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[ A good girl who hopefully has some self-preservation instincts buried deep down in there that will keep her from making needlessly risky decisions. He personally doesn't, but that doesn't mean she should learn that particular lesson from him.
He snorts at the salute, and looks somewhere off to the other side to cover up his own smile. ]
Don't mention it.
[ He does drop a hand on top of her head though, mussing her hair slightly in the process.
She is a good kid, and if she can get this whole fighting thing down right he doesn't doubt she'll help a lot of people. She's definitely got the drive for it. ]
Of course the locals would be Elves in a place like this. Or, well, some sort, by the looks of it. But where there is abundant green there are doubtlessly the appropriately magically inclined. She can deal with elves. At least this isn't Angels.
No need to go there if she doesn't have to.
But Liliana is lucky--this woman is outwardly friendly, at the very least, so she can offer the same courtesy until she can figure out the best ways to appease her for information. So she smiles, coming to a stop with the sway of her skirts falling into place. ]
Just a wanderer--and a lucky one at that, to be greeted by such a lovely tune.
[ Honestly, she couldn't care one way or another. ]
[ When Sherlock abandons the table, he leaves his microscope and his specimens on slides behind, bringing his tea with him and walking over to the window to position himself with his back to it. From that angle, he looks more like a silhouette on a dull greyish backdrop (not London at its finest, really, but nice weather for some crime, one can hope) than an actual person with a history spanning more than 24 hours and a complex emotional life (which does sound very much like Sherlock Holmes for you, when he thinks about it) and John turns in his seat to follow him with his eyes, leaning on the backrest of the chair with one arm. He watches the other man quietly for a moment, a slight smile curving on his lips, then shakes his head and gets to his feet, stretching lazily. ]
Depends on what you're trying to find out. [ His voice is casual, but soft. Letting his arms fall back to his sides, he remembers the first time he got shot, in Afghanistan, sandy ground, operating table, wanting to live but without knowing what for exactly, besides the work, the rush, the same. This time around was quite a different story, wasn't it? Yes, he wanted to be back on casework, but he mostly wanted to be back on casework to be with Sherlock. If you're trying to find out why you should continue to live, emotions are really a rather good indication. But sure, if you're primarily interested in the what's and where's and how's... Piss-poor might be a better description, you're right, Sherlock. You're rationally very right.
It's just -- not everything is rational, of course. John moves over in front of the other man, comes to a slow halt a couple of feet from him, within reasonable touching distance. As such, he reaches out and runs his hand up, palm flat, fingers splayed out, over Sherlock's stomach, his pajamas and half a dressing gown in the way of skin on skin touch, but it's fine. It's a gesture, Sherlock's clever, Sherlock can figure it out. ] If you're done apologising now, which by the way looks very good on you, I'm going to kiss you and we can pretend nothing happened like a pair of proper idiots.
[Rest was fine, getting away from Ravnica was fine. She knew Jace and Gids hated it when they split up, but honestly being around his secretary, Lavinia? That was getting to be too much. Cooped up in his stuffy old Living Guildpact manor or whatever it was just didn't jive with her, and what better way to get to know the new member. Jace knew her, and while Nissa didn't like her, that didn't mean there was no chance they'd find common ground.
So, away they'd jumped for a bit, just gals bein' pals.
The idyllic surroundings were pretty nice, all things considered. She was reminded a little of the Hedron Fields on Zendikar, or the ruins on Regatha, and both of those were reasonably pleasant memories for her. Pleasant associations were few and far between after Innistrad.]
Yeah, sure.
[Chandra pulled the blanket out with a flourish and spread it out with just a whisper of air to mark it's descent. Her hand flicked out and her finger snapped, igniting a small ring of will-o'-the-wisps to light the early evening spot. Ghostflame flickered, casting pale shadows all around.]
Have a seat. Let's get into that wine and some of that cheese. I'm starved.
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