girltalk. [grace]

Kiara
October has given over to November by the point the Mercurial Elite and the Verbena next see each other. The hill the Chantry property out in Morrison sat at the base of covered in a deluge of reds and golds and yellows, the trees shedding layers of foliage as fall wore on beyond the the turn of the month. The air was crisp enough today to invite coats and scarves and when Kiara Woolfe arrives, her little hatchback bumping along the drive to pull in with a tender creak of brakes and a whirl of dust, she's dressed with the weather's invitation duly accepted.

A long scarf wound around her neck loosely and a cream colored trench coat cinched in at her waist.

-

All told, the invitation to meet here had been perfunctory at best. Kiara's voice betraying little of her thoughts as she'd informed Grace she had news. The implication of it involving Michael had been the unspoken aside and the Chantry had seemed the safest harbor in the current storm.

Although it would be a fair assessment to say there was no true safety to be had from a creature who could reach across space and destroy you when inspiration (and inclination) came upon it.

-

So, Kiara arrives, uncoiling the scarf from around her neck, calling a hello out to rooms apparently devoid of the current Cabal that lived and tended to its lands and trekking her way into the kitchen to unearth a wineglass and investigate whatever holdings Annie Pierce had in the way of wine.

GraceWhen Kiara gets there, Grace is already out back, wrapped up in her red coat against the chill (Denver's expecting snow in the forecast at this time of year). She's also lying in the crisping grass, with her bare feet soaking in the Node, her shoes and socks carefully arranged beside her.

The Node and her don't mix very well. She's not the type to fling herself into a hot tub in the midst of company. But it's the only Node she's ever known. It'll perform its purpose. And she will perform hers.

She's expecting a call from Mike soon. And that's pretty much the only reason why Ginger hasn't been updated yet to tell everybody that The Artist has been vanquished. Well, that and her emotional insides feel like they've been pureed, and maybe taking a full-body dip in a hot tub wouldn't be such a bad idea. Relaxing is good.

But no. She's on her back, reading HackerNews on her phone, waiting.

[And do we feel the presence of a Kiara?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 4, 5) ( fail )

Kiara[Dice, don't be like that. I thought we were all cool these days. Do we feel Grace?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

KiaraKiara has no idea yet that the entity she'd faced down inside her apartment has since been vanquished. To be fair to the brunette, once she'd helped patch Michael up and sent him on his way to renew his objective (hopefully without the interference of Alice's agenda) she'd scrubbed the blood off her hands, dropped her athame into a bowl of spring water to cleanse it of any and all negative energies and allowed herself to sleep for a good twelve hours.

She'd slept through the phone ringing twice. A blessing, since the message replayed later was a noise complaint. 421 did not appreciate the strange thumping and yells that they'd been privy to over the last several days.

When she'd finally roused herself to a level of acceptable coherence, Grace's number had been dialed and this meeting set up. What the Verbena had learned, from Michael himself, was that he'd slept without apparent incident. Nobody had been there to see the way Kiara had to lean her elbow on the window of her car and lift her fingers to her mouth at that news.

She hadn't become hysterical. Hadn't even shed a tear, but rather let herself digest the news and offer quiet relief at the news. And good luck - she'd wished him that, too.

She's mid-way through pouring a generous glass of a 2010 Merlot when she feels the sensation of something vast, something winged and shifting brushing against her senses. The door to the back patio slides open and for a minute, all the brunette does is crane her face to one side to observe the other female.

Her heels give away her presence in the most immediate sense; boots sinking neatly into the soft grass.

"Callisto likes it when we come out here." She announces her presence with, wine glass dangling from her fingertips. Kiara's mouth is, of course, colored by bright red lipstick; her complexion still hovers this side of too pale, though. Not even the brassy shade can entirely conceal the lingering effects of exhaustion.

She could purge herself of them, the fact she's clearly allowing herself to feel the way she does, may be something deliberate (something she's not inclined to push at present). She'd tested reality's limits well enough for a single week, perhaps. "I think she misses the company when there were more of us."

The Verbena weaves a slow path toward the Node.

GraceOh, shit. There's somebody else here.

Grace jumps a little when she hears Kiara's voice, because somebody was way too distracted to notice her presence. "Kiara! Hi. Umm.. Does she, really?"

She sits up and puts her phone into one of her shoes, so as not to lose it in the Node. That would suck.

"I'm not so much good company, I guess. I don't often say hi. Hi, Callisto!"

You know, just in case a giant polar bear is watching...

KiaraLittle curl of humor edging in there, into the Verbena's expression as Grace calls out a hello in case the Guardian was watching.

She doesn't articulate whether or not the greeting is acknowledged, but rather toes off her footwear and sinks down neatly beside Grace at the water's edge, resting the wineglass rather precariously on a piece of flat rock.

Kiara's toenails are painted the same shade of red as her mouth, a tiny silver ring fitted around the middle-most toe on her right foot. She draws her knees up and rests her elbows on top of them. "I think you have reason enough lately to be a little distracted." A beat, the tick of dark eyes over her face before Kiara's gaze peels away and a tiny line etches between her brows.

"So, listen. I don't really know how to say this in a way that isn't - " She half smiles, it's an articulation of uncertainty. "I saw Michael. That is - he called me. Asked if I'd be willing to try to reach out to Alice again. I said that I would."

Grace"Mmm." is all Grace says in response to Kiara's remark about her distraction. Fucking Hell, the last few weeks have been interesting. Accursedly, blessedly interesting.

Kiara is met with a puzzled expression when she says she saw Mike. "Yeah, he told me," she says, little smile there. "You did good."

So yeah. Perhaps some catching up is in order. But, you know, Grace doesn't look like woah, doom and nastiness happened.

KiaraKiara's expression reads surprise. She parts her lips as if to offer a commentary on that and then draws them back together for a moment, frowning rather intently at the ground while Grace goes on. He'd told her, she did good. And there, a little flicker of something in those dark eyes, the way they cut to Grace's features, the way relief seems to haunt the edges of that smile.

It flutters and fidgets with stronger inclination at the edge of Kiara's mouth before it's hooked up at one corner, this crooked little expression of relief.

"Oh." It's all she manages for a moment, this tiny breath of pent up anticipation breathed out. She'd been anticipating having to describe what happened and perhaps some not so tiny part of her is relieved, is thankful she doesn't have to.

Tell Grace she remembers Michael reaching for her knife.

Tell her that she'd watched the Artist sink that blade into him with the deliberation of a predator nipping at the heel of its quarry to draw blood and weaken it.

"I thought maybe - but that's good. That you saw him." A beat, she draws her chin down to her knee, rests it there. "How is he?" Another pause, a longer read of Grace's expression. "How're you? Really?"

Grace"Still a bit ticked off that he didn't bother to tell me anything until yesterday," she says, kicks a little at the hot water. "But yeah. I'm good."

And a little sad. And a little happy. And fuck emotions, right? They do everything at once.

"Apparently, a few days ago, he went with River and Ihsan -- I don't know if you know them? His students. Anyway, they went and took the fight to The Artist. They won."

And Grace, she panicked and set up for the coming fucking Apocalypse, because she didn't know jack. But let's not focus on that right now...

KiaraThe brunette is reaching for her wineglass, taking a slow, measured sip as Grace mentions two women. Michael's students, as it turned out. River, Kiara had met. Had played a game with in Washington Park, had warned to be careful within the city limits.

She'd met Farrah that night, too. It was, as fate would have it, the sole occasion Kiara Woolfe would ever have to - the next time she heard the young woman's name, it was via Ginger, via Grace, informing them she'd been murdered. There's a steadiness in Kiara's motions that doesn't betray whether or not the news that River had been Michael's student was new information to her or not.

She simply digests it as she turns the set her glass down.

Twists to set her feet into the spring alongside Grace's. Tiny ripples radiating out from the point where her toe teases the surface. "I think he did it to protect you. I asked him, after we were done. If he wanted me to tell you anything." There's a little cant of her chin. "His poker face could use some work."

Wry, that.

"I can't entirely say that I blame him for it. I'm not the world's best sharer when it comes to life and death with people that matter, either." She flicks Grace a brief, bemused look. "I was going to tell you, though. Despite that. I figured if it was me - if that had been - " She looks away, across the water. "Well, I'd have wanted to know. No matter what the outcome."

A beat, then. Softer.

"I'm glad they won. I guess that means their work here is done." She looks back at Grace.

GraceOhh. Kiara knows. Grace looks to her with this sheepish expression, and then flumps back down onto the grass.

"I know he did it to protect me. But who else might have paid the price for that decision? If he'd died, I never would have forgiven him," she says, and there's a bit of a joke there, and a bit of truth besides.

"Nobody did. Pay that price. It was okay, in the end."

But it might not have been. In fact... Likely not. Someone who would shutter out a willing ally, in a fight like that? What was he thinking? Not with his brain, that's for fucking sure.

KiaraGrace casts her this look that Kiara cannot help but smile at, it's a genuine thing, that expression. A flash of sharp, white little teeth and broad enough to threaten a dimple into existence in one cheek. Kiara dips her chin and watches the other woman flop back down on the ground out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a beat before she leans back on a palm and turns to observe her.

"At the very least, you know someone who could have passed on your feelings if he had." It's dark humor to a degree, but the sort that must have been expected from a woman like Kiara Woolfe, who made pacts with spirits and walked on the other side of things, venturing out into the wilds of the Umbra. The perspective changed, one had to imagine, when you spent long enough peering across that divide.

Perspective and, perhaps, perception.

Death was not, after all, the end of all things. The epilogue to any story. Alice had been proof enough of that to the Verbena. Michael's Avatar suffering wounds that did not prevent it from returning, from finding another to help Awaken, to perpetuate the cycle anew.

Sometimes the price isn't negotiable." Kiara offers after a small beat of silence, then draws her legs out of the Node and nudges into Grace's side. "C'mon, let me pour you a glass of wine. I think we've both earned a little downtime.

I'm pretty sure Annie's hiding some whiskey in there somewhere, too."

Kiara["Sometimes the price isn't negotiable." Ahem, it ate part of my punctuation.]

Grace"Can you pull quint from a node when you're drunk?" Grace asks, lopsided smile on her face as the grass crunches near her ear. She rights herself, and picks up her shoes and socks and phone. Takes them with her on the way up.

"Also, it's good to know I could have yelled at him beyond the grave. I'll have to tell him so. Just saying, Mike, you dying will not stop me from berating you, so don't."

She huffs out a warm breath into the cold.

Downtime. Yes, there has been a little of that. Between Zombieland and last night, and now. With the looming threat of conflict maybe starting up again in earnest with the Technocracy and Nephandi breathing down their throats, they have to get some downtime in when they can. It's the only way to stay sane, right?

KiaraThere's laughter from Kiara that precedes them back into the house at that, she pads back into the kitchen and sets her glass down in favor of dropping down to open cupboards, shifting bottles and boxes aside and closing doors only to rise up and repeat the same process above her head until -

"Bingo."

- A note of triumph and the telltale noise of liquid moving within a heavy bottle as the Verbena rights the doors and turns, dark eyes gleaming as she held a bottle by the neck and set it down with pronounced emphasis. "Trust Annie Pierce to have decent stock. I knew I liked that woman for a reason." A curl of the brunette's mouth and she set another wine glass down.

"So, pick your poison. Merlot or good old Jack Daniels."

The pagan, it seemed, was content enough to keep hold of her wine, she sipped from it while Grace considered her options and moved to peer out the window, glancing back after a moment to add, with a brief little stir of humor. "The last time I was out here, I stepped across into the Umbra. It actually went pretty well until I tried to step back.

Right out there." She gestured toward the Node. "I think I've actually lost count of the times I've wound up lying on the ground lately."

GraceGrace ponders for a moment. Should she get shitfaced, or should she get genteel shitfaced?

"Mmm. Merlot? I will join you in the whole... wine thing," she says, as she peeks into the kitchen from behind the wall, and then disappears again.

A voice from behind the wall responds to Kiara: "I've heard the storm is gone. That's.... interesting."



KiaraThere's a pause, Kiara's progress in pouring another glass halted (though Grace cannot perhaps see it). She sets the bottle down and collects both glasses by the stem, holding one out to Grace as she passes through into the dining area, still governed by the (sadly neglected) ornate table there. The Verbena's expression reads of the consideration in her tone.

"Yeah, it is." Gone. Interesting. "A little concerning, too. I mean - " Kiara glances over her shoulder, nodding in the general direction of the living room and making a beeline for the sofas pressed into a corner by one of the large windows that overlooked the hill (and gave a considerate view of the driveway in the case of sudden or unexpected arrivals). " - as dangerous as the storm was, it was also pretty damn good at keeping things in, too. Or, I suppose - " She climbs onto the corner sofa and settles, tucking her leg beneath her. "Out."

There's a beat when Kiara reaches to set her glass on the small coffee table. Sits back to regard Grace. Seems to deliberate on offering something the way her expression shifts a touch to something more guarded, uncertain. "I wanted to say, you know, after that day. When you brought Michael to me - I was sorry that I couldn't fix things then and there. I know it's - " Kiara makes this brief little motion, dismissive. A curl of her fingers against her leg.

" - but it mattered to you."

GraceOh, we're going to have to come out from behind the wall, is that it? Okay. Grace takes the glass of merlot, and follows Kiara into the living room. It also seems like her great plan to redirect the conversation toward the changes in the Umbra didn't work either.

Drat.

She goes and sits on a chair opposite the couch, curls her bare feet up into it.

That day. Well, no. That night. After that visit to Kiara, Mike fell asleep. He didn't tell anybody else why. He never blamed her for it, but then he wouldn't. It made her think, sometimes, that he might have left her out of everything from that point on because she... no, they had been weak.

Grace seems like she's having a staring contest with her wine glass.

"Well, yes. Maybe too much. It turned out okay, and all."

KiaraThere's a little twinge at the edge of Kiara's mouth as she watches Grace. The brunette's expression shedding its uncertainty in favor of a far more familiar, teasing light. She's quiet for a moment as Grace stares down into her wineglass as if it held all the answers for the situation.

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know," Kiara uncurls long enough to reclaim her glass and lift it to her lips, taking a generous sip. "Caring too much. The threat of imminent danger aside, it was nice, seeing you a little hot under the collar for someone." There's the tease, the curl of it into the Verbena's voice, the way her eyes seem to glint with it.

She takes another sip of wine, the earth witch, drops her eyes to the glass and gently rotates it, watching the crimson liquid cant into the motion. Feeling the pleasant warmth of it flood her system. "I know the feeling, though." She adds, after a little break, breathing in slowly and sitting up, tousling her hair back over her shoulder

"Being worried like that. Giving a damn about whether someone lives or dies." Kiara's expression softens. "I never considered myself particularly sentimental but sometimes you meet people and it's a little like - " she lifts her leg, presses her chin to her knee, balancing her weight there, curls in around it. The glass dangling precariously between her fingertips.

"- your axis shifts."

GraceOh, God, Kiara. No. Please no. Grace turns multiple shades of pink right about the time Kiara says that thing about being hot under the collar for someone. She's about to say that no, it's totally not like that, except that it is, and there's no way she could lie with that blush crawling up her face ruining everything.

Oh, wine. You have the answers for everything. She drinks from her glass.

"Really, huh? It's a thing that happens sometimes?" Grace nods her head, as if she understands, totally. She doesn't.

KiaraThere's a breath of laughter at that.

Kiara leaning her chin against her knee, she tilts her face there, presses her cheek against the sharp point of it for a moment. Drops it down in favor of cupping the glass between both her palms, scooting forward on the sofa until she's seated on the edge of it. "Well, yeah. I mean that's sort of the human condition. We orientate ourselves around others.

Look at all of us. Here in the city. We barely know each other, some of us but we come together, anyway." She doesn't talk of fates or alignments, doesn't speak of the way it reflected nature; natural selection and the process of evolution. The way things fell together, fell apart, the way seeds shaken loose of some kinds of flowers took to the air and germinated wherever they fell.

Grace's cheeks are flushed and Kiara's dark eyes make a study of her face, ticking over the evidence of her discomfort before they shift away, down to the glass held between her hands.

"So are you two going to see each other again, now there's no Nephandi rampaging around Denver?" An edging smile there. A subtle shift in the vein of conversation.

GraceKiara says it is the human condition. And it's true, Grace has oriented herself around others. Denver is home, and not just because it was the place she landed, but because of the people. But you know, she doesn't want to 'come together' with everyone in town either... There are just more kinds of human conditions than there are humans.

That wine glass rises to her lips again, when she's asked whether they're going to see each other again.

"Well, I mean. He has his whole... life to get to back to in L.A. I suppose? Yes? Someday-ish? Maybe I'll go on a vacation or something," she says, and then laughs a little at her wine, because that's of course the time when robots would attempt to take over Denver. She knows it.

Kiara"Mm. You should."

This with a foot nudged out to touch the edge of the sofa Grace had settled herself in. "I took Ian out to Cherry Creek Park the other day for that exact reason. We went out there and camped overnight." It's the first time the Verbena has ever made mention of the Orphan they both knew in easy conversation, making the connection evident between the who and why of her earlier commentary.

The brunette either isn't conscious of the slip of his name, or the alcohol in her system has relaxed her enough that there's no need for the same level of subterfuge and hedging she's often employed when conversation verged into her own life. "I have this spot out there, by the water, this tiny little patch of beach that's hard to get to without some serious hiking.

Usually I go out there alone, but, - " There's the faintest trace of answering heat in the Verbena's face, now. A trace of pleasure that warms into the architecture of her features, the fine high slope of cheekbones, the long curve of her neck.

She drops her chin, twists the stem of the glass between her fingertips. "I think you should go for it. Besides," Kiara's eyes tick back. "He looks good in a suit."

GraceOh, Kiara. You are about this close to breaking Grace. She downs her wineglass, because there is not yet enough alcohol in her system for this shit, and looks at it sadly, like she wishes it were a magically refilling horn o' plenty or something. Those have to exist, right? Too many Mages like getting drunk for them not to exist.

She slips out of her chair and walks off to the kitchen on a mission, but not before replying to Kiara. "No, no no no. I had to break him of that habit."

Which would explain why the first time Mike showed up at her place, he wasn't in one. Getting him out of a suit, though...

Ugh! Focus on the wine, yes. Merlot. More of that.

"Really? Um... Ian?" she says, from the kitchen. "That's uh... nice."

Nice. Right.

This reminds her of the time Ian invited Kalen and herself to skinny dip in the Node -- uncomfortable, and full of disastrous mental imagery.

KiaraSlipping into the kitchen does not spare the Mercurial Elite from the Verbena.

Kiara's eyes lift to track Grace's progress before she slides to her feet and traipses after her with lazy consideration. The pagan has shed her footwear at some point (in truth, she preferred the sensation of the ground beneath her bare feet, no surprise for the who and what Kiara Woolfe was) and her movements are quieter for it, her figure appearing to lounge in the doorway of the kitchen, a hip cocked into the frame.

Arm draped at her side, idly twirling the remnants of the glass around.

"Nice is one word for it." There's a coil of humor banked there in the Verbena's dark eyes as they settle on the other woman. The pagan's mouth framing a supple little quirk. "It wasn't exactly planned. Any of it, but then - how do you ever plan what life decides to throw into your path." She kicks off the door, Kiara and comes to set her glass on the bench, sweeping her hands over the surface.

"If you'd asked me six months ago where I'd be, Denver wasn't it." Softer, that. Then: "I'm glad I stuck around, though. Not just because of everything lately, but - " A little shrug, a hint of self deprecation: "I've always been better at running than staying to deal with the mess."

GraceWell, yeah. Grace didn't exactly plan for any of that either. She's pouring herself another glass when Kiara comes by, saying she's good at running.

"Mmm. Well, you didn't run from Mike? I guess that's staying and dealing with the mess, eh?"

So, uh. Good job.

She drinks some more from her glass, and it's helping take the edge off of this conversation.

"Thanks. Again. For helping him."

KiaraShe thinks, not for the first time today, of the aftermath of it. The blood all over her (hers and Michael's), on her floor, the scattered remnants of a battle that had nearly cost her far more than just a dry-cleaning bill for an outfit and a ruined throw rug.

She'll likely never quite forget, whether she looks into them in person again or not, the way the Euthanatos' eyes bored into hers as he took hold of her knife and advanced on her, caged back only by the slipping tethers of her protective casting. Not that she held Michael accountable, of that, she'd been particularly clear, with him, afterwards.

Not that she'd blamed Alice, either. For not being capable of fighting back against that tide of seeping poison. The memories of it echo, slide across Kiara's pretty features and she lowers her face, just for a moment, in consideration of it. "No, I guess I didn't at that." Kiara lifts her eyes, meets Grace's and holds there for a long moment, some somber thread unraveling.

Thanks. Again. For helping him.

"I felt for her, in the end." A moment that stretches, Kiara's voice betraying a hint of remorse. "Crazy as it might sound, I really wanted to help her. Alice. What he did to her, the way he got into her head. It made me realize how easy it must be to push any of us there. Find the right pressure point, deliver enough trauma and we find ways to cope.

We have to. When he showed up, I was so angry." The Verbena's tongue skirts over the edge of her lower lip, wetting it. "She was just a girl. A scared, tormented girl who lost her mentor." A beat. "I understood that anger, you know?" There's a little smile, touches there and vanishes.

Kiara clears her throat, seems to shake herself loose of the webs of memory. "He's a good man. Michael. I was happy to do it. Happy for him."

GraceHmm. Yes. Except that Alice's way of coping was to string people up by their entrails. There's coping mechanisms, and then there's that.

"When... who showed up?"

Grace says Mike told her what happened. Perhaps he didn't tell her everything. He is a good man, but one of few words. It's gotten him in trouble.

KiaraThere's a pause, there. A quick gauging of Grace's expression. A tick of Kiara's dark eyes up and down her figure before they drop to her wineglass, her mouth tipping into a firmer line.

"The Artist. When I got through to Alice. We knew that was a potential risk. That he'd surface." There's a sense there, a careful selection of words, that reads Kiara and Michael had some discussion, some comprehension of the inherent dangers before they'd tried to connect for a second time. Kiara's palms slide over the counter again. Outside, the wind has picked up and rattles leaves across the lawn.

Drives them into the Node where they float, some sinking beneath the surface, too sodden to maintain any buoyancy.

"He showed up. Took control of her. I had to send her back. Drive out the spirit to sever the hold." She doesn't embellish beyond this, perhaps there's a shared desire to shield Grace from some details, after all. "He couldn't get through my circle. He tried, it was close. But I broke the hold before he could - " Kill me with my own tools. "Get any ideas."

GraceOh, shit. Grace's eyes open wide, and she takes another drink. When Mike lands and calls her, he'll likely have a tipsy Grace on the other end asking why he left a lot of things out of his story. As if she wouldn't find out.

"He what? You faced down The Artist?"

That thing nearly took Mike out. And Mike was... Not easy to kill.

"Fucking Hell, Kiara. I'm glad you made it."

Glad everybody did. Except Farrah.

Kiara"I may have also told him to go back to Hell." It's a quip, a brief, dark moment of candor where the Verbena's dark eyes burn with remembered fever for it. The desire to drive the sensation of him out, the crawl of dark resonance like gasoline, burning into her. She lifts a thin shoulder as if to dis-guard it, but cannot quite shake the entirety of it out of her voice.

Out of the uncertain lilt to her smile, that quick flash of teeth.

Bravado, of course. The up tilt of her chin. The way she averts her eyes as if she shared some degree of the guilt the way Michael might well when Grace did eventually call him. "Considering I don't particularly believe in the existence of one, I think the threat fell pretty short, but - " She breathes out, sharply. "He's gone, though. That's all that matters.

No more missing people." She tips back the last of her wine. Sets the glass down.

"I should probably get going. While I'm still capable of driving." A curl of humor. Lighter, this time. She reaches out to touch Grace's arm. This brief touch, there and gone. "You know if you ever want to talk about stuff," her eyebrows lift theatrically, "I'm around. I keep my own stock of wine just for those occasions."

Grace"I wish... I had been there to see that," she says, and she's being quite honest. Mike didn't let her in on anything, though.

Kiara invites her for more wine and talk, and Grace just says: "Okay. Sure." She's not being quite as honest now. An evening of drinking wine and talking to Kiara about the mushy feels maybe isn't at the top of her list of most comforting conversations ever. Embarrassing. But not terrible? Maybe?

"It was nice talking. I should uh... probably go soak my feet some more," she says, and gives Kiara a smile. "You want to come by the Office sometime, be my guest. You know, so that invitation goes both ways..."

Kiara"You know, Kalen did invite me out to see this Office a long time ago." She moves around to stow Annie's liquor back into the cupboard where she'd found it, turning to lean against the counter for a moment, arms folded over her chest, a slight smile surfacing. "I should probably take you both up on the offer one of these days.

I'll think about it." She pushes off and heads for the living room to reclaim her shoes, turning once, en route to direct this brief little curl of amusement Grace's way. "Tell Michael I said hello and - " A flick of her wrist out. "Nicely done."

With that, the Verbena slips out of sight, leaving Grace to resume soaking her feet in the Node's rejuvenating depths.