)Dia paused in the hallway, having trailed along after the two deities. "What am I getting recruited to do now, and what am I pausing?" he remarked. By way of aside to Dan, he muttered, "I might be a frequent future customer at Haven. Would I get a discount if I helped you fix the place up?"
There was an undercurrent, half amused, half irritated, half tolerant, and wholly affectionate, in his tone. As forward as his kind was, that was a topic for another time, though said time might not be too far in the future. His handler knew (though he of course did not) that there would be a trip to Chaos, where he could talk about Chrys and her idiosyncracies all he wanted...and they were legion.
(OOC - That many? Wow. =D When's she due?)
"Did you check in the dryer? Sometimes it likes to eat socks. Maybe it decided to branch out. Brace yourself, too; it looks like here comes a bunch of them. There's no shame if you decide to go off somewhere else, though." She tried to look reassuring.
"A drink? Absolutely count me in, especially if there's a tome from or about ancient Greece. I think I still have a rain-check from last time, don't I? Oh, and this is Alva. She's Gretta's sister."
Dora glanced back at the raptor, hoping she hadn't disappeared in a puff of smoke. Over there, on the other side, were Dia and Dan; the big man had also perked up upon hearing about drinks and Greece. He appeared to be explaining something to Dan about having a chance to hear about the history of Vafflehelm and Bielefeld (invasions included) while getting sloshed.
"It will be glorious!" he abruptly boomed, out of nowhere, the contrast with his earlier muttering abrupt and jarring. Sudden though it was, it had nothing on some of the explosions the apartment building had seen. Not even a single tile cracked, and all in all, it was actually rather more like the pounding of a drum rather than the thunder of cannon fire. Still louder than Cuisine's voice, but not at all ill-tempered or malicious.
In truth, it was both; yet Chrys didn't mention it. In the knowledge that Hans was a cultist of War, she felt certain she'd be laughed at if she told him she was afraid of blood. There was, too, the risk she'd try to do one of several things to stop blood flow, some of which weren't entirely conscious.
Just as the cultists did, Conservators shared themselves with another; but that other lacked sentience and higher awareness. It was very primal, which perhaps explained Chrys' reputation with Hans and Klaus. As such, she only lifted her gaze by degrees until she was absolutely sure there wasn't any more blood. Trying to freeze Hans in time or cauterize his mouth probably wouldn't go over very well with Rache, and almost certainly would put rather a damper on what was developing between them.
"Fine," Chrys said, trying for her usual light tone. "Just a bit of a lapse there. Nothing some more alcohol can't solve." White teeth shone in the light reflecting from the bar counter, as she smiled diffidently.
MB turned eye-searing fuchsia in response, though he did 'power down', much to the relief of the clerk.
Who then frowned. "You...lapin!"
Just about all of France had heard about his exploits with one of their national symbols.
"And you! Accomplice!" for such she considered Katya. She reached out with a thin, bony arm, picked up the phone, and dialed the police non-emergency number.
MB gazed innocently at Katya. Whoops? Leave money and we go?
