correct her. Nor would he refuse it. Instead, he smiled at the water. "Thank you, Shae."

"Mmph." Capping the much depleted whiskey and slumping back to lay on the tiles of the roof. The bottle balanced on her stomach as she looked skyward.

That made him laugh. He started down the ladder, but paused, folding his arms on the lighthouse roof. "Shall I not insult you by presuming you're able to return to shore on your own?"

Picking her head up enough to squint at him. Managing a smile and a chuckle. "Thanks for the company Cris." Flop went her head back onto the roof. "Be safe."

"I do what I can. You do the same." He disappeared over the edge of the roof. Within a few minutes, the rhythmic pat of oars breaking the water sounded, then faded in the distance.

For a time, the woman lay in silence. Then fate decided to remind her she had a device with which she could communicate. So now there she was, squinting at a screen and hazily tapping at it. One short phone call later and Shae learned that food delivery had its limits.

Matters of Trust, Part 2

"Wednesday it is." Shae had no need to postpone. "I'll prepare for that evening. Is there anything else I should be aware of going into this?"

"Not that I know of. I was going to ask the same of you in case I needed to do something myself."

"If you want to see what I see when I search for him, there is an extra step that we might take, but it will require a bit of trust. Other than that, come prepared to bleed for me."

He blinked, but that didn't translate. "What sort of step would that be?"

"You'd have to allow me to share my senses with you, memory. Otherwise you can just wait and I'll tell you." The way she said it sounded like she didn't expect him to take the offer. "What I'll be doing, for the matter in question, is taking some of your blood and using a picture of whichever one of them I am searching for, be sure to provide that, to discern their location via your shared heritage. This will take time. It sounds simple, but it's rather complex to manipulate with the knowledge I have."
---
"I estimate two hours, to be on the safe side. Lirssa's presence might alter that, but I won't know to what degree until the day."

Silence. Silence as he smoked, and as he thought it over. "That sort of connection would only be for me, yes? Depending on if I want a front row seat or not. How long would it last?"

"It'd last for a few minutes. Once I scry him I can provide you with a slightly delayed view of what he is doing while I prepare to discern his location. There are ways to share a scrying with an entire group, but they are more...let's just say I wouldn't offer those methods in this circumstance. So yes. You would be the only one viewing this. Unless for some reason you believed Lirssa needs to see it."

"I meant for me as in---there would be no other benefit for such a connection other than my own personal ability to see it for myself."

"Correct. It's just something I was offering for your benefit." In his situation, curious, she would crave details of that sighting. But that was Shae.

He dropped the spent filter into his shotglass. "What more would I have to do?"

The reply was in bulletpoint. "Maintain physical contact for the duration. Allow me to cast a spell on you while my magic is being altered by Lirssa. The blood you're already providing would be material enough."

"That doesn't sound as drastic a sacrifice as I first thought."

"I didn't mention sacrifice. I mentioned trust. As in, you'll have to trust me to make sure that if something goes wrong with this proposed extra bit of oomph, it doesn't impact you as well." Shae often felt that few people appreciated all the ways in which magic could go wrong, and just how lucky the city was that it didn't go wrong more frequently.

"And the impact would include...." trailing off to allow her the option to fill it in.

The options were varied and unpredictable. Lirssa added much uncertainty, but also would be of great help. "Off the top of my head, if somehow he has advanced anti-scrying wards he may become aware that we are looking for him. If he has magic on his side he might lash out through the attempts to divine his location. This could mean he gets a look at me, or you. This could mean a headache. This could mean a lot of things."
---
"Those are risks assumed when scrying." You could almost hear the shrug.

He exhaled and pressed his fingertips to his brow. "That's a danger regardless, whether or not we're connected---yes. He would be a moron if he did not ward himself properly. What I'm understanding---is that this is our one true shot. We either find him with this, or lose them."

"Eh. I wouldn't go that far. I have other methods. They take longer, but if they move in public at all they would be vulnerable to them. It's quite true that if they catch wind of these attempts they are likely to hole up and reinforce defenses. You're risking the element of surprise, but you don't seem to have much of a choice. Time is a factor, is it not?"

"I'd rather not let this drag on longer than it needs to. They're here, sooner is better than later. I'll think about it. The risk of a battle is already high."

"Look. The risks are there regardless. The matter is whether or not you trust me enough to manage the possibility of you getting caught up in them as would be necessary by allowing you the firsthand look at their activities, location, what have you. Think about it. Try to let me know by Tuesday." Stifled yawn.

He already knew his answer, but he held onto it. "All right. Thank you, Shae. I did not mean to keep you awake so late."

"Given my normal habits, you're not at all wrong in assuming I would have been awake. The position at Dragon's Gate is earlier, and thus my schedule is in flux. That's all. And you're welcome. Anything else on your mind, Cris?"

"Oh, plenty. But it's nothing we've not already discussed. I'll speak to you soon, yes?"

"Sure. Be safe."

"You too." He waited an extra five seconds before hitting 'end call.'

Click.


This phone call was taken from events surrounding the thread Overburdened and picks up that Wednesday

Resolutions and Relics, Part 2

"Is Marion still alive?" Victorious in her private war against memory, Shae shunted aside thoughts of another world to focus on the one before her. Calm detachment while discussing a man's life, Father would be proud. "Or were you forced to remove him when Timothy was executed?"

He looked up from the edge of the table and arched one thick, dark brow. He did not feel his response needed to be verbalized.

Maybe it did. Confusion met that pointed look. "Is that a 'yes'? I would hope you had kept him alive, anyway. There are a lot of questions that need answering, aren't there? Such as why Timothy was still alive in the first place? This business with your Clave prison."

He considered her posed enquiries with the weight that they deserved. "I'm certain the Clave could have learned a great deal. About his actions and what was done to prevent the spread of the disease. They may have been able to apply the information they collected to their own treatments. But that would not have been all they would have learned."

"What do you mean 'not all'? And is he alive or not?" Patiently repeating her question.

"I shot him with his own gun." He let the cigarette go, and crossed his arms over his chest a second time, this time tighter. "They would have wanted to know how Timothy finally perished. That alone would include information about me that I cannot allow them to have. I did not kill him for my own preservation, but I will not say it isn't a bonus."

He decided to expound a bit further. "My people guard a trio of relics that are sacred to us that are called the Mortal Instruments. Used together, these three relics can be used to summon Raziel to the earthly plane. But alone, they have their own characteristics. The Mortal Sword, for example, is used by the Clave in criminal trials. Pricked with this weapon, a Nephilim is compelled to speak only the truth, regardless of how badly they'd prefer not to. Marion would not have let the details of my involvement slip his mind. He would not have had a choice."

"So you believe this was all sanctioned, perhaps unofficially? That they would have gotten hold of Marion after Timothy's death? Or do you still suspect a rogue element within the organization?" Shae accepted the news of the decision to remove Marion without surprise when it was finally conveyed plainly. What did surprise her was some of the information he decided to divulge. "Raziel...that's the source of your blood heritage?" The researcher in her was intent on the new information. "An artifact set. They are not unheard of where I come from. Each with their own powers that are augmented by proximity to others of the grouping. You mentioned the sword, am I permitted to know of the two you didn't speak on?"

Half shake of his head, "He was a criminal the moment he witnessed Timothy slay mundanes and did nothing to stop him. He would not have gone back of his own accord. Were I to send him back, he would have been arrested swiftly afterward.

"I had intended not to kill him. I did not want to. I wanted for him to breathe air free of a burden he should have not had to bear in the first place. Though I suppose that's silly to ruminate upon."

He shifted in his seat, considering the service he had yet to touch. "The others are known as the Mortal Cup, and the Mortal Mirror."

"If you had wanted to not kill him, why did it become necessary? Because of his fighting for Timothy? Or is there something I'm missing? Was he being tracked?" Lingering lack of clarity on just how close the Clave was to finding Marion and his parabatai. "I guess I'm not understanding how the Clave would know what transpired here."

Draining the last of her first cup even as he had barely touched his own, Shae returned to the matter of the artifacts. "The cup...hm. Health? The mirror...clarity of some kind?" Taking stabbing guesses at the sort of individual powers such objects often had.

"That, yes. And it's merely unwise to leave loose ends." That was something he had taken to repeating to himself until it sounded natural, and made sense. "The Mortal Cup is the vessel the Angel brought and used in the ritual that created my people as we know it today. Mundanes who drink from it have the potential to come through the process as Nephilim. The Mirror---we learned was merely the lake through which Raziel made his first appearance."

Her brief smile was sympathetic, and she refocused on the discussion of the Instruments to give him something else to concentrate on. "So it is possible to become of your people without being born to it. Are those who drink from the Cup stronger without the dilution of the mixed blood, or is that irrelevant? What would happen if you drank from it?"

"Irrelevant," he said quietly. He did not look it, but he was a bit grateful their focus had shifted. Later, he might regret it. "I am already Nephilim. If I drank from it, my thirst, providing I had any, would be quenched, and nothing more.

"Possible though it is, the ritual's success rate is dismal. Only young children tend to survive the process. A transformation later in life is too stressful on the body, and inhumanely painful."

"That's not terribly uncommon with magics that permanently alter a person's race to any degree. Even temporary transformations without violent pain require a lot of magical study." Shae suspected he already had his regrets, even if he hadn't confronted them yet. "A lake? The Mirror is a body of water? How interesting. You'd think the angel would have come from the sky. Does it allow you to visit his realm, this Mirror?"

A slow inclination of his head. Beneath the table, he'd begun to idly bounce his right bootheel. "Not his realm, no. Our home city itself is Warded against any sort of supernatural travel. Portals result in one emerging from the lake. The rest of the journey must be made on foot."

"Really? Hm. So an all purpose gate terminus. Under heavy guard, no doubt." Crooked smile as legs crossed and she leaned back in her chair. Then the smile faded as she asked another question. "What happened with Robert afterwards?"

Afterwards was a heavy word. There were things that happened hours after they'd parted ways that, still, he could make little sense of. Now was not the time to try. "We cleaned out the place where they'd taken refuge, burning evidence of our presence along with their corpses."

Her single comfort was that the response had not started with 'And then he attacked me...'. "I've been intending to drop in on him since you told me the business was finished." Possibly reinforcing that the matter was done in the process.


Likely, that phrase would have ended with something along the lines of, 'so I ended his life as well.' Her announcement had his brows climbing. "Have you?"

"I haven't done so yet, but it's something I plan, provided the next words out of your mouth don't contain a good reason why I shouldn't. I know how you feel about him. I know what he is. I also know he could be...may become worse if this was not the closure he can live with. I don't want to see this escalate again."

He blinked, but something hiding in her answer caught one corner of his mouth and tugged it upward. "Somehow, if you truly felt it prudent, I do not think I could convince you otherwise. Nor would I wish to. In fact, I would like to see the aftermath of the altercation if he proves to be as difficult as you fear."

"I don't suspect he'd attack me. He has no reason to. I am accessory but not central to this whole mess, after all. It's only my stubborn refusal to let go of drugs in my tea that has me in this position." Half truth, so said her self deprecating smile. "But the truth of the matter is, I know the obsession with revenge. I know what it does. On a mind already influenced by darkness, well. Logic sometimes leaves. I'd rather be aware of that happening before it begins. The only way to do that is to talk to him."

"Then I'll leave that task to you. My involvement in what I would also deem a mess has come to its end, and I'd rather maintain the distance between us."

"I'll let you know if I think there's any residual concern, but it's my hope that this can be buried as smoothly as possible, given the circumstances." A hope, but she wouldn't hang her expectations on it. Shae was used to life screwing her over when she did that. "Is there anything you need from me at this point?"

He took a breath that raised the lock of his arms, and exhaled as he shook his head. "No. I can't think of anything further, and I think I've asked enough of you for my liking," half smile.

"You aren't beholden to me, I hope you realize." Reassurance entering her tone. "Were this something for which I felt I was owed you would know. Ask any of the people I do business with. I'm very clear about my terms and what I expect. I consider you a friend, Cris. Friends are there when asking is needed. That's all there is to it."

He chuckled. "I know. I am---conscious---of the weight these requests sometimes bring with them, whether one wishes them to or not. Letting my own personal burdens reach past me is never a goal of mine. But I do know that our friendship is not based on a quid pro quo arrangement. I do not forget that."

"Good." She said with emphasis and a smile that was the brightest version of itself that he'd seen that day. No one ever wants to lay their troubles on another pair of shoulders if they can handle them alone, she knew. He was capable in his own right. "Fox, however, would probably want food for his services, should you ever need them. He likes you, don't get me wrong, but you're not a woman."

There, he laughed. An abrupt exhale accompanying a flash of teeth that he had not meant to show. He hid its death in his fist and cleared his throat. "Will I be required to catch a bucket of live mice, or steal a roast from some unsuspecting family's home?"

"He can catch his own mice, and would likely be offended by such an offering." Warned with mock seriousness. "Steak is popular as a choice. He's being paid in prime cuts to help someone advertise for their new carpentry business in the future, for example. Anything he couldn't easily acquire himself is a good starting point." Shae, by contrast, didn't bother to hide the grin that creased the corners of her eyes.

At least he knew what direction he needed to be thinking in. "I see. Shall I ever have that need, I'll keep that in mind."

Physical Therapy, Part 2

Pensive hum, low in his throat. He stilled the bag's sway with his palm. "You are obviously much more sure of your feet. Perhaps we will start there. The basis of any combat skill is speed, accuracy, and power. Of the three, I believe you will be more at ease with the first two than the last. As I am. Your size will do well to give off the impression of weakness. Your shape and affinity for movement will aid you in evasion. We will save this," patting the bag, "for practice."

Then he motioned to the fighting dummy. It was shaped like a man's torso, a few inches taller than Cris, with no limbs, and no face.

Eager for something to focus on other than the storm cloud of sullen she could feel in the direction of the kitchen, Shae moved towards the indicated dummy. "This is pretty sophisticated looking. People at home practiced with wood and straw." At another time she might have found the realism a bit disconcerting.

"An acquisition I'm quite proud of. Prior to its installation, I used some of the same materials. Boxes, and such." He moved with her. "Now, obviously whomever you will be facing will have four times as many limbs, but...." rolling one hand. He used the same to point out locations on the dummy. "A sound blow here," touching the torso's solar plexus, "will wind your opponent. Here," moving his fingers to the dummy's flanks above the floating ribs, "the same. Enough force and the floating ribs will break, driving inward. And here," indicating the throat. "For obvious reasons. Let us try a kick first. Square up as you would prior to a punch, with your dominant leg behind."

Gold eyes moved with predatory sharpness to each locale he indicated on the dummy torso. They flicked to his own body to match the points of target to a live body and then back again. Small bounce as she shifted, right leg back, then the slow snap of a kick as she twisted her hip forward to aim a blow at the region of the dummy's floating ribs.

He nodded, taking note of her stance and shift of weight. "Again. Faster." The whole lesson may just be his repeating himself.

Now that the feel of the motion, the level of the strike, was in her muscles, she tried again. And again. Increasing the speed when she felt secure about her accuracy at each successive level.

The thunk of contact had always been a satisfactory sound. "Very good. Now---try your other leg. The ability to come from all sides can only benefit you. If you fall into a routine with your attacks, they'll be easier to defend against."

Shae could feel the echo of the impacts resonating up her leg. When he suggested she switch, she did so happily. The stance reversed and the process began to repeat with her left leg. Rotation and impact. Not the heavy hitting that others could output, but she had her balance, and accuracy.

He nodded. "All right. From there, the only thing you need do is practice and develop the strength to power such attacks." A hand on the dummy, he stopped its residual wobbling. "Wheel kicks are a personal favorite maneuver of mine. They work well with flexibility, allow you to reach targets higher than what you've just done. The blow is still delivered by your dominant leg, but instead of merely twisting on the other, you turn between a half and three quarters circle, and sweep your leg in a broad arc. You've seen one performed, yes?"

"Mm. I think so. Haven't heard them called that, though. Could you show me one?" With a gesture to the dummy as she shifted in place to give a little stretch to the muscles she'd just been abusing.

"A great deal of the time they are mistaken for a roundhouse, which is a similar movement, but still a blow that comes from the front." Nodding, he moved to take her place before the dummy. "Obviously, an actual battle, or a duel, will be moving a great deal faster than practice. You will have to find your openings, and follow through with attacks to fit them.

"This one begins with a step across with your support leg, and begin to apply your weight." He squared up to the dummy, bringing his hands up near the center of his chest, fingers curled in loosely toward his palms. "When you spin, the first thing you want to do is look over your shoulder. Find your opponent, your target. Follow through, keeping your kicking leg slightly bent."

Standing to the side, Shae mimicked his motions a half beat behind and with a great deal less surety. Cementing the positioning against his body reference before attempting to progress the motion further with her own. The cross step was easy enough, as was the tuck of upper limbs.

"The rest is speed." He bounced once, then whirled on his heel. The broad arc of his right leg left behind a breeze and the heel of his boot hit soundly into the dummy's neck with a resounding slam. The contraption shuddered all the way down its base. He set his boot back to the ground.

"One more time? A little slower?" The motion was like choreography. And Shae observed the muscles and shifts in weight with the same eye as she might a dance move.

Nodding. "The kick can be broken down into three steps. The step," once again he slid forward with his left boot. "Turn." It began in his shoulders, first half of the twist meant to center his gaze on the intended target, "And follow through." He raised his leg, and turned with a fraction of the speed he'd displayed the first time. When his boot hit the dummy's temple, he paused. "If you can land this hard enough in a vulnerable enough area, you will drop your opponent soundly."

He brought his boot down.

Small gesture to request he take leave of the position just in front of the dummy so she might take his place. One more mock attempt and then she was walking through those three steps as slow as possible. Feeling out the angle of each limb in relation to the others until her own boot tapped the target. "Hmm."

Repeat. Repeat.

Obliging with a nod and a few backpedaled paces. "The more familiar you are with the move, the more you can adapt it to your situation. For instance, if you need extra height, you may pair a jump with the twist. Et cetera."

"This seems like it would leave me open to retaliation." Said after her fourth or fifth attempt at a slow repetition. "I can see why speed is important, but when should I be trying this move in the first place?"

He nodded. "You're correct---you expose your back to your opponent, and it takes more than a simple movement to execute. Therefore, it is generally used as a final maneuver in a combination; after you've set up with a few disorienting punches, or kicks. I chose to show you because, as I said earlier, your size lends to the impression that you will not have as much knowledge as you do. It is a good practice move for basic, solo training, as well. It works several muscles at once."

"A surprise, eh?" Though her smile wasn't as energetic as it might have been, there still lingered the flavor of her mischievous sense of humor. "I'll keep practicing it and save it for a special occasion." The distraction had been a good one, but the silence of her attempts at concentration were being broken by a connection Cris could not see. "This...I need a live body." She needed the chance for bruises.

He chuckled, "Do you?" He hadn't planned on using himself as a test dummy. For self preservation purposes, mostly, but he understood the need for a moving target. It taught in ways that a stationary one did not. Exhaling, he scratched the space above his right brow.

"All right. A few." He took a place before her, with some distance still between them. "What exactly is it that you'd like to practice more?"

She wasn't expecting for him to move in range or volunteer. Perhaps redirect her to a location where she might vent her energy on some unsuspecting soul seeking the same sort of violent therapy. Still, when he stepped up she used the reference of his form to block out a few more attempts without touching him. "Well. Something that is not a jab?"

He hadn't been kidding when he said he'd never taught before. He couldn't even follow the path of his own instruction. "A hook, then, I suppose."

"Alright." Down went her leg before the pose of it could fatigue her. "What is a hook supposed to look like?" Taking a step forward as eyes dropped to his hands.

"A jab goes straight," he demonstrated with the extension of his right arm, Marks pulled long on his skin with the stretch of muscle. "A hook, as its name infers, curves from the outside in a scoop-like motion. The power comes from the rotation of hip, the knee. It is a half body punch, the half connected to your striking fist will move with you.

"You do not need a special stance set-up, only the ability to turn."

He threw a right hook, the mirrored hip and knee pivoting forward. Balled fist came from the outside, elbow still bent at an angle. "You do not want to extend your arm. It is a tight movement, driven here," he clapped his right hip. Two more slowed demonstrations of the punch, and he straightened.

"Now, I did not exactly bring any cushions with me, so I suppose we must improvise, else you'd want to work the motion out on the dummy first." Flexing his hands, "Or, I suppose I could use my palms." He frowned.

"Let's try the dummy first." Form was the primary concern. Function would follow. Cris' motions read as martial. The flex and stretch told tales of experiences where such basic twists of body had been the difference between one day and the next. She'd seen it before, and it was always something she could admire and seek to emulate. With the dummy, she did just that.

He circled behind her, watching the placement of her feet and the depth of her pivoting hip. "Keep the rotation in the side of your body you are throwing the punch from, and when you strike," he balled a fist, and put it against the dummy, "the force should come primarily on the first two knuckles." Withdrawing, he gave her room to try again.

Panes Old and New, Part 1
Late evening, 02/15/16

Text to Cris: At quarry with sulking woman. Bring food.
Text to Cris: Steak. Don't reply. Stole phone.

Text to Shae: Who is this?

Text to Cris: I said don't reply. Now she's chasing me. Good going featherbrain. Maybe booze for Sh

After a short delay...
Text to Cris: Sorry.

Text to Shae: What the hell was that?
Text to Shae: I am not bringing food.

Text to Cris: Fox is hungry. Don't. He's a little meddling thief.

Text to Shae: Was he right about your sulking?

Text to Cris: No.
Text to Cris: Maybe.
Text to Cris: The booze would be nice.

Text to Shae: I'm sure I can find some, somewhere.
Text to Shae: Give me some time?

Text to Cris: I'll be here.


Without Shae's protection from the pitfalls of terrain leading out to their tagged quarry, it took him a great deal longer to arrive than he would have liked. But it was good, steady exercise, something he needed to do after the weekend he'd lived through and time spent sequestered in a warehouse that he should no longer be using, but he could not bring himself to stop.

Approaching the cliff Shae had taken him to the first morning they'd all visited together, there was a clip to his step and a light to his gaze even in the dark. His fist caged a pale, white-blue glow, the even burn of a witchlight stone, and he brought a paper bag with a glass neck jutting out of it.

The quarry itself was open to the air and there, atop one of the large slabs orphaned on the plateau, was Shae. The glow of artificial light from above suggested she'd gotten her phone back. Her boots and skirts were laced with mud water stains and dead leaves where they had brushed through the forest undergrowth. Legs hung over the side of her stone bed at the knee. At the base of the cut block sat a grumpy looking Fox. His head came up expectantly at the arrival of Cris, but the lack of visible food had him huffing at the new arrival.

Well, he'd told her he wasn't going to bring any food. He left wet boot prints behind, and he'd have to clean them later. He'd have to clean all of his weapons later. That worked as a meditative task. He headed further along the plateau, a squint to meet Fox's huff. There was a Mark on the back of his neck that let him see the creature's disgruntled expression, too humanoid to be fully primal. "Good evening to you too."

Fox vocalized a series of sounds that Shae was kind enough to translate with a voice that sounded faintly hoarse. "He says you like me more than you like him. Which I told him is probably true." The false light died. Shortly, the sylph was pushing herself upright to a seated position. On the block in question, her boots now dangled a few feet above Cris' head. "Did you bring me my birthday present?" Pointing here to the not so disguised bottle he held.

"I'll confirm that assumption. Though I haven't a negative opinion of him either. We don't really talk." Head tipped back, with a half smile he offered Shae the paper wrapped package. Departing from his usual Bulleit whiskey, a bottle of Old Guadalupe rum, aged a few years, waited to be unwrapped. "Certainly," answering, "one should not be sulking on one's birthday."

"Not my birthday just yet. Wednesday. I'll cheer up properly by then. For the moment, I'm allowed to feel disappointed." Leaning down, Shae snagged the neck that was extended up towards her. "Thanks." Gratitude a quiet addition as she unwrapped the bottle to take a look at the label. "Tell me what you've been up to. It's been a good while since we last really talked. I mean, I know we talk on our walks and the like but..." Gentle shrug.

"Ah---That may take some time." Relinquishing the rum, he tossed the witchlight stone up too and an effortless jump had fingertips hooking around the squared off edge, and he hauled himself up to join her with a muted grunt of exertion. "I never know where to begin when someone asks me that."

"Wherever makes the most sense, I guess." Shae knew well the difficulty of that question, hence why she was willing to let him field it while she figured out how to open that bottle. The tossed stone was caught to keep it skittering off the rock perch and set down with care after a curious glance. "Interesting little light spell."

"Adamas," he said, finding a place to fill beside her. Though instead of remaining upright, considering nightfall and their relative solitude, he eased back until he was lying with the dark blanket of diamond chip stars overhead. "The same divine material that makes two of my weapons. Working it has always been a secret."

"A divine material? Really?" This description prompted a second look at the stone which cast a relief on the darkened skin beneath her eyes. "Interesting." She might have followed this up with more questions, had she not managed to open the rum. A intermission taken to sample his selection before the bottle was offered over to him.

"We do come from angels," he said, by way of explanation. Cris took the bottle after her, but merely held it. "The working of such material is left up to a very ancient, very reclusive Order known as the Iron Sisters. They are the only ones who have been taught how."

"I recall." Murmured softly to his first explanation before he continued. They had gotten off track, slightly, veering into territory defined by her passing curiosity. Eyes traveled towards the bottle he merely held. Then, with a soft exhale and a raised brow, she prompted him again. "So that beginning."

He'd just become comfortable. A drink meant sacrificing the lounging stretch he'd sunken into. "I got a job," after a minute of thought. Half to search for a suitable topic, half to reconcile speaking on it.

"I think I heard that rumor but I hadn't been sure I believed it until the other night. At Charlie's isn't it? Working with Fin?" Since he wasn't making use of her present, she reclaimed it for the purposes of lubricating her own squeaking gears. Fox's intervention had embarrassed her, though she was doing her best not to let that show.

Relinquishing it to her grasp, there was a threatening chuckle at the back of his throat. "Perhaps you should tell me the rumors you've heard, and I shall confirm or deny them. That may take less time." One hand tucked behind his head, he set the other against his belt, refusing any further invitation to drink. "Yes, working with Fin."

"It was only the one." Harmless note of complaint. The rumor mill was pervasive, but her attention had been deviated for the good part of two months. It was, honestly, a surprise that she had stumbled onto that one. "What made you want to get a job? Finally run out of savings?" Fingers toyed at the lid to the bottle before sampling the contents.

"That---and restlessness. Boredom. I've tended a bar before, sporadically, years ago. I did not think it'd take long to regain my knowledge of it."

For the first time that weekend, a smile threatened. "I have no doubt that you'd easily master the detail of it, but I have a hard time envisioning you navigating the people aspect of it. Small talk must be exhausting for you." Looking over her shoulder to where his form sprawled like a shadow against the stone. "I put my job on hold, teaching, to look for that friend of mine, to see what she knows."

"A common concern, I'm told. But Charlie's is very quiet. Most of its patronage tends to want to keep their distance from each other already. I'm merely there to be sure they do not steal any liquor in a tender's absence." Slight turn of his head, eased by the "tat" part of their discussion. "Shall I presume you've made epic progress?"

"No, you rather should not." Then, after a brief silence. "I've been here a year, as of Saturday." Thumbnail picked at the corner of a label. "We talked when she first got here, but that's been running through my brain. That and the failure of this weekend. Shall I presume you getting a job is the only change of note in your life?"

"The failure," with the barest inflection, suggesting she could answer or not, with no pressure behind his own curiosity. For her follow-up, he let his gaze stray back to the stars. If they were to trade truths back and forth.... "No."

"Had planned to surprise Ketch for his birthday this weekend, had Cianan make a proper cake and was going to have people meet me at the diner, but it would seem I missed him from the night of the Valentines dance until about three this afternoon when he texted." The bottle filled the space between her lips to check the flow of words and burn away the sensation in her throat. "He was otherwise occupied." Where he removed pressure from his own curiosity, Shae let the weight of hers linger in the soft echo of: "No?" Concern, mostly. His 'eventful' had involved some rather concerning players in the past.

"I remember," in that he'd gone to the Valentine's Day Ball, and witnessed what began Ketch's apparent reclusiveness. He would get to his own relationship with trouble in a moment. "Is he all right?"

"He's alive. I suspect hungover, still drinking and chain smoking, or sleep deprived, but alive. Unless someone else has taken his phone." Here a subdued glare aimed down at the fox who was pointedly ignoring her in his sprawl below. "Someone from his past apparently. So he was at the Ball, after all? What happened there?"

"From his past," repeating, pensive, as he sent half his focus on a trip down memory lane. There had been a great deal about that night to remember, evidence still in the dark crevices of his throat and down his back. "Dancing, though I don't think he participated. I can recall only that he went entirely still, and broke a glass in his hand prior to his departure. I did not see the cause of it."

"Mm." Absorbing this small detail as her nail fretted down the edge of the label in an effort to keep her hands occupied. "So I'm waiting on him to let me know if he wants my help and when he'd welcome company. See if he'll discuss it. Maybe tomorrow. Not Wednesday."

Embracing an Aftermath, Part 1
03/04/16, Sleepy Tree Inn

The address given to Cris was for a small motel on the northern edge of town. About as far away from the city center as one could manage without leaving city limits. The sign was old, but still fully lit. No letters missing on the Vacancy for the Sleepy Tree Inn. They were going for rustic charm about thirty years ago. Now the place was focused on upkeep. The door to her room had been painted in the last year, for example, a forest green that camouflaged old dents and scrapes.

He'd given the address quite a few hours of thought. Throughout errands, throughout training, throughout the wind-down after the intensely involved training session. On the way, he rethought the wisdom of going, wondering if Shae had had enough time alone to sort whatever it was that had affected her so much, but in the end reconciled that if she hadn't, she wouldn't have let him know where she was.

As a peace offering, he brought with him Leung's zodiac appetizer special and a bottle of whiskey. Rum was, to him, meant to be enjoyed. Arriving at her door, Cris shuffled both burdens into his left arm, and knocked with his free hand.

From within a few distant sounds of movement, then the door was pulled open. It was Shae, until one's eyes adjusted to the forty watt glow of light from paper lampshades. Then it was Shae looking less like herself. Clean, dressed in one of her corseted numbers, hair in order. One arm wrapped across her stomach while the other held the door open for him. A nod for hello. The difference was in her energy. Drained, was the feeling. Dull fool's gold eyes, black hair that threatened to let itself be called a very dark grey instead. Facial expressions took effort she was carefully rationing.

Inside there was a table with two chairs, where it looked like she had been sitting. A double bed that a vulpine Fox now slept on, unmade. A TV, not on, was functioning as a clothes and coat rack for two pairs of jeans, a sweater, and her leather jacket.

Door drawn open brought his gaze back around. It skipped from features to cinched waist, then back up, his own scowl pulling in where his brow had been smooth otherwise up until that point. Concern ached behind it, though he was glad she was at least upright and coherent, but he kept any enquiries regarding her well being in his head where they belonged and nodded, slipping past her into the small motel room: a setting he was getting too used to. "I've brought something," choking the whiskey bottle, he offered it to her on his way by.

Offered bottle was cradled into her chest as she leaned against the door to close it. Examined there before she pushed herself back towards a seat at the table. "You're well timed, I was thinking of ordering something." Maybe not Leung's this far out, but the small collection of menus on the table gave credibility to her words. "You want a drink? I think there are paper cups by the teevee." Bottle settled on the table with care she flickered a tired smile in his direction to ease the tension in his brow.

"Thank the Angel, I'd debated bringing anything at all, but in the end felt it wrong not to." He set the plastic-over-paper bagged parcel down on the table, gaze hitting Fox, then the dead TV, acceptance of her invitation given quietly as he went to collect two drinking vessels.

Her interest passed to the appetizer left in his wake and peeking at what it contained while he quested for something to drink out of. Normally fluid movements took on a degree of stiffness as her weight met the chair. "Thanks for coming." The texted address had been less of an invitation and more of a notice to not go dredging the bay for her body, but she found she actually did appreciate the company. It gave her something to focus on. "And..." Oh hey, yeah. That thing. Cris would find Shae in his way coming back from the cup retrieval, and, unless he stopped her, he would find the sylph reaching out to hug him.

The special was named zodiac for its combination of twelve different appetizers, most Chinese, others more Western to appease the possible, pickier eaters. Crab rangoons, cheese puffs, fried donuts and dumplings shared the bag with french fries, chicken fingers and fried macaroni and cheese. "It's my pleasure," he took two of the cleanest cups he found and stacked them together. "I did not know if you wanted company," he couldn't seem to avoid confessing it, "or if whatever's happened is something you'd even like to try and discuss---"

He'd turned mid-sentence and had only taken one stride when she met him. Shock momentarily stilled him. From finding her there and the added reach of her arms. Swallowing, he set his own around her in return, his open palm on her shoulder with a firm, meaningful squeeze. "What's happened to you?" He regretted asking, and waited for the echo of his own voice to fade.

The weight of her was light, but fingers gripped at his jacket like snaring rusty wires. The woman vibrated with fatigue, for to call it a tremble might do her disservice. "Thank you." When she spoke into his shoulder it was the same words that had caught him on the breeze days before. Laced with a bone deep sense of relief and gratitude. In that moment of visible weakness, she lingered. Door shut, blinds drawn. How long might it have been, one had to wonder, since she felt safe enough to not just ask for comfort in human connection but to take it selfishly when it wasn?t already on offer. "I'm sorry. I happened. I'm so..." relieved no one was hurt. "Thank you." At last she let go of the hug that probably went on far longer than Cris might have liked.

He frowned, visiting his uncertainty upon the floor behind her as she clutched and held. His coat was cold from the journey he'd taken, thick leather creaking under her fingers and where his arms tightened as long as she'd let them. As far as he knew, he'd done nothing, merely asked her following the sight of a suspicious man and a group of equally suspicious texts. The women he knew in his life now, and had known in the past, rarely required embraces like these and he thought that whatever had made it a necessity for her must have rocked her straight down to her core.

"You do not need to apologize." He withdrew when she did, palms skimming across her upper back, dragging tousled black with them before he set them to her shoulders, searching the shadows carved into her features now that they were only a foot from each other.

"I do, though. I shouldn't have let it get that far." Fatigue crept back in, as if the effort or rising and reaching for him had involved a marathon. Fingers that no longer clutched at him now worried themselves along her stomach before she tucked her folded arms against her rib cage. "I'm just...it meant a lot to me to hear that I hadn't done any serious damage." Guilt lingered beneath her tired expression, unable to summon the reassuring composure that he was more familiar with.

"You terrified a great deal of the town's transport services. There was damage, yes, but I heard nothing of casualties. Shae," he ducked his head, tipped to the side in attempts to catch the waned light of her gaze. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The defendant pled guilty while meeting his gaze. Her eyes were a pale imitation of her normal gold, bloodshot. "I'm an idiot. But in a less vague answer, I lost control of my nature. Too many feelings eroded my focus and I lost it. I didn't expect it would be that bad. It hasn't been that bad since..." She trailed off, looking over her shoulder towards Fox on the bed, where he slept heavily and without much sound. "I was having a conversation with Ketch -- one I shouldn't have been impatient for, here's the part where I'm an idiot -- and he told me that he's still very much in love with Mimi. That shouldn't have done it, not by itself. I'm...I'm used to..." Swallow. "Anyway, the point is," she was explaining this terribly and she knew it, but she had no choice but to continue, "I had too many other things I wanted to hold on to. I could show him the face that I wanted to and leave or I could vent at him and keep control. I left and I lost it."

His hands fell from her shoulders as she spoke, the plastic cups warm where he pinched them, and the line between his brows deepened the longer she did. They needed whiskey, they needed to sit. Perhaps they simply needed to forget that he'd asked, though not for his lacking desire to know.

In the wake of her confession, he exhaled. There were too many hot coals to prod with curiosity, and so he let them cool, following the angle of one dark brow with his fingertips. "You have control now, yes? Have you rested? At all?" It didn't look like it. In fact, it looked like she might wilt there at the foot of the bed.

The chair beckoned when he mentioned rest and she retreated to it strategically. "It's not the sort of thing one night's sleep would fix, anyway. But yes, I did rest. And yes, I have control now. There was something different this time. Worse. I don't know why it was worse, but it was." In truth, the Leap Year distortions had caused an exponential spiral of what might have been a much smaller disturbance, but Shae hadn't surfaced from her recovery long enough to put two and two together.

Once seated, the smell of the appetizer called to her. The whiskey bottle was nudged towards him in a silent request as she helped herself to opening the food he had brought. Her normally voracious familiar slept on.

"No, it isn't, but---" He had no plan on where that was going. Waving his hand to dismiss the attempt, he headed to join her at the table, separating the cups. While she went at the food, he poured them both a generous two and a half glugs each. "I've no idea where to even begin." Sliding her cup forward.

Luckily for Cris, she wasn't expecting anything. It was a lot, and she knew it. The cup was accepted for a heavy sip, the rim tapped for a glug more to refill the volume she had just emptied. "There really probably isn't an appropriate place, but if you want to know something I'll do my best to explain." Trust evident in the fact that she made such an offer. Yesterday, food had been like ash. Today the flavor of everything was still dulled, but the needs of her body and that of Fox were too strong to ignore.

He obliged her request, then set the bottle aside, shrugging free of his coat and draping it along the back of his chair before he sunk down into it. "I---do not know if I want to. Not because I do not want to know," raising his hand, thumb and middle finger stuck through holes that he'd worried through his sleeve cuffs. "But I haven't the desire to make it worse. I'd not mind if you'd prefer not to elaborate."

"The built up chaos is already out." A pressure valve blown, stitches ripped. Quietly, she added. "I'm not going to lose control on you, so please don't...don't be afraid of me."

The furrow in his brow changed angles, rising from the bridge of his nose instead of forked down above it, he looked up to her from the table and slowly shook his head. It was a moment before he could speak, dumbfounded by the fact that she needed to make that request at all. "I'm not, Shae. But if there's the slightest chance that my curiosity will cause you more pain---I'd rather not know. We have time. It does not have to be now. It does not have to be ever. I'd like to help you, not stick a thumb into the wound and wonder why you bleed."

There a smile, tired but genuine around a bite of egg roll. Mood lifted with the reassurance. If anything, the experience had reinforced that she hadn't properly prepared the people she'd come to know for the hazards. "It's not going to hurt me I promise. You can ask what you want to." There was a residual hoarseness to her voice when quieter. Recovery from strain.

Embracing an Aftermath, Part 3

Several possibilities sketched their way through her mind. In the interim she found the coffin nail again and went through the motions of lighting it with the lighter. Not the smooth process that it might have been in another's hands but an effective one. The cherry burned bright for a deep inhale. Smoke twisting wild towards the ceiling as she exhaled a slow sigh. "It sounds like you're on borrowed time."

He exhaled and rested his brow in the well of his palm. "I must talk to Salome to be certain. The only time I've come that close to truly dying was the day Bianca was taken from us. I do not remember thinking I was that close, but I could have been. The months that followed," he pulled his hand down his face. "In the months that followed, anything could have spoken to me, and I would have let them in. Without question."

A chill worked its way down from his scalp. To his throat, the nape of his neck. Down his arms despite the layers and further south. "I do not remember," he repeated, quietly, fitting the thick silence befalling her motel room.

"Do you want to?" The question posed after a pregnant pause in which Shae was quickly putting a dent in the cigarette he had given her. The lighter was still in her hand, turned over between her fingers in a hypnotically constant loop of motion. "We have work to do if we are going to identify a way to free you from this new mark." Apparently, a demon's sign of warning was not enough to deter the woman.

"Of course I want to ****ing remember," he said, throwing his hand from his brow, fingers spread in broad gesticulation. "I want to know what it is I did. I want to know which demon it was, and I want to find them, and kill them."

"I can probably help you restore the memories, but I don't know your host of demons. Robert apparently knows this one." Robert who Cris had threatened quite recently in his disbelief. "As far as you know, is killing the demon the only way to free yourself from its contract? I should remind you, if the contract was for extended life in exchange for your soul then in all likelihood the moment this entity drops dead...so do you."

"Then I suppose it'll be prudent to figure out the details of whatever deal this is beforehand. If I'm to destroy the contract instead, if there is such a way to do that, then I shall do that first." He grit his teeth and smeared the chill of his palms down his legs. "I am not going to let this happen. Yes, I was in pain, but if I truly wanted all of that to end, there were---myriad beings that would have taken care of that for me. I could have done so myself."

"It might not have been a case of wanting it to end for your own sake, Cris. It might have been a case of needing to get up again for someone else's." The truth of the matter was, she had seen him as a man more apt to motivate himself on the behalf of another than for his own self. Save for where instances of personal violation were concerned. "Yes. That would be prudent." And then, something of a tangent. "I spoke to Charlie last week."

The skies had recently known such tumult as that which stormed through his gaze. Brow furrowed in frustration, dubiety, regret. The light waned from his eyes before he closed them, as the weight of his own choice, however far the memory of it was from his mind. If what he had done had all truly been for Bianca, then he had damned himself for nothing. Whatever he had wanted, had needed to gain in that moment had not been enough.

And that may have been why it was done in the first place.

He massaged the ache in his brow, frown hewn tightly on his mouth. And suddenly there was a name floating between them, tumbling like a feather to rest upon the table.

"Did you?" he asked, pushing his hand back through his hair. Clearing his throat, he redirected his frown to Shae.

It had been strategic, that tangent. A line tossed at the edge of the quicksand of self-recrimination and regret. For she could already see the way he'd been torturing himself with this. Could already foresee the self-flagellation that he intended to inflict. Even without his doe eyed distraction's gift of prediction. "I did. Have you told her about this?"

Strategic in the way that there was a spot on the upper back through which one could sever the spine and pierce the heart all at once. Charlie. Her name reverberated in his head until it draped over all other thought, dismay more for the possibility that he could fail at correcting this mistake than it was for the task of telling her about it.

"Not yet. I intended to, once I was certain that what I would be saying was the truth."

"She's a strong girl. I think she can handle it. And I'm sure she'll want to help. Much like you've already helped her." Smoke exchanged for the fire of liquor and then the soul comfort of a bite of food. "I'm guessing she didn't tell you about our conversation yet, but she has some hurdles of her own, doesn't she? We're going to figure this out Cris, I promise you." Promises were things the Sylph didn't hand out lightly. Her word was her strongest bond and the Nephilim was one of her dearest friends here. There was a steel in her tired eyes that made her drawn out appearance seem little more than a lie covering something more resilient.

"Strong is not a strong enough word for her. I haven't discovered any suitable ones to describe her yet." He ran a hand all over his face and exhaled a sharp burst meant to clear his head of rampant anxiety, dread, things that would only get in his way and things that he would rather no one see.

Charlie. Like an echo between his ears. He remembered the demonic invasion of a penthouse, where they had known each other a collection of about five hours and she'd urged him to leave to save himself. A diner where she'd set her hand on his, black eyes filled to the brim with concern.

And a dark, pre-dawn alley. Where she laid on an altar of vampire corpses, bathed in her own blood and asked him not to leave.

She was in his mind too often, she was in his mind now, where his trepidation should have been for himself, for his own life---it was wrapped up instead around the removal of himself from hers.

All of it passed through the shadowed dark of his gaze aimed down at the table. Clouds rolling in, drifting by as he sat still with Shae's promise like the reassurance of a warm hand against the chill of his own superb weakness. He nodded, his swallow pulling at the Marks on his throat and their mouth shaped friends, crawling the line of lean muscle and black rune. Another nod followed, and he shifted his gaze aside to her. "Thank you."

In the wake of his self collection, Shae simply nodded. The corpse of her cigarette extinguished on an empty corner of the appetizer tray where she had, at some point, devoured the crab rangoons. "Thank you...for coming. For trusting me."

His scowl shifted angles, leaning more toward ache than consternation. "Was there any doubt, or do you simply mean to convey appreciation?"

"Appreciation." Flash of a smile, the quiet interrupted by the sound of snoring from Fox on the bed. He'd passed out of his coma-sleep into something more like his usual rest. "You were one of my first lifelines here, after all."

There was a faint shifting at the corner of his mouth, "That won't change, no matter what may be affecting you."

That little shift was like a punch to her gut. The woman closed her eyes for a long moment and then opened them to pour herself a refill on the drink he'd so kindly provided. Offering the tilted bottle in his direction wordlessly.

"No, thank you," hand raised and swept aside to decline the offer. "But you may keep the bottle."

"Oh, that was happening regardless." Breezy, maybe just a bit too breezy, with a flash of teeth that bordered on wolfish. She was trying, it said. The booze had been forfeit the moment he'd handed it to her coming in the door. Suddenly though, the motel room felt too small a space for all of her. "Want to go for a walk?"

"A walk, or a walk." There really was a difference. Though regardless of type, he stood from his seat and tucked the chair under the table.

"The latter," she clarified, "I need to remember how to breathe. Just let me get changed first?" The drink she had just poured disappeared like a double shot after she closed up the libation and set it aside for later.

"Certainly." He took his coat from the chair and swung it around his shoulders, arms stuffed through the sleeves. The familiar weight of it did not comfort him as much as he would have liked it to. Perhaps the walk would.

Into Memory
03/12/16, The Quarry

Text to Cris: The enchantment is prepared.

Text to Shae: Is there somewhere specific you'd like to meet? Anything else I must do?"

Text to Cris: You tell me. Somewhere private, certainly.

Text to Shae: The quarry.

Text to Cris: Doable. When?

Text to Shae: The earliest we can. It will take me a half hour to get there.

Text to Cris: See you in an hour, then. Bring lunch.

Continued in this crosspost from Crispin's storyline Ballad of the Nameless.

When Witches Gossip
04/22/16, Teas 'n Tomes

Warm air clung to the city late Friday night, much like the Sylph's own breeze, making the wee hour stroll to the Tomes a pleasant one. Shae had set herself up with a cup of tea at one of the tables by the window to watch the nocturnal citizens filter along to those shops still open to accommodate their needs. Shae had come from Cianan's club, offering only one performance earlier in the evening, and hints of her performance attire still remained: the bangle jewelry on her wrists, feather dangle earrings, the sparse sprinkle of glitter in black hair that had been thrown into a lazy bun with an elastic hoop. Otherwise, she had changed clothes and wore a black corset over a steel grey blouse with sleeves bunched at the elbows over dark blue jeans and a favored pair of heeled black boots. Her phone rested on the table, on vibrate in case her coffee date changed her mind.

Nearby, her familiar was exercising his fuzzy faced charms to feed his gluttonous appetites. The shop girl, a newer part time worker attending the local academy, was smitten. It was a familiar story that resulted in a lot of free food and ended with Shae having to carry her plump stomached companion home. Amazingly, the creature managed to avoid becoming obese, or even chubby. His ravenous appetites were driven by an overcharged metabolism. As the reynard rolled onto his back for the latest chunk of meat pie, Shae shook her head and turned gold eyes back towards the street.

As much as Salome didn't want to take Cris' advice about anything, he'd told her the last time he'd used a taxi service in town, he'd had to kill three people. And she really didn't want to have to kill three people. She didn't exactly want to have to kill anyone, they'd killed enough already so far. But coffee was a sacred thing, caf?s like churches, and she probably would if something spilled hers.

She'd gotten directions to Tomes from Cris before she left him with his Angel girl to do Stars knew what to her B&B rented room. She knew a thing or six about his "tastes" and she'd already decided to give him the bill. Hand to the teashop door, she pressed her way inside, the rush of a warm winter breeze at her back disturbing her hair where she'd gathered it back from a wide brow and shivered the thin grey knit of a peep shouldered blouse. She paused there, half in and out to simply appreciate the aroma of coffee and old books.

The face that entered the shop lived in Shae's mind in a borrowed memory. The very sight of Salome brought the vivid experience of reliving Cris' memories to the forefront of her mind again. Her chest ached where Cris' had been split open and she inhaled sharply at the phantom pain. The noise was covered by the swift application of a smile and the lifting of her hand to call attention to where she was seated. The shop girl looked up at the sound of the door, prompting Fox to slide a curious gaze to the source of interruption to his pampering.

"Okay," she said under her breath, admiring the gleam of window panes and polished wood. The shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books that would take a good chunk of her lifetime to peruse. "Rhy'Din, one." She was closer, and Salome noticed her hand before she got too good a look around. She didn't have any details to go on, but at this hour, and with that pointed of a greeting, she didn't think she was mistaken. The clack of russet brown riding boots brought her close enough to reach across Shae's table with a thin hand, each fingertip ending in a long, black talon. "And I bet you're Shae."

Stores like the Tomes were one of those silver linings that balanced the Sylph's new life in the city. She understood well that look of admiration for the literary collection. And though she didn't drink coffee herself, the smell was not a disagreeable accompaniment to the scent of parchment and leather. "Guilty as charged." The taloned hand was taken without hesitation, perhaps an extension of the trust that lingered from Cris, perhaps evidence of the woman's own confidence. "I've heard a lot about you, though I daresay not as much as I would have liked to hear. Why don't you grab something to drink and join me so I can pester you with my curiosity? You should be able to pry the shop attendant away from Fox long enough to pour you something."

One thin brow worked its way up her head. She shook Shae's hand diplomatically. Short and firm, and when she smiled, her cheeks rounded like apples. "All I've got on you is that you're hot, so we're kind of uneven. I'll forgive it," she waved her hand, "Cris wasn't lying. I'll be right back." Caf?s like these tended to have their service counter toward the back, either to keep the lines moving, or to distract them with all the books they'd run into on the way there. She could magick her own coffee into existence, but that wouldn't be any fun. She put in an order for a tall, iced vanilla latte, heavy on the foam with a shot and a half of extra espresso. With the shop girl's assurance that she'd bring the drink out to her, Salome started to return to Shae, but gave her a curious glance for the Fox all up in her lap. "That thing's yours?" of the animal, for Shae, when she rejoined the Sylph. She drew out the other chair and sat.

Shae blinked, processing what Salome said with a soft laugh, bemused and flattered. Cris thought she was hot, huh? Well, he had pretty decent taste in women from a physical standpoint. She'd take it as the compliment it was. Seeing Salome in the flesh, Shae was picking out the differences, slight though they may be, between the distraught, combat focused woman in the memory and the living, breathing example. Fox was not in Shae's lap, but rather with the shop girl, begging shamelessly. Still, she answered the question. "He's my companion, yes, even though he's availing himself of attention from his newest admirer."

"Huh," it was almost a giggle. "You don't see that too often with gingers."

She had been younger looking in the memory. Or maybe that was the weight that she'd lost, the presence of faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, between her brows and around her mouth. Not products of age, but evidence of time spent collapsed in hard, immovable frowns. She didn't wear one now, she was in a pretty good mood considering how she'd been when she'd first arrived.

"It's the fur." Cute and cuddly did wonders for social status, and Fox had been riding that train since his arrival. Shae's smile suggested that she was just fine with letting her familiar monopolize the attention. Indeed, it gave her more time to observe. There was something about a face that ages slower. A strange clash of care lines and youth stamped with telltale evidence for those with extended lifetimes. "So I'm told some congratulations are in order. You came all this way to help out and the demonic influence shot off prematurely. You can relax and enjoy your visit now, no?"

She rolled her shoulder, "I'm not going to make a habit of praising a guy that comes too early, but in this case---" Her mouth puckered. "---he was a slimy little ass to begin with, and he just couldn't keep it up long enough." She sat straighter when her coffee arrived, taking it with gimme-hands, a quartet of black acrylic bangles sliding back along her left wrist. "I can enjoy it until Sunday night. I've got a business to run, if it hasn't burned down yet." She took a drink, and her eyes rolled back, taking a moment to savor the chilled coffee first before she swallowed with a scowl. "He told me you helped too."

The narrowing of Shae's eyes was satisfaction, perhaps a bit of regret, but chiefly satisfaction. "What business do you maintain?" The first of many questions, probably. For example, here came another. "And if it's not a trade secret, how do you travel from Earth to here and back?" The mention of Shae's contributions to the efforts earned a chuckle. "Mm. It felt a little like observing self torture, but yes. I helped." How else to describe the anguish Cris had put himself through chasing Bianca's ghost through his memory? "Got to see you being a badass, as the locals say. I know who has the connections in case of future sucking chest wounds."

"It's a small place. Consultation, wares. I also do purifications, exorcisms, ghost killings, and lessons." She opened her hand and there was a white business card laying on her palm. 800-WARLOCK was written in thick typeface above elegant script dictating what she'd already stated to Shae. "I use Portals. It took a bit of work to get here. This plane's caught up in a twister, a hurricane, and a tsunami of unstable energy that's always moving. It's where it is one second, and gone the next. Ripping open a tunnel to it is always a risky thing. But Portals are what I do."

Shae's compliment chased away the stone threatening to take over her expression. Unlike her Nephilim counterpart, her command of her facial features had not reached mastery yet. She smiled instead, chuckle a bit bashful. "You do what you can."

"How do you know him, anyway? He doesn't---I mean. You've met him. He doesn't," finger combing the air, "branch out much."

The card was taken with care, examined with amusement. If it weren't for TV advertisements, she would have no idea that this was a phone number. "Do you get calls from here?" Because she couldn't help but wonder how Cris kept in touch with her given the stated tumultuous metaphysical status of Rhy'Din. Salome's description only served as a reminder how fortunate she was to have been delivered here rather than lost to the void during her own arrival.

"You do what you can, and apparently you can do a great deal." The card disappeared into her pocket as she framed a reply to the warlock's inquiry. "He was one of the first people I encountered when I came here. And, odd thing that I am, I was always more intrigued by the ones sitting at the edge of the room than by the ones sitting at the center. I'm probably to blame for our current level of association. I can be stubborn and persistent."

"Yeah," like it should be obvious, but catching on to Shae's train of thought, she elaborated. "Cris' phone is like mine. It's been modified to survive all sorts of things, even cross-realm calls or cities without cell towers. I wasn't responsible for that spell, Bianca was. She was better at it than I was." She rolled her shoulder and bit the straw sticking out of her coffee, eyes like black marbles raising to Shae's as she answered. But there was a swirl above her left eyebrow that caught Salome's attention too. "S'the only thing that works with him. Stubborn and persistent. I think he likes it."

Bianca's name brought a small frown to her lips, quickly dismissed with shop talk. "Do you notice any limitations, incorporating magic with technology? A local warlock enchanted my phone for me, to keep its communications from being disrupted, observed, and so forth. A little over a year ago was the first time I had encountered a cell phone and I'm still a bit unsure about their effect on my spells." There was no shame in that admission. The world she came from just wasn't as technologically developed. Her tea was an afterthought at this point, she'd not touched her mug since Salome sat down. "It confuses him to have interest, but he's been valuable to me as a sounding board."

"Sometimes? Like, if you go at it like a jackhammer to the sidewalk, you're going to wreck the device and then there's going to be a ton of magic spiking off in all directions with no place to go. But if you're good and careful, it's not a big deal. I was just never good or careful. I've been working on it," she said it all around her straw, then set the cup down, smearing the cold sweat it left behind into her palm. "Who did you get to do it?" She latched on that instead of Cris, despite her being the one that brought him up.

"Good and careful." Echoed thoughtfully. "The challenge of the ages, perhaps. And I got the assistance from a fellow named Canaan. Cris was hanging around him when I first got here. He told me I could trust him with it." Shae's hand dropped to trace the outline of her phone in her front pocket. "Do you know him?"

She raised her chin in a mannerism that was not entirely hers. Silent and minute, giving herself time to stuff back the first four responses that leaped forward. "I know of him. I've only really talked to him a couple times, though. Nosy. The accent doesn't save him."

"Likewise, only communicated with him a few times. One of which might well have been him accusing me of being 'nosy'." Shae's opinion was carefully expressed as neutral as she watched Salome's reaction to the name. "In fairness, I ask a lot of questions. You might have noticed."

"HA," like a slap. "That's cute. People ask questions, that's just what happens. If he can't take what he dishes out, he needs to get out of the kitchen."

"Course he might just set the whole damn thing on fire, but you now. Semantics." Hand flap.

"Are warlocks from your world elementally aligned, or would you call that an affinity on his part?" Here, her eyes wavered towards the talons of Salome's hands. "I thought for a time that the scales on him might have been draconic in nature, but I was told they reflect a swamp dwelling predator." Fox, full of pastry and content, came sauntering towards the table they shared, watching Salome as he did so. He detoured towards her to sit near her chair and sniff at the air around her.

"Some of us are. It all depends on where the chicken egg or the love juice comes from. Most of us don't really figure that out. We just deal with it." She bent the straw toward her lower lip and once more considered the faint blue patterns she could see on Shae's skin. They did not detract, but they were too random to enhance. Intriguing. Prettier than some of the other Warlock marks she'd seen, but Shae wasn't one of them. She didn't know what Shae was.

"Are you several generations in, like the Nephilim, or are you closer to the source? The separation of what you call the Shadow World from the rest of your society fascinates me." Now she remembered the tea, taking a side glance towards Fox who seemed to be considering Salome's lap as a potential target. "I think he likes you. He says hello, by the way." Sip.

She raised her shoulders near the rope chain dangle of her earrings. Little feathers and knotted charms swayed to and fro, ruined dreamcatchers. "I don't know. I thought about it for a while, a long time ago. We all go through one of those weepy existential periods, wondering why we're born, why we can't die, why part of our bodies looks like it was superglued on from something else." She looked down to find Fox's intelligent face turned up. Salome raised her coffee and tapped her yoga-pant thigh with her other hand. "I have a cat," she explained. "Anyway. Most of us don't get real deep into where we come from. About two thirds of us are the results of an Eidolon and a mundane. So I guess in that sense, we're purer than the Shadowhunters. Ish."

"And what, in your world, is an Eidolon?" The term was not unfamiliar to Shae, but she was rather certain that what she defined it as was something entirely different. Fox took the invitation, or what he presumed to be an invitation, and bounced up into the warlock's lap to further ingratiate himself into her space. His attention was drawn to her earrings, and it was these that he pointed his nose towards. Shae watched her familiar's investigation, her expression changing in the moments that she and Fox exchanged glances.

"Shapeshifters. It's an---" she ducked her head away from Fox's sniffing, her other hand open and ready to grab his snout and redirect it if she had to. You get one cat stuck in your earring, and it changes your whole life. "---all encompassing thing. There's around twelve or so species of it. Succubi and incubi kind of fall under that tent. They shift, they make babies, that kind of thing."

"Don't even think about it," squinting down at the canid.

With Salome's fingers around his snout, Fox cheekily blew a raspberry into her palm. "He says they smell interesting." Cue a waggling of canid brows. "Shapeshifters, hmm. Demonic though, yes? Cris mentioned as much. He seems to have a very...conflicted relationship with the other elements of the Shadow World. Honestly, the social order is...I'm just rambling now. It's been interesting trying to puzzle out his motivations and what might have caused them."

"I took a shower." She'd taken three, really. "Demonic. Yeah." She looked up as Shae dropped the sensitive name this time. "He has a conflicted relationship with everything." Salome smeared her hand back along Fox's head and dragged her claws down his back. "He would've done anything for that bitch. He'd do anything for his new one. He'd do anything for anybody that asked him. He stands apart from people, like you said, but once you figure out how he watches them?" she shook her head.

"He was already broken when he showed up on our doorstep, and Bianca stuffed her hands in there and spread the pieces all over the place. I don't even want to figure out the motivations behind it. If it was him, or her, or whatever. It's over, and he can get the fuck over it."

Shae didn't seem aware of the sensitive nature of the topic, or maybe she didn't see a reason to attach much stigma to it. The matter of Bianca, though, made her sigh. "His new one had best not use him the way the old one did. I might have to beat the notion of self respect into his head." Another frown. "Love makes people blind, I suppose the old wisdom is true."

She liked Shae. "Hell, I'll beat her. She comes back from the dead and everything, and all of a sudden," frilly ripples of her fingers. "Then I'll beat him. Or maybe not, he likes that. We'll tickle him instead."

"Tickles and hugs. The real torture methods." Drawled before her face turned devilish. Her innocent tone of questioning at odds with her demeanor. "Did he show you his pet bunny?" That grin was pure amusement. "Bun-bun is adorable."

"Tickles and bugs actually. If you've never seen him squirm around before, it, is, hi----larious." Her mouth dropped open. "His pet what?"

"Oh he--" False surprise, a hand to her chest. "He didn't introduce you to his pet bunny? It followed him around when he went to visit a local named Taneth so she gave it to him. He smiled so big, just like a happy boy." Shae giggled. Giggled. "I named it because he couldn't decide what to call it."

"No,hedidnotintroducemetohispetbunny. Oh, my god, that ass." She pulled the collar of her loose shirt aside and dug around between her breasts for the big black brick of a phone that matched Cris's down to its lacquered sheen, though she had a frilly little flower charm stuck into the headphone jack that gave it some flare. "I am going to tell him he's an ass right now. It'll mess up his sex life, I know it," grinning broadly, she looked up. "I met Taneth. She told me he lets her call him Crissy."

"When he was a kid, he wouldn't say a single word to you for six hours if you called him anything but his name." Her claws clicked around on the screen, fast enough to suggest she's had a lot of practice with them.

"That he does." Taneth had that kind of power over the local male population. "I used his full name a few times, and he was rather huffy about it. I'm reserving future use of it for when he pisses me off. Just to get my point across, of course." Seeds of fluffy bunny chaos sewn, Shae sat back in her seat to enjoy the rest of her tea. Fox, meanwhile, was eyeing the pillowy valley that phone had appeared from. Prompting a "Hey." from Shae in his direction. "Also, I don't really want to think about his sex life. It just highlights my current lack of one in a depressing way."

"Tack on his middle name with it, really freak him out," click-click, "It's Elias. By the way." She put the phone down, screen-to-table, her hands resting somewhere in ginger fur. She seemed more comfortable about the interest in her chest than she was about her earrings. "Not you too," moaning, she rolled her eyes. "What is up with this town? I don't get it. I've not seen one ugly person since I've gotten here, I don't know why you all aren't bending each other over stuff."

"Don't get me wrong, I've seen some ugly stuff too, but I think these two uglies were actually bumping uglies, and it was really disturbing. Don't go under any bridges."

"Elias. Not bad, not bad. It will certainly freak him out as he'll wonder where in the stars I learned if from." The appreciation was mutual. Shae found the warlock to be quite agreeable to her sense of humor. "Yes me too. I blame it upon my picky nature and the widespread assumption that most of these attractive people are already wrapped up in one another in some way. To be fair, I was somewhat wrapped up, but that might just have been wishful thinking on my part." Here a small shrug. "I tend to stick to the rooftops, but I'll take your warning seriously."

"He might put it together. That's definitely not the worst thing I can tell you about him." She ruffled Fox's fur behind his head. "You know, there's nothing wrong with adding yourself to something like that. Like just for a night, sidle on in there. Wrap yourself up in some people." It'd been awhile since she'd talked to a female she actually liked. At Shae's confession of a somewhat past lover, she looked up, her eyes going round. "Ooooohhh, who was it? Was he tasty?" Pause. "Was she tasty?"

Laughing, Shae waved the questions off. Ignoring them, and the memories, in favor of what proved to be an afternoon of sharing stories about Crispin and giving the Warlock a few pointers about the city itself.

One Question

It happened like that. So fast. Things a blur of involuntary motion. Breathing. In and out. Like he wasn?t. Taneth took the body, buried it in the garden with the flowers and the rabbits.

I took the responsibility of telling people. I couldn?t ask Salome. Grief paralyzed and crippled her. I had to. I had to keep him alive. I had to speak his name.

Bianca. That name will never be redeemed. How did I explain five months of waiting? How did I justify it when I didn?t even know why myself? How did I answer Ketch when he stared at me as if I was failing Crispin and asked me Why haven?t you fixed it yet?

I don?t know when it was that I became a god in his eyes, but I suppose it was about the time I realized he was still drinking with his ghosts. About the time I realized my world looked like a fairy tale to him.

Why haven?t you fixed it yet?

The question haunted me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight Salome. I wanted to cry. I didn?t have the time. I had to speak his name. At Beltane I spoke and for a moment he was as close to life as he could be. He echoed in their minds in that moment and I could almost reach him.

I thought Salome would punch me. I thought she?d draw blood.

Blood.

Willingly given drops for a dagger and a ritual I?d never heard of.

Demon. Human. Angel.

Robert. Fin. Theron.

My blood on shards of mirror glass when Bianca cut the connection. I could see his soul there. She showed it to us, all ripped edges and folds of agony. Holy marks replaced with lacerations. Souls bleed. Who knew?

Why haven?t you fixed it yet?

I don?t remember sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I could see it. Every time the rage almost choked me. Secondhand memories of an axe wound to the chest pulled me back to work, sucking air.

We were still missing one ingredient when it all went to hell. No. Came back from hell. How I wish Bianca had died there. Five months demanded became barely two and a half. The 10th of July, Taneth?s garden, not long after midnight. Uprooted flowers, a shower of dirt and Leena?s blood to replace that which her father refused to provide.

Fox bridged Lirssa?s gift into the test of endurance neither Salome nor I had the time to prepare for. The path was ripped wide, the door opened. Seven feet tall, and five across. A milky way galaxy of red stardust and swirling nothingness. It smelled like fire and char. Lightning crackled at its edges. We held it.

And held. And held. And held.

We would hold it until we fell. Allow only what was him to take possession. The sun rose and set. The deep of night came again. There was only the one chance and nothing to spare for thought. Lirssa passed out. I watched Fox?s fur darken from red to black. I watched the wind in my skin pool into my hands and disappear.

Then, abruptly, the doorway pulsed. The grave rumbled and spewed dirt up into the air like a geyser. Minutes passed as the door crackled, then shattered. The silence was so loud I thought, as I sunk to my knees, that I had gone deaf. I heard a cough, a rattle gasp breath. The last thing I saw was blonde hair diving into an open grave. I was nothingness, like that doorway, but nothingness wasn?t supposed to hurt in the ways I did.

.

.

.

.

Days later, when I came to in the remote cottage Fox had taken me to, my voice was a ruin but I managed to ask one question.

Did we fix it?

Incarnation, Part 2

"Side effects----is a rather broad term. Anything could be one." He owed her the truth, and not some half baked generality, but that would take time to articulate. Time that he had, now, but time that he was not allowed as she continued, and the precision of that inquiry, the way it tripped too close to the very thing he was trying to decide how to explain tugged in a small scowl between his brows.

But she'd moved on, and he felt a peculiar touch of upset at his desire to simply let her. To let her have the day. He swallowed, nodded, dropped his gaze from hers, focused instead on the truth in her admission rather than the absurdity of the one surrounding Fox. "I am----but a shade of a shade of what I once was before all of this happened. I do not believe my body has caught up to its reality yet, but I am doing what I can to help it along."

Teeth worried at her lower lip and tears threatened again, suffusing her words with the guilt and worry and relief jumbled beneath them. "I've...I've never brought someone back after so long before. Weakness is common. Some physical changes too. But...nothing a-alarming? Pervasive cold? Loss of certain senses?" Rot...bruising...organ failure. Voices that didn't belong. Deathsight. The ways in which a revival could go horribly awry were countless. "I can help you work through the muscle repair...if...if you want. I'm..." She cut herself off before she could apologize again. It would be meaningless. Instead she rubbed at her eyes again with the back of her hand taken off his neck.

Was that really all it could be? An awry revival. He'd gladly take the consequences if there were to be any. "There has been no pervasive cold, no----no rot, by the Angel, that's.... That's rather disconcerting." But if it had been necrosis, he was certain Eva would have mentioned it by now. "So far, I've the ability to see extremely well in the dark without the benefit of a rune, though I do not count that as a detriment. Surprising, yes, but," but she'd cut herself off.

In that moment, he decided, that it could wait. It may have gotten him into this mess to begin with, and he could not remember exactly who it was that told him that he was not alone, that he had more than enough generous hands to catch him if he fell, but in that moment, he only saw hers, and how often they rose to her face to catch tears stubbornly fighting their way through her lashes. He moved one hand from her waist, slid the length of four scarred fingers around the thin line of her wrist to carefully draw her knuckles from her eyes.

Try as she might to listen with clinical concern, she couldn't do Eva's job. Not with that persistent twitch in the corner of her lower lip threatening to make it quiver and frown despite pressing her lips together. Nothing serious, from what he had said. Nothing serious, she told herself. The curl of his fingers pulling her hand away from eyes rubbed red betrayed the dampness she was knuckling into her cheeks. A sharp intake became a hiccough. "Promise to tell me if there's anything wrong?" Anything to not have to be blindsided by such a gut-wrenching shock again. "Please?" Her voice lost all its usual strength, her composure beginning to crumble without the shield of her hand to rely on.

It had never been a comfort to be faced with an empty well where before strength resided. A sense of duty, a stalwart dedication to the protection of his friends who needed it. Especially one that looked like this. One that he'd gone to for help months prior, one who'd remained and given just about everything she could to what it was that allowed him to once more open his eyes. And he owed her. He owed her better, more. She did not deserve to be patronized, her intelligence insulted by a paltry desire to keep her from experiencing any more pain, anxiety, anything that could make her voice crack as it did, because hers was a strength he had always admired, counted on when he could not find the threads of his own.

He closed his eyes, leaving her wrist with a squeeze from the rough calluses of fingertips when he set his palm instead against her hair, and he ducked his head, the stiff line coming to press against the dark border of her hairline. His exhale was warm, but too long, too even, to be anything but resignation. He wetted the crease in his lower lip when they left her brow. His hand firmed up against her waist, fitting into the curve too deep from too little sustenance. "All right," he began, his voice, roughly scraped dry for the ache that had wrapped the very core of his throat, "You know----you know that had I any control over this, it wouldn?t have happened at all. I would not have put any of you through this, I would not have let her put you through this." His swallow stuck and took its time on the way down. "And I wish, Shae......I wish, by the Angel, that I could tell you with conviction that I do not think there is anything wrong with me. With my body, at all, but I can't." His mouth pressed together, compressing the follow-up----"Because I think there is."

For those who opened themselves to her and took shelter in the arms of her friendship, there was little the Sylph was unwilling to do. Wars waged, screaming demands at the universe. They had managed to claw Cris back to the Material, and the only price she would ever ask would be his trust. She had begged it of him. Take what you need, just let me give it.

The unexpected press of lips to the line of hair that was once again its proper shade of black caused her breath to still. To better hear words potentially uttered into her tresses, she offered a silence that needed filling. The desert dry resignation that seeped into the void, scouring at the bones of hope, was a better comfort than the placebo of uncertainty that he might have otherwise left her with. She was quick to reassure him, though not about his more prominent fears. Those she took her time in getting to. First was the creep of her arms pulling him back into an embrace, her eyes closed. She wasn't able to swallow the frightened sorrow in her voice completely, but her words were clear enough. "I know you had no control. I know. I told you before you aren't at fault for the horrible things that Bianca has done. She lied to you. Used you. The weight of this fiasco is on her shoulders, not yours." Recrimination crept back in. "Salome and I were fools to be taken in by the mark disappearing. I still think we were fools for letting her dictate how you were to be brought back.So if...if there is something wrong it is probably our deficiency. And I am sorry Cris. I am. But please..." Here her voice broke again, warm salt water tracing rivulets along his collar. "Please believe me that I will do everything I can to fix it."

He knew in the back of his mind that if he did not bring it up now, he never would. He'd cling instead to the fact that he'd narrowly avoided laying another ton of weight to the phantom yoke already weighing her shoulders down. She drew him back in and for a moment he merely stood there, his hold gone lax at her waist and against her hair while she moved in and gathered strength in her embrace a second time. "It's obvious now," he said, letting his chin rest lightly on her crown, "that that entire encounter was a farce. The demon we killed that day did not even know what it was a part of until its part had been played. It was, for a time, as subject of great gloating." Her tears were warm on his neck, they left a broadening dark spot on the collar of his shirt. "At the moment, even I do not know what's going on. I had thought it merely----natural, I suppose, if that's the term for it. If one's body suffers a trauma, one needs to heal. But after two months of near absolute listlessness given my body's newfound allergy to any physical exertion, I should have improved much more than I have. And I would be content to give it all the time I had, to be certain that I would not merely give out. But I do not think I have that sort of time. Nothing has stopped since I've been gone."

Restraint kept her from attempting to examine him there on the pier. Brick by brick she rebuilt her composure. This one the relief that they hadn't failed outright. That one shaped like the comfort that he seemed himself. Both hands found his shoulders and she pushed herself back from the warmth of contact and back into the cool breeze that haunted her every step. Puffy eyed, she drew herself up. "This is uncharted territory for me. But we are not without resources, here of all places. There has been some improvement, but not enough? Do you think someone still moves against you? Against your life? Tell me what you know." The spark at the back of her gold eyes desired a target. A foe. A face to put to the sense of wrongness that had robbed him of his conviction that all would be well. "If this is Bianca..." The threat begun trailed into nothing, waiting.

He felt the breeze between them in her absence and he did not count that as a relief. With her hands on his shoulders setting him back, he let his own light grip fall away from her slender waist. "I'm not ready to rule out the possibility that there is yet another threat lurking somewhere that I can't see. I've spoken to Charlie about this, and she's said the same." He ducked his head, raising a palm to rub his face. "She," the pause he took there, though there was no supplied name, made it clear just whom he meant, "told me, repeatedly, that she would lock and destroy the exit after I went through it. From what I recall----the last thing I remember seeing before I opened my eyes was a red dust plateau, set upon by a horde of demonic creatures that moved as arachnids, with her in the middle. And as monumentally powerful as she was, I do not want to operate on the assumption that she succeeded in what she set out to do."

He drew back, scratching a line into the dark thatch of whiskers on his jaw, and swung an emphatic look to the bench she'd left behind to let her know his intentions when he moved toward it. Time spent immobile put a stiffness in his legs and his gait was slower, gone about with caution instead of a confined grace. "I've gained already two items from Charlie that aid in protection against demonic forces. A barrier around and inside my home, and this----" He paused to sit on the corner of the bench first, his hold against its back tight enough to pick out the striation of waning muscle under Marks as he guided his weight down. Then he motioned to his opposite wrist, ringed in a hand tooled leather cord that sported a pewter talisman the size of a small coin. "It is meant to repel any untoward action visited upon me by any who share demonic blood."

As the Nephilim excused himself to the bench, Shae gathered the wayward water bottle from the planks. It had settled into a crack in one of the boards and rocked in place as the waves lapped at the pier. Not quite as cold as it had been, she nevertheless offered the condensation coated bottle to him, using to proximity to allow her gaze to flicker over the talisman worn on his wrist. Fox drew alongside Cris' left leg, staring up at him. The canid's attention held the weight of assessment. "Do you continue to improve, albeit at an unsatisfactory rate?" Her own half-empty bottle was retrieved next, still balanced on the metal arm. The bag containing two more was righted and set at the corner of the bench beside him. Then she claimed a stretch of slats for herself.

That breeze folded around him again, preternaturally vigilant against aerial attacks against any within its range. "What does Salome think about this? Is she concerned about your progress?"

He took the bottle with a nod of gratitude, letting his gaze rest finally on Fox as he approached. Cris offered a minute curl of his lip before Shae drew his attention aside, snorting at the term unsatisfactory for it wasn't the one he would have used. "At first, when I rose, there was such a profound deluge of sensation. Of confusion, of----such physical agony that, at first, I could not breathe. I thought momentarily that something had gone wrong, that I'd entered the wrong door, through I was only following her direction." He turned the bottle in his hands, pressing his thumb into the plastic. "That pain and that sensory overload has since ebbed a great deal. But I am still.... And it may be, simply, that for the time I existed, I was not----attached, to this body. It's been in stasis for so long, and I've forgotten what it is to move again, to feel, as I did certainly feel everything where I was, but the difference between There and here is.... It's difficult to explain.

"I've not yet told her of my concerns. I don't...." he stuck the tip of his tongue against the corner of his mouth. "I do not yet know enough about what I'm dealing with, if I'm dealing with anything at all, but I know----I know that I am dealing with something. You mentioned markings," crinkle, "yes?" He did not look when he asked.

Fox's muzzle tilted upwards in recognition for Cris' subdued lip curl of greeting, but his observational attitude didn't waver. Ears perking forward at the snort and staying there as the man began to explain the overwhelming experience of regaining control of a physical body after months of separation. Wincing, Shae sniffed once to try and clear her sinuses, to mixed success. There was nothing to offer in follow-up to his description of such sensory trauma. It didn't deviate from her expectations drastically. A cough and a sip of water later, she was pondering what it meant that he hadn't decided to tell Salome these concerns. "You need to tell her. She's the best resource I currently know on how magic might effect a body like yours." Tone gentle, it still carried the weight of her opinion that it was the right thing to do. Half a dozen questions battled to the forefront, but her response to his singular example regarding the markings was: "I did, yes." Followed by another, expectant silence.

"I know," crackle, "I know I do." He may have only wanted the water for something to do with his hands. "I know she'd want to know, I know she'd momentarily despise me for keeping it to myself." Exhaling, he ducked his head, tipped it into the cradle of his waiting palm. "She's done----and she's been through enough, and I can't----I do not want to drag her into it. I do not want to drag you into it, I do not want it to be happening at all. By the Angel, I want it all to fucking stop, to just----to simply, simply stop. It can pick up again later, if it likes, but these last three years have been so entirely arduous that looking back on it all, I can't even fathom that I'm sitting here, coherent enough to describe it. It's, literally, killed me." He slid his fingers through his hair, and it really did need a trim for how lax it was against the passage of scarred knuckles.

"There are wounds upon my back that have grown exponentially worse in the last two weeks. I did not notice them at first, and for the scars I've already collected there, I may have simply missed them. But they are present, and I have done nothing strenuous to warrant them. I have not been attacked, I've hardly been out of doors in the last three months. The barrier upon my home and this bracelet rule out all demonic influence. If something is being done to me, it is not demonic in nature, and should Charlie's description ring true----if Bianca still lives, in whatever manner she's found, because of her demonic ties, she would not be able to touch me either.

"I am starting to entertain the notion that it is me. My body, my----my soul, my something that is causing this. I've been to a physician in town. Eva, the one who aided Antonia after her attack and surgeries. She's given me something for the pain. I am to see her again soon."

The more he talked, the more fodder he gave her to process. Her mental calculation of his state of well-being was undergoing constant revision and the overall impression was on the decline. "Hey...no, hang on. Isolating yourself isn't the solution to this. If it was I know I'd have a hell of a lot fewer problems myself." Fingers reached out to follow the path of his own through his hair. The mention of wounds on his back meant that any comforting gesture or rub there was completely off the table lest she exacerbate whatever issues were already present. Issues that were rather alarming. Wounds that weren't healing. Night vision. She had questions, but first she had some things to say:

"And let's sort one thing out. You aren't dragging myself, Leena, Salome...any of us. Anywhere. We're here Cris. We're already here. We've been here. So try to look at it a different way, because from our perspective? We're just waiting on you to hand us the tools to work with to get out of this together. By deciding you care about someone, it's a conscious decision to make their shit your problem. So that when they feel the way you do now -- like some sort of punching bag for the universe -- you can step in and help."

After a noisy inhale meant to steel herself, she got to the questions she needed to ask. "You might not have been attacked or strained anything, but did you come into contact with something in those places? Even something that normally would never cause wounds to you? Have you been having any dreams, lately? Has any healing been attempted on them besides pain medication? Have you noticed any other changes?"

Her fingertips skidded past his own, he hadn't taken them off his head yet. The water bottle dangled in a dangerously loose grip. He closed his eye as he listened, taking comfort in the even cadence of her voice and the rush of lapping waves against the pier. They, all of them, made him tired, and he simply could doze for an hour or so. Perhaps that would clear his head, perhaps that would give some perspective, if it would not make it all go away entirely.

"There is nothing that has not touched me, in some way," quietly. "Any fathomable implement, blunt or sharp, I have felt them. I was told, whilst There, that wounds visited directly upon a soul take longer to heal, emotional blows especially, and prior to my escape I sustained a myriad of them. The road from where I was to where I needed to go was not an easy one, and there were battles. There were points where I felt, as curious as it feels to say, that I would perish there, and remain locked in solitude, on a plane that was nothing but a wasteland of belched ash and broken rock.

"Dreams are," he exhaled a humorless chuckle, "of course I have them. It's rare that I don't. Iratzes do not work but for to stave off a slice of the pain they cause me."

The Root of the Issue, Part 1

An hour later?

That was nice and all, but when are we going to discuss the problem? Fox?s voice broke into her quiet thoughts as they walked back towards the Inn.

The problem? Trepidation.

I understand you?ve been emotional about this, but I didn?t think you had put on blinders. Did you not notice the energy emanating from him? Exasperation.

He--... I--... You think it is to do with the delay he mentioned in his recovery? It?s divine, right? Even as she asked, she knew that her gratitude that he lived was overshadowing her denial.

I know, but listen. Think. He?s got an affinity in his blood, but even an affinity is not meant to hold that much. The output is too great. There?s a problem. How do you want to handle this?

Acceptance. Guilt. Salome has been here. I?ll text her. As she continued towards the Inn with Fox, she pulled out her phone.

Fifteen minutes after sending the first string of messages to the Warlock, impatience won out. She texted both of them separately as she climbed the steps to the Red Dragon, not yet aware of how group texts worked.

Individual Texts: We need to talk.

Text from Salome: Welll fuck, waht now?!
Text from Cris: Has something happened?

Individual Texts: I think I know what's wrong, but I need you both to confirm it. Can you meet me at my room at the Inn?

Text from Salome: sure fine, when?
Text from Cris: Certainly.

Individual Texts: Now, if you can.

Shae hadn't been back to her room at the Inn in months, but when the witch warded a place her protections were durable. There was some strength taken from the lack of consistent habitation and renewal, certainly, yet as she stood in front of the door marked 103 she was satisfied with what she found. The active deterrents were still dormant. The delicate spiderweb weaving of the perimeter spell was intact. The woman had been arguing with her familiar all the way up the stairs, but their internal disagreement had gone quiet with the need to check for signs of trespassing. She found none. Woman and Fox stepped inside, the door closed behind them. Silence returned to the hall as if it had never been disturbed.

The Root of the Issue, Part 3

Frowning, Cris turns to look at Salome, his gaze following the volley of conversation back and forth as it pinged around the small room. Salome opens her mouth to add something but Cris cuts her off with a raise of one hand, then both to request a cessation of spoken barbs. "Shall I presume his presence is needed since he's taken on another form?"

After a moment, Shae nods.?I figured that Salome would have some things to say and I didn't want to have to both referee and translate at the same time since his perception of energies is better by far than mine."

"She needs me," Fox confirmed smugly.

"So far, it's been established that she needs your ability to communicate aloud, since she's perfectly capable of doing so on her own. Beyond that, you are merely a device for the detection of energy," dryly. His fists clenched tightly, then released. She'd detailed her intentions clearly, and as much as Cris wanted to believe that a solution to the concerns he'd voiced not a few hours ago could be found so swiftly, the last time they all made that mistake---- Well, he did not not need to remind himself. He did not look at Salome, nor Fox. The both of them could very well not exist in the room for all the attention he paid them. Instead, his gaze rests solely upon Shae, and her desire to eke out some manner of order from the high spirited exchange.

The redhead's grin spoke of amusement, satisfaction, and -- strangely -- affection. He didn't add anything further, choosing to let Shae take the lead again.

"Cris, if I'm right about this then time is already a factor. If I'm wrong it's better to disprove it now to avoid wasting anymore energy on the theory." Shae gestured to Salome. "Neither of us want to see you suffer from something we've overlooked."

His tongue juts up behind his frown and he closes his eyes. Because of it, he can't see the way that Salome looks at Shae, at Fox, or the way she tightens her arms, flattening her claws against her ribs so that she doesn't have the temptation to move them or reach for anything. "If I'm to do this," he says, raising his hands to the collar of his hoodie, the zipper keeping it closed, "I'd like, as well, for the antagonization and wry commentary to stop. I respect the desire to lighten the mood, but I guarantee you that all it does is irritate me beyond measure." Ripping the zipper down, he shrugs slowly and with only minimal trouble from the garment. When he opens his eyes, he finds Salome's gaze and the full two ton weight behind it, solely upon him. Silent communication passes between matte black and gold-green. He offers her the hoodie, and she takes it, hugging it to her chest.

"If we keep having to fix you-----" Salome began.

Cris scowled.

"Sorry. Sorry----but really---" She pressed.

Cris maintains eye contact as he slips two fingers behind the leather cord of his bracelet and tugs, loosening its cinch. With it free of his wrist, he brings it to the nearest available, flat surface; the desk with all of its vials, and he lets it go.

Shae had been a still point making her argument and remained so as Cris removed both hoodie and bracelet. Gold eyes dart briefly in Salome's direction to make sure she didn't take the opening to leap at the man. Once fairly confident that an attack was not imminent, her attention drifted towards the quiet Fox. "Well?"

"I'm going to behave." Both hands up in surrender.

Then two sets of gold eyes focused on Cris, expectant.

For her part, all Salome does is watch. She can see, like he still wears it like a garment, the weight bearing down upon his shoulders. The weariness in their line, how brittle his resolve to keep himself upright really was. She should have known from the beginning, as she did when she accepted his request for time so easily. He'd never been one to let others see him in any facet of weakness, and there he was now, with his hand against the edge of the desk like he was trying to decide whether or not letting go of it was really a good idea. She stiffens up her mouth and balled up Cris' hoodie, setting it aside. Then she strips free of her own sweater, and tosses it on top. Soon, he's got a pair of black eyes on him too.

And it's lucky that he has his back to them already, so that he can not see anything of their expectancy. The three hole punch of their intent stares is enough for him and like they know they're being watched, the twin wounds on his back begin to itch. Burn and flare with a tight pain that forces him to shrug and hunch his shoulders forward. Generally, for males at least, removing one's shirt in the presence of others tended not to be that big a deal. But for the care he took with it, how slowly his hands raise to grip his collar behind his head, the unhurried way he works it up, over his head, and slowly pulls the rest free of him, they could have been asking him to hold a gun to his head and play Russian Roulette.

The hike of the charcoal grey hemline reveals a littering of scars in groups of threes and fours, the work of bestial claws, spanning the breadth of his back from hip to shoulder. There are only two Marks to be seen; one half peeking above the thick leather of his belt, a bit off center. The and the other, easily the size of one of his hands, stamped right in the center of his spine between shoulder blades. They stand out sharply, razors under scars, for the weight that he's lost since his resurrection, and just inside them sit a pair of jagged, angry fissures in his flesh, as though something once resided there but has since been sawed clean off. Each nearly a foot long and raised, keloid, nearly, in the compounded way swollen flesh splits around them, and down their center, a smattering of maroon suggests that they may have bled, at some point, but only very little. Lightning strikes of blue and darker, bruising purple spread out from the wounds like the roots of a poisonous tree. Every breath he takes moves them, every movement, however minute, disturbs them, and it is all of a sudden obvious the reason why he carries himself as stiffly as he does.

Already inside the witch's head a chorus of I knew it, I told you so. existed just for her. The placement of the injuries and the spreading 'infection' of their wounding is like a slap in the face. She didn't need to look over at her familiar to get the confirmation. Now that she was looking for it, she could feel it too. The Sylph drew closer and drew back, her face twisted into a moue of frustrated disgust. Not with him, but with the situation in general. Perhaps with herself. Then began the cursing. A string of Drow words that sounded downright murderous, interspersed with a few samples of the common tongue: "...fucking angel blood...of course, fucking wing roots... triggered survival traits..." This tirade went on for a solid twenty seconds before she paused mid stride and pressed white knuckles into her forehead. "You're both idiots and I'm the biggest fool for staying away so long."

During this outburst, ?Ferys? examined his nails calmly. "My turn to translate, is it? Oh goody. What she's saying, if you haven't been following -- I know her accent can be a bit thick in the Drow -- Is that she believes your heritage is trying to assert itself, most likely as a response to severe trauma and time spent in a region hostile to it, where it would have endured the exposure better than the more human aspects of your soul." Nails flicked at nothing, then he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "And once you wake up a traditionally dominant heritage, it doesn't like to go back to sleep."

She's abruptly cold for the loss of her sweater, but Salome feels like her hands need to be free, and she doesn't need an extra layer getting in the way. But she crosses her arms tightly over her chest, palms wrapped around her shoulders. The toes of her Chucks point inward and she stares across the room like the twin gold pairs of eyes do, but they don't stay there long when the reveal begins. At first, she sees nothing. Nothing but too much bone in his spine when he moves, nothing but scars that she herself put there, and her claws curl into her own skin for the memory of it, but they do not stay their long.

Her mouth drops open when she sees the rune for Courage in Combat flanked by----She can't even name it. She's a sound like broken glass in her throat, pressing her hands instead up against her mouth and nose, looking over the points of her claws at the ruination that had become a part of Cris' body, and she rushes forward at the same time that Cris puts his hands on the desk and bows his head. Trepidation rolls off of him in waves. She can only look, mute, at the other two in the room, whites around the solid black of her eyes going red and wet with unspilled tears.

Ferys' eyes widen and his voice becomes much more consoling. "Oh come pet, don't cry." Instantly alarmed by a female other than Shae in distress, he shifted over towards Salome to gently pat her back. Though it was obvious from his body language that he wanted to scoop her up into a hug. "We can work through it, yes?"

"Yeah, but----but, but they're, it's hurting him......! What the fuck happened, how, why!?" her voice gets thinner and higher the more she speaks until all Salome can manage is some sort of keening and hand flailing. First at Cris, then at herself, for not forcing him when she wanted to, for not guessing sooner. For any number of things. Fox puts his hand on her back and she takes a step toward him, giving in easily to the attempted gift of comfort.

Ferys slung a steadying arm around the warlock's shoulder, his supportive tone at odds with his usual instigating nature as he encouraged her to stay calm, breathe, and think in little doses of platitude and tiny patches of arm rubs.

Shae, in turn, moved within Cris' line of sight once she'd finished trying to press her palms through her face. A rough scrub and a sigh as she crouched down into his bent-over eyesight at the side of the desk. Sitting on her heels she folded her fingers together. Calm, unearthly calm suffused her. "The fact remains, you are radiating divine energy at a volume that should not be possible for what I know of your kind. Which suggests that whatever happened to you on your way back to us...something brought with you, something awakened...is flooding a mostly human body with things it was not designed to withstand. Your wounds, I'm sure you've noticed, are incredibly suggestive in their placement. You've as yet expressed no outward source for them which, when paired with this energy output, suggests a change from within as the most likely origin. I believe your body is trying to heal itself, but to the wrong base state."

His hands on the desk had turned into boulder tight fists the moment Salome's voice shattered. The weight of his lean on his hands was starting to become a strain more than a relief, the force of it picking out spare lines of muscle beneath the mural of Marks wrapping both forearms, the silver road map of older runes, and vast array of little, ancient wounds inflicted by myriad sources. Cris stares at the wood between his fists without really seeing it, a great slice of his mental focus given over strictly to the act of breathing. In deep, out easy, because if he does not maintain control of it, it will begin to trip over itself, just like his heart was starting to.

He sees Shae out of the corner of his eye and for a while, as she speaks to him, her gentle voice like the back of a cool hand against a fevered brow, it seems like he does not hear her. So focused on the desk, and the strict rigid line of his spine, trying not to move at the same time as he was sipping on every bit of air he could. But, slowly, a blade's edge sharpness returns to his gaze. His brow stiffens, pulls in tightly together. He lifts his eyes from the desk to the wall. He remembered just about every moment he'd spent in that Hell plane, every pain visited, and every illusion he'd been forced to choke down to the point that it took effort for him not to. It was enough that he revisited that place every time he closed his eyes, he could not, would not, bring it with him when he was awake.

Despite his body language, Shae continued. "Now, there still could be another reason, but I think this is enough to warrant treating my theory as a strong possibility for what is going on here. This is the point where I'm no longer the expert. Information from your world is the best recourse to prove or deny my theory. Salome do you?,? the calm broke to give way to uncertainty as her face turned towards where the Warlock had pressed herself into Fox?s shoulder, ?...has something like this ever happened to a Nephilim?"

Cris turns his head in Shae's direction, too much wariness in the sharp flick of his eyes to her. Then back, as she directs her question to the Warlock scrubbing her face in frustration.

"I----u-uh." Grunting, she sniffs, forcing herself away from Fox with determination. "Not----not like this. I mean, there was this clan of Shadowhunters that went batshit crazy. One of their own started looking for new ways to fight demons, and started to turn on Downworlders. He was trying to create the perfect Shadowhunter," in clawed quotations, "and experimented with a whole bunch of shit. Some of that was angel and demon blood. He tried demon first, for some reason, and ruined his first kid with it. So he took an angel's blood instead and fed it to some pregnant Shadowhunters. One of them was his wife. As a result, the two of them, they've got more angel blood in them than the rest of them do.

"During one of the last two wars, the story goes that this Shadowhunter, Valentine, summoned Raziel and tried to control him, but his kid took over the circle instead. Instead of using the angel's power for whatever Valentine wanted it for, she asked him to bring back the Herondale boy Valentine killed. That same boy was stabbed later with a weapon of Heaven so ridiculous, it turned him into like----like a lightning rod of holy power. He couldn't touch anything," the more she speaks, the more her eyes go wide, the quicker she looks between Shae and Cris. "I don't know how they turned that off. They got it all out of him, but I think they were all afraid he was going to combust because of it.

"We have to figure out where it's coming from. You said that his body might be stuffed with something it can't handle?" she chooses not to be perverse here, "we have to figure out where it's coming from. If we can, maybe we can get it out of your before you explode."

Shae stood for a moment, moving out of Cris' line of sight. When she returned, it was with an outstretched arm to offer his shirt into the space on the desk between those two hands in the rigor of stress. He was processing it in waves, or so it seemed. And the look in his eye, like a frightened animal, caused her chest to ache dully. The Sylph listened to Salome as she moved over to gently relieve the hoodie from the crook of Salome?s arm. "Well, there are a lot of theories in that explanation alone. And some of them we will need Cris' help to confirm or deny."

The hoodie was delivered to the same spot in which she had left Cris' shirt a few moments before. "We don't know that anything as drastic as that will happen, but we can safely assume that continuing in this state is not healthy for you, Cris." The conversation directed back towards talking at the man rather than over him. "Perhaps my theory is wrong. It could be that you came in contact with or were injured by a holy weapon of some kind. Perhaps somehow exposed. It could have been a wound long dormant, for all I know. Then again it could just be that in the strain of what you went through, your angelic blood has surged forth to try and protect you because it doesn't realize you made it out. Any details you can provide on things you recall or experienced will probably help us figure out how to help you."

That was a lot of talking all at once, and once she was done with it, Salome stuck a claw up into her teeth and set to thinking. Spells she'd seen, spells she could research, ones for protection, ones for detection, ones for---- Everything. She'd look through everything she had.

Cris came to life with the gift of clothing. It had no sooner landed on his fists than he straightened, taking hold of it to find the hem, the collar, so he could shake it out and tug it on, regardless of where the fabric kissed the furious wounds on his back and how he wished beneath it all that he did not need to touch them, or make them move. Turning, carefully, he found a place against the edge of Shae's desk to lean, the lock of his arms across his chest coming in tight and solid. Save for when Shae collected his hoodie from the pile Salome had made on the bed and offered that too. He nodded his thanks, but held the garment instead of donning it, and recognized the silence after Shae spoke as one he needed to fill.

He raised his hand, still curled around the hoodie, and outlined his lower lip with his thumb. "I remember----after I rose. A few weeks afterward, when the pain throughout my entire body had begun to coalesce where it is now. The location," he made a V of two fingers and cut them down through the air to symbolize the wounds he had shown them. "One of the first memories I have of awakening There was agony, where they are. I was seated, restrained, I recall, for I was barely able to move my limbs. But not so much so that it was impossible for me to lean forward. It happened daily, or----as often as days passed there. Never at the same time. I would awaken to the sensation that something in my very core was being shredded and dragged out of me. I could not remain conscious throughout it. Never once."

The Root of the Issue, Final

That heavy look seemed almost too much for his fatigued frame to bear, and her first impulse was to offer the circle of her arms to support him. Instead of giving him the chance to think, Shae moved on instinct. Her hand reached across to the cheek whose sunken volume spoke to the wrongness that plagued him. Cool fingertips gently cradling the side of his head as she leaned over to press her lips to the center of his brow. A soft, lingering presence. Words whispered there against his skin were only for his ears, apologies Salome.

"You are loved, dear one." It was a promise. "And the hands that reach out to catch you when you fall are not a sign of weakness, but your greatest strength because you inspire them to be freely given."

Once spoken her lips lingered for a moment more, a marking to seal the words to his skin. A charm to carry against future woes. In his chair in the corner of the room, Ferys said nothing, but Shae felt his thoughts in the back of her mind and, for the moment, let them linger without response.

A thread of tension cinched his brow together, wrinkled in bewilderment at the reach of her hand, the touch of it. She leaned in and brought with her the primal scents of a storm. Wind and rain and lightning, earthy and alive. He thought at first that that was all she meant to do, that he should have expected words to be given, but he hadn't, and he didn't. He felt the fullness of her whisper in his ears, louder and less muffled than it should have been against his brow, something that he'd come to know as the telltale sign she was speaking to him, and only to him. Whether to hide it from the others or to be sure he heard it, he wasn't certain. But after they fell, the word strength landing like a feather, the knit of his brow below her kiss rucked up for a completely different reason. Her hair tickled his cheek, caught one or two lashes when he blinked, firmly closed his eyes. His throat worked through two dry swallows, the frown on his mouth breaking apart to permit a thin inhale. He freed one hand to slide across her knuckles, the warmth of his palm pressing hers to his cheek.

He stayed like that, counting the beats until they hit four, then sniffed, and let his hand fall.

Shae took the drop of his hand as the sign that he had taken what he would from her gesture. Cris wasn't wont to indulge in comfort when offered. At least, never for very long. The Sylph always left the gesture open, should he ever want to take more, but she wouldn't force it upon him. Gently she pulled back and the hand on his face didn't leave completely. Rather it dropped to curl fingers around the side of his nearest hand as she drew her face back from his. There a squeeze of reassurance bestowed and lingered. "We're here for you. Take a few moments to think, to center yourself, and let us know which path you want to pursue."

Salome watched it all with the rapt attention of a child at their first fireworks display. All eyes and fascination, between Shae and Cris, and she rejoiced at the total absence of any bitterness, jealousy over the fact that he allowed this other woman who knew him only for a short time the opportunity to speak softly to him, to give him comfort. To touch him unhindered, and she watched as his fingers tensed around Shae's returning the brief squeeze she'd offered. She sucked her lower lip, looking over to Fox first, because he hadn't said anything in a while, then back to Cris for his answer.

He didn't need a minute to think about it. What he needed was a cigarette. His dropped hand returned to his mouth, knuckling one corner of his frown as he bowed his head. "I do not want it taken away. What I have, what the Angel has given me----do not take it away. If I must strengthen my body to sustain it, I will. But I can't----I will not allow myself to be made weaker to save my life."

When Salome spared a glance in the direction of Ferys, the fox-wearing-man-skin was looking at her. A measuring look that asked how much of what was to come could be placed on the warlock's shoulders. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was a hint of displeasure at the situation that lingered in his posture. He went from near perfect stillness to sudden motion, rising and walking towards the bathroom. The door shut behind him quietly and then it was just the three of them there.

Shae continued to ignore him. It would be an argument for later, she knew, but the priority was the answer she had expected coming from the man sitting beside her. Cris wouldn't give up the Angel. "Salome," name offered in beckoning as she let go of Cris' hand. "What spells do you know that can mask the divine aura, remove the excess energy, or strengthen his physical body?"

Ferys' exit to the bathroom made a thin little line pull in between her brows. But Shae pulled her back. When she let go of Cris' hand, he folded with his other and let them hover within her reach. She did not touch them. And scoffed a raspberry at the question. "Loads. But that's all for physical wounds, physical ailments. Like, breaking bones, ripping muscles. That kind of thing. I've probably come across a few that'd do something for this, but I've got to look into it. Thankfully? This place is ridiculous. I can get Zane and Jem to work on it back home too, they need shit to do. In the meantime," she looked to Cris. "Slap that angelic power rune all over you. That one," pointing at the thick rune taking up the whole of Cris' left bicep. "One of the strongest ones they have. It does a ton of things. Blocks demons, prevents them from using objects, but it strengthens Shadowhunters against purely holy materials, like their seraph blades. You've only got a few of them on you now, right? The one there and your hip?"

Cris nodded softly.

"Go crazy with them for a little while. Do what you can for the pain. Maybe the runes will dial it back a little bit. Rest, but try to keep moving. And remember that masking it isn't the same as stealing it. Maybe the holes in your back are where it's trying to get out, I don't know," she threw up her hands.

All was quiet from behind the bathroom door.

Shae listened to Salome's suggestions with a considered nod. She relied on the warlock's knowledge and resources to identify the better solutions to Cris' particular dilemma. A memory shifted to the fore at the mention of the seraph blades. "Do you know anyone who would be able to accept a portion of divine energy without harm?" Palms rubbed at the legs of her jeans. "Anyone without inherent demonic aspect would probably do. Especially someone who could take care of themselves." She paused. "As for masking, I know a few charms to suppress the aura."

She clicked her claws against her teeth. "Off the top of my head? A divine energy crockpot?" she shook her head, "Nuh uh. But I might be able to make some? Like, maybe we could bottle it and set it aside. Or bottle it and set it free, give it back later. An angelic milking, if you will."

Cris rolled his eyes and straightened up like he meant to flop backward on the bed, but thought better of it at the last minute. "Lirssa?" finally. "I mean, she was a battery for us, maybe she can be a sinkhole too. Or what about Taneth's place as a whole?"

Salome lit up. "What if we bottle it, can we use it to power the scrying we need to do?"

"The spell I know transfers divine energy to a living host. It was used to allow squires to safely handle a paladin's sealed weapon during...well that doesn't matter. The point is, it wasn't designed to feed the energy into an object or into a location. Taneth's place might break a few rules, from what little I know about it. Could make a whole warren of divine bunny rabbits, I suppose, though they wouldn't be able to tolerate but the barest fraction."

Salome's suggestions about using it for the scrying were not met with the same level of excitement. "Pushing divine energy around is one thing, using it can be tricky for me. Fox might be able..." Shae trailed off, looking towards the closed door. "I'd suggest asking Lirssa first. If she can hold it to feed back during the scrying, Fox can transform it into something I can use safely."

"The only problem is, how much are we willing to suck out of him and how well is the person we're giving it to going to take it? I mean, we could potentially be transferring his problems to someone else for a little while." Salome agreed with the Lirssa angle, pointed her claw at Shae and nodded. "All right. There's this thing that shoves currents through the city here called the Nexus too. It like some ribbon or EAC of inter-planar----ness," real technical. "I wonder if we couldn't use that too, or instead, or----" throwing ideas out as she stood made her feel better. Not at all as powerless as she truly was.

On the edge of the bed, Cris rubbed the knot between his brows.

"So suppression, aura masking. I'll make the call."

"A human can take a good bit, provided they don't have any hidden ancestry that might cause a reaction. It's not ideal for spellcasters, unless they are conducting some rather esoteric research. Fin perhaps. Ketch, maybe, though I'd have to ask him about something first." Fingers drummed on her knees. "Go to Lirssa before we explore that avenue."

Pushing herself to stand, Shae crossed towards the desk to pick up the talisman Cris had left there. Her fingers traced the edges of it, feeling for the fabric of Charlie's spell work within the metal. "Try your runes before I offer up a spell to mask your aura. I don't want it to interfere with this protection charm."

"Fin?" surprised, for some reason, but she shouldn't be. "Yeah. Yeah, probably. He was all about---- All about----helping, with stuff." Frowning, Salome shook it off and reached for her sweater on the bed. It gave her something else to focus on beside the mention of Ketch's name and how stupidly tingly the tips of her fingers became. She frowned for that too as she shoved her arms into the sweater.

Cris, who had been doing what he could to morph himself into a boulder and disappear from the room, had looked up at Salome's odd, awkward pause in the midst of her answer, but he gave his gaze to Shae instead at her suggestion, and dug two fingers into his right boot to retrieve the stele he kept there.

Three steps later, the Sylph was offering the bracelet back to Cris. Only now did she spare a glance for the bookshelf that had been victim to the earlier outburst. Fox had done a decent job putting it back together, she'd inspect the actual damage later. "Thank you both for coming over to talk through this."

With stele in hand, he dedicated himself to the task of finding a suitable location for the rune he meant to put on. Deciding against his right arm, which had the most open flesh, for his left wasn't dominant, and he didn't want to botch its illustration for impatience. He settled on a space west of his navel, the upper left quadrant, near the X shaped rune clasping his ribs. The moment he touched the stele to his skin, his flesh sizzled, and he grunted, brow collapsing together in a tight scowl for the ferocity of the burn and how angrily red his broken skin glowed for too long in the shape of the finished rune after he'd finished it. Stele tucked into his palm, he smeared his fingertips against the blackening lines and they came away charred, stained in the middle with little flecks of burned blood. But it was the relief, the immediate unraveling of the mantle of tension upon his shoulders that let him breathe easy. Shrug them, roll them. Swallowing, he dropped his shirt and took the bracelet from Shae, but did not yet put it back on. "No. No, thank you for telling us." Stele stuffed away, when he got to his feet it was without a thick slice of caution, feeling a surety in the movement of his body that he had not had in the last two months. He gulped for that too, and looked up at Shae.

The sound and smell of sizzling flesh never was a particularly pleasant experience, but he seemed satisfied in the end with what he had wrought upon himself. Shae had watched, of course, unable to turn away her innate fascination with the runic system of markings. She'd seen the stele a small handful of times before. Interesting memories each. Memories she would have indulged upon were the timing better. His response came a fraction easier, as if a vice had been loosened. As his eyes rested upon her, she favored him with a knowing half smile of reassurance.

"Call me if you need me, hmm?" Her posture widened to include Salome in that offer. "Either of you. I'll do what I can."

Like before, Salome soaked it all in. Tucked away bits and pieces about what the rune looked like, how angrily it burned. The strength of the runes drawn was a direct indication of the artist's aptitude for runic magic. The less reaction, the less power. But on the flip side---- Salome sucked her teeth and nodded to Shae, stepping into her personal space without indication and raised her arms in attempts at a tight hug, "I will, definitely. When I find anything out."

The Sylph accepted the gesture without question, folding the woman into the circle of her arms and the space of her breeze. So close, the air felt somehow poised, waiting. Suffused with potential for movement and the scent of the sea, picked up from an evening spent on the docks. The hasty braid half undone tickled at the cheek pressed close. Tight embrace returned with warmth. "My door is open to you, and I promise I'll use the phone better now that I'm back in town."

Salome sniffed, buried her nose a moment into the other woman's shoulder, then blinked back whatever it was that trying to fight its way up into her eyes. "You'd better," quietly, "I'm really glad you came back." One last squeeze, and Salome drew back, pulled out of the warm circle of Shae's arms with a tight lipped, achey smile that rounded out her cheeks and she moved aside toward the door to wait for Cris to say his own goodbyes.

He'd tucked the trinket into his back pocket, feeling better about having it on his person, yet he presumed that there would be more bodily contact between himself and Salome on the journey back to wherever it was she'd come from, and he'd rather avoid the tirade than suffer it. Salome moved away and Cris took her spot, the set of his mouth soft, unwilling to hide the veil of relief blanketing his features now that he had it, because he wasn't sure how long it would last. He raised one arm in invitation, but did not step into Shae as the Warlock had.

"I will." Reassured as Salome pulled away. She'd promised, that in itself was a large thing for the Sylph. Which brought her to the picture Cris now painted with his one arm out. The newness of it made her smile with amusement. Not wanting to turn down the rare invitation, Shae moved closer beneath that arm and gave him a hug that favored the side not recently marked with a rune and took care not to apply pressure at his shoulder blades. "Be safe."

She may have taken care, but he had never been one to, his embrace firm for a moment as though it was the first time they'd seen each other in the last four months, and not the second. She stepped in, and he gathered her to him first with one arm, then the other, his palm coming to rest against the back of her head, atop the mess of her braid. He bowed his own, turned his mouth against her hair to press a warm kiss there. "Thank you. I will. You do the same, yes? Tell him thank you, too?" as he withdrew, nodding his head toward the bathroom.

Caught up in his gesture, she gave into the hug more earnestly. A steadying inhale at his shoulder and a nod as he withdrew. The woman had to fight to keep the touched smile from turning into a grin. The mention of her familiar assisted mightily in that regard. "In summary, he says 'you're welcome'." A kind paraphrasing, certainly, but Shae wasn't going to spoil the mood. She moved to the door to let them out.

He smiled, nodding, "If there were expletives involved, I'll return them the next time we meet." He trailed after Salome who flung a loud farewell to "the hot guy in the bathroom", and she ducked out first when Shae opened the door for them, tucking her hair back. Once out in the hall, Cris paused to look back over his shoulder, offered a simple raise of his hand in farewell, then they both descended to the main level below.

Troubleshooting, Final

Twenty-seven seconds later, he grunted. Weakly, in tight frustration. Pulled his hand down his wet face, digging his fingertips into his eyes, and he told himself, now that he could hear that clear, rational voice again, that he'd only gotten water in them and that his throat ached for how avidly he'd attempted to control his breathing. He shifted, taking a seat there on the floor, with his shoulder up against the cupboard, and he sighed a weak, frustrated, "Fuck," into the phone. One sniff, and he cleared his throat.

"Abbil, I'm sorry that you are suffering." Her voice had become quiet. Gold eyes on the window. "You ache so to help others and have endured more than most can bear. I forget sometimes, watching you, and it is unfair of me."

"Don't," gently, though it was as much a plea for her to take it back as it was one for her not to continue. He closed his eyes, swallowed thick, and did not bother with the new, thin river describing the line at the side of his nose. "Don't, it's all right. I should not----leap quite so far ahead. But I need to know, Shae....? I need to know what she's done, and if it's----if it's that......" Slide of his palm across his mouth, "I don't know.

"No one has said anything, or made mention of any----any poisonous aura. Not Charlie, not---- There's another in town. Saila." As he spoke, his voice smoothed itself out. "I do not know what sort of ability she has, but prior to your return, it was visited upon me without my knowledge. We believe it to be possible through personal contact. I did not know that at the time when she asked to touch my hand. Requests such as those, for one recently resurrected----I didn?t believe them all that strange. I do not know what she did. Perhaps it's prudent that I find out."

Silence as he collected himself. She would not take it back, that apology. "One moment, who is Saila? What do you believe to be possible through personal contact?" He was tracing his memories for other options, and it was well that he did, but he'd lost her.

"I'm not entirely sure. What I do know, only, was what I felt. A probing sort of presence, not upon my body, but a bit further past that. I can't explain it, she offered to. But at the time it---- Like a psychic, perhaps. Some sort of supernatural sixth sense."

"And think, truly, did you feel different as a result of the encounter? Was your darksight making itself evident prior to this?"

"Prior. I felt violated and acutely pissed off. But otherwise, nothing else had changed."

"Then I would be wary of her in the future, but would not yet lay blame in her direction for the changes you have noticed." The name would be remembered. "If you should see her again, let me know."

"No, I----that's not what I meant when I mentioned her. Only that if she experienced something strange, she may have said something. I do not know her well, but I think she at least had an idea of what I was not."
Four beats passed. "Tell me what you think, Shae. Please."

"Ah, I understand now." As he asked again, she sighed. She couldn't deny him her thoughts, even if she wanted to. "There are several sources these traits could be coming from. I will list the ones I consider most likely.

"First, the spell that brought you back. The blood of a demon was a component at Bianca's instruction. As was the blood of a man and the blood of an angel. Anomalies in the sources or during the spell work could have had an effect on you." Her guilt spoke first.

"Second, Bianca." Next it was her anger, though like her guilt it was masked with careful tones. "While she reached into you she may have accidentally or deliberately left a part of herself or something demonic within. A contingency, a mistake. It would not be of your soul, but it would be within you, and the result might manifest. It might also explain why the angelic within you now shines so intently. An attempt to purify that which has thrown you out of balance as a result of what she did."

Then came another thought. "Third, the journey back itself. The chance that something forced its way through on your heels, though we were vigilant for such things. Finally, there is to consider that someone has been tainting you since your return. I cannot speak to this, I have not been here."

He listened, rubbing in a droplet of water along his brow that had not yet dried. They were, all of them, good theories. Better than what he had; a staccato of memories thrown about like playing cards, trying to become something linear. As he ran his thumb back and forth, he let them as opposed to locking them away behind a door that had too many holes in it. "First. First, and foremost, tell me. The blood of a demon, and a mundane? Leena supplied her own, she told me, to fulfill that and it nearly took all of it to do so. No one was hurt, no one killed for this. Yes?"

"The components were given freely and without death." An easy answer to give, for a change.

His exhale came thick and rough. "Thank the Angel. Do you know whose it was?"

"The demon? Yes. I understand it was Robert. Salome asked him."

Silence fell, for nearly half a minute. Then, "Robert. I wasn't aware she knew who he was or where to find him."

"She didn't. There was a specific focus needed, a dagger. You'll have to ask her the details but I believe that they came in contact during her search for it." A story better left to those who lived it. "But I would have asked Robert, myself."

The mundane's identity had nothing to do with the discussion at hand, and he hadn't had the inkling, even to learn the finer workings of what allowed his escape. He would have, he thought, if where he'd gone had been somewhere he wanted to stay. But this information was easier to stomach, at present than anything else. "And the mundane's?"

"A friend. One of the many. I told you, after all, that is your strength." At least she could say she tried, Salome. The woman had requested she keep Fin?s involvement from Cris for reasons Shae did not quite understand.

He nodded, unsatisfied, but that wasn't Shae's fault. He pulled his hand down his face, sniffed, then reached above his head to grip the counter and haul himself up with a tight grunt of effort. "Is there a way----a way of discovering the origins of whatever this is? Perhaps whatever divine energy there is so much that it's overlapping all else." He leaned on the edge of the sink. "I know that----I know that my soul is in a laughably weak state. I think----maybe that's part of it. The wounds upon it, they're not merely from Rumnach or Bianca's hand. There was a stretch of time after I was sent from my bonds where I was forced to survive alone. The wasteland of that Hell plane was crawling with skeletal horrors that pursued as if starving."

Her legs drew up into the circle of her arms. The morning had moved on and the sun was crawling across the floor. Followed by her familiar's half-asleep ooze across the rug. "We could try to test it. And then try to purge it."

"If that is what it is." He put his brow up against his fist. "I've yet to speak to Lirssa, I will soon. I thought, merely, that it was important to tell you. To tell someone, what happened. Whatever this is, it must be directly connected, otherwise my body truly is in a sad state of affairs."

"There...there is one other option I didn't mention, but if we're going to discuss the options then I will bring it up." Her lips pursed together and she chewed on the inside of them before she continued. "Something that was in you before. Either planted there, or there from birth."

Silent, for a time. He grit his teeth as he stared at the faucet, flexing his open hand to give it something to do. "And that would be," thinly.

"Heritage, design, or Bianca."

"Heritage, I can rule out immediately. Were I anything but Nephilim, the runes upon my skin would have incinerated me years ago. The ones I use now would have done the same. I can at least take comfort in that." But there was Bianca, that name he was starting to despise the sound of, the memory of her face washing up, unbidden, and completely out of his control. "What would you need to perform this test?"

"What's stopping your runes from incinerating you now?"

"However weak I am, my body is still strong enough to handle them. The blood in me, is still strong enough to handle them. They burn much harder, and much more strongly than they used to. As though I'm carving them deeper than I really am. Reactions like that occur when one has a higher aptitude for their use. I would have been unable to withstand the rune you saw me draw, Shae." After a sigh, "I have to believe that. I have to believe----that whatever was done to me, whatever I've taken with me, is not poison. That it's not---- That it's not that."

A thoughtful sound, short and guttural, preceded a long pause. Part of her knew what name he wasn't saying. "I'm not the foremost authority on detecting demonic influences from Earth by a large margin, especially beneath a well of divine energy... but I will try with Salome."

He nodded, easing up. His earlier near miss left him with a relentless headache in the dead center of his forehead. "Thank you, Shae." Like he hadn't wanted her apology, he doubted she wanted one of his. And so he kept it to himself.

Soft laughter. "One condition. You tell Salome about this."

Click.