Thera Pardalis

Still, no one was thrilled by legal friction, except perhaps the lawyers they couldn't afford to hire. And for once Douglas was content to cede the limelight, not only stand back but let someone else take the credit too. As long as they got off the ground without too much delay, he'd consider the lessened effort its own reward.

She followed the men a moment later, statue box and documents in hand, checking by eye that her luggage was aboard before approaching the cockpit. "Sorry for the rush, Captain," She called through the doorway, "but I'm on the clock and that good fellow was swindling you on the fees!"

Par for the course, it would seem, given the less-than-genuine 'artifact' the fees were for. Thera carried it back to one of the passenger seats, meaning to strap herself in and then take a closer look at the mystery that had landed in her lap. Fake pieces coming out of Egypt weren't unusual, but one of them going back ... she set the box and the paperwork down on the seat beside her, and fastened her belt.

↣ THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

He looks up as he hears her voice, looking not entirely unlike a boy on Christmas morning, and maybe, possibly, just a little bit, wiggling like one. Swaying like one. Perfectly adult, perfectly masculine. But can he really be blamed? For one thing, he's sure that most paleontologists were, at some point, that boy on Christmas morning, and for another, he's found that Dr. Thera Pardalis is a wonder.

"Did you find it?" Museum-saving projects aside, it turns out that the good doctor has more contacts than Henry could dream of, more of a collection than he could ever fit in his small apartment, and more disposable income, with a job that isn't on its deathbed. He'd known that, of course, but what he hadn't considered was that she might, upon his telling of a book he's never managed to find but has long wanted to get his hands on, suggest that she could probably find a copy. It had felt like a very large overstep on his part to accept, but he couldn't not, right? He spends his days packing up the place that he loves, and he would really like something that feels, even vaguely, like a win.

Maybe, when he has the time, he'll look into a therapist.

"If there's a bookshop in this city, I know about it." Likewise an auction house or a collection being sold off, but those are a little more hit and miss.

"It's one of the more recent printings," Thera points out, deliberately not handing over the volume because he looks like a puppy and it's not un-cute, "If it was an original I'd be keeping it for myself." For an original, she'd have been jumping out of her own skin and barely trusting herself to pick it up. This one, though, she holds out, cover with gilt lettering catching the light. "I can't even remember what I paid," She lies smoothly, because she'll take the money if he insists but isn't going to worry about it now.

He'd rather hoped to be wrong. The family's resting place had been desecrated by evil; the only question being whether the parasite had invaded or been invited. Again he clung to a scrap of hope; he liked the Thornes; the brother was nice, the sister kind, and both gave generously to the poor.

Her words sent a chill that easily crept past his woolen coat and twisted his nerves. He suddenly wished for his brother's sword, safely tucked away at home; despite knowing its effectiveness, the wooden stake in his pocket suddenly felt inadequate. Any nerves were short-lived though in light of her suggestion.

"What an interesting question— does the state of the water matter for combating evil? I'll admit I haven't tested the theory, so I wouldn't rely on it too heavily," he mused, but set off to bestow blessing on snow ringing the crypt. He blessed at intervals, not wanting to leave any gaps but unsure how to measure. When blessing a finite amount of water, it was easy to claim every drop for heaven; here though, where did the boundaries start and stop?

Family left in Ashworth, he'd added, and she mulled over that as she watched Mr Hughes quietly anoint the snow, a gesture he might not recognise as similar to a salt circle in other religions. Perhaps it would work and perhaps not, but as experiments went it was worth a try. There wasn't time to follow up on the questions that occurred, as to where the rest of the family had gone and why; the later the morning became, the more likelihood of someone else happening along.

She hesitated an instant at the suggestion Mr Hughes go first, but there was also no time to argue and she hoisted her staff to the ready as he pushed open the door. The grating sound rattled from her ears into her teeth, but seemed less severe than a door that hadn't already been opened once that day.

Daylight shafted through the open doorway, trying to precede them both like a loyal friend, and Thera followed behind. Perhaps it was less than charitable to be thinking that if something lunged for the Vicar she would at least have a chance to hit it while it was so occupied, but that did slip through to her estimation.

"How keenly observant of you, Miss Landsend. Alright, I'll tell you the truth. But only if you agree that this remains between you and I. As I said, I am renting the property and this isn't exactly what one originally intends to do with a garden..." The Doctor glanced both ways, down the street ahead of them before speaking quietly, "I am a scientist and the wildlife are rather repelled by the chemical odors that tend to come from the shed. Instincts, you know. For their own safety." The Doctor smiled tightly, full insinuating that this Thera Landsend seemed to lack some of her own, wandering around people's gardens.

Thera ... wasn't really buying that. She poked her tongue in behind her lip, a usual tell that she was thinking, then gave a slow nod. She wasn't buying it, but it was a good answer, with a bit of effort put in - and besides that he was taking her trespass reasonably well.

Something of a gentleman, in fact, and she was inclined to believe that he wasn't anyone directly dangerous. But he was also hiding something, and even if it was as harmless as protecting his intellectual property or a business secret, curiosity still nipped behind her thoughtful eyes.

"Come on! When was the last time you had fun?"

"Yesterday. At the Liverpool game. You don't follow footie?"

It was always a mystery to Dan on who didn't follow football, especially in Liverpool. But Thera wasn't from here, not really. Well, not Liverpool. She just... seemed to find him every now and again. Even when he was with the Doctor. Which was very odd to him. But he stopped trying to make sense of a lot of things that happened when he was with the Doctor.

"Not much," Thera replied casually, though a grin broke through at his prompt answer, "If I follow anything it's the rugby league." And even that wasn't often. "Does that make me some sort of pariah around here?"

He should probably do some thinking about that, some soul-searching, but he doesn't really see a point. Why bother, when it's keeping him from being too badly hurt? Exactly! So he's rather sure he's perfectly fine, actually. He has enough to worry about.

This is completely fine. And he is happy. He's perfectly content, and he's sure that if something were wrong, he wouldn't feel that way, so he'd rather not press it. "Sure. And if everything works out, then you'll be in France." Despite the relative ease of a visit, Steven himself doesn't tend do stray too far from home, which he guesses he's already made clear. Even the idea of simply deciding on a trip to France feels thrilling in an impossible sort of way. That's something he likes about her, too. Maybe he should be envious of all she's done, and he is, a little, but mostly he's impressed.

"We could," She starts, then backtracks just a hair, "as in, I didn't mean 'now' when I said it, but we could if we wanted." Smile becomes a grin, and she sips her tea, "There's night tours that start a few minutes walk from here. But leaving it to another time is just as good ... and probably more sensible." It's getting late already and they're winding down with their post-dinner tea. Plus a cruise at this hour might start to sound, maybe even feel, like a date. Which it wouldn't be, and is totally against the promise she's made.

But still, the little spark amuses itself at the thought.

Thoughts, plans, they're easier to deal with than anything more ... well, the other stuff. The way touching his hand, fingers on his arm, a bump of their shoulders happens without thinking. Those can get buried under timetables and itineraries, and she and Steven can stay just fine as they are.

Vi shook her cloak off and threw it over the arm of the fraying couch that sat in the middle of the room. She flicked a switch, and three coloured lamps responded, adding an orange, purple, and blue hue to each corner of the room. The nautolan disappeared into a tiny kitchen which sat right across from the entrance. She pushed a hanging star-catcher out of her way, which was strung with clear beads that caught the light and reflected dancing dots of colour. The sound of running water and the beep of a machine was heard.

She popped out of the kitchen and crossed her arms, her silver hand appearing purple in the reflected light. There weren’t many options for seating in her small apartment, except for the couch and one of the two chairs at the table, so she leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. She sighed.

“Sheena’s had a stalker the last few months. A patron who took a liking to her,” Vi’s gaze darkened. “He came to the club more and more often, which wasn’t alarming at first. We get regulars all the time.”

The machine beeped again and Vi stepped behind the wall. “But then he showed up at her apartment,” she called. “When she was shopping, she spotted him. She started to see him everywhere,” Vi growled. She reappeared with a mug, her eyes downcast in fury at the caf. “We tried to deal with him, but he wouldn’t take the hint.” With Thera’s drink successfully delivered, Vi returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. She returned with an opened bottle of wine and a glass.

Even if Vi had gone to the authorities, she'd likely have been wasting her time.

By the time the Nautolan returned from the kitchen Thera had found her seat on one of the table chairs. Upright and less comfortable, but that was the point; it helped keep her focused as she listened. When the caf arrived she pulled the mug closer toward her, hands lightly around it as she let it cool a little, and looked into the liquid as if it were a scrying pool.

" ... OK." Thera said after a moment, fingertips tapping briefly, "Questions. I don't expect you to answer all of them immediately, I'm just putting them on the table. One - how did he find out where she lived? In my experience that's something a dancer keeps close to the chest. Second, security holos. Do you have visual on this guy? Third, how did he pay for service? Did he use a card of any kind?"

The signs that they were in for a scorching day were present before sunrise, ingredients to a recipe that he knew from experience were going to be troublesome for him to endure. Still, ever the stoic trooper, he had opted to tag along, expressing a wish to accompany Thera, rather than spend it back at the apartment alone.

All until a combination of the searing heat, the blaring of traffic that felt an octave or two higher than usual and the intense vibrations of nearby construction work had seen him express a wish, front-loaded with apologies, to retire, ending up on the couch. Dozing on and off, the combination of the wet towel applied, and the apartment's shaded interior provide Miguel with a small amount of relief for the tension headache that ailed him, but fortunately, additional remedies would find him shortly.

Having kept his eyes closed, they peel open as she settles, hands and arms en route to reflexively curling around her back when he spies what's in her hands. "You reckon?" He lacked the heart to tell her his doubts, but effective or not, he'd settle for a placebo if it helped to redirect his thoughts to a different subject.

Reaching first for the glass, the foil is turned over so that the medicine capsule within is shown and soon released with the pressing of a thumb, showing in turn a degree of knowledge with how ingestible tablets are handled. "Down the hatch, I suppose." And with that, the provided medication is placed in his mouth, washed down with a quart of water, settling again soon after.

"You never know." The Ibuprofen is worth a try - or more precisely won't do any harm, and the cool water will be good for him regardless. Thera settles herself more comfortably across his lap, fingertips brushing a single lock of hair from his forehead. "Maybe it just makes me feel better, too."

Miguel still hasn't caught on (or maybe just doesn't want to) that she would rather take care of errands on her own than drag him out into conditions that he could endure but didn't need to. Or maybe he's just so stubborn that he prefers to stare down any discomfort than cut himself a break by avoiding it. The fuss about his being half-spider forgets he's also half-human, almost certainly the source; a spider might be more feral, but it has the instinctive sense to look after itself.

That forgotten, or at least neglected, half still exists, and if she can't convince him not to inflict the world's conditions on himself she can coddle the big idiot (a little) after the fact.