At the Chantry [attn: Grace, Shoshannah, Sera, Hawksley, Sid]

[mnemosyne]

"Yeah, you know what?" This to the sullen, grouchy, teenaged demand that Shoshannah be allowed to take and stage the bartools somewhere in the house. For reasons of aesthetics. "My hipster-vintage bar toys are actually tools of ritual, and not tchotchkes. See," and this with a quicksilver grin to Grace, "some of us think that the ability to make a decent cocktail and or drink cheap tequila straight from the bottle is exactly what separates us from the unenlightened masses," then back to Shoshannah, "so: the barware is going on or in the bar if there's a fucking bar.

"Otherwise, they're staying in the kitchen by the cabinet that is designated for the booze until we secure a proper bar."

And still focused on Shoshannah, returning that look with another bemused and slightly wider grin than even Grace received, full of wry apology, "I meant apprentice in the general-language sense rather than the rank-sense. His student."

Her attention sweeps back to Grace as Shoshannah offers a litany of tradition names, bullet points about their purpose, guesses at her own, and explains who the hell Pan is. And Sera, oh her own eyes are completely steady on Grace's, even if the brand new mage is looking at Shoshannah and trying to absorb all of this.

"Hawksley was right," a bit dreamy, to Grace, when Shoshannah's explanations end. "You have fucking incredible eyes. Did you get any of that?" Compassion and humor in that too. And if Grace seems inclined to wander off toward the library with Shoshannah's offer, Sera will follow.