Saturday night just after sunset, this warm-ish day failing into a chilly night. There's no longer any snow on the ground around the chantry house, though snow lingers on the peaks visible here and there from the chantry grounds, and maybe in some quiet hollows on the south side of the scrubby trees bordering the pasture. Everything is mudlucious, though. Damp, thawing, full of the promise of spring.
No extra vehicles in the driveway: not just now, but still Sera's resonance is a distinct undercurrent against those of Trinity and also of the Node. Perhaps Annie is in her woodshop, working, and the others out. The house is otherwise empty, except for Sera. She's downstairs in the living room, has slide down from the couch to sit cross-legged, bare-legged on the floor. Has a chenille blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a fire going in the fireplace and a few candles lit and a pot of tea on a wrough-iron trivet on the coffee table, covered in a knitted tea-cozy with the word IRONY worked into the design, tone-on-tone.
A cup of tea with no more than a soupcon of whiskey to warm it on the table, and a leatherbound notebook open in her lap, pen idle in her right hand. Mostly - mostly - she's staring mute out the double-glass-doors over the dark, dark field that fronts the property. Watching night gather herself close.
KiaraNight is lacerated eventually by the twin points of headlights; they wash over the windows; the decisive sound of a car engine rumbling closer as it bounces ungently over the ground; freshly bare of snow yet somehow all the more perilous for it. The car is familiar, at least, a small red hatchback; still as desperately in need of washing as it had been the last time Serafine had reason to glimpse it.
Had seen its owner; who emerges in a slamming of doors; the jingling of keys set against a palm and of course, that wash of what has become Kiara. That folding and unfolding of life; that cyclic presence of hers that was at once soothing and unsettling. She's been absent for only a short while but in their world this may as well be eons. So much could happen in their lives in a short week; two. Kiara's boots on the doorstep; she's wiping the muck off them; unwinding a scarf; jacket even as the door opens for her.
As she steps inside; tapping the evidence of the earth's renewal from the grooves of her footwear; her dark hair a wild bramble of waves falling around thin shoulders.
"Anyone home?"
The greeting is an unnecessary nicety and she's aware of it, but she performs it regardless; slinking into the depths of the ranch with this jingle of adornments; with a wash of spice and something vaguely sweeter.
Kalen Holliday[How awake are we?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 4, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )
Kalen HollidayKalen comes to the House. Sometimes he comes to the House because he wants to be near the Node, or to be near where he knows the spirit-bear is even if he doesn't know where she is, or because he wants to see other Mages if they're there, or because he is decorating for holidays. Tonight he comes bearing gifts, but they are just groceries and more alcohol. It is very important to have enough alcohol in stock for the apocalypse. As he well remembers. Even if that was not, precisely, a real apocalypse.
He does not call out and he does not head for the living room. Instead, he carries things into the kitchen. Tucks them quietly enough into cabinets, but the sounds of movement are still audible.
SerafíneAwareness!
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 2 )
SerafíneDex + Crafts: sketching.
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
SerafíneDex + Expression: for the sketches?
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
SerafíneAnyone home? Kiara calls out and Sera is already shaken out of her reverie by the unsettling and familiar pull of the other woman's resonance: at her skin, at her bones. The natural cycles that truthfully Sera gives precisely no fucks about except when they turn themselves back around into poetry or sensation: as now. The scrambling sense of being both consumed and reborn.
She: inhales. Pulls her shoulders back, stretches a bit and arches her lovely spine and feels the joints pulling and popping and she is, lovely thing, really rather sober, wrapped around with warmth, waiting for Dan to return with Chinese take-away for her dinner and watching day swim into night and thinking-without-thinking, which is a way that she has of letting everything settle into her skin and waiting to see how she feels.
But here: anyone home?
"Downstairs!" Sera calls out, quite as if she owned the place, which she does not, voice ringing and voice rising from where she sits curled on the floor. Waits until she sees the whites of Kiara's before she: smiles, the curve of her mouth as fine as the moon, her hair messy and loose, the shaved fringe grown-out a bit, though no more than half-inch. Sharp little ear pierced through with a platinum safety pin and a stainless steel bar.
"Hey," then, still smiling that lazy-I-just-woke-up smile, which is her default omg I'm sober smile, "want some tea?"
--
The book in her lap is open. A handful of vignettes, there. She has been trying to capture faces. The technique is - rather modest.
Sera picks up the book and puts it on the coffee table, glances back up the stairs. Can hear Kalen putting away groceries and listens for a moment, feeling the new undercurrent of his storm.
Kiara[Oh yes, I forgot to do this earlier.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )
KiaraHey.
"Hey, yourself." This, with a knocked out hip; the jut of it against a doorframe; a wall; standing with her arms across her chest and this expression that's at once fond and a little - perhaps, as her eyes scope out the book; Serafine's state of sobriety - uncertain before it levels into that easy; known smile.
The Verbena looks pale; a little worn at the edges; her mouth still that same bold slash of red but her demeanor bares a sort of fragility to it that it didn't before. She seems strained; though it's born with the sort of awareness of one who tolerates it more-so than has any intent to conceal it. Still wholly lovely Kiara, in that unrepentant bohemian manner of hers; dressed in layers of earthy brown and gold; in faded jeans and high black boots; yet a vaguely wilted version.
It doesn't hold her tongue, though. Doesn't keep her smiles from radiating that sort of inviting intimacy and slant of private amusement at some facet of the bigger picture. "Coffee?" Kiara punctuates it with the raise of a brow; sliding off her resting perch and stepping fully into the room.
"Coffee I would sin for." Kalen's making noise in the kitchen; Kiara's focus (and her focus) pulls that way for an instant; she tousles fingers through her hair, breathes out; cants dark eyes toward the book on the coffee table; intrigue bleeds into her expression briefly.
"I didn't know you drew."
Kalen HollidayThe advantages of being only about an entire room away from Kalen, particularly when he is already in a kitchen, is that he will pretty much make coffee constantly. Particularly if he's avoiding things like conversation. So he puts a kettle on, because Kalen insists that the only machine that should ever be involved with coffee makes espresso.
Kalen does not leave the kitchen, does not even really come to the doorway where he might catch a glimpse of Kiara depending on which edge of the door frame she was occupying. He only calls quietly. "Should I get out the ridiculous rock candy stirrers I have stashed around here for Grace, or do you prefer your coffee with less whimsical flair?"
Serafíne"I don't believe in coffee," Sera murmurs, tipping her head back so that she can just - well - watch - Kiara. The layers of confidence and awareness, the subtle ticks of fondness and uncertainty, knitting themselves together into a wind of the larger whole. " - or in sin, for that fucking matter. I wonder what you'd call one.
"A sin, I mean. There's just Darjeeling unless Kalen obliges you," and Kalen, Sera would imagine, is likely to oblige Kiara. Doesn't he see coffee as a sacrament? "or until Dan gets his ass back here with my breakfast."
This supple hook of her right shoulder as her attention is redirected back to the leatherbound book, open to those sketches.
"I don't really draw. I'm shite at it." And though there's no real trace of her years in Europe in her voice: there is some London in that single word: shite. "But I did some scrying and wanted to capture some of those I saw on paper."
This tick of her attention briefly behind Kiara, beyond the door when Kalen does, in fact, offer her coffee. The edge of her half-formed little smile before her gaze is snagged and drawn back to Kiara. Her focus sharpens, and this is visible, the way her pupils contract and sweep over Kiara's visage. "You okay?"
KiaraShe doesn't believe in coffee.
Kiara's mouth makes this suggestive little squiggle; tipping into a smile as she regards the Cultist. "That right there - " This quiet, throaty admonishment; Kiara's eyes brighter with it. " - is a sin all on it's own." Then Kalen calls from the kitchen something about candy stirrers and Kiara turns to face the direction his voice flows from and retorts, with aplomb: "If it's hot and black Kalen, I'll drink it. No whimsy required for this girl."
Back to the book; the sketches.
Kiara moves to settle on the arm of a sofa; her necklaces knock together hollowly as she does; the quiet clatter of stone and leather and what may or may not have been some sort of silver. Stars and crystals and the supplication to one of the pagan's revered sources of inspiration gleaming and peeking from the layers of her clothing. She pushes her sleeves up; settles with a knee propped; her body curved in a casual slump of easy consideration.
"Ah yes, our wayward guests," a murmur; there's the briefest consternation that knits into the Verbena's brow; pulls at the corners of her smile; tips it downward. Her eyes catch Sera's cursory sweep; the notice of her paler skin; the tautness plied into the way her back straightens under it just so.
The Verbena offers a smile; it doesn't quite reach her eyes; but it gets points enough for effort: "Peachy keen. I just had a long week. Traveled back to New York." She settles back against the spine of the sofa; her eyes sliding away from meeting the Cultist's; briefly.
"You know how it goes."
Kalen HollidayKalen leaves the kettle on the stove, drifts across the dining room, and takes up residence in the doorway Kiara just vacated. He looks like he's slept. And despite the way he and Serafine parted ways last they spoke, despite anything that may have happened after that, he is still calm enough. Of course, he's spent much of the past week curled up with Neruda and bottles of wine.
"Hey," he says quietly. It's a general greeting. His eyes take them in, Serafine with her sketches and Kiara with her...whatever is going on with her. He does not ask, does not really express concern unless you're one of those people who is into reading micro-expressions.
"Coffee shouldn't be long." It's spoken softly, in a tone that almost hits what most people would consider concerned. Coffee is love, right. ....right...?
SerafíneAll these bits to notice, all these things to see and hear. The music of her necklaces and the magic of them, the way they hide and show themselves again and Sera like a magpie - or, just now, down below and essentially nesting like a baby bird - watching, watching. And even though Kiara's gaze slides from Sera's when she says it: score one for honesty. The admission brings something brief and passing and tender to Sera's dark eyes. She reaches out to touch Kiara's ankle where her leather boot lolls against the arm of the couch.
Just that.
Then Kalen, he gets "Kalen," and an easy smile and a lift of her chin in invitation. If there was a way they parted there's no real suggestion of it in Sera's eyes except for the minute stitch of her attention - sharpened - closer over him, not unlike that are-you-okay look to Kiara.
"Come and see."
--
Back to Kiara then, and in the interregnum, a certain unwinding that drops the blanket from the spare architecture of a narrow shoulder. Whatever Sera is wearing beneath the blanket, it leaves her right shoulder bare, all bones and hollows, right up to her throat.
"That's the one from the park. The rest were at the nightclub. That woman," an indication, a certain portrait of a dark-eyed, dark-haired singer. " - and those men. The one from the park: her name is Kat."
Spare, sober really. She's learned an awful lot about these things in a few days. Felt Kat's pain and fear and panic, the overwhelming certainty of death-to-come. Live through and within that and a few other things that are keeping her a bit more sober right now.
Kiara"Kalen." Kiara echoes Serafine with a tilt of her head back against the sofa with a smile and see; for the moment; her hand settled warmly over Sera's. She'd squeezed it just so when it set down over her ankle; all that worn leather; scuffed from long wear.
Briefest of things but the Verbena strokes the edge of her thumb over Serafine's hand before she lets it go in favor of sitting up; in favor of shifting the heavy weight of her hair over a shoulder and scooting a little closer so she can view the sketches.
Picks up the book, perhaps; examines the picture of Kat; cuts a lingering look at Serafine; sets it down gently and gathers the folds of her sweater around her midsection; sets her hands on her lap and leans back; mouth edging down into a frown. Some schism of concern. "And they aren't gathering to take control, right?" Kiara's attention is pulled between both, she cranes to catch Kalen's expression, returns her eyes to Sera.
"There was a few that used to frequent clubs in Manhattan, I remember being told about them." Kiara's throat moves as she swallows; her lower lip drawn between her teeth; there's an absent gesture toward Serafine's sketches. The men. The dark haired singer. "I never got close, though. They never paid us that much attention but - "
Hesitation. Kiara's eyes settle on Sera. "It knows you? What you are?"
Kalen HollidayKalen comes down the half-flight of stairs easily enough at the invitation. He joins them, though a bit less in a triangle than to the opposite side of Serafine from Kiara. He too reaches out to take the book for a moment, flips though the sketches. Most he studies. One he lingers on for a second. Rests a fingertip over his face.
"This one," he says quietly, "Is Greyson Addario. He came into Ivory and Gold and about got run out after he started expressing interest in Arionna. But he wasn't welcome there to begin with. He was called in by Lilean Holdings to get the business at the Orchid cleaned up. Because of us or other complications, I don't know. I get the definite impression there is conflict between the vampires here, and it may have been a reference to that. Coded messages are...coded.
"I'm hoping that some of the vampires he is in conflict with can help us to understand them. Possibly help us to stop them. The enemy of our enemy and all." He looks up at Serafine. "For all that he is charming and I love being told I have nice eyes. I...there may be a world where that could happen because I like the way his voice sounds when he recites Neruda in Spanish, but it isn't this one. I know what he is." And he sounds, perhaps, a little wistful. But also serious. Wesley is charming and almost exactly what he would want, but only if he were also alive.
"If it makes you feel any better about it, Ian came to see if possibly I had lost my mind, and we talked, and he will be there. Which may complicate things, but apparently here in Denver we care more about our friends not dying than stopping evil monsters. I can try to roll with that. But it's a little new for me." Except that it isn't. Not now. Not if he admits that the version of him that came to Denver would have risked Derrick killing Alicia in that alley. Would have pressed the attack even with that gun to her head. But this version stopped.
"I think at least some of them can sense us. Which makes sense, since we sense at least some of them. And have ways to see the others."
SerafíneOur Sera is strangely pensive. Or perhaps not strangely: understandably.
She reaches out and picks up her mug of tea and tags a sip, then another while Kiara and Kalen take their time with the sketches. Her own expression is spare and her features were strangely made-for-it. Odd how stillness settles over her, finds the sharp bits and odd shadows, the arc of her brow and the curve of her neat little mouth, the quick lines framing the corner when Kiara's hand finds her own, when that thumb curves over her knuckles. This glance then: passing but - intimate in its own way.
"Fuck if I know why they're gathering." Another quiet little shrug and Sera starts to unwind the blanket from around her torso. She is wearing: a white spaghetti strapped cami, cotton so thin the shadow of her breasts is evident beneath, and a pair of black silk boxers. Very little jewelry except for her piercings. Ears, primarily, though she is still adorned - with tattoos, all blackwork, on her arms, her shoulderblades, her hands - everywhere. "They're gathered. At this nightclub called the Black Orchid. That seems to be their primary hunting ground. She just took a walk and got a little intoxicated - with want or power - and a bit greedy.
"I hurt her pretty badly. She went back to the club. This man," Sera indicates the portrait of Grayson Addario, "came downstairs to meet her. Took care of her, stayed with her for a while. Later, he called someone and told them to talk to Elias and make sure everyone was on guard in case we tried to track her. This man and Kat - they spoke without speaking. But on the phone he said: "She went after a witch in Washington Park and it nearly killed her."
--
This brief, flicker of a glance upward at Kalen. It is half-lashed. She takes in the information he offers her and absorbs it, including the gracenote about Ian. Well then.
"I don't - " an open mouth, a pause, an arrest, "I don't think we should go getting ourselves involved in their wars. Dan has some fucking history analogy about it. He says allying with Stalin against Hitler is fine to end Auschwitz. Not so fucking great when it blinds you to the purges and the famine and 50 years of the gulag, you know?"
KiaraKiara looks at Kalen when he mentions Ian's name; that he'll be there. The expression on her face is not open, not the way it had been briefly earlier when she spoke-but-didn't about New York; there's still the signs of exhaustion etched in there; smudged under her eyes; staining the edge of her mouth far more easily downward into a frown tonight than seems typical for her.
She's scrutinizing something about the arrangements at hand; the slightest incline of neat, dark eyebrows upward; the hint of concern; consternation. The lines that connected them all; this raggedy little makeshift family of theirs was so intricately woven it was hard, at times, to recall who was known to who; how well; when - why. Kiara's eyes flit to Kalen; bank there with even, private contemplation and then return to the drawings.
She draws inward, the Verbena. Studying and listening. Privy to undertows and veiled glances and the pauses between - sits forward at a point and seems to make as if to speak once - Serafine begins and she doesn't quite - and then again, does: "What I know about them, " Kiara's fingertips tap at the edge of Sera's drawing of Kat, "I know through coven dealings. Some of my - other Verbena keep company with them, believe their blood has some kind of immaculate properties for casting. None that I personally know but - it can get dangerous, fast." This a flick of expression toward Kalen.
"Knowing more about them isn't a bad thing, I agree in theory, but - " Kiara's supple mouth twists a little. "Sera - Dan - has a point. We're never going to understand the whole scope of what they're fighting about."
A beat.
"This Wesley - he's still one of them. Vampires can be - " Kiara draws in a breath; cuts a discerning look at Kalen. "Be careful around him. Don't trust him. The enemy of our enemy is still our enemy at the end of the day, yeah?"
Kiara[Ack! I just realized Kalen didn't say Wesley's name. Plus edit that mention out. Should read from: "Vampires can be - Be careful. Don't trus them." Etc.]
Kiara[Oh apparently it was mentioned on Ginger. *waves hand* We shall leave it be and carry on. Shh. ]
Kalen Holliday"I'm not terribly concerned with their war. I am concerned with a human trafficking ring and vampires who have threatened people I care about. I am concerned with the souls trapped at the Orchid, unable to do anything but linger in the place they were killed.
"That they are at war is only of interest to me because it indicates that some of them may be against those things, and that in destroying the specific things I mentioned, some may be of help to us. I don't care to join their war at all. Regardless of whether I may or may not accept the assistance of some of them with, I mean to destroy the vampires that frequent the Orchid."
He looks up at them. Takes his hand away from the sketch. "I know. I do. Trust me. I will be careful and I will shield my mind from his tricks and I will avoid letting him do inconvenient things like kill me.
"I Awakened during a fight with a vampire. I...." He glances away. "I have always found them unsettling." And judging by the softness of the tone and those lowered lashes by unsettling he means fucking terrifying.
"Wesley is charming. But...I know that can be a lie. I'm familiar with how one does that and some of the reasons why. I will not forget what he is."
SerafíneSera flashes Kiara a grateful gleam of a look that shifts by subtle, precipitate degrees as she notes how briefly closed the other woman's expression is. Then, something pulled back - banked, beneath her eyes, beneath her tongue, under her skin.
The creature's chin rises and she sets down her mug of tea and reaches out to run the meat of her thumb over the spine of that leatherbound book. When Kalen paged through the remainder of the sketches he might've caught a glimpse of the rest of its contents - doodles and scrawls of words, the beginning of songs, chord notations, anything that appeals to her and should be recorded.
"There's no one at the Black Orchid being held against their will. I don't know anything about ghosts, but - there aren't any people imprisoned there."
A quick hook of her shoulder. "Not the nights I watched the place, and I watched it the night we were attacked and then again, earlier this week, all night long.
"And if they're at war, it could be that removing one of the factions will mean that the pendulum will swing too far the other direction. A different sort of swarm." A brief glance at Kiara, then back to Kalen.
"Kalen," no admonishment here, but a kind something in her voice that is private, personal, that is temporal. "Do you know what it is like when they feed?"
KiaraKalen awakened during a fight with a vampire. His revelation; the almost casual way he mentions it startles Kiara. Takes her by surprise; she looks at him suddenly; wholly and totally focused on his face; the way he glances away; keeps looking even after he does and continues to speak.
Her face is not without feeling on the news; her dark eyes are at times sometimes a little too pervasive - the way they set and stay; steady and intent. There's a gleam of something tender for a moment to them; sympathetic and warm. She feels that; the trauma of what he went through.
"It was fire for me." A quiet offering; like earth scattered in the wake of a funeral; nothing but that. A scant, brief gesture that is thrown into the conversation before Kiara's eyes shift away to listen as the Cultist asks if he knows what it's like when they feed. The Verbena's shoulders hunch a little as her head drops forward; Kiara makes some private; brief study of the floor.
It's a conversation that isn't hers; not this part; though she does lift it to add, to Serafine: "If we go back, to watch again, I can make it a little safer. Keep certain things at a distance. It might keep everything out but if they're aware - if they're looking - " Kiara sits back. "It couldn't hurt to have some precautions in place."
Kalen Holliday
He feels Kiara's attention, and he does not flinch away from her eyes when he looks back up. The trauma of his Awakening isn't fresh at all. He's spoken of it often enough, for all that some Mages avoid the subject. He seems more bothered by admitting that vampires are unsettling than by the memory itself.
Kiara's admission earns her a quick flash of a grateful half-smile. He may not have needed that moment, but he knows that it means something.
"I have never allowed-" He stops, for a second at the sound of the kettle. "I have never allowed on to bite me," he says as he rises. "Sorry. Right back."
And he is back, barely any time later, with a French press of coffee just starting to turn golden and two mugs. No sugar. No cream.
SerafíneKiara and Kalen both share their moment of awakening: some trauma, some flash of insight. Sera does not add anything, no particular trauma of her own. The truth is she hardly knows when she woke up. It happened: gradually, this accretion of awareness and understanding and somehow it seemed to her that perhaps her eyes had always been open, that perhaps that was why she was shut away for so long.
Here she is though. Dark gaze flicking up to follow Kalen as he leaves the room to return with the French press. Kiara offers her assistance if they go back, and Sera breathes in and nods. There's a half-smile ghosting across her mouth that flags then rises again. "Yeah, cool," she accepts, easily enough. "I'd like that."
Kalen tells them that he has never allowed one to bite him. Sera's gaze is banked, flashes from Kalen to Kiara was he disappears, comes back with the coffee and mugs.
"I didn't really believe in them," her half-smile, "until like a week and a half ago so," this narrow shrug. "But when I scryed back to that night I was listening to her thoughts too, and those of the man she was with. I did that when I scryed the Black Orchid as well."
This neat little expression, though for the first time all night Sera avoids both pairs of eyes. In scrying: she lived this. All of it. Sublimates, now, whatever that felt like to her. "It's intensely pleasureable, consumingly pleasureable - like sex without the mess and the laughter and the intimacy and the foreplay and the buildup, and without the give and take.
"There is only take, but it is an ecstatic plunge into the moment of climax so intense you don't really have any way of processing that you are utterly at a monster's mercy, that you might be about to die."
--
Her phone buzzes on the table, just as Kalen sits down Sera stands up, blanket unwinding. "Dan's here with my food, I'm gonna go get to door for him. Be right back - "
KiaraShe doesn't share all of it of course. The tradition behind it; the trickery and the manipulation; the testing of the old ways against the newcomers but there's a reason, of course, that Kiara has the feelings she does on much of her tradition. A reason why she mistrusts far easier than anything; why she balks at the notion of certain kinds of intimacy; trust was a many layered thing and when your awareness is born on the heels of it being stripped; maligned and inverted - it couldn't but leave marks. Scars on the psyche, scars on some deeper level that at the present, was neither here or there but -
Scars. She had her own; nuance is avoided on the subject; from both her and Kalen.
Still, Kiara's eyes follow him for a long moment before they return to Sera. Before her expression shifts; becomes perceptibly less a thing of sentiment and more honed interest. She accepts a cup of coffee from him wordlessly; wraps both hands around it and keeps it close as Serafine talks of the way Vampires feed. The rapture of it; the physical pleasure and release; the Verbena's features don't transmit any disgust or fear as Sera talks but rather a very keen alertness.
There's the slightest impression of a smile hinted at somewhere. The carnality of the act; the sharing of something as sacred as blood; as bodily fluid; it's not a surprise that one of Kiara's ilk would find some semblance of attraction to it; understanding and comprehension of why.
Why it was hard to resist; why it was next to impossible to escape that sort of total surrender to the primal. Serafine doesn't look at either of them as she says all this and maybe that's for the best - what Kiara's expression brooks isn't clear judgment; repulsion; though she schools it well enough to keep it polite. Corrected for the company.
The mood. When Sera rises; Kiara is sipping her coffee; glancing at the door. She nods, briefly, takes up another thread with Kalen easily as the Cultist passes through. "I have various connections with access to more unusual literary inclinations. I could ask about books. History. I don't know how useful any of it would be but maybe - " She shrugs a shoulder. "I have a friend back in Brooklyn who ran an occult store. Mixed in with the hocus pocus - " Here a briefly little private smile; a recognition of sorts, of what the greater world made of her like; their like.
"There could be something useful."
Kalen Holliday"That...." Kalen pauses. And there is a part of him, the part that loved staying up all night with strangers and dancing on street corners and trying practically anything and everything once, that is more curious than alarmed. What would that be like? "That sounds like not the best position to be in." His eyes follow Sera as she stands and he nods. Brief goodbye as she goes to get Dan? Letting her know he hears her warning? Both?
His attention slides back to Kiara. "I would be interested in seeing. Grace and I have a library. Well, we each have out own, but we're working on a way to scan them and share them, similar to Ginger. Anyway, we're pretty much open to anyone who wants to come check it out. Grace and I pretty much live there, and Elijah. So...there's generally someone to let you in."
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