[ The One Night Stand - Lit. Walk-in ]

[be the cowboy]

Darting a downward glance to Kismet, Eneru listened intently to the same question he fired back at the young fae.

"I'm just having a drink."

"Fair enough," her father muttered, dismissing any impressions he'd been toying with moments ago. Besides, Kismet appeared of age, despite being, what, a couple hundred years old? Maybe even a thousand? The incubus wasn't too well versed on the math and time within Arcadia. Chance skipped out on the details she deemed less important until now. Discarding his troubles momentarily to catch each word exiting Kismet's lips, Eneru had almost forgotten how financially well off the Verauxs had it and the fabric that separated the classy from the trashy. "Can't argue that. You get just about everything you need here. Except for some ******** food," he complained, taken back years before of when Chance did him the honor of cooking some steaks. If only the ONS could attract chefs to serve their starving patrons. If Chance could get mini-bars in every bedroom, she could easily get some cooks in here too. The thought earned himself a smile, something Kismet could question and be brushed off as nothing before her voice rose to speak again...

"I don't think I care if I find her anymore."

What truth lied in that statement? Had Kismet really given up her hopes of reuniting as the perfect family? Had she finally come to the realization her dreams can't last forever? Not with a brother like Providence, not with a father like Eneru, and definitely not a crazy b***h like Chance. She strove to find the answers nobody had been willing to answer much to her father's familiarity. How naive was he to believe the words of a charlatan, who one day promised a life somewhere far beyond the pines and the cabin where he stored her mutilated corpse. Irritation flashed across the young fae's features and that bothered her father greatly. Her intensity did not fit her petite, shapely figure and it was his responsibility to calm her storm. Again he'd drown in those emerald hues that burned through his skull, he sighed before pulling up a seat beside the blonde.

"I don't know how well I'll be able to answer your questions, Kismet. But I'll try my best." He complied, grabbing her empty glass to trace the rim lightly to relish the small taste on his fingertips.

"Did you want to do this here?"

[We Could Be Villains]

☇ ☇ xxxxxxxxxGot a couple of skeletons in my closet, couple of skeletons in my bed,
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxCouple of skeletons in my wallet, couple of skeletons in my head. . .

Kismet ✦ Laet ✦ Vereaux






Kismet didn't worry much about food. Rare was there a time she was in the mood to eat, and rarer did she find any need to sleep. The mention of getting a meal did nothing but confuse her further, but for reasons many wouldn't expect; reasons pertaining to the Incubus before her. None of it was brought up just yet though, as he had moved along with his words, taking the young Fae for a ride down the twisted path of social interaction. Back to the topic at hand, to the root of her woes, Kismet stayed silent for a moment or two, mulling over her options. She couldn't take back what she asked of him, so when she was offered a different venue to discuss her current issues, the woman kept in mind the responsibilities this may lead to. "It would likely be best." She spoke with such caution, it was hard to really believe she would stomach what he had to say, yet her eyes spoke volumes in terms of her confidence in their meeting. It wasn't exactly natural to be so uneasy towards your kin, but Kismet had been met with a harsh reality head on, and the bitterness remained skin deep throughout her years on Gaia.

"We can go somewhere else, or just use a room here." Frowning slightly, her vision flickered away to scan the present patrons, and then relocated to her father's features. "I don't want to feel like I'm interrogating you... Do you have a place in mind?" Kismet threw the ball into Eneru's court, giving him control of where he led them, as it was the incubus doing his progeny a service by answering her inquiries. The fact he seemed cooperative was the best the blond could hope for under current circumstances. "Otherwise, we'd have to travel a bit. I live a ways from here." Kismet neglected to mention where her home may have been, but it was likely Eneru would be disenchanted by her homestead.








↘ ↘ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇
ON ANOTHER MIDNIGHT RUN XX SNIFFING FOR TROUBLE, UNLUCKY FOR SOME
ON ANOTHER MIDNIGHT RUN XX I'LL STILL BE BREATHING COME THE MORNING SUN
ON ANOTHER MIDNIGHT RUN XX SNIFFING FOR TROUBLE, UNLUCKY FOR SOME
ON ANOTHER MIDNIGHT RUN XX I'LL STILL BE BREATHING COME THE MORNING SUN

[Mayhem Villains]

Ｒylan Sorenson

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

LOCATION┋The One Night Standxx MOOD┋Friendlyxx COMPANY┋Adon
WEARING┋Thisxx xx

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A corner of her mouth perked upwards in a bit of a grin at his bow. How old fashioned and gentlemanly, she thought briefly, watching his return to his original position over the edge of her glass. A pretty face she was indeed, but it was hard to determine whether problems are what bogged her down or if she just liked the taste of whisky more than your average dame. "A pleasure," she returns, merely a murmur as her green-eyed gaze also flickered to Kismet once more, being pulled further and further away by the presence of the man she called her father.

"Oh no, no," she begins at the first part of his words. Waving the half smoked cigarette around as if to brush away his statement. "I'm certainly not here for answers about who I am. Twenty years have gone by since I last knew and-..." she was cut off by realizing what Adon intended when he decided to find the answer to his previous question. For a minute she was completely still, reveling in the sensation of fingers smoothing across her fur and wondering how long it had been since she had been touched by another person. "That is actually quite nice," she remarks, returning his smile as his hand moved over to pet her head. The silver-furred ears twitched against his fingers, taking in the exchange for a few more moments before she dropped the diminished cigarette and the ashtray and pushed his hands away with a laugh. "Maybe a bit too nice," she emphasizes, clawing a hand through her dark bangs, tail languidly swaying behind her back.

Reaching for her glass she drowned what could have been a touch of embarrassment in her drink as another figure joined them at the part. She watched the newcomer from her peripherals. He didn't seem like the type of person that wanted too much attention on him at once, beside Adon was already en pointe playing bartender again.

"Look at you, Mr. Employee of the Month, I'm sure," she teases. "Not even on the clock and you can't help yourself."

[We Could Be Villains]

I guess what I'm trying to say is I need the d e e p end;
xxxxxxKeep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes.
xxxxxxxxxxxxUnfair we're not somewhere m i s b e h a v i n g for days,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxGreat escape - lost track of time and space.

↬ ❝...But I go by Chance Arden.❞

I'm not the one you want. Reminiscent of a hurricane, I'm only beautiful from afar. I will destroy much of what I come to love with unbearable intensity, with macabre passion, and with a disconnected sense of justice. I will hurt you, mangle that poor heart you hug tight to your chest, and when you're left questioning every ounce of desire you may have felt towards me, I'll be gone. I am queen of the runaways, a lady left with nothing to lose, but everything to gain. I've been made into a monster, a traitor, and a thief. Now, I'm just waiting to self destruct...


Chance Arden dwelt in the dark within back alleys and sewers ways, beneath transient tunnels, and within the city core. She crawled the catacombs of dead empires with every precise step of her Gucci heels, climbed the empire steps every night, and tasted the winds that reminded her of long forgotten conquests. Her presence seemed an anomaly, shrouded in familiar tar black shroud that bubbled with hostility and righteous fury; slathered in the coaxing remnants of thousands of hands. Finger tips left imprints on her flesh, forever the unseen scar of her endless evenings spent with man, and beast, and Gods. Nothing seemed to penetrate the barriers she kept within, but her outer shell was a carnival of carnal desires. This soul of sin, wrapped in a package of designer brands and trending fashion, with a debutant finesse unmatched, was almost certainly up to no good. The heart of the city would beat strong and fast like a bass drum, steady in the distance as the insidious woman made her rounds, throatily humming along in tune.

Fire burned in barrels as her echoing approach continued to make light of the nightlife. Not a soul was out, nor did there exist any prying eyes to size up her speedy jaunt, as her home away from home was one many expected to have long since died. This skeleton would remain unmoved so long as she kept her head down and her peculiar gaze elsewhere. Yet tonight seemed different. An isolated occurrence that had no rhythm or reason. Why did she make an appearance when there was no one there to meet her with doting warmth? Did she need a fan club to exist in this bare boned world? The blonde had no signs of dismay to show, nor expectation of company to cause her to check a watch or clock. Time would further move onwards, and in turn take her just where she had expectations to be. Subtlety was never a strong suit for this creature, yet her final path seemed a less conspicuous one, leading across a patterned patch of cobble and mortar. A neighborhood of brickwork lining each long sidewalk of the street.

Chance was on her way home.

[countgraves]

Kumo

[Location: The Brown Stone]

The fact that the shinobi hadn't heard the foot steps, the closet, or clacking wire hangers could be chalked up to stress. After such a long journey and such a blow to the heart, it was hard to reel in focus and hone the senses. Albeit that meant that the poor chap in the closet was basically just stuck there watching Kumo roll around on the bed with a medium sized cat. Despite the treatment the furry critter didn't seem too annoyed. It was probably more confused than anything. It probably recognized his touch, his scent, yet also recognized the absence of such that had existed for so long. Sooner than later though, with a cute little Meow, the cat would dig claws into Kumo's lap and arms before leaping out of grasp. Without any efforts to stop this from happening, the shinobi merely watched the elegant creature trot away. Presumably down stairs to where their food and water probably was. The young man would suddenly sit up in bed moments later. Those light brown hues would be set squarely on the closet. However they were entirely vacant. Clearly hundreds of miles away, dwelling on things that ought not be dwelt on.

The nin would rise up off the bed and make his way into the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. Apparently whatever plans Kumo had on vanishing into the night would be postponed so he could strip and shower. With the door wide open, the water could be heard clearly when the shower was brought up. After all, the shinobi wasn't aware that his privacy was compromised. Nor was he aware that a certain Fae was actually on her way home currently.

[Bad post is bad. @.@; but at least Grayson is free!~]

[Mystical Villain]

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦◦ ◦ＡＤＯＮ xＶＡＬxＶＥＲＥＡＵＸ◦ ◦◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

┏┅┉┉⋯⋯⋯┉┉┅┓
◦ xThe b*****dx ◦
┗┅┉┉⋯⋯⋯┉┉┅┛

The road to you is long


and I've been on it for a while...

"You know what you want, and I respect that about you despite having only met you. Too many are aimless about their own direction, but even when you're lost at least you've taken a stand." Then his hand was batted away with a quick maneuver to which he gave a small chuckle. Green eyes to meet equal hues for another moment before he went about making himself a manhattan. His attention returned to his busy work, as much as staring down every lady that walked through these doors sounded appetizing, it sent the wrong vibe. Although with the name One Night Stand such a move probably fit right in.

To say Adon didn't rather take to the look that washed over Rylan's features would be a bold faced lie. He may have had a place in his heart solely for Errol, but that still did not change the fact that Adon was a well practiced flirt that loved to play with people's emotions if at all possible. He got to find out the answer to his question and it came without the penalty of being clawed at by a furious feline. Smiling a slight grin he brought his drink to his lips, given little response from the other guest he shifted his body towards Rylan. "What can I say, force of habit by now, that and ignoring others is bad for business." Of course, that was just as he was doing to the redhead. If they really wanted a drink or a room, or even the simplest of conversation, then they would have given more than silence.

◤Place :The ONS - Bar Counter◢
◤Mood : The same old same old◢
◤With : Cat ears◢

тɧιs ιs ℓιғє.
ɪt's α тєst.
ɪt's α ɢαmє.
םιɗ yσυ ραss?

[Mayhem Villains]

Ｒylan Sorenson

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

LOCATION┋The One Night Standxx MOOD┋Friendlyxx COMPANY┋Adon
WEARING┋Thisxx xx

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Ebony bangs settled across her brows once more, green eyes would watch Adon from beneath them. Another cigarette would be lit and placed between cupid bow lips and lit with practiced movements. The sound of a matte black Zippo sliding open, a flicker of flame and a rise of smoke. After a deep inhale, she flicks a short burst of ash into the tray. "I do my best to move on. It's too much effort to wallow," exhale. Crossing one leg over the other, she was perched precariously on the stool, tail swaying in effort to keep her balance as she poured more of the caramel colored vice in the tumbler. Furry ears still flickered intermittently after the petting the received, as if they had a mind of their own and relished in the attention. Whether she was oblivious to his flirtatious nature or just not giving into it was unclear, she moved diligently from subject to subject as if his gaze had no affect on her.

"So," she begins, pink tongue darting over her bottom lip to hold the cigarette she would place there immediately after. "How did you end up in this magnificent venue? If you don't mind me asking." There was a stress on the adjective, a touch of sarcasm perhaps. The glowing end of the cancer stick bobbed as she spoke, but it left her hands free to fiddle with her steadily emptying glass.

[Mystical Villain]

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦◦ ◦ＡＤＯＮ xＶＡＬxＶＥＲＥＡＵＸ◦ ◦◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

┏┅┉┉⋯⋯⋯┉┉┅┓
◦ xThe b*****dx ◦
┗┅┉┉⋯⋯⋯┉┉┅┛

The road to you is long


and I've been on it for a while...

Adon gave a flick of his white locks, face simulating a conveyed shock at her words. "This place isn't that bad." Adon chuckled stressing the word in his sentence in a similar manner as she had. His story to tell wasn't much honestly, but he'd give the woman a few bits to keep pleasantries up. "I was caught up in a rough place. Let's just say that I was an impressionable lad and fell in with a nasty group of people. I broke away from them and this was the first place that took me in for honest work and I've been here ever since." By chance he met the owner Errol and she blindly accepted him without so much as a second glance. As such he felt almost in debt to her kindness, but at the same time respected that unique human nature that she held which so rarely existed in most around these parts. "Characters of every class and creed pass through these doors, and I receive the pleasure of serving them." Sipping from his drink he thought of the crazy encounters he'd been apart of in some sense or another. There were nights he wished he could forget at times, but they all provided a story to tell and a notch in his belt of experiences all the same. "Besides, I got the opportunity to talk to you this fine day so I must say I am happy with how things are."

Whether or not she gave much thought or care to his flirtation mannerisms did not make much of a difference. Adon would be Adon, and thus he'd schmooze and kiss up whenever possible. If it led somewhere then all the power to him. Nothing was truly to be lost if turned down though. The Fae had emptied his glass, but unlike Aisling he deigned to fill it once more, instead setting it aside and hopping up on the counter to take a seat while still facing her. "Pardon me for prying, but you say that you move on in these instances. I don't think that I could be kept from my curious nature. If I were to have any substantial loss of memory, I'd surely want answers, even if they were to be but a glimpse." Both were far too polite in their questioning of the other, it almost felt fake. Which wasn't unusual for Adon, but a face like this one, it felt a bit awkward. Like a cat eying prey and just awaiting an opportunity to pounce. Of course, he could be wrong as he often was.

◤Place :The ONS - Bar Counter◢
◤Mood : The same old same old◢
◤With : Cat ears◢

тɧιs ιs ℓιғє.
ɪt's α тєst.
ɪt's α ɢαmє.
םιɗ yσυ ραss?

[Mayhem Villains]

Grayson Crawford, PhD.
Fae Studies & Metaphysics – Paranormal Forensics Expert

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

LOCATION ┋ The Brownstonexx MOOD┋Sneaky sneaky?xx COMPANY┋None
WEARING: ┋xxThis

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Grayson noticed when the other man's eyes set rigidly on the closet and Grayson felt his breath catching in his throat. A long string of 'oh s**t's spiraled through his mind, figuring he had surely been caught. The nin however seemed out of sorts and focused on something else, glazing over his presence all together. When the man finally out, Grayson released innumerable breaths he had been holding all at once. He collapsed onto his bottom on the closet floor and pressed hand over his gaping mouth in silent disbelief. What a strange turn of lucky events, perhaps this breaking and entering adventure was going to work out for him after all. Not that he had known what he was looking for or even found a souvenir. Slowly pushing the door to the walk-in closet open, he stood up, stepped out and readjusted his messenger bag over his shoulder. Hearing the sound of running water, he figured it was now or never when it came to making his escape. Briskly walking towards the window, he gently pulled it open, knowing better than to press fingertips to the glass and leave some sort of blatant evidence. Just before he swung a leg over the ledge, something glinting caught his eyes. A grin spread over his features, better than nothing. Swiping the pretty diamond ring off the nightstand, a swirling feminine thing with flashy cut gems and a platinum band, he ducked out the window. With a bit of skilled maneuvering, he wiggled across the brownstone ledge by ledge, until he was able to move downwards and eventually drop to the ground. Feet, knees, hands was the order in which he hit the ground. He quickly popped up again, dusting himself off and apologizing to what seemed to be a clump of azaleas.

[be the cowboy]

Tilting his head, the incubus questioned the life his daughter had been living at home. Was it as glamorous as fae themselves or better? The inquiry proved to be far more interesting than he'd like to say, leaning forward some to pet the woman's head.

"Your place it is. Maybe I can pick something along the way there. I've been here longer than I want to say. Some fresh air would do me good."

-Scene End-

We Could Be Villains

[We Could Be Villains]

Errol Capland

It was a fool's errand.

Coming and going. Tending, and pretending to tend, the bar.

After her mother passed, Errol had nothing but time, but that never stopped her from feeling resentful toward the establishment she continued to mind in the absence of a real owner. Through the years, stories had been shared among the patrons to explain their consistent run-ins with the tavern. Each patron had an idea concerning the magic behind the scenes, but Errol's anger wasn't directed toward the ethereal impression the building left on the neighborhood. Rather, her disapproval stemmed from the constant claims made by 'wise patrons' that the bar was following them as a mobile cornerstone of their lives. No matter how worldly or esteemed her clientele might have been, they all shared in the notion that their importance was enough to draw the attention of an ageless relic like the One Night Stand.

Little did they know that they bent to the will of the establishment, with their presence being lured back to the building of succinct earthly recognition because it was a possessive monstrosity in its own right. Nothing so traveled would stay innocent to lesser emotions, she felt, and her years of pseudo-captivity only brought about a terrifying sense of realization. She wasn't aging. Not while sheltered within the walls of the tavern, at least. When she left to attend to the minor issues of her day to day life, there was a feeling of normalcy in her steps. She knew that, without the magic, there would be a far more human end to her years.

Errol ran a cloth along the scarred surface of the counter, red eyes searching for the signatures she may have recognized in the wood. So many patrons had passed through the doors to sit at this very bar, and all that remained of their abysmal adventuring were their scribbles done in teak. A few of the names were unforgettable, but they hadn't been to the ONS in years at this point. Long enough to earn spite from the resident albino, at the very least.

All things considered, she felt fine in her complacency. Comfortable, relaxed, and, in some reassuring sense, fulfilled. Errol wished she knew why.

[Vxce]

She practically falls into the door of the bar, thrusting it open and reaching desperately for it's wooden crest to hold herself up. Blood colors her lips and pours from her nose, and she limps forward through the threshold, her eyes wildly darting from one end of the room to the other. Her arm is hanging limp at her side, tangled wires bursting from every seam of the limb, and as she regains her footing she gathers them up in her good fist, glancing back at the doorway as if expecting someone to come crashing through it after her at any moment.

She makes eye contact with the bartender. It appears to just be the two of them, and she swallows the blood in her mouth, her gaze sharpening.

"Room.."

The word sticks in her mouth and she clears her throat, trying again.

"Do you have...a room..."

Her eyes have a synthetic, unnatural glow to them that almost seems to flicker, fluorescent. In spite of them, her resolve to live is very human.


___________________________________________________________________

[ Character Image Refs ]

We Could Be Villains

[We Could Be Villains]

Errol Capland

It was by the sound that she was introduced to the scene, strange hues roaming from their task to the entryway. There was blood, yes. That much was apparent by the features of the other female, splattered in shades of contrast. Errol opened her mouth to answer but let it shut when her sights lowered to the appendage comprised mostly of wires and metal. There had been enhanced individuals she recalled from brief encounters, but none were practically falling apart in the doorway when they arrived. That was something typically done by the countless creatures of flesh and blood the establishment catered to.

A Deadman's Special.

As the stranger made glances back from whence they came, so too did Errol. The bar didn't allow conflict, but even the reaction of the building could be delayed if the individual in question was synthetic. Golems and constructs had proven as much in the years prior. These were not Errol's primary thoughts, of course, but there was always a small curiosity in the back of her mind regarding people who weren't entirely people meeting the bar that wasn't entirely a bar.

"Y-yeah," she managed to say as she made an about face to search through the drawer with the room keys in it.

"You look like you're in rough shape. Do you need me to call someone? A doctor or... something?" Or something made the bartender feel incredibly insensitive, so she backpedaled with, "Honestly, there's no shame in getting some medical attention, considering the state you're in."

With a key in hand, Errol returned to the woman's attention, facing her to slide the key across the bar. "Room 1 is open. The closest as well- just at the top of the stairs." Casting her fingers in that direction, she pointed out the route visible from the foyer. "The other occupants come and go, but it's late in the season so you probably won't see anyone." A pause. "Besides me, anyway, but I won't bother you."

Viice

[Vxce]

As the woman behind the bar begins to answer, with mercy in her eyes, it becomes obvious to Maeve that she will receive her. At this, her relief is noticeable. She takes a few steps forward to the counter, gingerly removing her bomber jacket with care to pull it around the damaged arm and tangled wires, showing no indication that she feels pain in this area. She bunches up the jacket and stuffs it under her good arm as the bartender points out her injuries and offers to call someone.

Maeve smiles weakly, then closes her eyes, shaking her head.

"I can fix myself I just...need a place to do it."

She almost said a safe place to do it, but she doesn't want to address the danger she's in, no matter how obvious it is.

With her good hand, she takes the key from the counter and the bartender may notice the seams along her inner arm, riding up and up, meeting a torn shirt and rounding out around her shoulder. Her stomach is somewhat exposed from where the cropped shirt ends, and the flesh here looks much more natural...no strange seams or synthetic lines, just pale, goose-bumped flesh.

Maeve looks to be somewhere between 22 and 26, with long black hair and bangs cut somewhat unevenly across her forehead. Her outfit says street gang, with tight animal print pants hugging her hips and leather boots to match. Sure enough, the back of that jacket under her arm reads T.F.O.A. ~ The Front of Armament. A relic of another life, she's bold to wear it still.

Maeve wastes no time making for the stairs, sparing one last glance at the front door before disappearing into room 1. She drops her jacket onto the bed and swears under her breath, lifting her arm to examine the extent of the damage.

"Christ..."

She slips her finger along her upper arm until she finds a small button, pressing it to release a compartment with several small dials and even smaller buttons, and even a tiny indicator screen. Maeve presses her nail into one of panel buttons and there is a click, a release. The sides of her damaged arm begin to unfold, opening to bloom into several spider-like arms. They begin repairing the damaged wires, sorting through tiny threads and snipping what can't be salvaged. Tiny sparks fly as parts are spliced back together, a beeping red light flashes and inner mechanisms whirr, gears turn and re-coil the lower hanging wires like a tape being rolled back into it's reel.

Maeve sits down slowly as her arm works on itself, taking a deep breath and hanging her head back.

"...too close."
___________________________________________________________________

[ Character Image Refs ]

We Could Be Villains

[We Could Be Villains]

Errol Capland

Awkwardly, Errol gave a series of short nods in response. "If you're sure, I won't press the issue." Not that the bartender wasn't already kicking herself over allowing an obviously injured individual press forward without medical attention. "Don't worry about the mess," she mentioned offhandedly toward the retreating woman. "This kind of thing happens all the time." With that, she found herself once more alone at the bar counter, though now with the company of several new thoughts to ponder. Had there been a fight outside the tavern that she missed? A turf war, or perhaps a simple conflict of interest?

Gathering a glass and a bottle to pour from, Errol served herself a shot worth of vodka to drink, hastily ensuring she didn't miss a drop as she drained the vessel dry. When she finished, her eyes were drawn to the currently empty doorway, expectant.

"Trouble comes in pairs."

Viice