AUDENTIS FORTUNA IUVAT

From afar, it might look like two lovers having a moment in an alley. They still smelled of sweat and liquor from the club they'd met in, bodies finding each other's in the throng of movement. Dancing, writhing, and then a few words were exchanged before they were outside. It was cold, but Winter had never minded the cold, and he didn't really care about how the other felt about it.

"Just a little taste," he reassured the other breathlessly, detaching from his neck to whisper in their ear. Winter smiled, fangs bared, and dove back in, not needing to take a breath even if his partner probably could have.

When he'd finished, the other was no longer conscious, held up only by Winter's hand firm on their shoulder. He wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand, leaned down a bit to take a look at the human, and then let go of them. They slumped to the ground, and for a moment it seemed like Winter would just walk away.

At the last second, he hesitated, and then he leaned down to fix the other. It was quick, no more than a second or two, and the human's back was against the wall, head lolled to the side but definitely looking more comfortable than before. They were breathing, Winter knew, and they were bundled up well enough as long as they were found soon. He made sure they weren't in the dark, light enough on them to alert some passerby.

But then he was walking away, leaving the alley, finally noticing the individual who had likely seen a lot of what had just happened. With his hunger satiated, he was calm, confident in a way he usually reserved for at work. Winter smirked at the other, raising a brow. "Problem?"

He wanders just out of the gathered crowd of smokers, and finds a quieter spot to stand, with his plastic cup of water, and a dark camel coat he can't fumble the buttons up on. So he's given up on that.

The writer wonders if one of the folk just up ahead of him might mind helping him with the buttons in a bit, maybe they'll laugh about it and call him silly or drunk. Maybe he's both. Maybe it's time to go home, and not go back to the super nice, very well-dressed, sparkling green-eyed pilates instructor waiting at the bar, with Tomás' number in his phone. Feels kinda like he's chasing things he's missed out on, lately. (Compensating for heartbreak, also) But before Tomás can even amble up and talk about buttons on a jacket to more strangers, they're getting intimate and he's quick to red flag himself outta the private moment. He thinks he's done pretty good over the months to not get bothered by the reminder of an ex that got bored of him, and pushed him out and never came back.

But that used to be them, fumbling in the alley.

His ex never dropped him to the ground, though.

Are they okay? Priestley misunderstands the question fired off at him, and thinks it's a statement. Fog-brained, and sobering by the second.

Quickly, Tomás' feet kick through the snow, coat whipping in the wind as he jogs up the alley to check on the pair. "Hey! Is, uh, you guys okay?" He's tapping his pockets for his phone in case they need medical. Sudden, fleeting moment of concern. Oh fuck. He didn't leave it at the bar, did he? No. Maybe it's in his jeans. He'll find it in a second. Dropping to his knees down on the snow, the wet soaks through denim, and he's nudging the slumped figure. Be awake, be awake. Please. "Hey, you uh good — can you hear me?" Whilst he reaches for the neck, to brazenly check for a pulse, there's a wound beneath his fingers. No. He's imagining that. Was. He knows there was. There's a smidge of red on the inside of a collar; it doesn't match the non-existent, Tomas' imaginary —

All the neurons in his brain fire at once. He's been this guy.

Head snaps back up to the stranger, "You're a... nightchild. Oh boy, you can't —" a beat, to shake his head as he's relieved to hear the thrum of a pulse, "Not cool! I mean, awesome." Sort of. He wishes he got a photo — "But, you, this. You were gonna leave? Mierda." Shaking his head, both relieved and exasperated. He'd had Priestley panicked for a second, and just as confused about the circumstances of the whole thing. But the sleeper's breathing. Thank fuck.

What's he gonna write about this?

Heron had wolf venom, but she was careful, and she would have taken herself out if she'd accidentally infected herself. Or told Althea before it was even a problem. So the conclusion is that she had no idea she'd been infected either.

Someone had to have done it, passed on the moon gift to the next. She makes him think that maybe she's always been a moonshifter, or a late bloomer, or something? Tomás wishes he saw the body too (respectfully), to wonder if he'd see something they didn't. Like what, he doesn't know. But something. Because now they're digging a fresh hole, and the soil they're throwing could land anywhere. Where do they look now?

"We'll find out." He won't say he doesn't know. But it's obvious he's grasping at straws. He's determined to solve the mystery, now that he knows there's something far more to the story. "They heal with like moon juju? You sure it didn't uh, heal?" Just to be sure. Not to say he doesn't believe the revelation. "We gotta solve it. This is important. When you saw her... um, sleeping, was it just how she died that well... no other marks?"

He's trying to be polite, and honourable about her autopsy. But he hadn't been there.

Nightchildren. Artists, and the family of such. Tomás doesn't see the conection. Even in all the collections of documents, first accounts, pages ripped out of books he probably shouldn't have been allowed near, printings and sketches with maps and locations. Endless lists, and photographs, blurred or otherwise. They're missing something, but he's not sure what it is.

He feels less stupid knowing she doesn't think it makes sense either.

"Well, you think we should talk to them, then? Maybe they know things we don't." He thinks the artist liked him, maybe. He doesn't like recalling what he remembers of that night, really. But this is bigger than him. "If that'd been her um, job, then that's gotta have something to do with it, right? ... I got a lot of accounts where they talk about different times of moon changes, for the... first time, yeah? Maybe something happened with those people, or the job, something new." Had to be. He doesn't know why Althea doesn't want to try talking to the packs — but he's mostly denying admitting he does know, but doesn't like to think he's got any part in hurting anybody. "I think we should start with the family you said about, the ones Ms. Yearwood knew, and the nightchildren that you know about. That makes most sense, doesn't it?" He looks down at the self-made markings of the moonshifters he thinks he's spotted in town, and wonders if there's correlation to nightchildren in the same spots. 'Cause maybe they're friends or something, and they have information that'd help.

The cold isn't a bother, no, and she shakes her head. "I don't, but I dress like I do." She shrugs on her coat, too, hiding her hands in the large pockets in the front. "But yeah - the food stuff?"

It's just a short walk down the street from Silver Scream to Bookends. "Cheeseburger, pizza, pad thai - so long as there's blood on it or in it, I can taste it all. Without the blood, it's just ash in my mouth - or completely flavorless." She shrugs, passing by some of the other smaller shops here on their street. Bookends is a beacon of shining light just a few blocks down. Snow and ice crunch beneath their feet and she makes sure to watch Tomas' feet just in case he slips on a patch.

"I don't know how good it'd sell, but other vampires should definitely give it a shot. It's not, like, filling or anything - I still need to drink." She pauses and turns to Tomas, eyes wide. "Not from you. I'm still working through the stopping issue I have and don't wanna put you in danger. I've got a stock, so no worries, yeah?"

He's getting all the sauce from the source.

"Oh, right! Damn. That's cool, it works with any blood?" Maybe that's a silly question. But, it could be important in the recipe thing. He likes spicy foods, maybe Boughton doesn't, so she picks a different sort on the positive, negative scale. He won't know, unless he asks. And nothing could kick the smile off his face, or the giddiness as he walks alongside her, practically skipping each time he's got a new question for her. He's not even writing it down, just storing it away; convinced he'll remember it later. Prince of exaggerations, Tomás deliberates what exactly he'd do if he had to cut out food for eternity. "I think I would die if I couldn't taste abuelo's famous fideuà again."

Well, his mother's hand-me-down recipe version of it, at least.

He wonders what Aria and Autumn are having for dinner. He's invited. It's still sinking in. He's having dinner with Ms. Aria Boughton! "We can definitely get the word out!" He says, sudden like a revolutionary giving a speech. "It'd sell. I know it. You're too awesome for it not to."

Initially, he skips over the detail that she's looking at him like she's said something bad. Concern, or some sort of shock. He supposes he'd thought about the idea of what it'd cost to get the inside peek into the photographer's world, because he owed her. For the movie. Not that he's too keen to be on the menu, without good reason. Is this a good reason? "Oh — yeah, I mean if you needed..." His teeth stab his lower lip because she talks about issues, and maybe that's the bad part. Might be why she's pulling that face he wants to apologise for. He's messing it up. He lifts a finger, and laughs quietly, kicking aside nerves for the second time in two minutes. "Guess it's like a really good wine you can't put down, huh? Pop the cork, and glug, glug, glug."

They stroll, lightly, after he tells her - to the best of his ability - where he lives. It's not far, she thinks - but she hasn't yet decided if he'll make it there.

"You're sweet," she repays the compliment, tilting her head with her wide smile on full display.

Oh boy. He gets dizzy for a second, and he pulls on her arm, before shaking it off. There’s nothing to say that he thinks is gonna sound cool. The ice is stealing his thunder, already.

But he’s convinced she isn’t gonna let him fall. “Weeell I—“ Tideview he can talk about. “Si, yeah! Journa — journa-lism. I write. I like to write. Paper. Pen pen. Stories about those hiding — sneaky sleuthsss in our world, mhm?” Nobody ever knows, but he doesn’t mind tonight. Because one person will, and then eventually, so will two.

"No, I don't think she wanted to attack me - not if she were.. aware." Clearing her throat, she wipes at her face, trying to ignore that sinking feeling in her gut that's reappeared for the first time since it happened. "So far I've ruled out any sort of bite, which is unusual as fuck. But I have no idea how else that would even happen."

She's lost.

"Last I heard it was something about Booker. But I don't even know if that was related - because that was all bloodsuckers." She looks down at the map though and sucks in a breath through her teeth. "You're close, man." She points down to a few areas - "The packs, I know 'em - that there's one territory, and over here by the docks is that Warwick shit. But she wandered."

Something awful happened to her, and it probably wasn't her fault if her brain was juju mush for a little while.

"I'm sorry." Priestley says, solemn and honest. He takes pause in the quiet, where some barebones respect beats the excitement for what knowledge they could share with each other. The silence is three seconds long. Althea's got tears at the ducts and it make Tomás think about loss, and his sister. He's a coward about going back, and he knows it. He doesn't know what he'd say if he sat at her bedside whilst she slept as his parents bickered about work like nothing was wrong. He dreads the day they think enough time's passed, that there's no longer a bed for her. There's going to be a way that's gonna bring her back, juju can best sleep; he had a boyfriend — ex, now with juju powers to go into minds. There's going to be a way.

Just as there will be a way for Heron's memory to be respected. "Juju fog. Yeah." Something else to research more.

And then Althea presents him with an equation he's never once considered.

"No bite?" Tomás eyes bore into hers, expectant for more than that. "Whadd'ya mean there's no sign of a bite?" Did it heal? No scar? Did she hide it all this time, she's one of the moonshifters born that way? "There's gotta be a bite. That's how it works—"

This changes it all. Pity, and loss goes out the window because there's a puzzle now.

Now there's a new name? He thinks he knows that one. Waits. Eyes dart to the pages to think back to his own foggy, messed-up memory. "Like Anika Booker, the artist?" Nouveau. He remembers, in pieces. The way it ended, not so much. "Where's she come from? She's not a moonshifter." He knows that because he's talked to her, he thinks he recalls that conversation about animals, too.

And nightchildren? If Althea didn't just widen her heart about Heron, Tomás might have thought she was screwing with him, and taking him for a ride.

But now it's just got messier. "Okay." he begins again, deep breath and fingers strecth out on the documents between them; backtrack to the first lead. "You know the packs? That's awesome. Wow. Neat." Holy fuckballs. "You talk to them?" Maybe they'd have said something about Heron being around, if that's a new thing?

A new spell from juju, a curse? A gift, maybe, to them. "Where's the last you had contact with her before uh, y'know..."

Murdering her, I guess.

"You're very drunk," she says, steadying him further as he stumbles out an answer, gesturing wildly in a direction, and the Vampire's calculus begins its lethal arithmetic. Will this cute boy live or die? Will he remember her or not? Choices she has been making for centuries begin to balance the invisible scales in her mind. Is he important? Will he be missed?

"I'm Sasha," she says. "You want to walk with me a bit?" Her voice affects something more modern - spurred on by her slow descent into the era, from her conversations with Oksana and Frankie and even Madison. She lets her accent poke through, ancient and slight, that she may affect the countenance of an affable tourist.

"You can barely walk."

He pinches his fingers together, and smiles back at her. Hiccups. "A li'tle bit."

Tomás doesn't remember it now, but the last time he let the beers run their course, he stumbled into some guys bed, and woke up apologising for it. It'd been nothing (quite literally, he'd stayed dressed), but damn it had been embarrassing.

"Saaaasha?" He tries it out on his tongue, and he does want to walk with her because the ground is very close to him, with every step he tries to take. "I think — si?" He blinks, and kicks feet back into the snow to get himself upright, once again. Between jumbled confidence, and trying to keep his eyes open, he tells her where he lives, and asks how far they are.

Her teeth grit together as he keeps going, and she has to lean forward to grip the edge of the table - careful not to mess up his piles just in case they're in some sort of order. Her back feels rigid and tight, like a massive weight is pulling her down towards the earth. She wishes it would just swallow her whole at this point. Maybe then the grief wouldn't be so all-consuming.

"I want to find who bit her. And - and why." She'd lied to get in close with this man, and now she might pay for it. But it's too much to bear alone, she needs to have someone helping her, since all she's done is run into dead end after dead end.

He continues and it's like he'd pulled the thoughts out of her head, and she finally looks up at him, dumbfounded. "..you'd really help? Even knowing I killed her?" The word 'someone' caught on her throat, because at the end of the day: it's still hard to view these things as people.

Ms. Yearwood? Eyes drop down to the bracelet tightly wrapped around his wrist. She'd given it to him, once. Protection. Something. His mind's all messy, now. Because she's dead, and he's looking at her murderer. There's a murderer in his apartment. But that's suddenly so unimportant, he's almost laughing (and then crying). Heron's gone? Instead, he just feels hurt. Aching. A hand pulling at the bracelet on his wrist, and the memory it held. He's quieter, "You were Ms. Yearwood's friend?"

He didn't know her much, but he'd call her a friend. Kindness didn't cost anything.

When she catches his eyes again, she probably sees that Tom's are uneasy. Trying to compose himself, he sucks in a breath. She has a point, there had to be reason? Heron must have known them, maybe there's more to the story that they've yet to chalk up. He'd like to know, too. "We can find that out." He's confident in it, and he looks to all the clippings, and notes he's drawn on various documents.

If she can tell him who she might've ruled out, or what areas. Maybe some of the places Heron went, they could start talking to some people. "She wouldn't have meant to attack you. Not her." That's something he's certain of. "Probably confused, lots of reports say that it's a big shift through the juju brain, yeah?" Takes a second to adjust. It's on a first account he found posted online, on a forum.

He doesn't like that she did something so bad as to kill... but she's not the first of the type he's met, either. It sounded like a mistake, and he's not going to get bogged down by that. If he does, he'll have to get heavy with his thoughts and he can't do that right now. "I wanna help. I can. Look, I got stuff on a bunch of folk, and there's moonshifter packs, you know what she might've been looking for? Or maybe we uh, hold on," He sifts through more papers, "She go anywhere, I made a map, see, every moonshifter I bumped into, and where?" Albeit, he leaves off that a bunch of the dots on his crassly sketched out map, were him making assessments of the situation. Some he talked to, others he just passed. "I got one for every month I've been here. Look."

But he thinks he's pretty good at figuring it out; it's all in the fingernails.

When she's done with the photos - good ones, too - she shoots off a quick text to Autumn to tell her she's bringing over Tomas for dinner. There's a brief moment where she wonders if Autumn knows him or if they've talked about him before - the worst part of the scrambled memories is not knowing which is new and which is old. "Yeah, with me and Autumn." Aria nods, trying to keep it light, but finds herself laughing -

"No, no, we have a whole routine." She picks up the movie where he'd put it down, and nods for him to follow her over towards the check out where she buys that plus another one for Autumn. Afterwards, she just hands it to him without a word for what she'd done. It's just a movie, after all. "We cook normally, and then we add a little blood after we have our food. That way Autumn doesn't get sick." Just in case, really.

But he'll try not get his hopes up, 'cause he's no Autumn. He's just the guy-in-silver-scream she bumped into, even if she did invite him over for dinner.

When she picks up the movie, he's reminded that he'd always known she's been so freaking cool. He'd say he had the sense for it, the same way she's got the eye for things.

Tomás is so caught up in following after her, admiration lit in his gaze. He doesn't even notice what she's done until after the movie's in his hand. "Routine—huh? Hold up, wait, Ms Boughton." He's lifting the DVD like it's not his, but hers. "Thank you, but you don't need to do that, it's cool. I —" He owes her one, or something now, right? She going to ask for a bite, or —? He's mid-thought, when she talks about dinner.

And that distracts him plenty.

Priestley didn't know that blood makes it taste normal. But he's gonna write it down, and ask her for recipes to publish. Maybe it'd help another nightchild out. "No way? You like, sauce a cheeseburger and it's... a cheeseburger?" Kinda neat. "So it could go in a Chilli? Damn. Ms. Boughton, you could like have a condiment startup or something? Like a Rachael Ray or — well, way more awesome than her, but you get it." He laughs, because he's gone off on a tangent. Intrigue, and having his mind blown by the best photographer in the city has him half a beat from bouncing on his heels.

Asher's Bend comes up and she almost seems to tense; not in any sort of terribly noticeable way, unless Tom is on the lookout for that sort of thing. Her smile and her nod aren't quite so big or so reassuring at that one - but she's not about to slam him for it.

"No, it's- it's really fine." She says, again. "And no I... I'd be honored to go to your place - genuinely." She turns her head, affecting a knowing smile that turns into a sidelong, simpering grin. "We're rare sorts, Tom," she chirps, shaking a finger at him. "We're not afraid to know we know nothing."

And then, as if she's invoked something, her eyes dart around the place, like she's looking for someone or something she expects to be there. There's an almost visible unwinding of her entire person when she, apparently, does not find it, and she smiles big to him again before taking his hand in one of hers and placing the other overtop. "I'll follow you?"

—

And follow Tomas she does, until they get to her van at least, and then it's her van plonking behind along roads he has to direct her around until they arrive at his place. It's a nice building; she wonders if there's a vacancy she can afford. Maybe in a month or two.

She locks the door after he's out, stepping away. "Oh- I... uh. I forgot something, hold on."

She moves back to the van, to, trying to sell the lie as she checks the lock. And then checks the lock again. Did it click? It sounded strange. She tests the door and it doesn't open, and then something in the driver's side mirror makes her jump, all eyes and shadows and teeth. When she turns to track it, it's nothing. Nothing.

She checks the door one more time. It doesn't open. She takes a deep breath. "Trick door, heh." Inside, she's already assessing how to get out. Not because of Tom, but because she needs to know. The halls are wide enough for two people to slip by eachother at arm's length. That's good. She does wonder about the flickering fluorescent they'd passed on the way down his hall. It sticks in her mind, even as they walk up the door. She thinks about asking if he has a fire escape before deciding to just look for herself.

Shouldering the bag until they get inside, she sets it down with a breath; its a lot of heavy equipment, and takes a look around Tomas' apartment. "Wow-wee." It's a genuine sort of surprise, not judgemental. There's so much to look at.

But Holly doesn't need to know that part. "Right?" It's less question, more agreement. "If more people thought that, there would be so much acceptance. Folks would get it, they'd understand." He never understood the afraid of knowledge part, until recently, but he knows there's ones that need some working on; folks that need a reminder that the world isn't out to do any harm, if they aren't.

Tomás notices her glancing around, because he supposes she's new to town and there's a bunch to see. He was fresh out of the water when he got to Oregon, too. She's going to get her bearings, just the same.

In the van (her van's awesome, and it's awesome she has a van), there's a lot of directions, and talking about radio. Mostly, Tomás is thinking about the questions he wants to ask, and to talk in person, opposed to online.

His apartment's still something he's getting used to, since the storm wrecked his camper, but he supposes the stability works for storing all his papers, and his research.

He waits, after they're parked, for her to get what she's forgotten. "All good?" A smile, still giddy, with all the expectation, or anticipation. He's barely noticed Holly's assessing, and skirting over details Tom doesn't see.

Too busy talking. "You think it's juju? It's gotta be, right?" He doesn't linger on the part where he's so very close to saying, my boyfriend's got juju. He'd know. Because he's no longer his boyfriend, and Tom's trying not to think about him, if he can help it. "I think it's bigger 'cause why isn't anybody talking about it like it's not tens of thousands, y'know? I don't see it covered like, do you?" Is he missing the details?

It's secret, like the ones in the dark think is best. "It'd suck less if all kinds of folk worked together, don't you think?"

A lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that much. Riven didn’t have to walk the cobblestoned paths of Tomás’s thoughts to find it waiting there. He loved him, didn’t he? Loved the monster Riven was, not despite it. That feeling had made a home inside him and jealousy was the mold creeping up the walls. "You were thinking I’ve been fucking him instead of texting you back.” A beat, “Am I right?”

He was.

If he turned and looked at him, the answer would be written all over those puppy eyes. Tomás followed him like a dog, wagging his tail and waiting to be petted. A hand came out without warning. Riven caught it mid reach, fingers closing tight enough to bruise the olive skin beneath. It was a reminder that he was hurting the pup, making him yelp.

He let go before it went too far. Before those wet eyes could drill another hole straight through him. Riven had thought he’d gotten rid of a guilty conscience. Apparently, it had just learned how to hide.

"Stop asking me questions, T." His voice was a tedious thing, worn thin to the point of irritation. You’re going to drive me insane, he thought. Still refusing to meet his eyes, Riven walked past him and took his coffee to the work desk, now buried under manuscripts. His left hand came up to wipe at the blood beneath his ear. It was still fresh.

The voices pressed in, murmuring at the edges of his thoughts, crowding a mind that needed silence more than anything else. He couldn't fight them any longer. Riven felt weak to a power that fed on those fragile, human pieces of him. The care and love he still carried for the man who kissed him gently. He could still feel the wet trace of those kisses on his cheek, along his neck, lingering like a memory that refused to fade.

Riven had made it sound dirty, as if he'd been wrong to consider for half a second that he didn't trust him. He did. He thought he did, anyway. There isn't exactly an easy explanation for a passed out guy in the living room; partnered with Riv's dismissal of him. Would he lie to Tomás, still? Even about something like that. The silence says enough about the guilt he felt about letting a flame light and extinguish of doubt. But he doesn't want the quiet to speak for him, either.

"So you have been reading my texts then." It wasn't being busy. It's ignorance, and intent. You're done with me, aren't you? Tomás didn't know what he's done to deserve this, but it must be him that's the problem. Riv's always asking him to stop with the juju, and the articling. Maybe he's exhausted all his avenues.

He winces, because Riven's touch is harsh.

It wasn't always. "Ah-ow, Riv, that... " hurts. Whispery, almost less than a complaint, because he never feared his boyfriends gestures, and even after Tomás mind had been hijacked, over a year ago; they'd found a way to remind each other that Riv wouldn't do that. Instead, he's done something worse; he's made a nightmare real.

Priestley's mouth curves down, because his boyfriend's running across the kitchen, and he hasn't seen this side of him so agitated. He stands there, in his distress. Gaze following a man who can't get away fast enough. And the tears finally fall, streaking down his cheeks. His mouth opens, to ask —

But he can't.

Stop asking me questions, T.

I don't want you here, Tomás.

It isn't in his nature to spit curses, even in his turmoil. His mind might calculate that Riven's being an asshole, and cruel to not even want to talk about whatever this is. But he'll never say it to him. Would it matter if I fought for us? Would you listen?

She leans back and looks around the shop - it definitely looks like it could be the setting for what he's talking about, but often she doesn't think any of what he says is.. well, real. He's ambitious, but often looking in the wrong corners for the right answers.

"I haven't - you wanna be the first?" She just has her phone with her, but the phones these days can rival some good camera quality. And if not - stylistic photos are usually pretty awesome. She backs up, and pulls it out, swiping over to the camera function to get it set up with just a few taps. "Just browse -" She waits a beat, and then, "Why don't you come over to my place for dinner tonight?"

He can't see everything, in her photography. It's harder to read exactly what movies she digs, in the beauty she captures with a lens.

Maybe Aria could see things with heightened eyes about Silver Scream, in ways he'll never be able to. He wants to ask her. But, it just becomes another line on his list of many; an interview with the nightchild that he's not yet had. It's exciting, but between jitters and broken heartedness, he doesn't want to mix friendship and investigations with Ms. Boughton, it feels like the wrong time. She's so nice. he always messes it up with the nice ones.

She perks him up, with five whole words.

You wanna be the first?

"Heck yeah!" It's out of him way before he thinks about it. He's been a few firsts, mostly in high school. But this is the kind of ride he's not gonna get twice. She gives him directions, and he's smiling (certainly not candid-like) and trying to act as casual as casual gets when he's aware there's a camera. A camera-phone with Aria Boughton at the helm of it. Does this make him a little-bit-of-one-of-her-muses?

He lets her work her juju.

And then, fake-not-quite-candid-smile turns into wide eyes, and and a slack jaw. Dinner? She's inviting me to dinner. Oh boy, oh boy! Neat-o. "That'd be so awesome. With you and your girl?" Modesty, or coy doesn't exist within Tomás. He's a shaken can of pop, fizzing out in tremors and giddiness. Maybe she'll give him the home tour? "That's a cool invite. Thanks."

The girls are all partying, but she is quietly strolling - hunting, actually. It's cold, the fireworks of this whole new year affair have subsided, and the soft snow has chased most everyone indoors.

Strange then, that she finds some poor sod out and about, his gait demonstrative of somebody too in his cups to see the good sense in finding warmth. A smile perks the corner of her lips, and in a blinking second she's beside him. "Are you alright?" She asks.

In this cold the heat chased to the surface of his skin by spirits makes his blood practically sing, even with his heart slowed to a kick-beat one could waltz to. She hazards a hand to his shoulder, manicured and ungloved in the frigid air. "Are you lost? Looking?"

Are you alone, is the hidden question, because I am hungry.

It crunches under his feet, and if he looked back, it'd be clear by the uneven, zig-zagging path walked in the snow that his steps aren't as steady as he feels. Usually, he'd find his way to Riv's place, or the man would come out, and claim to rescue him from a dire chill in a long gone camper. But there's just Tomás (not even a camper) with staling beer on his tongue, and glazed eyes that hide away all the chaos of his mind.

He's been walking for an hour, and despite not recognising his bearings, he's sure that he's close.

Priestley is yet to realise he's walked the wrong way entirely.

"Oh!" A sudden creak in the snow, and he nearly slips on the ice. "Hell—oo!"

He's already missed what she'd said. Something 'right. He smiles, barely noticing the proximity, or the hand; he's hyper-focused on her mouth to try and follow her words.

"No..." A dragged out syllable, that's almost convincing (to himself). "I'm jus'—" hiccup, "—on my way homie — home." He looks ahead, squinting through blurry vision to try gesturing exactly where he's going. "It's a—head —" hiccup, "— gracias."

The pictures, the list of names - that's good, she can use that. She scans through, looking for familiar names but finds none, and takes more and more pieces of paper.

When she finally gets a moment, she looks up at him, lower lip chewed raw. "She's dead." It's really the only easy way she can say it. "She attacked me." This time she looks away from him, and down to the papers. "She tried to kill me, and I defended myself." I did what I was taught to do - by her. "Didn't realize who she was until she turned back afterwards."

"Oh." He settles on, "What was their name... do I have them in my..." He begins to check if there's any other lists in the more recent weeks that he's gathered. But lately, his mind has been in the gutter, and it's been tough keeping it afloat. He has to get the newspaper back out, soon. People need to know about these losses. "Attacked? Are you sure she meant to?" Maybe she was just playing around? Then, the rest of the story unfolds, and Tomás nods acceptingly. He's late to read the room, but he does.

A mistake, then. A moonshifter freshly turned, if her friend didn't know who she was.

"... Then what do you plan to do with all this? I thought we were finding your friend?" There's very little that would stop him and his eager sharing, but he'd rather it not be for a disingenuous cause.

He wants to defend the moonshifters on the full moon, though. "They're not all like that, y'know, there's more than....that." He thought killing, and death sounded awful. It wasn't the versions of the supernatural that he liked. He thought they'd do better, working together; there were bigger things to fight than each other.

Tomás thought about his sister, Hanna, fighting on her own, too.

Silver Scream's a bit of an odd duck here, not too far from the bookstore but there's still remnants of what it used to be. It's hard to walk in without feeling a little weird about there not being arcade cabinets or prizes up on the back wall. Instead, she's greeted with the sight of rows upon rows of VHS tapes and DVDs, with the equipment to run them littering the edges.

Not many people here, either. It's darker, a little eerie, almost. Feels like stepping into another world -- but she's looking for something new and fun to keep her mind busy on the next full moon. When she spots a familiar profile, she reaches up to tap him on the shoulder - her own smile subdued in the face of his bright one.

"Hey, Tom." The question almost makes her snicker. No, they don't really have planned date nights, but maybe she and Autumn should. "No, nothing like that. It's my first time checking this place out, and I was curious if they have any fun, weird horror stuff I haven't seen yet."

She tilts her head, studying him. It's been more than a while - since before the road trip, and he smells a little different. A little less something, but she can't quite put her finger on it. "You been here before?"

Horror movies, he can do, too. Shit that kicks him out of pattern of being hunched over scrawlings, and locked into thirty-hour reading marathons whilst falling asleep to podcasts because he cannot drink enough coffee to counter it.

There's the slightest caffeine-induced tremor in his hand that he's not even noticed, but he does a little when he pinches the DVD, and lets himself get caught up in talking movies.

"Plenty of fun-looking ones, yeah? I thought I'd seen a bunch, and then I saw these and I am... well, now I kinda wanna watch Dark Night of the Scarecrow, ha. You seen it?"

It's his first time too. He waves the case, "Nah. First timer, too. I wanted to see if they got any stories about stuff they might have found when they renovated the place. Maybe spooks who don't like the shiny compact discs and wanted to disrupt the build, hm?" He's not sure if there is anything to draft up about it yet, other than a neat new haunt. "You get any good shots of people in the aisles yet?"

He sounds a bit different from how she remembers their handful of voice-to-voice conversations, either on her show or over discord with other True Believers in the Unseen. Weather, a bit. She can relate, because she's been told as much about herself.

"Oh, no, no me too! I've read uploads of your newsletter. It's great. I can't believe it's all so out in the open out here and people still don't... get it." But he does. They do. Another nervous laugh escapes, because for an instant that lasts longer than a heartbeat she feels lik she might be safe for a bit.

There's a skittish vibrato in her excitement, but it's fading as she realizes yes, this is a friend. And he's never, so far as she knows, been to where she's from - so the chances of him finding some way to immediately die are slim, at least for now. She can breathe.

Not here. Not with Holly. They've got stuff to discuss, and it's not his crumbling personal life. It's more likely hers, and the town torn from the map overnight.

Most of all, she's read his articles, and she's right there next to him, instead of wondering why they think he's nuts. "Right?" Thank you! "I've been trying to appeal to every market to get them to listen; the theorist, the honest, the tabloid — the fiction, even. It's right there, I even put photos and everything, and I don't know — I just —" a beat, because he feels heard. Differently, this time. "— thank you, Holly." Even if it turns out she's screwing with him, he'll remember this moment. A new assertion, when he thinks about the upcoming stories they could write together."We'll make them listen about this, too."

Then she talks about her stuff, and he's giddy again.

"Yeah, sure! I have so much to show you, you wanna come back to my place? Bring your stuff." He's not sure how smart that is, but when has he ever taken precaution, and recently, there's even less to lose. "I promise I'm not like... you know inviting you back for the wrong reasons, I don't want it to sound, y'know, like that. Shit — man, i'm making a mess of this. I wanna hear the tapes, I've got research on juju, the moonshifters and the nightchildren but I don't have anything on entire... towns going poof in a day, y'know? Well... yeah, I guess you do know, but — yeah."

Fuck, Tomás. You're a mess.

Riven would be laughing at him now if he could see what's happening. He wants answers, and he needs distractions.

This is all of it.

Deep breath and — "Sorry." another pause to compact his conflicting madnesses, "We can go to a late-night diner, bar or whatever too, of course, if that'll make you more comfortable. It's cool."