"You should've thought of that before flirting with the three biggest bastards at the bar!" snapped Audrey, dragging Sam behind said bar and shoving her head down to keep her out of sight. A bottle broke on the shelves behind them, bringing down a cascade of glass and liquor that made Audrey wrinkle her nose, more at the smell than the sound.

"That's going on your tab honey," growled the bar mistress taking shelter beside them, a look of tired annoyance visible on every line of her face despite the dark sunglasses she never removed.

"Sorry H.G.," said Audrey with only a hint of contrition. Gather's had seemed like a good enough idea at the time. It was a tight ship, as far as hunter bars went, the proprietess having a reputation of her own keeping the clientele in line enough that bringing Sam here to sate her curiosity had seemed safe enough.

@inlimine

[TXT: Samwich]: It's the 17th

[TXT: Samwich]: I don't think Trevor's pulling through for you homie

"You confuse me for a morning person," Wendell mumbles sleepily, a lazy smile pulling at his lips. His blonde hair looks disheveled from the night, which can mostly attributed to the way he cocoons himself amongst his blankets and pillows while he sleeps (and also partially because she'd grabbed a fistful of his hair while they'd...)

"I wouldn't call my handwaving vague at all. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that everyone else considered it completely comprehensible." His gaze darkens at her insinuation that he hasn't thought this through. But of course he has! Why dally on it any longer than the few seconds it deserves!

Wendell Bambleby, known connoisseur of the most delicious of cuisines, has spent more time researching food options for this trip than rehearsing the lecture he will be giving to dryadology students at Loyola. In fact, he's made a list of all the restaurants around New Orleans that he would like to try before his return trip to Cambridge.

Hence why his jaw is slightly agape and his brow is so completely furrowed when she outlined her list of demands. That hardly sounds like him picking the restaurant at all. All he wanted was a goddamn beignet!

"And I want to know what would happen if I surrender to the sound." All incredibly dumb words if they were spoken by any other dryadologist, of course. One of the very first rules of work in the field is that one must never find themselves drawn in by the pull of a faerie market, less one may become imprisoned forever and go mad. Wendell, however, figures this would be a wonderful time to pick up a good bottle of wine and converse with the locals. All in the name of scientific discovery.

He could not wait to tell Emily that this university happened to have a door to Faerie on campus. She surely would be both amazed and annoyed at how easy their dryadologists must have it. Wendell wonders how many students throughout the years accidentally found their way through, likely never to return. Seems more like a liability than anything else.

Dr. Bambleby is only half listening to Sam as he investigates the ring of ancient oaks. He runs a hand delicately over the bark of one of the sprawling trees, feeling a faint hum of power running through it, connecting it back to the portal. It's quieter here. One may say it feels off here. Even the birds have stopped chirping.