[hatch log / mission: hyrypia] the winds that will be howling at all hours

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - Naerstone House
WHEN: DAY :002 - :003
SUMMARY: New hosts hatch on the Station, are briefed, then make their way to Hyrypia to join the rest of the hosts… while they attend a very important history lesson.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

STATION 72
DAY :002

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP are are suddenly changed. --No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or surfacing up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and everything is because right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone.In fact there are lots of you and none of them are the strangers they should be. Some even seems like people you've known for a very long time.They are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a hollow shell.

--Or it does until a voice separates itself from the white noise in your head:


BRIEFING
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD isn't really a voice at all. It's the warm tang of camaraderie, tinged with a flash of impatience like ticking hands on a clock face and a flicker of wonder: a falling star. It says:

( My, you're all very fresh aren't you? Unfortunately, the multiverse waits for no spring chicken. Once you've figured out which way's up, won't you all join us? )
Join 'us' where is the question. And yet, once you're ready to meet the owner of the voice in your mind, your footsteps simply lead you there naturally. Two strangers sit in a small circular briefing room - a tall being covered in short brown fur with a rigid demeanor, and a pale alien with yellow washed frills at her jaw and throat who is smiling cheerfully.

"Hey there, sunshine," says Rhan, her frills humming as she speaks. "Why don't you take a seat so we can get started?"

[ooc note: please see here for the catch-all briefing thread]


THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before it's time to make the trip to Hyrypia, this is as good an opportunity as you're going to get to familiarize yourself with Station 72 before you leave it. There's plenty to see, but a distinct lack of people to make conversation with. It's lonely and quiet and there's a sensation of dust gathering even where there is none. Maybe studying the briefing files on your databank and going over your mission kit is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...

HYRYPIA - NAERSTONE HOUSE
DAY :003

MEETING
A SINGLE SHIP LANDS in a field the color of burnished gold, returning to the place it had until late the night before occupied. It's carefully inserted beside dozens of other spacecraft bearing more than faint similarities, though each has its own unique aesthetic. When the gangplank drops, the loud engines powering down, it reveals--

New hosts. Seven fresh faces - obscured as they are in layers of intricate fabric - are led down the gangplank by Rhan There to greet them is a number of other hosts - any who answered to the sweet crystalline ring of Collector’s voice in their heads hardly a half hour earlier, speaking with certainty born of truth:

( Rhan and Siva’co are returning. Shall we see what stories they have to tell? )

Despite the solidarity that both combined groups provide, there's a feeling of eyes here. A number of guards along the edge of the shuttle field are watching the reunion like hawks. Better perhaps to return to the apartments where they'll be able to speak in private and teach the new hosts what it is that has been learned since their arrival. --Or explore, for those who prefer not to rest. Naerstone House's grounds are vast and they are almost entirely open to the parties of the pilgrims to explore.

THE PERFORMANCE
AS THE SINGLE RED SUN of Hyrypia dips low on the horizon there is a long, low, mournful sound. A deep bell-- or a horn? Or maybe it's something else entirely, but the call is heard and answered as any nearby servants inform the guests of the house:

“There will be a performance of the First Journey in a quarter turn. All guests are invited to attend.”

There's no mystery as to where the event is occurring. A steady trail of guests and servants lead out past the Veranda into the central garden where a number of pillars have been mounted and a large tiered platform festooned with with numerous draped curtains and abstract representations of trees and mountains - a great stage - now sits. The stage is surrounded by numerous low settees and tables, piles of thick cushions and richly colored rugs around which guests can be found clustered, lounging while sipping thick, syrupy drinks.

Each table is illuminated only by a single glowing orb at its center. Otherwise, as the sun sets it pitches the garden into darkness as even the castle itself has been left unlit. There are no lights in distant windows or on Naerstone House's high walls; these small orbs and the glitter of stars in the black sky might very well be the only points of light in the whole universe.

The allotted time passes and the performance begins. A sun rises over the stage. It's a much larger, more intricate glowing orb and reveals a number of players dressed far more simply than the Hyrypians the hosts have met. They wear complex machine masks upon their faces that shutter into different expressions as their hands flitter across their faces: dramatic caricatures to accompany the droning sound of their singing voices as they unfold the tale at the center of the performance - the one which drives this pilgrimage and for the Nest's very presence in the universe at all. It's the story of lost Rabadoceans coming to a planet near barren intent on brutalizing them - about loss and hardship until finally a single player separates from the rest. The orb of the sun over the stage turns, it's mechanical face shifting and resetting to indicate the passage of time as the very central platform of the stage begins to turn so that this lone player might walk. And walk. And walk through deserts and scrub land, through dark woods and dark caves, against the wind and with it. Through it all, the orb over the stage slowly lowers until at last this lone player can take it in their hands.

It cracks like an egg and brilliance streams from it. Braziers catch fire in the darkness. The garden illuminates itself. Every light in Naerstone House comes to life.

With that, the silence of the crowd breaks. There is applause -- each culture in its own unique fashion -- and then there is a rise of chattering conversation as the guests are served several small dishes and talk about the show they’ve just seen - and whatever possible clues it might give to the pilgrimage they themselves would soon be undertaking.

---

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts as well as the evening's performance. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[shri]

[ Rather than dismissing, rather she shifts her attention back to the Seconds. That weight of calculation. A long game, rather than anything direct. ]

No, best play on the exotic with them as long as we can. [ She lets out a breath - her gaze shifting back. ] Nothing so important today, but I wish to establish contacts.

[unfavoured]

The exotic? [ She echoes distractedly again, frowning to herself. ] I don't follow. [ Whatever, she doesn't care either. She makes a vague gesture to the Seconds that walk past with their backs turned to them. ]

And what's your approach?

[ Parker glances up at another group of Seconds. One of them seems to notice, squinting the big black eyes like she is smiling. Parker makes a "urk" like sound. She recognizes that one as much as that Second seems to recognize Parker too. The alien tilts her head in acknowledgement before turning back into the conversation and Parker rubs her face under the hood. Honestly, only thing that makes her stand from the others are the colours of the garments. She hopes. ]

[wille]

[ She nods, of course. Why fight for any purpose not worth fighting to the death for?

Misato turns her eyes to the bonds holding Rani back when she tests it. It reminds her of watching lions behind bars, the way they roar to assert their power, how pitiful it is. Not the lion, that is, the bars. That anyone should think that it is at all right to keep such majestic creatures shackled, imprisoned, held against their will. ]

I think by now he's busy with other things.

[miscreant]

[Clarke. Yes, now she remembers. Her reaction to hearing his name is somewhat comforting. After her incident with Bellamy, she's decided to be a bit more on guard with how she addresses her broodmate's "friends".

She lowers her hands once Clarke closes the door behind her.]

He is the last of my--broodmates.

[She has to chew off the word 'brother', a word she feels appropriate in this case, but also a word she knows will likely not mean the same thing to a breather, let alone a breather who knew nothing of Death Knight culture.

She offers one hand, still wrapped in leather and slightly cool to the touch.]

Seviilia. He thinks on you and your one-hundred often.

[ryohji]

[ as far as he's concerned, if kaji were to choose one flaw to be burdened to the exclusion of all else, a failure to sell an insincere smile sounds to him fairly tolerable. most people couldn't lie, consistently and candidly, without it manifesting somewhere on their body. most people had integrity. most people were decent, honest people. most people couldn't wire their minds to the point of near-dissociation, or order their bodies to override its physiological tells. most people couldn't, whether for lack of wanting or lack of ability, turn themselves into a living, walking fraud. sometimes these people were the subject of his envy, when they weren't falling for his window dressings. now, with the symbiote, they just downright terrify him.

clarke's response is terrifying in it's own way, considering her age - and that frown emphasizes every one of her eighteen years. kaji soothes, his face radiating the polar opposite of remorse. ]

That's one solution. It doesn't need to sound so drastic, though. [ a hand dives back into his potato chip bag. ] Don't sound so offended. There's a certain kind of person who can tell a perfect lie, and they're not fun to be around.

[deployed]

[ It's too late. Bellamy has already resigned himself to following Murphy, even if only to keep up appearances. None of their fellow house guests have struck Bellamy as murderous, but he's reluctant to take chances as much as he's reluctant to ignore the tumult of emotion radiating from Murphy's mind. He yanks on the bond between them, unconsciously imploring; the sensation takes the form of red straps, pulled taut, and reeling closer and closer as Bellamy closes the gap between them. ]

( Wait. )

[ He isn't necessarily asking Murphy to stay in the courtyard, just slow enough for Bellamy to assume the position he's fallen into when he's playing his role. It's been easy enough to pluck the position from Lexa's mind. Bellamy hasn't forgotten Gustas and he isn't unaware of the irony of assuming his role, but he doesn't have the luxury of abandoning useful knowledge when the stakes feel so high. ]

( You shouldn't walk through this house alone. )

[ This isn't Concordia. Even without having seen any hint of threat, the danger of their enemy still feels pressingly close at hand when they've left the comfort of their apartments. ]

[deployed]

[ Intimate is the right word. There can't be any other way to describe how close broods are. Before Angel had taught him, his mind had been open completely to them; Bellamy had felt every passage of thought and emotion between them. He still can now. The Darkling's fingers on his jaw shake loose the last of his guards. They settle into each other the way they had after the failed infiltration on Concorida, when the Darkling had come to him and shown him more of his past than Bellamy was sure he'd meant to offer. ]

I don't know.

[ What Bellamy would have wanted the Darkling to tell her is likely very different from what had been said. His hand finds the front of the Darkling's robe and tangles there, holding him in place as much as steadying himself. ]

We'll teach her to close her mind.

[ By "we" Bellamy really means Lexa, who has managed better than Bellamy ever will. ]

[ryohji]

[ someone's going to have to teach you the ropes, shiro.

kaji listens with an increasingly fascinated sort of interest. rhan and siva'co made no formal mention of taking on predesignated undercover roles, which leads him to believe that the idea was cooked up by one of the hosts. and evidently the idea was never formalized, and is at best just a vague recommendation for which people have wildly different interpretations on how to best implement it.

sounds like the absence of a central chain of command. sounds like an operation they've been set up to fail. sounds like one hot, steaming mess. sounds like... ]

Sounds like there's no love lost there. [ what of the hosts who've arrived after designations have been made? the idea of limiting himself to one cleanly prescribed role doesn't inspire kaji's endorsement. he was, and always will be, a rouge agent. ] And what about you?

[shiro2hero]

Yeah -- it does.

[For good or for bad. After all... isn't habit why some peoples' brains don't work right? Why he can't sleep?]

[But he shakes his head.]

You don't owe me anything. I'm happy to help.

[ryohji]

[ you all live such short lives, i confess i often fail at calculating your ages.

kaji couldn't devise a more plainer, unassertive statement to imply what is being implied if he tried. he feels as though he is merely on the precipice overlooking an even larger stretch of unspoken bombshells and exposés. ]

That's not all, of course. [ it was almost refreshing, he realizes, to speak with someone so nonchalant. besides, it occupied his mind so that he didn't have to think harder about the connotations here. an 800-pound gorilla could sit wherever it wanted to. ] Many people classify their personalities in terms of blood type, or the constellations visible on the day of their birth. But, now that you've mentioned it, I can't help but ask... how old you are, exactly.

SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT THERE let the bonding begin

[aluminumandash]

[ He's halfway to dreaming, thinking about the number six and the workings of a fly's eyes, the white of the station threatening to pop like a flashbulb.

Walking in time with his headache.

Rust swivels to look at the other man. Recognition—recognition's a funny thing now. Instantaneous, but it takes a moment or two to reach his eyes. ] Then one of us'd better be a dream.

[ He glances upward, rubs at his neck. A flinch gets stuck on his face. ] I wake you?

[shiro2hero]

(Good.)

[He'd been. A lot of people were. It'd be okay if she were, too. He'd understand. That she isn't probably bodes well for her, here.]

[To be honest, he doesn't... really know if this is going to work. Sam always seemed like he could do it no problem. Maybe if he just thinks about it how they always did it. Space didn't really seem to work for her, if that little flash into her brain had told him anything. So...]

[Flight.]

[He takes her hand, and settles on that now familiar moment in time -- when he and the Black Lion, that huge, ancient presence, the robot, the life force, whatever it was, actually flew in sync. Two layers of defense against the outside world, against the other minds around them. Nothing but quiet, calm. To let it wrap around them both for a little while.]

[Safe.]

[deployed]

[ Bellamy wants to linger here. Holding Clarke momentarily blots out everything else that weighs on his mind. The relief their contact provides to her compound his own. Briefly, there's nothing but the way they fit together, the way Clarke sighs and the way the tension leaves her body. He could almost ignore the demands of reality, and maybe he would have, if Clarke hadn't pulled away first.

His hands lift back to her catch her hands, anchoring her before Clarke can move too far from him. Lexa's face flickers in his head. That first day, the first time they'd spoken face to face without anyone to intercede and he'd felt the blinding strength of her feeling for Clarke. She must know I'm coming, she'd told him and Bellamy agreed, but he finds himself no better equipped to tell Clarke now than he was a breath ago when he and Lexa had traded those words. ]

There's something—

[ He breaks, hesitating as he tries to think of the best way to explain. ]

Lexa is here. She's alive here. [ A stipulation Bellamy only makes because Lexa isn't present. He doesn't understand how, and it's been difficult to reconcile with his and Murphy's various plans for escape. ] She's on her way.

[ The realization that he will have to leave then settles slowly. Bellamy is careful to keep it contained. His own complicated reaction will have to wait until he's out of the room, where neither Clarke or Lexa would feel it. ]

[adamance]

[Black blood and the lingering sense of it captures her attention whether she likes it or not. That desperation bleeds through as a remnant of Clarke's emotional state, and she can't help but feel choked by the realization of it, especially with how powerless she had been. Coming from a culture where power is defined by strength and strength is defined by the ability to adapt and push against any and all obstacles, she cannot help but find herself feeling lashed by that image. May we meet again—but those words mean something more to Lexa now. They mean this, along with the acceptance that her spirit will not pass on, will not choose someone else.

She had told Bellamy once that her spirit had chosen wisely in Clarke, in having her seek out the means to restore peace and free will to her people. But she has a better grasp of that now and the tenuous line that exists between technology and religion for her people. She knows that Titus died (Titus killed himself) because instead of baring himself to that line, he offered himself up for her—and because her memory deserved better than him tainting it.

Lexa is not lost in the puddle of black blood (which stirs up a memory of a dream, of a girl who looks like Pidge being dragged into it)—

Instead, it's Clarke's lips that draw her back into this moment, that allow her to shove down that recognition of her mortality again. She hopes it's for the last time. (It won't be for the last time. Even in the kiss itself, there's a reminder of that. It bleeds between the two of them in a way that Lexa will have to learn to manage, to smile away, to act as if it's nothing for both her and Clarke's sakes.)

But mirrors show the opposite, and "hello" is the opposite. More than that, the mirror image of death is life—and Lexa lives, clinging to the knowledge that she is likely the last of the Commanders, knowing full well of the chaos left in her wake. She knows that this is a life where they may owe nothing to her people, where they owe nothing to their people, but they aren't fond of shirking those responsibilities. Yet there is some freedom in being able to live up to them together without guilt. (Or with less guilt, as it is with Clarke.)

There is only a moment of trepidation on Lexa's end. That hesitance is a sign of her life—that current of intimacy that she's been lacking for months. Even within a Nest like this, she's concealed herself and walled off others, feeling far too exposed. There's some freedom in being able to taste Clarke on her mouth, in being able to surge forward and kiss her, in being able to ensure that the connection between them is lasting. Lexa mimics Clarke's same movement with her tongue, just before canting her head to the side, inhaling sharply as she means to deepen the kiss itself.

A quickening of emotion slips through her all too easily with the realization that this is neither "hello" or "good-bye," but rather—this is what we can finally have. She only pauses in the kiss but briefly, all to meet Clarke's eyes with her own (they're tear-filled, all over again) and grab her hand to draw her closer as she takes a step back toward the beds. It's only once she has her hand on Clarke's arm that she kisses her again, the hold itself offering her some stability as a similar wave of emotion courses through her.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

( You're not- )

[ It's a thought that Sam starts but doesn't finish, because he's not sure what he's protesting. Bucky's not useless - shit, he's so damn far from useless, but Sam can't put into words how much Bucky means to him.

Misato's words echo in Sam's head - are you just looking for people to save - and Sam had denied it, but right now he wonders. Is that what he's doing here, just trying to save Bucky? As soon as he thinks it, though, his mind rebels. He's not, and he doesn't need Bucky to drag him down.

Sam does that well enough all on his own.

They're adrift, without Steve, and Sam can't figure out to tilt them back enough - he can't figure out how to be enough for Bucky.

How could he be? Even if Bucky never meant for Sam to feel like he needs to be Steve - Sam feels it enough himself. And even if Sam has never wanted Bucky to be anyone but who he is, someone caught between a weapon and a soldier, Bucky has never felt like he was enough. It's something they have in common, and maybe usually it makes their connection stronger - but right now it's too much, and even though Sam can feel them feeding off each other, he can't stop it. ]

( I don't want anything but you. If I gotta take a step back until you figure that out, I will, just - stay. )

[ I believe in you, he doesn't say but he feels - I love you, he keeps to himself, because this is a hell of a time to realize that, and neither of them need it right now.

Or maybe they both need it, but - Sam doesn't know what to do with it. ]

[deployed]

( Who will expect a guard to dance? )

[ Polis hadn't been a place given to dancing from what Bellamy had seen. Dancing on the Ark was limited, and it only reminds Bellamy of the single dance he had attended and how it had ended with him having to watch as Octavia was taken from him. The lush, ornate world he catches glimpses of in Lakshmi's mind are as alien to him as the planet they're inhabiting at the moment. ]

( Maybe back in our apartments. I doubt I'm the only one who needs to learn that skill. )

[ But maybe it's not even something she has to teach. Maybe it's something she can wedge into their minds gently, and let it take root. ]

post clarkepocalypse.

[deployed]

[ The Darkling was a diversion, but Bellamy had still felt Lexa's reaction to Clarke, and Clarke's reaction to her. It goes muted, fading down to an echo caught in the back of his mind; Bellamy only know it because he knows this emotion by heart. Feeling it in Lexa forced him to put a name to it for himself, though he isn't thinking of that when he finds her in the small flower garden the next morning. The setting reminds him of Concordia and the Bearings; he can't tell if she's here on purpose, because she knew they would have to speak after Clarke's arrival, or if she's here seeking solitude to order her thoughts. Either way, it serves Bellamy's purpose as he seats himself beside her. ]

( How is she? )

[ Sleeping, most likely. Bellamy remembers when he had arrived. He'd alternated between sleeping like the dead and lying awake nights, too aware of his own nightmares. He suspected Clarke would follow the same pattern. Her guilt was a twin to his own. Even reaching out to touch feels like too much just now. Touching Clarke's mind would be like grasping a live wire. Bellamy isn't prepared for it.

Even if he were, he's had enough time to consider what his own mind would betray. Until he managed some composure, it was best not to inflict his mind on Clarke's if he could help it. ]

[deployed]

[ Briefly, Bellamy is concerned about the number of alien creatures Kaji may or may not have stolen. But how much high ground does Bellamy really have? He did help to steal ooze baby, even if he hadn't considered the idea of it hatching or growing actually attached to him.

Though Kaji isn't actually alone in finding it cute. Bellamy had imprinted on it even as it leaked black goop down his wrist and locked him to Noctis for days. ]

Noctis wants to give it his last name. I'll come up with a good first name for it.

[ Knowing Bellamy, something Greek and unfortunate is going to follow this statement. ]

He and Cathaway never come on missions. They're Station guardians. [ Whatever that means. ] I've found him in the library more than once. He seems a good bet.

[ Bellamy's fingers trace along the gold filigree reverently as he speaks. ]

hey bodyguard bro

[shiro2hero]

[Well, someone is willing to approach, anyway. He keeps his own walls up. Keeps the stars as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. But this is a different guy from the one he'd joked about coins with. And he has some concerns.]

[There's just the sense of a glance from across the room. Something quiet and concerned.]

[You okay? It's unsaid, but still, it's there.]

[shiro2hero]

Teams function better with order and direction. It's just a fact. We don't have that, as much as some of us have tried.

[No, there isn't any love lost. He really does not understand why it's so hard to just team up. Just agree to work together. Why is that so hard? Not even the team back home had that many problems with working together.]

[Which is seriously saying something.]

[He blows out a breath, pushing both hands through his hair.]

Me? I'm the bodyguard.

[blooded]

❰ damon is about to respond, when he can feel her hunger expanding in his own mind. hunger and disgust, discomfort with what she is, and it hits him all of a sudden — sam had said she was a vampire. how that can be, he doesn't know — she shouldn't have turned from drinking his blood unless she died, and there are plenty people who have gone into comas here and not died. sam's steve is one of them.

he can ask about that in a second. what matters most is getting her to calm down and focus. damon squeezes elena's waist gently, trying to draw her attention from her own thoughts back to him. ❱

Hey, 'Lena. Breathe. I know you're hungry and it sucks, but we have to focus.

❰ after a second, damon opens up his own mind to elena, just a fraction, like a corridor leading her to one thought in particular. there is a section of his head walled off at all times, though the wall is semi-permeable — his hunger is kept in check behind this wall, even as he is always aware of it. right now he's almost starving, but he can focus on other things because that wall is in place. he invites her to poke at the wall, see how it works, and try to erect one of her own. it won't be easy for a newbie vampire, and likely won't hold long, but if she can figure it out, she should be able to hold a conversation long enough for him to get answers out of her. ❱

[otrazhenie]

[ It's only because it's Damon that she's able to listen, to focus on his voice and the feeling of his mind. She follows that subtle prompting, creeping down that corridor and taking in the wall he so obviously means to show her. A wall? It seems ridiculous in a way, and yet -- if this is what works for him, what keeps him from killing ever human in sight to sate the hunger, she has to try.

She prods at the wall, going over the size and construction as best she can, trying to understand the idea of it, and then seconds later she's thrown together her own. It's a walk of matchstick instead of bricks, ready to go up in smoke at any minute, but it muffles the craving enough and she slumps against him in physically palpable relief.]

[shri]

[ She takes a shaking breath, that ugly little noise that is not delicate - many things she might be, but never that. It's guttural mean in her throat. The flex of her fingers stilling again. ]

Oh yes. Assuring his beloved, I am sure.

[shri]

[ She smiles politely for it. ]

Not something that's easier to find, in my experience.

[shri]

( Guards dance most of all. )

[ Lakshmi stop talking metaphors to the poor small boy, that clearly is new at these games. ]

( I only know a few forms. But we can sort something out, I suspect. We are strange and mysterious, after all, aren't we? Who are they to know if what we do is right or wrong? )

[ Her own attempt to easing his concerns where it is concerned. ]