oh so quiet... [attn: kiara/nick/pen]
Andrés does not want to go into the car. Says as much as Nick manhandles him, says "No no no no no no, bad, bad idea," but Backlash had its way with him earlier and his wounds make him malleable.

At one point during the buckling process he slinks his uninjured fingers up around his throat, frowns and flexes them as if he's trying to keep a cord from tightening around his airway. He stares out the window as they pull away, some fixed point outside the vehicle of great interest to him, and he pokes, gentle, at Pen's right arm.

"Eugh," he says.

After that he is diligent about not making any sound.
Look. I have school. And RP. And all my other time is taken up by sheer, unreasoning panic. I don't have time for Reddit.
-- ixphaelaeon
Andrés is silent through the rest of their drive, and so is Nick: therefore likely so is Pen.  It is not far to Kiara's apartment and for that duration there is only quiet, Quiet.  Nick keeps his hand on Andrés' shoulder, as unlikely as it is that the Etherite is aware of it; after a while his hand moves down to the sweatshirt balled around Andrés' hand in order to apply pressure.

Ten minutes before they arrive Kiara receives another text: About 10 mins away.  Warning: Andrés may have eaten a bad backlash.

They do eventually arrive at Kiara's, and the chime and the cat herald their arrival before they come up to meet her in her apartment.  Nick guides Andrés upstairs with a hand on his shoulder, much as he did as they were leaving the hotel.  The door is partially open: Nicholas knocks on the frame before he steps into the doorway.  Even then he remains just at the threshold; this is only good sense when entering the home of another mage.  "Kiara?"
It is particularly good sense when entering a witch's den.

There is, to put it no other fine way - activity - as soon as Nicholas, Pen and Andrés reach the threshold of Kiara's door. Those among them with the sensitivity for it will feel the sudden rustling and trembling of spiritual anguish. There were things alive in this apartment, other than the Verbena and her cat. They were awakened. Alert -- and dissatisfied with the new company.

Two potted spider-ferns bracketed the doorway to the pagan's home, stood on small narrow stands they thrummed with energy (and delivered the clear sense of watchfulness) and seemed to nearly vibrate with tension as the Mages drew up. 


The door spilled light into an airy space; the entrance hall (if it could really be called such given its short span) opened up into a joint living and kitchen area with large windows that overlooked the side of another building and gave a tantalizing glimpse of traffic floors below. There were more plants inside; in fact; they seemed positively abundant. In one corner of the living room, a small altar sat with a cloth draped over it; incense burning in a holder.

There was a small ceremonial knife lay beside it; bundles of herbs wrapped in twine and a small cushion on the floor before the altar itself.

The entire space resonated with the brunette's energy; it bloomed from the plants on windowsills and growing in tiny trays on her kitchen sill. The cat they'd glimpsed sitting in the doorway was now perched on a sofa.

"Here," came a reply, the bare rustle of fabric and clink of jewelry and the Verbena appeared, wiping down her hands on her jeans. She was barefoot, the pagan; her dark hair damp. "Bring him inside." She hastened to close the door behind them and gently swept her fingers over one of the spider ferns. "You can set him down on the sofa."

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