ghosts.

[Doomsday] The time is late (very) and the winter is cold (colder than the heart of a stone) and Grant Park is lovely, although the fountain is off, and there is a sweep of steps in front of the library. This is important because, in front of those steps, sweeping toward the street, are two lions. They're frost kissed, those lions, frost adored, and there is snow in their manes, and a young woman leaning against the flank of one, and she is not a young woman really.

Lo. This is what she is right now: pale-skinned, golden-haired, bundled-up in clothes that are meant for a winter such as Chicago's, clothes that aren't elegant, but rather, hang from her in a way that wants to be light but can't. This is what she i snow: a young woman who is watching the street, thoughtful and unblinking, lost and wrapped in reverie (you'd think), and just what the hell is she doing out anyway, waiting for someone, probably. The way she bites her lower lip, maybe she's waiting for a lover. Maybe she's been stood up by one.

[Doomsday] ooc: ahem.... (wave of hand) typos fixed, voila!

[Lukas] The lights in the library blinked once fifteen minutes ago. All but the emergency lamps shut off five minutes ago. Lukas, already bundled up for the cold, is the last in line at the circulation desk, turning over a pile of hardbacks along with his library card. A buzzer sounds as the librarian scans it.

"Sir, you owe us a fine of $14.50. We can't check books out to you until you pay that off."

The Shadow Lord winces apologetically, mutters some excuse about busy, forgetful, etcetera, and hands over plastic. Two swipes later the fine is cleared and the books are his, along with the reminder that they were due in three weeks, on the 30th. Then he's pushing out of the double-layer doors, drawing a deliberately slow breath at the icy chill outside.

His footsteps are quick and athletic, coming down the steps. He doesn't seem afraid of slipping and falling. A few steps past the young woman near the stone lion, Lukas suddenly stops and pivots on his heel.

"Huh," he says, as though surprised to see her here. Not merely a stranger with pure breeding, but her specifically: or perhaps, her type of pure breeding. "Welcome to Chicago."

[Doomsday] Lukas stops, pivots on his heel. Before he says a word, he has Lila's attention. He had it when he passed her by, a grandson of Grandfather Thunder, a boy who is strong, and dark, and belongs to a storm; a boy with blood for a tempest, for unrelenting deeds, for mercilessness. The young woman's gaze dragged away from the street, became present again, pushed away daydreams, pushed away thoughtlessness, watchfulness, and her expression was replaced with curiousity [guileless (pensive)]. It's a bright thing, her regard, wide eyed and steady.

"Hi!" she says. Lila puts her hand against the lion's back, pushes herself up. She is wearing gloves, and they are as green as the underbelly of a storm. Their color is dark, this ridiculous damned hour, just like the street, just like the shadows, just like most colors which get washed out by citylamps or transmuted into something less nameable than they might be during daylight hours. "And thank you. What books did you check out?"

[Lukas] It shouldn't surprise anyone that Lukas's books are stacked all the same way, largest on the bottom, smallest on top. He turns them around so all the spines face out. There's easily eight or ten books there: contemporary fiction that would qualify more as literature than as novels; something by Hemingway; and at the bottom, two rather large volumes on Russian language and grammar.

Lukas waits until the woman's eyes are finished scanning the titles. The Shadow Lord's own eyes are very pale; colorless in this light, but actually a clear blue. They, along with his black hair, angular facial bones, declare his heritage for all to see. His purity of blood is as much genetic as it is spiritual.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

[Doomsday] A step, two. And another, and then Lila is standing just in front of Lukas, is leaning forward, canting her head to the side to read the words stamped on the spines of the books he's chosen to take out. They're not all old books, but they all smell like the library, carry its years with them even if they've only been donated recently, even if they've only been put back into circulation in the last year or so. So many people are trying to get rid of libraries, these days. She doesn't move her lips when she reads, but she does lick them, squinting for a second. Her eyes flick away from the titles, to the ahroun's face, and she smiles at him. The smile is (crack of dawn: light leaking out've a dark place, but kept restrained) easy.

And this, this is when he says something again. "I am not. I'm just studying Grant Park from this vantage point. I'm just exploring. I'd shake your hand, but your hands are full." She suddenly puffs her cheeks out like one of those zephyrs in the corner of a map, and on the exhale, says, "I'm Lila."

Here, a glance over her shoulder, at the library. The staff isn't coming out yet. They've a bit of locking up to do, still. "Waking Dream," she says, turning her eyes back to Lukas, steady, steadying, wide. "Breaking Heart. Fostern Galliard to our Nation."

[Lukas] There's a spark of recognition in Lukas's eyes. It's not of her blood, nor of her face, but of the name itself.

"You're Lila," he says, and shifts the books to one hand to extend his hand anyway. "I'm Lukáš Wyrmbreaker, Fostern Ahroun. I've met your pupil, Grace."

His handshake is actually a forearm clasp. His grip is strong, as would be expected of an Ahroun; through his glove and his sleeve, his wrist is nonetheless a solid bar of muscle and bone, nerve and tendon and vein. He lets go. Continues, "Never thought I'd see a Fianna wolfborn fostered in a young urban Sept, though. She mentioned something about ... learning about her human side?" Was that it? Lukas's brow furrows; he isn't sure.

[Mary] It's freezing in Chicago. The temperature is lower than it has been in months, and everything is frost covered and glistening in the low lights of the streetlamps, the glow that shows the pathways of the park, that shadows the steps of the library that has closed it's doors and chased the last denizens of the night from it's hallways. People are bundled for the cold, and breath flows in wispy fog from lips pale with chill. It's the kind of cold that freezes the nasel passages, so that you feel as if the tiny hairs within have snapped and will break off... it's the kind of cold that solidifies in the chest, and clings to the warmth near the heart, only to be expelled again, unwillingly, into the Chicago air.

Footsteps crunch on snow, and slip on ice, people flail and hurry and do their best to find the shortest distance from the heat of a car to the heat of a building, and vice versa. Very few take the time to stop, to talk, to remain out in the cold...

Which makes this girl, this lovely little bit of frailty all the more shocking, concerning, frightening as she rounds the corner, and moves along the walk at the base of the Library steps.

Her steps are light in the snow, fast as she's all but running - and it's no wonder, for in her hands are her shoes, adorably impractical little sandals with broken straps hanging from her fingers, while her other hand holds the length of her skirts up in an attempt to keep them from trailing in the snow. The dress itself bears note as well - for it is long, flowing, and reminiscent of a 1930s wedding gown, styled to fit closely to her torso, clinging as a second skin, to fall from her hips in cascading fullness. About her shoulders a warm wrap, though not near warm enough for the current cold snap.

Her hair - her hair is her shining glory, long and blond, falling in a heavy curtain to her waist, catching the light so that it causes almost a halo effect. In short - she is a lovely woman... despite being so pale from the cold, and the clear frantic look in her eyes as she searches for something... someone...

[Doomsday] "Stop," she says. Her expression in her eyes changed while he was talking. First, bewildered. Then, more bewilderment, heavily salted with grimness; follow that with the sort of seriousness reserved for telling someone their beloved has been well you see there's been an accident. Her gaze has sharpened, too. "I don't have a pupil named Grace. But I know the cub you speak of. I know her mentor. And Carlotta. I met them on the road and I told them about Chicago in Wyoming. What -- I need to know what's going on because I'm confused."

And there is a frail girl, with lovely shining glory of hair, blond and long and lustrous, frantic and searching for something without shoes and in a wedding dress, and although Lukas has put Lila toward grimness, that totally snags at the Child of Gaia's attention, and she sends a concerned look thataway.

[Lukas] "She said -- " Lukas begins, and trails off, turning to look over his shoulder to see what Lila's looking at. Annnd: there's a girl running. In the snow. In Chicago. In January. In bare feet.

Oh. And a wedding dress.

"What..." Lukas turns, facing the girl, taking a few steps down the steps to intercept. "Ma'am, do you need help?"

[Mary] Voices. It takes a moment to register, and then she turns her gaze, her eyes large and filled with tears, frantic with worry to the pair on the steps... Another glance toward the park ahead, before she turns instead and runs up the steps so quickly it seems her feet barely touch the ground...

"H...have you seen him? Did he come this way? He was so angry...." Her lips tremble, as much from the effort to hold her tears at bay, as from the cold...

[Doomsday] "Him? Nobody came this way recently, Miss," Lila says, and she follows it very quickly with: "And you need to put your shoes on now -- sandals? And, come on, let's get you out of the cold now. It's January. Don't cry; what happened?"

Bleeding heart, is what. Hell, she reaches into her pockets, searching, searching, searching, and then she just gives up, shrugging out of her coat. Why? Because Mary clearly needs a coat, so she's going to be given one.

[Lukas] "No, keep your coat on," Lukas says: gentleman that he is, shedding his own for the bride. Or the madwoman. One or the other. It's a nice coat, too, brushed wool so fine that it's soft to the touch, not the slightest bit scratchy; lined with satin, still warm with his body heat. He hands it to the woman while Lila is hustling her toward the library, perhaps, though that's closing now. Lukas suggests, "My car isn't far. I could bring it here."

And, "Who's 'he'? What does he look like?"

They're the very image of helpful strangers. Attractive, helpful, rather charismatic strangers, both of them -- except Lukas burns with rage, and Lila at least simmers with it.

[Mary] She seems to deflate, when she hears he has not come this way, lifting her fingers, pale and cold to her cheeks, wiping away the tears that spill, hoping to stop the rest from falling. "A...Allen... He's tall, with dark hair much as yours, strong and brave but..." And here her vice breaks again... "he was so angry... We were dancing, and it was lovely, and then they said... it wasn't true... it wasn't!..."

Then Lila starts to offer her coat, and Lukas is being a gentleman and his rage simmers and burns and she takes a step closer to him for it, drawn as a moth to the flame, deferring to the handsome stranger likely for that than any other reason.

"M...my shoes - the strap broke.. I tripped coming from the Hall..." She grasps his coat and pulls it about her shoulders, snuggling into the warmth of it with a softly delighted sigh, the heat from his body still captured within the fine wool, her weight shifting from foot to foot, to keep in motion, not to let her skin touch to long at a time...

"Oh! Oh if you could take me home... perhaps he went there... would you mind terribly..? I hate to ruin your evening..." They are the helpful strangers, and she the perfect picture of a damsel in distress....

[Doomsday] Lukas shrugs his coat off before Lila finishes shrugging hers off, so Lila more-or-less shrugs -- and shrugs it back on, pulling her own (lovely, gold as sunlight caught in honey) long blonde hair out of the way, over her shoulder. And she was about to hustle Mary into the library, closing or not, there's a woman in a wedding dress and no shoes and it's January! And anyway, Lila can be persuasive. They'd let the trio in.

"What did they say? Here, Miss. Sit down and put your feet inside the coat so they don't freeze off. I'll stay with you while he brings the car around."

[Lukas] "Dancing?" A line appears between Lukas's eyebrows, the beginnings of a frown. "In a wedding dress, at night?"

It's not quite suspicion. Not yet, anyway. He may as well be talking to himself; it's not stopping him from getting his keys out of his pocket. He's behind the girl now, though, and he tries to meet Lila's eyes over her head.

The Shadow Lord mouths: This is strange. Be careful.

"I'll be right back," he adds aloud, and then turns to walk briskly -- trot, almost -- toward the parking lot.

[Lukas] [showering, skip me! back in 10-15!]

[Mary] Sit down, Lila says, and put her feet inside the coat. She blinks, and then she is doing as she is told, tugging her wrap from under the coat, and resettling it across her shoulders, and sitting there on the step and winding the wrap around her feet, quickly. Now that she's not moving, she's shivering...

Lila asks what they said, and Lukas questions her dancing... She laughs softly - and it's the sound of home at christmas, bells in the night, comfort and warmth... "Would you not dance at your wedding, sir? We could not decided if we should be married on the 9th or the 10th, so chose a midnight wedding to take advantage of both... Allen's a romantic, see, and his Mama was married on the one, my parents the other, so..."

And then her face crumples again as she folds over, resting her forehead against her knees, shuddering with the effort to not burst into tears... When she's regained a moment of control, she takes a shaky breath and looks up at Lila, stricken... and so very vulnerable and sad... "They....they told him I'd been with George, but I'd never, we never! I wouldn't do that to him, to them!"

[Doomsday] He doesn't just try. He succeeds. Before he's off, he even receives a brief nod. This was strange. Not that she was in a wedding dress, but -- well; there was something about her. It was strange. Off. Not wyrmtainted off; not that Lila could tell. Just off. And Lila takes a seat next to Mary once Lukas has vamoosed, at first just listening to the young woman. Then: "Who is George? Who told Allen that? And -- I'm sorry; so you were dancing at your wedding, and some people lied to your new husband, and told them you'd been screwing his friend? Is that right?" Aaaaaand she rubs Mary's back, there, there, don't cry.

[Mary] Lila rubs her back, and Mary leans into her, and she's solid and real and shivering and... perhaps it is simply the grief, maybe it's the worry, the fear that makes everything seem off, for the woman seems real enough, honest enough... and so very sad. Her face is open, vulnerable, and unbearably lovely, even with her tears... or perhaps because of them.

She nods, wordlessly, as Lila puts it together that way... "George is.." As she leans close, the simmering of Lila's rage speaks to her, and she takes a change... "George is the Beta of the Chicago Times.. a silly name, but he is a Ragabash and you know how they can be, don't you? Allen is Alpha, and the... they told him that they'd seen us - and though the rest of the boys said it wasn't true Allen wasn't sure and he was so angry... he left before his rage could overcome but I have to find him... I have to know that he believes me! Maybe he went home... I need to get home..."

[Mary] (takes a chance, not a change.)

[Lukas] It only takes a few moments for Lukas to locate his car and drive it to the edge of the lot nearest the library. Then he's returning, the BMW coupe idling at the curb a few dozen yards away. The girl's last few words are within earshot. "I'll be glad to give you a lift. Where's home?"

[Doomsday] Poor thing. That is Lila's assessment. At least, at first. Poor thing. Then Mary drops three words: beta, ragabash, alpha. These three words cause some tension (the kind've tension there is before a storm; that stillness in the air) to touch Lila's shoulders, but only some. She goes still for a second. The kind've still that preludes fleetness, shadows on the waves, wind against the wood, the smell of autumn; that kind've still. Even her hand. But then she leans in closer to Mary, wraps her arm around her shoulders.

Lukas pulls up, and Lila, running those names over in her mind (one of Chicago's packs?), bites her lower lip. Her eyes have gone blank, rather than concerned, and when she looks back at Mary, there's something very abstracted about it. Still, she stands up, reaches out to help Mary to her feet, to hustle her into the car, and she is warm through her clothes, and there is a purposeful warmth to the way she helps.

"...I see. What tribe are you? We should find your elder. He or she may be able to mediate. Maybe Allen just needs time to cool down. It's hard, sometimes, not to be too hot."

[Lukas] Tribe? Elder? There's a clear question on Lukas's face. Then the penny drops.

"Do you know your Allen's deedname?" he asks as they help the girl toward Lukas's car: warm, engine purring, heaters venting. "I don't think I've met a Garou by that name in the city."

[Doomsday] ooc: COME PLAY WE ARE HELPING A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS LALALA! WE IZ GOOD WEREWOOFS.
to cricket, Lukas

[Mary] Lukas reappears, and would be happy to take her home. The relief floods across her face as she smiles hopefully through her tears - she really is a lovely woman, and it is no stretch of the imagination that men would fight over her... "Archer Avenue. It's on the loop east of Chinatown. Thank you so much..."

And Lila, as she searches her thoughts, her memories, the songs and stories she spent her time before arrival in the windy city searching, singing, learning, learning always learning... she remembers a pack, one laughed at for it's name. The Chicago Times, Gnawers all, and well known and respected despite that fact... she might remember, if she thinks of it, that they numbered five - the Chicago Times - lead by a Fostern, Streets-of-Fire, who's beta's name was Bloodrunner. The other names may come in time - but they are illusive now. An old Caern, the previous Caern, before Maelstrom, before before before... the five of them protecting it as they run the streets and fight the wyrm from the gutters where it so often dwells - the songs say they were strong, this band of brothers, and of a like mind that two of the five were mated to women named Mary - kinfolk who were strong and destined to become Gnawer Mama's of some renown... another named their daughter Mary, to keep the tradition he said. He was a Galliard, Tears-of-Gaia, and saw the poetic comedy in it all...Perhaps she is mad, perhaps she carries the memories of them all, perhaps she is nothing but a.... she's real, she's real, she's real...

The body under the coat wrapped in the arms of Lila, as she hustles her to the car is real, and solid, and shivering in the cold as she pulls the wrap free so that she can hurriedly follow their lead to the warmth of the car. "Bone Gnawer, we all are... and the others will be at home too... please, take me there first?"

"Streets-of-Fire, Fostern full moon, and Alpha of the Chicago Times..." She smiles warmly at Lukas, though it trembles at the edges, so proud to be the mate of the Alpha... even if he.. if he....

[cricket] *dies* TOO FULL. Cannot type. :]
to Doomsday, Lukas

[Doomsday] Whut.

First Grace, and now this. This, whatever this is. Lila's expression once again clouds; once again, is touched by bewilderment. Another tribe, a kinfolk whose lineage was so pure that the line between what was now, dirty, maybe ending, and what was then, glorious, the first days, blurred -- sure. A tribe like the Silver Fangs, the Fianna, the Shadow Lords, oh any tribe, except for the Bonegnawers -- she'd buy that Mary was channeling some longlost illustrious ancestress, or had been royally Touched in the head by some hand-me-down magick, but a Bone Gnawer? No way. They were survivors. They weren't this kind of mad. Were they?

"The Chicago Times," she says, softly, and she looks away from Mary to -- if she can -- catch Lukas' eyes. There is a halfremembered tune drumming at her pulse, stroking up her bones, and she drums her fingers on the hood of his car, half-melodies, "'Sit back, oh you mighty, lean back, oh you proud, and I'll tell you, I'll tell you, of that bonegnawer crowd, I'll .. hmm hmm mm... ran Chicago down before the great riots ... mm hmm." From Lukas,

back to Mary. "Is your name Mary?" she asks, kindly. Maybe she was mad. "I'm sorry, in all the excitement I never asked. Why'd the others let you go running off on your own?"

[Lukas] And in counterpoint to Lila's half-absent poetry:

"Get in." The Ahroun sweeps the passenger's door of the coupe open, flips the seat forward, and ushers one -- or both -- women into the back. He even leans down to help push the girl's billowy hem into the car.

The BMW depresses another inch on its shocks when Lukas himself steps in, all height and wide shoulders and rage. The door thumps closed. It's warm in here, and smells faintly of leather. Lukas adjusts the rearview mirror to see Mary in it.

"I don't know that the Bone Gnawers have an elder at present," he says, as much to Lila as to Mary, "so I'll take you home. But I'll pass word on to your tribe."

[Mary] Get in, he says, and she does, and he's helping her with her skirts, and Mary smiles at him, so pretty, ethereal, vulnerable as she murmurs, "Thank you so much... I'm sure... I'm sure he must have gone there..."

To Lila, her smile is delighted. "Yes! How did you know? Did you see our announcement? Wasn't he handsome in our picture?"

She asks of the others, why they let her run... "I... they tried to follow me, but I sent them to the places he may be, to search for him there - to tell him it was all a lie.. a horrible, terrible..." She closes her eyes, forcing herself to breathe (breathemaryjustalittlebitlongerbreathe) deeply and retain the bits of control that she can manage to hang onto.. "It wasn't so bad until my shoestrap broke..."

[Lukas] (guys, i hate to say this, but i'm about to faceplant my keyboard!)

[Doomsday] "I know stories," Lila says, and yes, she got into the car too. This was strange, Lukas had mouthed, and be careful. And now it was stranger, so she wasn't going to leave him alone with a potentially innocent/uninnocent mystery. Besides, it was a mystery. And while they drive, this is what Lila does: she provides support, if she can, to the very upset bride (?). And she asks her questions. Such as: "Is George 'Bloodrunner'?" And: "They just listened to you, huh?" And: "Who are your parents?" And: "Do you want us to come inside with you?"

And if and when Mary goes on about how it was a lie, a horrible horrible lie, again, and how she just wants Allen to understand that it was, she'll ask again just who this They who told Allen this lie was. Say something about getting a Philodox. She has infinite patience with an upset kinwoman, it seems.

[Lukas] For his part, Lukas mostly drives. And looks at Mary, his pale eyes flicking now and then to the mirror, through the mirror, back to the bride in the backseat.

He has only one question -- quite out of the blue as they're waiting at a red light, the Ahroun's fingers drumming lightly on the gearshift: "Say, what's the date? I think my utilities bill is due soon."

[Mary] She knows stories, Lila does, and Mary looks on her with something like pride - to know that there are stories told of her Allen, of her pack, of those she cares so very much for of those she gave up everything for... She answers the questions almost absently, as she watches out the window, searching eagerly for the road to home.

"A Gnawer Mama is respected... though I am not quite what my Mama was, not yet... someday I will be as wise as she..." a pause, as she looks over at Lila, as she looks up to meet Lukas' eyes in the rear-view mirror.. "You can come inside if you like... our home isn't much, but it is ours..."

There is a philodox, within the Times, and he will find the truth, but the 'they' is not exactly answered, as if such a question confuses her - just a touch, causing her to falter, the thought of the lie causing tears to rise - it's painful, so painful to think of, that Allen may leave her over this...

All told, the ride is not long. All told, it passes far to quickly for them, far to slowly for the eager Mary, searching for her angry bridegroom... Lila is patient, Lukas is quiet, and as he asks his one question, they are turning the corner onto Archer avenue. The 7200 block is not far, and it is then that Mary catches his gaze in the mirror, her smile sad, unbearably so, as she murmurs... "It is January 10th..." a pause, and something flickers about her reflection as she turns away to look out the window... "....1930."

...and disappears completely, leaving nothing behind but his coat on the back seat next to Lila in a puddle of the softest wool.

[Lukas] No matter how many ghost stories you read, no matter how many ghost movies you see, no matter how many ghosts you actually encounter in life --

-- it's still stunning when it happens.

Once, Lukas witnessed the burning of a theater a hundred years gone. Once, a ghost ran right through him and disappeared somewhere in the space between his chest and his back, where his most vital organs reside.

And now: a ghost bride in his backseat, vanishing as he turns onto her street.

The Shadow Lord is silent, but his jaw is tense, his grip on the steering wheel hard. A few moments go by. He pulls up at the curb of Mary's house and looks up at the building there -- if a building still stands.

"I need to get back to my pack," he says quietly to Lila. "But we should talk again soon. About ... all this." He turns around, craning about in the confines of the bucket seat. "Where can I find you?"

[Mary] He pulls up to the address given- to find it is not a house - but the gates of Resurrection Cemetery. As he looks to the gates, studies them, he'll note a glimmer, a glimpse, a suggestion of a woman in white - not the bride they just met, not the one searching for her Allen, not the one who's heart is broken all for a lie...

But another. Her dress is white as well, but a simple afair, and not at all like the wedding dress of Mary. This, this woman is holding the bars, her hands gripping them so tightly he can swear that he sees her fingers denting the metal, the whiteness of her knuckles. Hr hair is shorter, her eyes darker, and she is a few years older than the bride...

She meets his gaze, once, evenly, holding it fast, before she reaches a hand through the bars, and crooks a beckoning finger at him... clearly inviting him in...

And then she turns and walks deeper into the cemetery, fading from sight.

[Doomsday] And silence from the backseat, as well.

Because Lila stares, wide eyed, at the place where Mary was. Then she pokes Lukas' jacket a couple of times, as if that might disturb some hint, some secret hieroglyph sign of just what happened to the ghost. Lukas is still driving; Lukas pulls to a stop by the kerb of a building, whatever it is, and Lila looks (still so wide eyed) at Lukas instead.

"Yes. We do. And, here," she says, reaching into the pocket of her purse -- because yes, she has one; it's a very what-you'd-expect affair, different exotic prints sewn together, raggatag, raggedy, Bohemian -- and pulls out a pen, jots down an address (her address) and her phonenumber. "I'm not staying at The Brotherhood; they seem overstretched as it is -- I have a room with these people; it's their guesthouse, actually, so separate, but they're human. So." Unspoken: if you drop by, keep that in mind. "My number's there, too."

But only for a second. There's movement over there by the cemetery gates -- cemetery gates, of course; of course, why not? Because that's where ghosts live. And Lila's gaze is drawn there, while she talks. While the dark-eyed, hard-eyed bride gestures, beckons. And she says: "Hey. Did you -- "

A brief pause. And then: "Hey, drop me off at [some nearby address, wherein there is not enough time for Lukas and Lila to have a real conversation other than 'Weird, huh?' 'Yeah, totally' but is nonetheless useful for keeping curious Galliard from investigating right now.]?" A pause, and them -- whimsical: "Please?"

[Lukas] Hey. Did you --

"Yes. I saw her." Lukas's voice is flat with tension, or maybe just sheer disbelief. A beat. "I am not going in there tonight."

Which is fine, it turns out, because Lila wants to be dropped at [xyz], which is quite near, so Lukas watches the second woman until she's gone, and then he glances at Lila through the rearview mirror. "No problem," he says; and off they go.

[Lukas] (thanks for the RP! and the STing!)

[Doomsday] ooc: thanks for the play, peoples