Welcome to Gaia! ::

The pile of coats remained miserable for awhile, catching their breath. Finally rolling over to stare at the sky, and then upon her arrival, America's tits. "Was just...looking f'my friend...not t'stay. S'trap," he mumbled pathetically.

America offered a wry grin before crouching down, "Your friend a kid? Or like...really ******** short?"

"N-n-no," the man shook his head fiercely. "She's big...tough gal. Smart. Went t'go find nother friend." Eyes flicking to the house, he repeated, "S'trap." There was a hopeless sort of desperation framed by the man's bushy whiskers and the bulk of his clothing. It was obvious that whatever moment of bravery that had led him to seek out the chain of missing friends, it had since left him.

America gestured to the house and held up a hand to indicate someone small, her features unfortunately too concerned to help along Taym's facade. What if a kid had snuck in there? She sure as ******** would have had she lived in the area. Her acting didn't matter in the end, though, and the man began to weep.

"Dunno...dunno! M'friends are in there," he pleaded. "Fr'weeks. She was t'last." A deep, wet breath, "We'd heard it was a good place, allaway in west Lavant. Said they never felt s'good, not in all their life."

America offered the man on the ground a tight smile, "Don't worry, honey. If we find your friends we'll send them right on out to you." Standing up, she gave a small nod. "We're going in now, so you take care. If you're fussing yourself about following after, stop. S'always good to have a man on the outside, right?"

A weak nod followed, and then the man held out a hand to Taym. In his large, calloused fingers was a small bell, dented and a bit tarnished, but its tone rang pure. "Her name's Ida. Ring it two time, she'll recognize it for alright."

The man turned away, still not getting up, and America tugged at Taym's elbow. The front door had seen enough action in the past few minutes that any bit of surprise was likely lost. She went in first, quiet but not overly stealthy. Her partner walked softly enough for both, and it was with this in mind that she gestured, Split up?

She could be the obvious hand, the distraction as she searched the house, he could be the sneak.

She gave his own ear, the raggedy fellow, a quick peck and watched him go with a look of quiet determination. After a moment she cleared her throat and began walking through the front rooms, not bothering to soften her footsteps or the creaking of floorboards and doors.

"Helllllooooo," she called out, voice suitably nervous yet holding that stereotypical edge of curiosity so often employed by people in movies exploring places that are a Bad Idea. "Anybody named Ida in here?"

All the rooms seemed empty at first, all with their grimy windows and sparse furnishings, a night stand here, a chair over there, and a mirror. Lots of...mirrors...

America's lips compressed as she noted the mirror in her current room, a tiny one with just a vanity and a mirror right above. Grimly she leaned forward to get a better look within.

She knew a little something, all said, about mirrors.

Outside leaves moved in the wind, shifting and falling, and their shadows gave motion to the mirror and that motion increased and shifted until there were more distinct shadows moving behind it. Shadows that gained color and distinction and life until it was no longer a mirror but a window and through it a view of what was distinctly Paris. A tall, almost mannish woman was at the center of the scene, in a beautiful dress with a man of indistinct features across from her, painting her portrait as people passed by them, several stopping with compliments to both painter and model.

She glowed with happiness as she sat on her park bench, she shone with joy.

It was, of course, a trap.

The smell of peppermint filled the air and strong, slender arms curled around Taym from behind. "It's okay," came a woman's voice, sweet and song-like in his ear, "we can fix it all. We can make everything better." Voice and touch and scent were heady, the world beginning to dance and swim.

The bell dropped from his hand and rolled onto the floor. There was something carved inside, written in what few would recognize as Ancient Greek but anyone looking long enough would be able to read: I bring my bearer JOY. Once for the making, twice for the taking, spirit come forth.

"There's no joy in you," she murmured mournfully the smell of peppermint intensified and with it a sort of dazed calm. "But there will be." The world faded back, but before everything went dark, there was time for him to make a single action.