Fuck-ups know best (Attn: William, Margot, Doc)
"If I could accurately summarize what I think the problem is? I mean fully and utterly articulate the spectrum of all that could and has gone wrong? I might be able to explain to you how to fix it. As it is, I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure anyone can, really because this is by far and away the vastly distinct cross section of 'Fucked' and 'Up' that rarely comes along outside of the all seeing, all knowing reality slap we're too scared to court most of the time."

~Marissa Triers, Dreamspeaker having found out the anchor she's been using has just been destroyed~

Ned's home. 

The front door chimes open and closed without a bell or a ring or a flutter of anything, really because they didn't have any bells. Ned had removed anything resembling a bell after an explosion of some sort had rocked the house and caused him to hear ringing for a few days afterward. The front door had a knocker on it which none of them used and since no one visited, it had remained stiffly new where it sat, eye level and glaring with it's ornate vagueness.

Ned is yelling.

"Oye! The two of you! Get down here we have to talk about something..."

Perhaps accumulating an air of dread, concern or at least, displeasure knowing there was something to discuss amongst the fuck-ups of the house hold, Ned's feet are moving into the nearby study with it's open doorway, vast library of books and assorted pieces of furniture that serve basically the same function as the long large table at the centre; for placing various books on as a saving spot, if the current condition of the study is any indication. 

Ned finds a chair that looks like it was once decorated in cobwebs and mystery and is now just a faded piece of fancy that has long since been repaired to a serviceable position. There are a half dozen other chairs scattered around the room, few of which match each other. Eclecticity.

Ned picks up a nearby book. Something with no title, a brown cover and the sort of crumpled pages that come along with water damage. He skims the page the book is opened on before trimming through the next 15, stopping briefly to regard the passage there before repeating the process. He pauses only long enough to glance up at William, the other individual who'd walked through the door. Then he motions the Hermetic to find a seat, try to breathe and start the process of farewell to various body parts. All with nothing but a blink and a roll of his eyes.
It wasn't until he was looking for a place to sit that he began to feel mildly concerned about the fact that he'd told Sepúlveda that he wanted in Margot's pants. Not because he was concerned about what his reaction would be- William Holmes was past the point of being too desperate for approval- but rather because this was a home court advantage and if all parties in this equation didn't agree to letting him in then Ned was going to do his level best to kill him.

Grant you, Ned probably possibly wouldn't succeed in making the Hermetic part with his mortal form but it was the thought that counts. He didn't necessarily want Ned to try and kill him, it would make Margot upset and it would totally make the time they've got to spend with Arturo Nihm Really Freaking Awkward. There were lots of things that were going through his head. Even more when he had a chance to really look around the room he'd stepped into.

There was a book with a brown cover that made the sound that all books who opened too easily made. There was the quiet smell of dust that lingered in old furniture even when it's been used and used and used plenty of times. He was subconsciously counting the number of red things that he saw (twenty three, twenty-four, twenty-five...) and not at all hearing conversations that didn't need to be heard in this particular realm.

It's... nice.

No, it's really nice.

He took a seat nearest the exit, in case he needed to get a head start. His eyes travel back to the bookshelf, "how do you guys have that organized? Subject matter? Traditional leanings? Author?"

He's trying to distract himself. Will would probably keep talking even if Ned didn't say anything at all.
Oy! The two of you!

Something lands on the floor upstairs with a thud. Footsteps thud. A door mewls open.


They have to talk about something.


He doesn't want to get into a Forces vs. Matter fight with his student-turned-cabalmate, so Andrés allows his boots to drag him down the stairs and into the library. When he appears, he's wearing his non-work outfit of corduroys and a wrinkled dress shirt, cardigan and glasses making him look disheveled rather than studious. Lord knows what are in his pockets.

His eyes narrow when he sees Will.

"Ah, Christ." Even if Margot hasn't arrived yet, he looks back at Ned and says, "Explain."
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

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