Margot
The day had been sunny and the air still, free of stiff breezes or blustery winds to steal the warmth from the sun-soaked earth. Many of the city's people had rejoiced and doffed their jackets and hats in anticipation of the even warmer weekend to come. This Friday afternoon Washington Park was full to the brim with life-- joggers, people on a friendly stroll, the playground areas swarming with children and parents alike, college kids and dogs out in the grass playing frisbee and reading books.
Margot Travers was one of many bodies here today, but quite unlike the rest. Not in any way that someone could put their thumb down on, though. She was dressed no differently than other joggers that had come here for their run-- in a black exercise tank top and dark gray sweatpants designed particularly for exercise (as opposed to lounging), with a sweater tied about her waist by its arms and her brown hair back in a short ponytail. She wasn't behaving any differently, sitting on the edge of a commemorative statue for some historical figure in the founding of Denver, Colorado (there were certainly many Anglo-Saxon men to be thanked for this city's existance). There were a few tacos she'd purchased from a food cart on the ledge next to her, one in her hand that she was eating carefully so the contents wouldn't spill out onto her shoes.
But there was something, and oh was it unsettling.
Sleepers may not notice it, but people whose eyes were truly Opened would take notice. Around that statue, seeping into the air and creeping out like vines and roots aiming to overtake, was a sense of visceral gore and guts and rot. Carnage. Like a battlefield was trying to seep its way in through the Gauntlet and stain the Physical world with deep crimson.
The Awakened who were quite Aware would be able to figure out that the clinging discomfort wasn't coming from the Spirit World, but rather resonating from the petite girl that sat by the foot of a founding father.
Silas
It's somewhere on the cusp of late afternoon and early evening and Denver is experiencing a heat wave. It is warm, and so of course Silas is outside enjoying it. He's completed his run, and examined the flower gardens (and taken mental notes), and now he's rounding up near the statue where Margot sits and eats. He wears comfortable work out clothes - nothing fancy here - and his visible arms are covered with tattoos. He's a friendly sort, offering nods and smiles for anyone who's near enough to bother with.
More important, perhaps, than the way he looks or even his attitudes is the way he feels, the impressions he gives off. He is predatory, feral, and calls to mind old gods and old pacts. Some say, in fact, he seems as if there should be horns affixed to his brow - and Seeming was ever an interesting thing, wasn't it? He also seems radiant and tempestuous, for those with fine-honed enough senses to feel it.
He is also usually quite aware, and so perhaps he has an excuse for greeting Margot with a smile, this thirty-something man with a notebook tucked under his arm, with nice trainers and normal workout clothes. Or perhaps he's just a smiley, greeting sort.
"Hello. I've found, since arriving here, that Denver has some of the best tacos with which I've been acquainted. Do you find the same?"
His accent is vaguely English and vaguely southern hills and vaguely something else entirely. His eyes are the blue of sky on a clear spring day, not that different than today. His skin is the darker white of someone of north western European ancestry who spends a lot of time outside, and his hair is a nice chestnut brown. And there, we have both the appearance and the Seeming of Silas.
Silas
[And here's the Awareness roll that I meant to attach to that post. Oops. Because rolling dice gives justification for upping stats eventually, right? Something like that.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 3 )
Margot
[apprentice awareness activate!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Margot
Margot was a girl simultaneously wrapped up in her own world and watchful of those who walked alongside it. She wasn't expectantly glancing about with the air of someone waiting for a friend or partner to join them, and was not lost in the screen of a phone as somebody killing time may be either. She was focused on her food, and glanced up only every so often when somebody walked by near enough to catch in her peripherals and warrant checking.
Once when she glanced up to check the movement of a person passing by, that person turned out to be a man with tattoos on his arms and a sense that something was bright and beaming from within him-- regal? no, not quite the same, but it was more than just a glow under the skin from sun and sweat. This time the person didn't pass by, but instead smiled and greeted her directly.
For her part, Margot appeared taken aback. She gave the impression of a small owl, ever-watchful with big eyes that tended to look that much bigger if they were widened even a little (as they were now, with surprise). She was built small, with a young face that would betray the fact that she just couldn't possibly be old enough to buy a drink legally. She'd stared up at Silas for a moment, like she was trying to figure out what could have possessed him to approach, then swallowed what food she had in her mouth.
"Uhhh," she vocalized in a voice small and light enough to match her frame. "I guess?"
No immediately noticable accent beyond American, so perhaps she was a local. She was looking at Silas like he was a puzzle. Like she was sorting out whether she should be preparing for fight-or-flight or if she should recognize him as an ally she'd already been introduced to. It made for a incredibly suspicious cast to her expression.
After a few moments she cleared her throat and lowered the partially-eaten taco she was holding so it was near her lap instead of in front of her face awaiting the next bite. "I'm sorry, I don't think I know you. I mean, I think I know why you came over here, I can feel that much, but..." She trailed off, cleared her throat again, and blushed just a little. Poor social tertiary.
"I'm Margot."
Silas
"I'm Silas," offers the fellow whose social skills are only surpassed by his physical. When he moves, he stalks - a hunter on the prowl. "And no, we don't know each other yet. Though I suspect we have acquaintances in common." His mode of speech is at least moderately archaic, though that's hardly uncommon among their social circles; at least he stops short of a full introduction to a stranger in a Sleeper-public place. But then, she is fairly obviously younger than he. Perhaps he's making assumptions as to her experience or knowledge levels.
"I've only been here a few weeks - since the beginning of March. Haven't met many people yet, though a few I have are particularly interesting. A woman called Grace, one called Sera, and one called Pen? And a gentleman called Nick." Other, deeper ties are saved for last. "And Arianna. Do you know any of them?"
It's curious, this, and Silas watches Margot's face closely, subtly. For all intents and purposes, this could simply be casual conversation - hell, maybe it is. Maybe he's looking for patterns where there is only coincidence.
Margot
Poor Margot. Silas could see right away that he put the girl in a perdicament, because the conflict was worn plain on her face while she struggled with on-the-spot decision making.
He could be genuine. He seems pretty genuine. But what if he only just seems genuine?
"I...."
Oh Christ now he's just staring say something.
"I do..., " she said slowly and cautiously. Her brows were stitched together-- the typical paranoia of an Apprentice, worn on a person who was dispositioned to worry already. Finally, she took a breath, exhaled, and came out and said:
"Look, I'm sorry, but I'm having a real Stranger Danger moment right now-- you could be after any of them, or have a grudge against one of them." Given what she's seen, she figured it couldn't be that uncommon. "You're not going to blow up reality at me because I know any of them, right?"
Silas
It's an effort to school his face away from the amusement he feels; he's not that much older than Margot in that a decade isn't so terribly long, and he remembers how he would have felt were someone to laugh at him in such a way when he was in his late teens or early twenties. So he's careful in his answer, both wording and tone.
"I assure you, I won't. Arianna is a childhood friend, and I've only recently made the acquaintance of the rest." The way his voice lingers on Arianna's name hints at more than a childhood friendship, but not at what there is between them - nothing more than a far greater knowledge of her than the others. "You are wise to be wary; there are those who might mean you, or any of them, harm. But I am not one."
He's friendly and open, in the kind of way that's difficult to resist, to not respond to. He is, in short, good company in which to find oneself.
Arianna
[Go go gadget awareness!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )
Margot
To begin, Margot's eye remained wary upon him while he spoke. But he spoke Arianna's name with a familiar fullness that she didn't think would be very easy to fake-- it was too specific a thing to be forging, in her opinion. So the wariness subsided and, placated, Margot relaxed.
"Oh," she said simply. Then nodded, and conceded in conversation as though his question initially hadn't missed a beat.
"I know all of them-- well, except Sera. I know of Sera, but haven't ever met her. They're good people, though. Pen and Nick in particular, they've been good to my friend and I."
She glanced to her left, where a paper plate held three more tacos. She thought for a moment, then picked up the plate and held it out to offer him one. He just got done jogging, from the looks of it, and she knew as well as anyone that running made a body hungry.
"I'm pretty sure my eyes were bigger than my stomach-- you want the one on the end?"
Arianna
Speak of the devil and she will appear?
It is early on in evening, early enough the sky is dip-dyed into twilight and the only stars that have begun to appear are not stars at all. They are planets and satellite, closer neighbors in the cellestial neighborhood. There are earthbound stars out tonight as well, and one of them is strolling the pathways of Washington Park without an escort or any apparent aims.
Having had a few days off from her Drinking with Andres exploits, Arianna is (regrettably?) sober, but that does not leave her dispossessed of other charms. Her transits bring her near enough to Margot and Silas for her to feel something familiar in the air around them; the squelch of something that does not speak to her of tacos and dinner time, and the cadence of the hunting drums perhaps?
There is the click of the heels of her shoes to announce her, boots that loft her a few scant inches -- though that does not help her attain Silas's height. She has not been jogging. One does not think of Arianna and jogging in the same sentence, ever. She has been strolling -- her light sweater and perfectly hemmed slacks show no sign of the duress of more physical activity. Somewhere on her person is a wand, undoubtedly, though it is left to the imagination where she may have stashed that.
When she comes near enough them to be overheard, or to overhear, the Bonisagus lifts her chin in greeting to them both. She stands, just outside of the circle of their gathering, waiting on some marker or movement to welcome her in. It is not exactly a thing demanded of her by her Echoes, but it is close enough for politeness's sake.
"Good evening, Silas. And Margot." There is equal warmth in her eyes for the both of them. She gives no sense of favouritism away just yet.
Silas
"Are you sure?" It's the polite thing to ask when offered one's food and so Silas does, but he takes the taco without giving Margot time to demure. The satisfaction on his face is nearly a palpable thing as he bites into it - his enjoyment is a nearly tangible, palpable thing. He is a Hunter and speaks not just of the Hunt butt he Revel after, and all the things that one might enjoy therein; his appreciation for food (and drink, and touch) is merely a manifestation of that. When Arianna steps close (his eyes are already following her because he is even more Alert than he is Aware, and because he knows the feeling of her, the sound of her step.
It's absent, the wiping away of an errant drip of grease at the corner of his mouth before he nods in return.
"Good evening, Arianna. I think I've made a new friend, if this," he gestures with his food, "is any indication. Though! Margot doesn't know if Denver holds the best tacos she's experienced, unfortunately. I suppose I'll have to keep experimenting and experiencing. With good company, I hope," he finishes and this expansive assertion seems to have room to include them both.
Margot
Was she sure? A nod of the head confirmed it, even as Silas's hand was already reaching, snatching, claiming. She set the plate back down and finished the taco she'd been working on while he ate the same.
Then, as though summoned by the power of her very own name, Arianna came into sight with a click of boot heels on the sidewalk. Margot's dark eyebrows raised up-- again, that owlish look of surprise. She was considering with much sincerity whether names actually did hold power or not, though she'd declared aloud in previous conversation that she doubted they did.
"Hi Arianna," she greeted in return, that surprised look still lingering (tinged a little bit impressed now, though). "We were just talking about you. Or, well, your name came up anyways."
Arianna
Her glance flicks from Silas, who is wiping something away from the corner of his mouth, to the half-eaten taco in his hand, and back to him with a flicker of amusement in the slick of grey-green to her eyes. Then to Margot, all faux-concern and mischeif in the gloaming.
"You fed him, didn't you?" Deadpan. Mock concern bordering on something believable. "It's like a, what is it, Gremlin? If you feed him, then he is yours. Forever." A pause, to add the solemnity and gravity required for this warning. "Believe me: I would know."
But the curl of her mouth is playful; the warning in her eyes does not carry the sharpness of something real. They are in the liminal space between day and night, and even between Winter and Spring, and it is all about jesting -- tap dancing across a threshold.
"Are you well?" she asks the bloodwitch. Silas is fed, so she knows he is happy. This is what the look she casts him seems to say, or says upon its surface.
Arianna
Then, to Margot, a little wink. And a smile that broadens when Margot says they had just been speaking her name. There is, with this, a little shadow of a curtsey and it is easy to imagine Ari as a page or princess of a far away court. Not the best behaving of them, but some sort of far-flung royalty all the same.
And for Silas: "But, Si," his name foreshortened is a sort of intimacy all its own, though intimate may not be the adjective that comes to mind with the quickness of her smile. "Is it the best you've ever had?" Glancing up through lashes. Coquettish. And his hands and mouth are full, so, grin! "And by what metrics... really. Superlatives should attain some standard, shouldn't they?"
Because Hermetics never. Stop. Talking. At least not when they are as pleased with themselves as she seems.
Silas
In this, Silas is a simple fellow; with food in his belly he is pleased. This means that he stalks slightly less, that his eyes are slightly less hooded and predatory. That when Arianna speaks sideways and loosely, he is free to grin in response, even as he finishes chewing. At this rate, the food truck fare will be gone in another bite or two. And when he's finished chewing, he answers with a wink, and, "The best I've ever had is better than I deserve, and not entirely of this world."
They're still talking about tacos, yes? Of course they are.
"But at least it is well before midnight - we can't have me reproducing in such a problematic manner, can we?"
Margot
The look of concern at Arianna's warning was genuine at first-- the concern bordered on believable and for just a moment Margot had believed. But then she went on and the concern bled away into understanding. Oh, okay, we're joking around. She grinned a little, but the expression was quick to fade to uncertainty.
The two were back and forth for a moment, jesting about what was or wasn't the best ever experienced and whether those experiences were culinary or fornicatory was left up in the air (both at the same time, the sides of a coin ever spinning and even if it did land, the other side would still be there underneath wouldn't it?). The girl glanced down at her plate of tacos and picked one up, ate it quickly as that served as a great way to do something besides sitting there looking awkward.
But, Arianna had a question for her there didn't she? Margot recalled, blinked, swallowed her food, and nodded. She spoke from behind her hand while wiping a bit of grease from the corner of her mouth with her wrist.
"I've been fine, yeah, thanks." It was believable, Margot didn't look unshowered or unfed. She could probably use more sleep but who couldn't? Arianna could be assured that she was meeting basic needs if nothing else
Arianna
"We just will not get you wet." This is for Silas. Decisively. And we have now exhausted Arianna's pop culture references for the evening, and even these are decades old.
"I celebrated Easter with the Doctor," she says, and this is for Margot. The overtones say that it was entirely the sort of celebration his Apprentice would suspect. Then she confirms it: "The man drinks like a fish; I am surprised he doesn't swim more."
Ari keeps her attention on Margot. It lingers. "He complains a lot, but he seems to think well of you. Not all Masters are quick to say so; but you should know." And this, Andres, is why you do not go drinking with Ari. She spills your secrets; she spreads around due praise. She stands closer to Silas than to Margot, but Arianna's hands are in her pockets, elbows akimbo. She is easy between them two of them; content.
Silas
"I told Margot," comes smooth and easy, as does the completion of his thought, "that you were a childhood friend. And that I'd met your Pen and Nick recently." This explains the slight spinning weight on 'childhood friend', perhaps, at least to Arianna if not to Margot. Perhaps it also explains not rising to the bait on thoughts of what might and mightn't be moist in the not too distant future. He is, for the most part, casual and at ease as well, though he is never entirely still. And this . . .
"Grace mentioned a Doctor - Andrés Sepúlveda. Is he truly here? I haven't heard that name in over a year."
His tone is curious, and of course it begs the question of how he might know Sepúlveda. Goodness knows, he hasn't been in Denver long.
Margot
A story was to be told, when the Gremlins references had come to an end, of how Arianna had spent Easter with the Good Doctor. Margot paid attention, curious about where the tale was going. When it landed on an expression of how the Doc seemed to think rather highly of her (despite his complaining), she blinked a few times, then looked back down at her taco plate. A faint pleased pinkness touched her cheeks. Praise was nice even through the grapevine.
"He is," she said to Silas with a curious glance in his direction. He knew the Doc too, huh? It seemed her mentor was a well-travelled and well recognized. Her gaze lingered there, curious about that story whatever it may be, but looked back to Arianna to respond.
"Thanks for saying so. I wouldn't think that the Doc would suffer a student that he didn't think was worth the time, but...." She paused and made a face to suggest that she was unsure of how she felt about this next bit. "...I wouldn't expect him to be talking us up. He must have been reallydrunk."
Arianna
"The same," she confirms for Silas, and her mild surprise registers clearly enough for them both to see it in her eyes. The Doctor and Arianna as drinking buddies is a strange enough preponderance, but add Silas to the Etherite and Ari comes up blank on explanations.
There is warmth from her toward the Apprentice -- perhaps that is equally odd to Silas, as Margot is clearly canted away from their Tradition in her aura and her interests.
"He was also praising the Good News of the God-Child who is risen," Arianna says, with steepled eyebrows and a smirk-shrug to her. She is not, apparently, the religious sort herself. "In Italian, though, so..." A hand over her heart, faux-swoon, as her accents cants hard toward her native tongue. "Perhaps he was feeling more sentimental than usual?"
Kiara
[So many new flavors of Mage. Awareness, yo.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 9) ( success x 1 )
Silas
"When I knew him - fleetingly, to be fair - he didn't seem prone to outbursts of sentimentality. Though I suppose alcohol and religion can have that effect on one." It's amused, and look - the taco's gone. Four bites, perhaps a record of some sort. "And, of course, I knew him through his daughter. So there may have been aspects of that in our knowledge of each other."
Silas, there with Margot and Arianna feels like the old ways - he feels like the Hunt and like the Rite and like the coming of light. He is radiant and tempestuous, and looks like, perhaps, he should have antlers. He is, quite clearly, a predator, and marked by an old god of some pantheon or another.
"You're his apprentice, then, Margot? I wish you the best."
Margot
To some a man finding religion and sentiment would be a positive thing, especially to know that the words 'alcohol' and 'asshole' were commonly associated with him. But Margot's brow was creased with worry to hear the news of the man praising the God-Child and Good News and all.
"...I don't know how much Italian he speaks. I don't think he believes--...," but she cut herself off there with a quick shake of her head. The thought that clouded her eyes cleared, and the worry was smoothed away from her face and replaced with resolve instead-- the duty of a sentry. "But then, his beliefs aren't exactly my business. He's a Scientist, they'll never match anyways."
And then Silas explained what he knew of this Etherite, and it wasn't sentiment. At the mention of a daughter Margot's eyes widened and eyebrows skipped up with surprise. Her lips pressed tight, though, she said not a word on that subject. Instead, moved to the next.
"Yeah, he was good enough to take us in when he found Ned and I floundering for understanding. We won't be Etherites, but still..." Then, a small smile in return for Silas's good wishes. "Thanks."
Kiara
Kiara Woolfe was no stranger to traipsing through the myriad of winding pathways that made up Washington Park. Her particular favorite, as much as her jogging pursuits were concerned, took her on a twisting route by the lake. The surface glinted in the sunlight in a particular manner that suggested it was quite aware it had many secrets beneath it and would offer them up to anyone with the cunning to delve beneath and uncover them.
Once the sun set, though, the lake and the park itself, became a far more mysterious (and, at times, dangerous) prospect.
Tonight - the danger feels less an insistent pressure and far more - a murmur. A possibility. It feels, after a certain point - when the brunette's footfalls draw close enough - rather like a wash of rejuvenating energy. Here then, came Spring.
Spring, with her gentle pulsing heartbeat. Spring that - when the Verbena in question ascends a small hill, came in a package with black boots; wild dark hair with bangs cut that fell across equally dark eyes and a mouth painted in a blood red shade of lipstick.
There's a brief pause, where the pagan's momentum draws to a slower half-step before it resumes; a shifting of a bag over a shoulder and arms sliding across a thin chest.
If Silas was radiance itself; this creature felt like some elemental of nature; a verdant apparition of eyeliner and bright; intent consideration. One approaching their small gathering with very little appearance of uncertainty.
Arianna
This matter of tacos, and Andres, and Apprentices aside, gives Arianna a moment to circle back to something said in passing.
"You've met Nick and Pen?" Pleased, then. It brightens her considerably. And this comment about childhood friends, well, it passes for now, water running under, something like a bridge -- it will be crossed(or burned) later.
And, for Margot -- "Oh, he speaks no Italian at all, and I no Spanish. Which makes it so very much fun when we both slip homeward." The warmth in her eyes shifts slightly, that mercurial something in her shifting toward attentiveness ever so very slightly as Kiara approaches.
It is the way the Verbena's resonance and Silas's intertwine that catches her by surprise. Ari stands a little straighter; pulled a little back from her semblence of comfort and easy company. It draws her just a bit away from Si; a little more toward Margot. Let's not mistake this for protectiveness over the Apprentice; Arianna is not that sort of do-gooder; she has cabalmates for that. There is a stillness to her, the wash of something bright and fleeting: like starlight, those nature-borne around her might think, brilliant and remote and watchful.
Silas
The way Silas reacts to Kiara's nearness is, perhaps, not so different than the way flora reacts to his; the Verbena, more than the others, may note how spreading out from the ground where he stands, the grass is a little greener. There are hints of buds on the nearest trees and flowers. He is an aggressive force of Life, is Silas, and he turns as to something familiar though he's never met the source. There's a twist of his lips that's akin to a smile, or perhaps a smirk, of acknowledgement as she approaches, and he adjusts his position in the circle (look, symbols and patterns everywhere) to make room for her. This makes room for Kiara between Silas and Arianna, or around the other side of Silas, between him and Margot.
"A friend of either of yours?" This is directed at the two with whom he's been conversing for the last while, and quite probably audible to Kiara.
Kiara
There was, to a degree, a certain possession of self confidence to the way the Verbena approaches them - some might have called it brazen, after that first hover of surprise when she'd glimpsed the trio; felt the modest stir of new energy.
"You must be some of the new kids on the block."
This Kiara's greeting, with a curl of her mouth at one corner; a crooked thing, that expression but coupled with the warmth and inviting charisma the brunette seems rather generous with. She's wearing a small fitted leather jacket that matches her boots, the Verbena, her blouse beneath open enough at the collar that a thin silver chain was visible; a rather striking quartz pendant housed at its end.
Several of her fingers bore rings and nail polish to match her mouth.
Her eyes returned to Silas after a tick over both Margot and Arianna, head to foot with an open appraising air that could have felt a little more intimate than seemed appropriate from a stranger. Her smile widened a little.
"I'm Kiara." A flash of white teeth. "Woolfe." Maybe, at least for Margot, the name will register as one she's heard a decent amount about in recent days from a certain Doctor.
Margot
On the approach: Kiara-- dark boots, dark hair, bold lips and eyeliner and pulsing living Life seemed to hum and throb through the air around her. Arianna gravitated more toward her, while Silas's intrigue turned him more toward the approaching Verbena.
Margot, after watching Kiara for several moments (cued in largely by how the other two were watching her approach), looked down and snatched up the last taco on the plate. Ate it quickly in a way that suggested she was trying to finish and be on her way. She made no glance to a phone screen or watch for the time, but perhaps the sun was good enough for her. Perhaps she could just Sense Time already.
Was she a friend of either of theirs? Margot shook her head, mouth too full to answer verbally.
By that time Kiara was near enough to greet and introduce-- she was Kiara Woolfe, and indeed the name did spark recognition as a small light in the girl's big bright eyes. She finished chewing with a wrist over her mouth, and only once she'd swallowed and made sure she didn't have any food debris or grease left behind did she speak again.
"Oh, you're Kiara! I'm Margot, hi."
Arianna
The Verbena is brazen, and her connection with the natural world is wreathed all around her; it is as strong as Silas's connection to something older. The three of them, Silas and Kiara and Margot, seem cut from similar cloth and it is not the cloth in which Arianna has been dyed, though she is adept with symbols and she understands thresholds and the stars peeking through the celestial tapestry over head echo her brilliance.
She is a different sort of Other than they three are. Silas will mark it: Ari does not know this other. Margot may not until introductions come around. Arianna's manners are impeccable.
"It's a pleasure, Kiara," she says, taking less intimate stock of the newcomer. Her gaze is more gentle, mildly disinterested and casual-seeming. It is a trap, this sense of nonchalance. "Arianna," she pulls a hand from her pocket, offers it across the gap to the stranger. A warm smile accompanies it. There is a thin silver band on the ring finger of her right hand.
Silas
Silas, too, looks like he may be preparing to leave; though his attention had, for a moment, been drawn so completely to the verbena he is again in something akin to perpetual motion. Dressed casually in clothes most appropriate for a workout, it seems likely that that's why he was here, before he found his way to this impromptu gathering.
His exposed arms are covered in intricate tattoos - one arm is covered with a delicate balance of earth and starry night sky, while the other displays a knot worked representation of Herne, or Cernunnos, or some similar gods. Or all of those gods. He wears no jewelry but for a thin gold band on his right ring finger. His hair is brown, and his eyes are blue.
"Silas Arthur," is the proffered name. "And I should be going. My hounds will be wanting out."
Kiara
I'm Margot.
"Oh right, you're one of Andrés' kids." A statement that, not a question. Kiara's dark eyes taking an interest in the younger woman. They linger there for a pause and the smile she cants her seems genuine; open and interested before her focus is redirected to Arianna.
The hand offered is taken and Kiara's fingers close around the other woman's in a warm press of her palm. "Arianna and - " Silas receives another lingering, intent study. Her smile widens and she echoes this name, too. " - Silas. Nice to meet you all, it's about time the city had a little bit of new blood." There's a particular way that Kiara's attention lingers on the male of the party that speaks more than anything could perhaps, of her Tradition.
Silas has to be going, his hounds will want out. A groomed eyebrow arches, a glint entering Kiara's eyes. "Best not keep the hounds waiting. Maybe we'll run into each other again soon."
Easy flirtation from the pagan, that seems to want very little in return for its appearance. Her eyes ticking back toward the others. "I figured with everything going on lately, I'd at least make an impression."
(Something about the way Kiara says this, with that lingering smile, suggests she's well aware she typically does. Whether its intentional or not).
Margot
"Me too."
Margot hopped in on the end of Silas's bowing out of the convening of minds in the park. She stood up and folded the paper plate up into quarters in her hand, so it took the shape of a shell and wouldn't spill when she carried it with her to a trash can. After a moment she added to clarify: "No hounds, but a rabbit." That, with a grin.
For Kiara: "Yeah, that's me. You helped him spring the Brandt man, so I want to say thank you real quick, before I go. I don't know the details of what happened and who did what but you helped make sure he got out of there okay, so thank you."
Funny how pronouns work, it was hard to say if she was thanking Kiara for getting Alexander or Andres out in one piece. She didn't hang around to clarify, though, and was soon on her way walking with a wave over her shoulder.
"I'll see you around no doubt. Bye!"
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