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America took the proffered hand and Kostya flinched in return-- a full body tighten-- but he tightened his hold on her, too lost in the cloying sensation of physical contact to take notice of Taym's small gesture. Her hand, pale and not-too-slim, held onto him with strength, and he busied himself with the easy detachment that came with navigating the shortest path to the walls that meant home.

In the presence of his companions, Syntax retreated from the forefront. He was an ever present babbler of facts and data, especially now: they were stronger, and it had been a change so gradual that Syntax was alarmed to see the marked improvement between them. From his waist, Syntax's totem thrummed with excitement, ready to grow stronger.

Even so, nothing he did was significant enough to draw Kostya's attention away from her. It was a relief, to have America's presence back, and it was...reassuring to know that her well being was intact and without damage. Kostya was accustomed to her, and his affiliation always placed priority at Highest, without fail. She commanded those around her with ease, sometimes even without the intent to do so.

It was in the way she moved, spoke, reacted. It all marked her as being familiar to having her way, but she also was not above having to put her back into it. America was a conqueror, whereas Mimsy had simply been a queen.

He had respected Mimsy once, but those days were slowly bleeding out of him, black ichor and resent curling around his heart instead. In its stead grew respect and admiration for America, for her fundamental utility, and for her understanding of how he was and using it.

She tripped once, snagging onto Obadiah and not letting go, and that was unsubtle enough for him notice. Kostya nodded his head once in a barely perceptible motion. Good. He was going to murmur something in her ear that Obadiah felt left out, otherwise.

"Just because distract does not mean are being vithout use. Are tools before entertainment. Not sure of state of life tech. Only go to lab for computer. Ve can be checking." After that, a complete and utter poker face, perhaps one slightly scarred from a mental image he did not need to acquire.

"Meant for phone, America," Kostya said, exasperated, "to vaterproof."

He looked at Obadiah, searching for a set of appropriate phrases, and came up lacking. He settled on a dry, "Please be telling her not to run in clear plastic bag," and an imploring look.

"Well, of course it has a use," she rolled her eyes at the obvious. "But sometimes you just gotta strip all the tools and conveniences away to find..." Yourself. What you're capable of. Priorities. A clear mind. "Whatever you happen to be looking for," she finished sagely before flashing a grin at his clear, familiar exasperation.

The request had her turning to Taym, eyebrow raised, but his answer was definitely the right one. Gently squeezing his arm, America nodded with a preening, "Damn right. But," she relented, "...you can always ask."

Kostya shied away from touch because it innately disturbed him. Fingers wrapping around his neck and cutting off the air supply, pressing his face into the water (the first time was before, in the trials, and the second was after, with Lucky), the life slowly bleeding out of him. He related it to death, to quiet loss of himself to oblivion.

Most hunters were strong enough to be unaffected, but Konstantin had never claimed to be strong.

But.

He had looked on her with derision and she had not cast him out. She had left, but she was allowing herself to be pulled back into the fold. In comparison to her, America was a very, very different being. She smiled like a summer day and it was just as clear, just as strong. She was free, and he wanted some of it, too.

Perhaps he didn't have to be afraid of the contact. Not of her, not of anyone. It could become another tool in his arsenal, and while it still sent shivers down his spine, he could bend the fear into something more. To maybe give himself into the oblivion instead of resisting it. It would mean that he'd never have to be afraid again. It was worth exploring.

Kostya looked long and hard at Obadiah as America said her piece, and her voice softened with a secondary layer to her words. Perhaps it related to the way they had been pressed together, close in a way he could not-- and did not-- want to understand.

He didn't have to understand them to find their importance vital.

"Is coward vay out," he said to Obadiah, after carefully assessing the benefits of his words, "to not try at all." With a beeping of his phone, Kostya was distracted, firing off a quick reply to Otto.



Hopefully his device wouldn't short circuit because of the rain. "Can use Otto shower. Full hunter and all. Come."

The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind howled between far off trees, but he felt anchored like never quite before.