His sister had called a date at a secondhand bookstore 'low-stakes'. She ensured there was coffee, a sunny afternoon, and that they were public because Amara knew her brother and also knew that putting him near shelves was the equivalent of giving a nervous dog a blanket. Arriving a tad early, the man stood in the poetry section with a Neruda he'd already owned twice — once in Paris, once lost in a move to DC. He ran his fingers along the spine, admiring, considering whether or not he should opt for a third copy. The store's own café already caught his attention on the way in, and his coffee, light and sweet, was half-gone by the time he wandered in the back corner.

"Hey, um..." Merrick gently touches the stranger's elbow, a barely-there touch to make sure they have their attention. They're both standing on the pavement on the other end of a crosswalk, waiting to cross. Usually, they can handle this sort of thing on their own, with their guide cane. However, at the moment he's in an unfamiliar setting and the signs for the crosswalk are too dim for him to read properly. He steels himself, swallows back his nerves.

“Whatever it is, I..really don't think we should touch it."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat," Luna hums, quirking a brow at the taller individual looming over her. She shifts her weight on her hip, arms folding smoothly over her chest as her chin tilts up. She doesn't scare that easily. Slow, methodical steps are taken towards them. She rolls her eyes, tosses her hair over her shoulder.

Arin is leaning over his knees, a hand clutching his chest as he takes in laboured breaths. A low moan as he doubles over himself a little further, eyes squeezing shut. He's used to the pain in his chest by now. So used to it that most days he hardly feels it. When his patron calls to him, claws at his flesh and reminds him of his place...Usually, he can fix it before it gets worse. Usually he's on top of it. Right now, though? The burning, sizzling pain in his chest is getting worse by the second. The creature inside him is no longer calling, it's demanding.

His stomach twists in knots, sweat beading across his forehead. The feeling of Noel's hand on his shoulder makes him flinch, fearful for their safety. Anxious of what was to come...

"I..." A sudden groan of pain cuts off his words, lurching him forward further in his seat. He moans, his breath shaking as he tries to get a grip, but his vision is starting to blur from the sheer pain. Fingers tighten into a fist around the fabric of his shirt. He swallows hard, then holds up his other hand. One trembling finger points to the cupboards in the kitchen.