etienne [ix ST]

etienne

Some basic info/guidelines:

1. This scene has a very low chance for combat/injury/death.  Even should that occur, this scene, as with basically all my non-SL climax scenes, is nonlethal.

2. I will only prompt you for so many rolls.  However you can ask about them.  Also, if at any point you want to roll for things like Empathy/Awareness/Occult/whatever thing that is a sensory or knowledge based roll you can.  You can poke me in advance to get a difficulty, or, if you roll I can just figure out your successes by counting if there is a difficulty other than standard and it will be NBD.

3. Um.  Have fun?  HAVE FUN!

etienne

 The Ricketson Auditorium has a scattering of people in it when Kiara arrives, but plenty of empty seats are left.  People are seated in little clusters of twos and threes, a few larger clusters of eight or ten people.  The lights on on a medium setting, though not yet at a presentation level low.  Conversations are all quiet, more a low hum of voices than anything discernable immediately above the rest.

There is a gentleman at the podium, reviewing notes.

No one comes to greet Kiara, although a few heads turn briefly when she enters.  Those glances are mostly long enough to establish she isn't someone they're hoping to see, and they return to their conversations.

Kiara

The Denver Museum of Nature and Science was not exactly where one would anticipate finding Kiara Woolfe spending her time.

Which was not to say the brunette had any reason not to find the way cultures adhered to and respected the cycle of life and death and all it encompassed fascinating and worthy of her interest or respect - but rather that this particular lecture (the ancient Egyptian Ushabti and their evolution and use) was of such a specific bent that it seemed unlikely the pagan was enticed by the subject matter alone. She's not greeted when she sets foot into the auditorium but heads do turn.

Brief, surveying glances from strangers that the brunette returns with the slightest upturn of a red-lipped smile. The figure at the podium does draw her focus, the pause in her survey of the room and a beat where she ticks her eyes back toward the low hush of conversations.

Kiara's necklaces offer a softly musical rhythm to her movements as she slides into an empty seat toward the back of the theatre.

There's a folder in the Verbena's hands; she sets it aside as she settles and reaches instead for a small notepad and pen stowed away in her bag. There's a myriad of underlined words and question marks on it ranging from Book of the Dead to hieroglyphics to spiritual possession (accompanied with several bold exclamations). Down the bottom, the time and date of the talk had been added with a slash beneath it and: find out more about Book of Dead and uses tied to offerings.

She scans her eyes over her notes with a frown; there's no doubt what she's managed to unearth so far on her own about Alexander's discovery perturbs her; but there's room for uncertainty. Which, judging from the Verbena's presence here tonight, suggests she's found plenty.

[Oop, Awareness!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

etienne

[Awareness!!!]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) [Doubling Tens]

etienne

Just as the lights start to dim, one last participant slips into the auditorium.  In a manner similar to Kiara, he looks out of place, dreadlocks and the soft sound of jewelry accompanying his movements, though his jewelry is not the same ringing of metal on metal and crystal but a melody of wood and bone.

Perhaps of more interest to Kiara, there is a sense of magic about him.  Not an Awakened avatar, but Kiara catches the scent of sun-warmed grass as he enters the room.  The sensation of sunlight washing over her skin.

Like Kiara he also slips into a seat toward the back - specifically a seat in the very back row near the main doorways into the auditorium.  He isn't carrying paper or pens, at least not that he pulls out of the backpack that he sets at his feet.

Kiara

The figure who slips in after her has her pen, poised to tap out a slow, absent rhythm momentarily stilling against the page.

The Verbena's eyes shift as he passes by en route to a seat; the dimming lights make him slightly harder to distinguish clearly but Kiara makes a quiet study for a moment before she clears her throat and readjusts her weight in her seat; feigns the motion of re-adjusting her belongings in order to delve into her bag; to curl her fingers around a tiny bag inside it.

The talk is beginning; the lights dipping to focus on the figure on the stage and the brunette keeps them carefully stationed there, even as she reaches out with other senses; the edges of dried earth she cautiously curls inside her palm; the focus and careful breath she pulls into her lungs before expelling it - the stranger brings the sense and surety of magic.

[Just doin' some basic Life/Entropy sensory scanning. Nbd. -1 taking her time, -1 practiced]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

etienne

Kiara's magic reaches out and finds...someone human.  Entirely and unremarkably human to his life pattern, no unusual flares as regards Entropy.  Kiara can feel his pulse, the steady, slow pulse of long distance runners and endurance athletes, feel each breath move bruised ribs that have fractured and knit together more than once, feel those breaths tug at his right shoulder which was dislocated and inexpertly set, the distant ache of nearly-healed wounds on his left forearm.  Whatever happened to cause these wounds was relatively recent, probably a matter of weeks ago.

He seems unaware of her study, or possibly unconcerned.  As slides start to play and Daniel Smith begins speaking, the man Kiara studies seems more interested in the presentation than in her.

Kiara

She's not entirely certain what she's searching for when it comes right down to it. The man felt like - something not quite as mundane as she expected tonight. The scent of the summer grass; the warmth of the sun on her skin - maybe it was as much automatic as not these days for the Awakened of Denver. The unknown was not without suspicion - especially of recent days.

The brunette lets her senses expand outward; her resonance unfurling across that space; the wash of that rejuvenating energy an unseen event as Kiara's chin lifts just so when she finds the shape and size of the stranger's pattern; her awareness sliding over him; reading each weakness; recording the strength of his heart; that great muscle beating with steady defiance against the idea it could ever do anything but keep its vessel alive - her pen resumes a subtle motion against the pad perched on a knee.

Tap. Taptap. Daniel Smith is discussing the sacrificial burial of servants with their masters. Taptap. There's old fractures to his ribcage. Wounds on his left forearm. The injury here flares brighter. It's not yet faded as it begins to mend. The tapping pauses again. Kiara's eyes break away from the talk on stage as if she were about to make a notation.

She thumbs back a page; re-reads what she'd noted of Alexander's comments. Straightens where she sits. Daniel is getting into the rhythm of his discussion and the Verbena collects her belongings; skirts low along the aisle and re-situates herself in the back most row - two seats down from the stranger, as a matter of fact.

"Do you mind? I couldn't see over his head." She whispers in a low greeting; voice soft for the presentation on going.

etienne

He sees movement and turns, ready for -

Kiara isn't sure what, exactly.  But whatever he thought that might be, Kiara's murmured explanation and lack of immediate threat seems not to have been it.

He shrugs, with a slight wince that indicates that shoulder wasn't so fond f the movement.  When he settles back down to return his attention to the presentation he keeps Kiara in the edges of his vision.  Curious.  Wary.

But she's not what he's here for.

 etienne
[Oh, chat.  I love how you love to flirt with my NPCs.]

etienne[Reposts]



Kiara

She's not entirely certain what she's searching for when it comes right down to it. The man felt like - something not quite as mundane as she expected tonight. The scent of the summer grass; the warmth of the sun on her skin - maybe it was as much automatic as not these days for the Awakened of Denver. The unknown was not without suspicion - especially of recent days.

The brunette lets her senses expand outward; her resonance unfurling across that space; the wash of that rejuvenating energy an unseen event as Kiara's chin lifts just so when she finds the shape and size of the stranger's pattern; her awareness sliding over him; reading each weakness; recording the strength of his heart; that great muscle beating with steady defiance against the idea it could ever do anything but keep its vessel alive - her pen resumes a subtle motion against the pad perched on a knee.

Tap. Taptap. Daniel Smith is discussing the sacrificial burial of servants with their masters. Taptap. There's old fractures to his ribcage. Wounds on his left forearm. The injury here flares brighter. It's not yet faded as it begins to mend. The tapping pauses again. Kiara's eyes break away from the talk on stage as if she were about to make a notation.

She thumbs back a page; re-reads what she'd noted of Alexander's comments. Straightens where she sits. Daniel is getting into the rhythm of his discussion and the Verbena collects her belongings; skirts low along the aisle and re-situates herself in the back most row - two seats down from the stranger, as a matter of fact.

"Do you mind? I couldn't see over his head." She whispers in a low greeting; voice soft for the presentation on going.

etienne

He sees movement and turns, ready for -

Kiara isn't sure what, exactly.  But whatever he thought that might be, Kiara's murmured explanation and lack of immediate threat seems not to have been it.

He shrugs, with a slight wince that indicates that shoulder wasn't so fond of the movement.  When he settles back down to return his attention to the presentation he keeps Kiara in the edges of his vision.  Curious.  Wary.

But she's not what he's here for.

Kiara
There's a shrug which accounts as much for do what you like as anything and the pagan - does precisely that. With a brief, bright smile that flashes white teeth in the semi-dark. She settles into that seat and deposits her belongings with all the fuss and attempts at discretion that suggest she was entirely what she appeared to be, a slightly over enthusiastic meeting member.

The presence of her notepad again on her knee, the uncapped pen, these all weigh in Kiara's favor and perhaps they even settle some of the stranger's wariness. The cut of the brunette's profile down from him; the focus of her eyes on the stage where there's discussion of the eventual downturn in production and care of the Ushabti as time wore on.

The mention of the Book of the Dead stirs the Verbena slightly; she's aware of the man seated just down from her.

Can feel the coils of her magic still working, the lingering clarity of his pattern; the traces of weakness in it; the pulse and formation of his bone, muscle, blood. Her pen scratches as she makes a final note, the bold slash of it audible as slides change overhead; risks a sidelong glance at the stranger beside her as they do, the nub of her pen poised as if she were about to make another note.

She waits until her attention becomes noticeable and drops her eyes away - the slightest smile edging at the corner of her mouth. It's a game, of course. One she's no stranger to but there's a wholly different reasoning behind it, tonight - he'd winced with the movement of his shoulder - and much like the creature she shares a namesake with might prowl the scents in the air, Kiara keeps him in her sights.

etienne
Etienne does not turn toward Kiara, but he can watch her the same way she now watches him.  Sidelong glances.  A constant awareness.

Kiara smiles and drops her gaze and there is a quiet rumble of a laugh from Etienne.  "Well," he murmurs, too low to be heard by any of the people seated for the presentation even absent the sound of Daniel Smith's microphone-augmented voice.  "You're at least slightly less unsettling company than some I've met in Denver."  That low purr, much as Kiara might expect, does not sound at all like Denver.  Etienne sounds as though he is from somewhere further south, perhaps by way of a few places and possibly without English as a first language.

Kiara
"If I'm considered the least, I'm not sure I'd want to ask where you've been hanging your hat in town," this, offered back by way of a conversational whisper; the brunette's dark eyes shifting to encompass the stranger's hands as he speaks; to rove back to his face and the way the laughter shifts something in him. Offers the barest idea of something more - human. Normal.

She shifts her weight, then, Kiara. Uncrosses to recross her legs; angling her body toward Etienne.

"So, other than a fascination with the burial rituals of the Egyptians - " Here she pauses and purposely smiles; offers the hint of laughter that throws out the idea she finds the notion just a little silly. Magical workings. Books of the Undead, oh, how droll. Taps the edge of her pen against her notepad again, a tiny repetitive rhythm, the drumbeat of the impatient. "What brings you to Denver? You don't sound - " Her eyes tick over him, the suggestion of his attire in the dark.

" - like you're from around here. Which frankly, makes you instantly more interesting to me."

etienne
"I'm travelling to conduct research for my thesis," Etienne says.  "Which is on American folklore and not on Egyptology.  But I couldn't pass this up."  There is something that flickers through his eyes, there and gone again.  Memory?  Amusement?

He glances at where Daniel Smith is wrapping up his presentation.  Weighs the virtues of trying to catch the man to ask him questions or to stay and be questioned by Kiara.  Kiara wins and Etienne turns back toward her and raises an eyebrow.

"If I'm to be cross examined, it would seem only civilized to do it over coffee."

Kiara
It would seem only civilized to do it over coffee.

There's a particular sort of smile that invokes across Kiara's mouth. This brief little flex at the corner as if she's at once pleased and was entirely expectant of the suggestion being made. She pauses in the tapping of her pen against her notepad and with a look cut to the stage where Daniel is winding up his discussion - returns her eyes to Etienne and clicks her pen, flicking closed the notepad in her hand.

"Then let's go for coffee."

She tucks her belongings back into her bag; folds a jacket over an arm and, when the lights go up and a polite smattering of applause issues for Daniel Smith, rises to her feet rather expectantly. Turning briefly back to the stage to join in the show of appreciation before her attention returns to Etienne. There's a pause, that slow, curling smile returning to the Verbena's face.

She holds out her hand; a collection of bracelets slide against the wrist of it; silver and threaded stones.

"I'm Kiara."

etienneEtienne does smile in response to that little hint of a smile from Kiara.  Guarded, perhaps; but there is enough warmth there to hint that a real unreserved smile from Etienne might be something worth seeing.  He leans forward, lifts his bag with his left hand, and settles it over his shoulder.  He's wearing a coat that he never slipped out of, rust-colored suede with dark wooden buttons, and it slips far enough up his forearm that Kiara catches a glimpse of the edges of those wounds.

He reaches out to take her hand with his right hand, and this motion is a little slower, though still smooth.  If Kiara hadn't already sensed that injury to his shoulder, she may easily have overlooked it.  Wood and bone beads tumble into each other with soft sounds at his wrist, here and there muffled by thin strips of leather.

"Etienne."

His eyes scan the room and then settle back on Kiara.  "The only reliably quiet place I know of for coffee is my hotel room.  Perhaps, knowing Denver, you might have another suggestion?"  Is he playing?  There might be a hint that he is playing in his voice.  In the lingering half-smile.

Kiara
There are a dozen tiny tells that a person offers when being introduced for the first time.

The hesitation before taking another person's hand, the strength and surety of their grip; the governing hand used to shake and gesture. The tiniest glimpse of discomfort where movement twinges an injury. For most, these wouldn't strictly be things to focus on; wouldn't draw the eye as readily as that (still guarded) smile Etienne offers. For a woman with Kiara Woolfe's background in human physiology; the grid-work that made up all the working parts of the body; the ways to heal and detect.

To understand and rework the fundamental energies that knitted every detail together. She notices, perhaps she wouldn't have made as directly a record of it; the slight protracted movement of his right arm, but she does note it; somewhere banked in that smile and those dark, assessing eyes, she files it away.

Adjusts her bag over a shoulder and steps out into the aisle; there are people departing now; slipping out of the doors, some discussing the presentation in quiet, conversational tones. Kiara catches snippets here and there as they do, mention of the ushabti, the culture of the preservation and admiration for the next world, she turns and directs Etienne a little smile when he offers his hotel room as a destination.

"I know a few places nearby. There's a little café about a block away. Probably less expensive than whatever your minibar has to offer." This, with a brief, surveying tick of her eyes. She cocks her head to invite him to walk with her; pushes open and holds the door.

"Etienne, is that French?"

etienne
Etienne laughs, and for a second the only place to catch a hint of wariness is in his eyes.  "My hotel is not so classy as to have a minibar.  It does have a very tiny but serviceable coffee maker."  He follows Kiara, almost but not quite alongside her.

"Anthropology grad students are...not generally terribly well funded.  The only palaces I am ever likely to sleep in have been abandoned for centuries and most likely already looted.  Possibly without ceilings.  Though potentially still less creepy than the place I'm in now which at least arguably has a roof.  And a mystery creature in the walls I have named Claude.  Or possible Claudette."  The door-holding earns Kiara a brief smile.

"Etienne is indeed French, one of many incarnations of a name likely more familiar to you as Steven.  It means crown."  There is a slight pause.  "And anthropology grad students are only as interesting as Indiana Jones if you prefer esoteric facts shared over a lazy Sunday afternoon tea to even the concept of giant stone death orbs."  Etienne sighs.  "Granted, I've found people who have never actually encountered giant stone death orbs tend to find them somehow charming."

"This may be the quickest coffee and interrogation ever, when you figure out I am very, very boring."  Very, very boring.  Of course he is.

Kiara
The café Kiara had mentioned is, true to her word, about a block from the building they exit. A quaint little building shuffled in between two others that served what it deemed the best pie in the area late into the evening. There were a selection of them sitting along the counter under plastic covers and the door, when Kiara pushes it open; jingles; lace curtains offering the establishment a deceptively homey atmosphere for its location.

The enticing scents of coffee and pastries fill the air inside and retro-fitted booths are pressed along one wall; each housing a polished napkin dispenser and a pair of menus carefully lined up between it and the salt and pepper shakers. The image is one of small town charm somehow superimposed over a city; a waitress carrying a pad and bearing two trays smiles at them as she passes, nudging a swinging door into the kitchen open and vanishing inside.

Kiara almost seems jarringly out of sync as she slides them into an empty booth, depositing her coat and bag and swinging long legs under the table to cross. With her bright red lipstick and dark, expressively made up eyes, she looks as if she'd suit a nightclub far easier than sitting in an old fashioned diner poring over the options for pie.

"So," she prompts once they're settled; drumming the fingers of one hand over the lamented menu and directing Etienne as much curious study as the options for coffee. "You're just a poor Anthropology student in town to conduct research for your thesis." A beat, Kiara's eyes rove over his features. "Which is on American folklore," she repeats slowly, as if carefully unraveling him by sifting through his story, or at the least the pieces he's offered so far.

"And the talk tonight was just - " she gestures with a flick of her wrist, fingers curling against her palm. " - irresistible subject matter." She drops her eyes to the menu. "You should try the cherry pie."

etienne
Etienne settles carefully into the booth opposite Kiara.  He scans the room, taking in the just so menus and the way the decor does not seem to be exactly what one would expect in a place Kiara went for coffee.  His bag ends up resting on the bench beside him now, rather than at his feet.

"It is always so nice when someone pays attention," Etienne says with a smile.  He glances down at the menu for a few seconds, and he looks upward without really tilting his face back up, which leaves him regarding Kiara half through his eyelashes.
"You are...let me guess...an investigative reporter solving a millennia-old mystery that involves mummies?  Possibly a pharaoh.  Definitely a mysterious prophetess.

"Which leaves me to wonder why you're so interested in me.  I can only only surmise that I actually possess the blood of an ancient line of mystical kings.

"Wait.  That is not at all how investigative journalism works, now that I think about it.

"Perhaps there is a stolen mummy.  A boring, definitely not cursed, stolen mummy."

KiaraHer eyes flick up when he starts to scrutinize her, a slow, satisfied little shifting of her lips happening. The edge of a corner up, then the other. It offers the impression she's amused at his attempts to unravel her in turn. Kiara's fingers remain settled on top of the menu as she holds his gaze for a moment. "Nancy Drew, that's me. You got it," she murmurs and there's a gleam in those dark eyes that doesn't quite seem to match the tone in her voice.

The Verbena sits a little straighter when a waitress approaches to take their orders and, handing her menu off afterwards, redirects her attention to him. "I'll be honest, I'm actually not so interested in the mummies, per say - " there's a beat and Kiara's smile fades a little. "More about the idea of servitude beyond death. The talk tonight mentioned ushabti." She draws her fingers over a salt dispenser, Kiara, feels stray granules beneath the tips of her thumb and forefinger as she lets her attention settle on Etienne's face.

Flicking over it.

"There's a story I'm working on that involves some appropriation of Egyptian culture." Not entirely a lie, though Kiara's pulse jumps a little at the threads she's weaving together. "I suppose I thought it might be beneficial to get thoughts on the matter. You're studying folklore, right? What are yours on the idea of life beyond death? All that talk of spiritual power, life beyond physical death - it has to be something you come across a lot in different cultures."

Kiara's eyes tick over his figure. "Right?"

etienneEtienne orders coffee and, per Kiara's recommendation, cherry pie.  Hands off his menu as well.  His eyes linger on the waitress while she's there, close to him and cutting off his exit from the booth, but there is no evident increase in tension.  Only awareness.

"The appropriation of Egyptian culture?"  Etienne studies her.  "I'm far from an Egyptologist and I'd need to know more about your specific story to meaningfully comment.

"Broadly speaking - spiritual power and life after death are recurring themes within cultures.  The ways in which spiritual power is acquired and wielded is variable, as is the perception of spiritual power itself.  And the thoughts on the permanence of the soul and what becomes of it are, similarly, varied."

There is a slight pause.  "Are people stealing artifacts or something?"

Kiara"In a manner of speaking." There's a beat and Kiara's fingers draw back from the dispenser she'd been toying with. The edge of a smile returns. "Hieroglyphics, mostly. That is, they're being used in ways that suggest maybe someone thinks they can harness that."

Their coffees arrive and the brunette's attention dips to her coffee, it's black and the Verbena adds no sugar to it but merely stirs it, her brows contracting momentarily in thought. "I suppose I'm just wondering where the line is. Between fiction and reality." She taps the edge of the spoon against the cup and her eyes shift back to the stranger across from her, rove his face intently.

"If someone has enough belief that they can use that power, can it transcend from folklore into - " She lifts her cup up, cradles it and takes a sip. " - well, they say belief is a powerful tool. What do you think?" The Verbena's gaze slips, then. Returns to his right shoulder, where she knows now there's the scarring of a dislocation, down further to the arm she knows bear fresher wounds. There's a deliberation to the way she looks at his arm for a moment before she pulls her eyes away, up.

"Impossible, right?"

etienneEtienne adds cream to his coffee, lots of cream, but no sugar.  He stirs his coffee slowly.

"Well.  That may veer into psychology more than anthropology.  There are studies that suggest belief affects the body as regards things like cancer or pain management.  Placebo effects and so on.  Could someone harness the power of hieroglyphics that way?  I don't see why not."

"As to what you seem to be asking...as an anthropology grad student, I have to say that answer varies by culture.  By the standards of this one, no.  Nor is there any compelling scientific evidence for such a thing.

"Dive into philosophy though, and we can discuss the very nature of reality and our perceptions of it."  He smiles a little.  "Personally, I've always found that the word impossible was more of a dare than a limitation."

KiaraSomething about that, what he says, the idea of impossibility being nothing more than a dare, draws a noise from the woman across from him. The brunette with her dark looks and curling, quicksilver smiles. It's the sound of agreement and a wide smile, the flash of white teeth coupled with it.

Their waitress returns after a delay, sets a napkin and cutlery down with lazy precision in front of Etienne and leaves a slice of pie in her wake. Kiara hadn't ordered any but she does gesture at it when it arrives and leans back; fingers curled around her coffee up; palming it close and drawing a leg up, a knee half folded over her body. "I agree with you. I think anything is feasible but then - I have quite the imagination." Her eyes drop to his hands, watch the way they move, the way he uses (or neglects to use) them for articulation when he speaks.

"How long are you in town for? Maybe if I need a source of information, or - " She smiles, a brief, bright thing. There's something about the way she paints her mouth that deep red and wields smiles like blades that can make the appearance of them startling, a little unsettling. " - a fellow pie enthusiast, I can tempt you out again.

You should give me your phone number." A beat, Kiara sets her near empty coffee cup down; there's an imprint on the rim where her lips have touched it. A smear of red against the creamy white china. "Or at least a last name."

etienneEtienne murmurs a thank you to the waitress when she sets down the pie.  He waits until the waitress has retreated to continue speaking, eyes on Kiara as she curls up.

"Anything...there are some things that are likely not possible, at least for me.  But I think we lose more by refusing to try than by failing to succeed."  He smiles, less guarded, and starts to gesture with the fork he's just picked up.  There is a little tug of his brows and he instead takes a bite of the pie.  He has the scars and the wounds to prove that taking impossibility as a dare isn't the safest of mentalities.

"It's good.  Where I grew up pie mostly came in peach and pecan.  I am probably one of the only people in Denver who would think of cherry as exotic."

Kiara smiles, edged and gorgeous, and asks for his number.  Etienne laughs softly.  "Delacroix."  He sets his fork down, reaches into his bag, and pulls out a pad of paper and a fine-tipped pen.  He writes his name, only his first name, in a fine script out of century-old letters.  Adds a phone number.

"I am," he says as he tears that page off and slides it across the table to Kiara, "In town until I am not.  That's really all I know."

KiaraThere's a little flex there, at the edge of Kiara's mouth.

The muscles reflecting amusement at his apparent concession that the pie was actually rather good. She stays sitting back for a moment until he sets the fork down and reaches into his bag for a pad. She uncurls herself, then. A rattle of bracelets and charms and the dull clink of lengths of silver hitting more. The collection of them, the adornments the brunette wears are mostly decorative; chains and tiny, colored stones but here and there among them for the discerning eye there's heralds to something of the woman's beliefs.

Her inclinations, if nothing else. No crosses or pentagrams but - a feminine figure with arms raised high in supplication to the heavens; a white wolf carved out of some precious stone (perhaps crystal or moonstone) howling to the skies, an amethyst stone of a larger cut; older; somehow more elegant housed inside tiny claws; shaped for scrying, perhaps. She watches him write and accepts the page as he slides it across; her eyes tracing the shape of the letters on the page.

"Etienne Delacroix. You have beautiful writing." She holds the paper between her fingers for a minute, Kiara, as if she meant to imbibe some hidden meaning from it, then carefully folded it and set it into her bag; drawing out the tiny notepad she'd been scribbling notes on earlier. "This is my number." Kiara's handwriting was bold, lavish loops and large lettering spidering across the page in blue ink as she tears it off and holds it out between her fingers.

"I should probably get going. Things to do, mysteries to solve." She lets her eyes flit over him one final time, smilingly. "You know how it goes. But if you think of anything before I do, you can get in touch. Let me know."

etienneEtienne smiles.  "If there is an afterlife in which the dead can hear us, somewhere my grandmother is very pleased you noticed."  He doesn't sound sad, only amused and a little pleased.  He seems not at all uncomfortable speaking about the dead.

"I don't even know what you're investigating, but if I come across some rogue cult or a flyer for a pie eating contest, I will definitely call."  He smiles again.  "Good luck."