An old-country inn in Dublin, Ireland. It's very rustic, and more of a local hole in the wall than anything else. The owner, a sixty-two year-old Irishman named Trevor Trevillian, is the main attraction; him, and his twin twenty-two year old son and daughter, Trenton and Terra.

---

Ari wanders in in her demure, cream-coloured turtleneck, glancing to spy a host.

Trevor is there, behind the bar, of course, talking to a middle-aged lady. His twin children, pale with red hair and plentiful freckles, both of them beautiful, porcelain cherubs, juggle bottles back and forth as they mix and poor drinks.

There are tables all around, and it's a little raucous. Trevor waves to her as she enters, though.

"Come in, come in darlin', have a stool or a table?"

She smiles her sweet, quiet little smile in return. "A table for two would be wonderful," she notes, a touch softly.

"Right. Just grab an empty one, yeah? Do you want a drink?" Trevor slaps his friend's face, gently, and the guy chuckles.

"Mm...a glass of wine would be wonderful. I don't know the local vineyards...just something that tastes good." Ari smiles at him, spots a table, and heads off that way.

Trevor smirks. "Wine?" He looks at his twins, who simultaneously miss their catches.

"WINE?" they demand, and both start giggling.

And the entire place goes up in laughter.

Ari blinks. "Um...have I missed something important?" she inquires.

"We don't serve wine," Trevor booms over his neat gray beard. "Wine is for sissies and faggots."

Pause. A smile touches a corner of Ari's lips, which then melt back into that sweet smile. "All right, then. A glass of water would be wonderful." And she seats herself.

He grins, wide. "It probably would, but we don't have water. Beer or whiskey, darlin'."

Rasputin wanders in about then, quietly, not saying a word.

Ari tilts her head. Considers inquiring about how he washes glasses. But, really, she's not a combative person, and is a little tired to feel like being an exception to that rule now. She just smiles. "Nevermind, then. Thank you." Looks to Rasputin as he approaches, and the smile returns a bit.

Trevor follows her eyes.

"John!" he all but shouts. "You son of a bitch! Come 'ere!"

And he does, eyes sparkling blue, and quite normal. Their hands clasp.

"Trevor," Rasputin greets. "I see you've met Ariella."

"I didn't know you two knew each other," Trevor says, looking at Ari. "What kind of wine do you like, darlin'?"

Her eyes dance, amused. "Any white but a Zinfadel would be lovely," she notes. "A tumbler is fine, of course, for appearance's sake. Stems may cause a riot." She giggles.

"My stem already is a riot," a wit shouts, but everyone was already laughing at what Ari said. For all the bluster, they like a woman in this place. Pretty much any woman, since Terra is, by her own account, a holy celibate lesbian and ignores every man in the place's advances.

Rasputin, meanwhile, sits, quiet, smiling a tired, homesick smile.

"What'll you have, John?" Trevor asks. "Lemme guess. Stout?"

'John' nods. "Stout."

"'Ave a seat, then, both of you, and I'll be back. Trenton will bring your drinks."

Ari smiles at him. "Thank you." And she seats herself quietly. This place is fun, and that fellow really is too.

Rasputin watches Terra, who is standing behind the bar swinging her hips, eyes alert, playful, mouth seductive. An absolute tease.

"I knew that girl when she was a baby," he says, wondering why. He seems to say much around Ariella that he doesn't think to.

Ari glances over at Terra, before looking back so as to not stare, and smiles a bit. "How long as it been since you've seen her?"

"Two years," Rasputin nods. "She was involved with a man who turned out to be in the IRA. Militant, connected. I killed him, when he began to be problematic for her family."

Ari nods a bit. "She doesn't know that you did, I assume?" Good to know in terms of interaction.

"He abducted her and held her hostage. She knows." Someone claps Rasputin's shoulder. He smiles, waves, and the man goes on his way. "You would like Terra, I think. Devout."

The man of the twins comes sauntering over about then, booze in hands. "Wine and stout," he all but sings, looking between them. "Who gets which?"

"The wine is mine," Ariella volunteers, voice as soft as ever. She smiles.

"Is it?" Trenton looks at her, eyes the fading blue of a sunset blushing royal purple. "And what a lucky wine it is, to touch your queenly lips." He sets the glass -- long stemmed, despite her request -- before her, eyes never leaving her face.

Rasputin almost laughs at that.

Ari is about to return the rest...and then realizes that said return is in bad taste, a jab at the Queen. So, she just smiles. "And so welcome. I'm very thirsty. Thank you." And she really is happy to sip it. Again, she's French. Wine consumption isn't about the alcohol, really.

It's a fine wine, as well. Trevor Trevellian wouldn't admit it, but his personal wine stores are vast and, when he cracks them open, he fails to disappoint.

Trenton gives the stout, a pint glass, of course, to Rasputin, who stays quiet. He's known Trenton a long time, too, and knows exactly what's about to happen.

"May I sit?" the fair fellow asks Ari, a bit nervously.

Ari smiles at him, but glances to Rasputin for confirmation before responding. Since the terrorist is leading her about, she doesn't know if he'd wanted to talk about anything that didn't need other ears.

He nods a little. "We're on a bit of a holiday, Trenton," he assures the very irish manling. "So no serious talk. Mind me."

Trenton snickers. "Like you ever said a serious word in your life." He pulls a chair, sits next to Ariella. "Hello."

"Hi there. A pleasure to meet you." She smiles a friendly smile at him. Whilst cracking up inwardly over the "ever said a serious word in your life" bit.

"It certainly is a pleasure," he sings. "So you're French. Naturally, or by nationality?" He smiles at her, hoping he's right about that.

"That's right." She smiles at him for recognizing the accent, and sips her wine. "I was born and raised in its northwest." She doesn't volunteer that she'd since emigrated, though if asked, she won't hide it. Ireland and Julen are on good enough terms that known wyverns get very strange looks, but don't normally prompt freakouts.

Spiders don't tend to do as well in Ireland, for whatever reason, but that's beside the point.

Trenton grins at her, showing off a set of perfectly white, pointed fangs.

"I was in love with a French woman once," he says, soft as spring under a blanket. "She walked into this pub and ordered wine, even though it's an Irish pub. She sat at this table." Smiles at her.

Rasputin has never found anything as fun as Trenton's speeches.

"Really? She sounds like a thoroughly creepy sort." She grins in return, to a glint of mostly sharp wyvern teeth. They aren't as white as human or vampire teeth, though, unless bleached. Ari doesn't.

"Ravishing, refined, yes, but not creepy." His eyes, at the same time charming intense, are very much vampire eyes, and very much turned on Ariella. "So. What are the two of you doing here?"

"Relaxing. Each of us has been under some stress at work lately, and John suggested it. It sounded like a lovely idea, so here we are." She smiles. "I can see why he suggested this place, with such lovely friends. Have you worked here most of your life, then?"

"Most of it. But I play here, as well. So. You are the first Christian Wyvern I have ever might, and I must say, it's exquisite." Trenton sips from his own wine glass, cloudy with just a drop of blood.

Across the bar, Terra leans against the bartop, speaking with a fine-looking man with strawberry blond hair and smart eyeglasses. Rasputin notices him, but doesn't say anything about it.

Ari's back is in that direction --and, with Rasputin looking that way, she isn't overly concerned about vigilance in that direction, as she really does trust him for some ungodly reason--and doesn't see. "You're perceptive, she congratulates Trenton, smiling. About the 'wyvern' part. "And yes, my entire family is. Actually, most of the area I gre up in was comprised of Catholic wyverns, at the time. It worked well for us."

"What are your beliefs concerning meeting a strange and beautiful man in an Irish pub and letting him sweep you off your feet?" Trenton sips.

Ari beams at him. "Sweeping is about as far as he'll get."

"What if that was enough?" Trenton asks, quiet. There's not a hint of pretense in his voice; it's enough that Rasputin takes his eyes off the spectacled fellow, eyebrows piqued. He's serious?

Ari tilts her head a little, smiles at him. Pause. Trenton really is charming. Any other time, but... "Any other time, I'd be interested. Now, I believe it would be inconsiderate to John." Though she has no idea what Rasputin thinks of her, it doesn't take decorated therapist to figure out that wandering around the world with a guy and then traipsing off with another one, unless it's explicitly stated that it's alright, simply isn't cool.

Rasputin smiles a bit. "Feel free," he says to Ari. "I should go catch up with Terra. Do you see that man, Ari?" He nods to the spectacled fellow. "That's Hespian Shigoriath. He's a go-between my work and Radivishe Moorn, prime minister of the clockwork city."

This gets a raised eyebrow...though Ari really has no blessed idea who Radivishe Moorn is, the name has come up as a "who the hell?" question of interest in her information circle as of late. "Really...I wonder what he's doing here?"

"Wooing Terra, Trenton nods. He has been for some time; he's quite taken with her." Trenton's still only looking at Ariella. "She's teased him for three months."

Rasputin nods, rises. "I need to speak with him. Ariella, I will be staying here tonight. You may do as you like; if you need some local money, let me know. I have an account here."

Ari smiles at him a bit. "Thank you." She nods. Is a bit disappointed, though she doesn't give much indication. Maybe she'd read him wrong, and he wasn't interested in her. It's not like he's easy to read. It's sweet he's concerned about Terra, though. If what he'd said before was true, he seems to be the family's protector to some degree.

Trenton's all smiles as Rasputin walks away. "So you have an interest in John, do you?"

Ari blushes a little at this, and smiles a sweet, apologetic smile back up at the vampire. "Maybe a bit. Sorry about that. You really are very charming."

"No, no, I understand entirely. You do know he's a faerie, though?" Trenton sips again. Someone picks at a banjo across the room.

Ari blinks at this. "No...I tentatively thought that he was human, despite some anomolies." None of their intelligence had said anything about that...or, for that matter, anything about faeries. They've had reports, but never confirmations. "That's...interesting." She sips her wine thoughtfully. "So, he's been a friend of your family for a long time, then?" Smiles. She really does like Trenton.

"Human? Of course he's human," Trenton blinks. Confused, but for a moment, and then his eyes light up, and his smile crooks. "Oh, no, my dear, beautiful Christian. Not a faerie creature. A faggot."

"Oh." She snickers. "Forgive me, it's been a strange few weeks, as per usual. That does make more sense." She raises her glasses, grinning. "Here's to the crazy wyvern?"

Trenton smiles. Takes his glass, and raises it, but loops his arm around hers, suddenly, to toast. "I would rather drink to the beautiful wyvern. If that is okay with her."

Ari blushes a bit. Smiles shyly, after a moment. It isn't an act, really. Maybe a little, from habit, but it's mostly genuine. It's easier to face down people who are trying to kill you than normal people in normal social situations. "She...may allow it, yeah. But only if it can be extended to charming vampires."

"Deal. To you." He smiles. "Ariella, was it?" This as he sips, eyes closed.

She's still smiling that small smile, which mirrors the closed eyes easily. The slight blush remains. "Yes. But I more often go by 'Ari.'"

"Ari," he says, a whisper. "Have you ever kissed a total stranger, Ari?"

The blush deepens. "No...I can honestly say I haven't."

His eyes gleam, brimming with arctic fire, the pupils swirling black. He asks, his smile eager, hopeful, trusting, "will you?"

Go and live first. See the world. Love someone. Break the law somewhere.

Ari's memory is excellent, and Rasputin's words are still fresh in her mind. She's just lost her career. A lot of comrades. Had a hellish few days. Could it be any more wrong to just...enjoy pleasant feelings, instead?

The pause is long, and heavy. Finally, as quietly...

"I would."

Trenton nods, his features soft and sympathetic. He doesn't know what she's been through, but it's clear to him that it's been something very, very hard.

He rises, then. Extends his hand, pale but strong, very much the hands of a worker. His smile remains, but it mutes, and his lips press lightly together.

"Come with me, Ari. Let me take you somewhere fit to share a kiss with you."

Ari pauses, but smiles a bit, and nods. She takes the hand, and stands as well. Glances back to Rasputin, as much to confirm that he's okay as anything, before following the vampire.

He's talking to Shigoriath, who is, despite his glasses, as beautiful as anyone else in the room. The tattooes on his face are spiral shaped, giving him a look of having a spiderweb over his nose.

Trenton holds her hand gently, and tugs a bit, leading her to a side door of the inn. On the other side there is another club, but this is clearly a dance club; low lights, a soft beat... a jazz club. About a dozen people are on the floor right now, swaying to some cool jazz.

"I added on to the pub a while back," Trenton purrs. "Dance with me?"

A pause, and Ari grins a bit. "All right." She actually can dance. Not poorly, and not well, but she can dance.

Trenton leads her to the floor, just to the side of center, not right where everyone can see. He turns, his pure white outfit of slacks and poet shirt bright in the darkness, and threads his fingers between Ariella's. His free hand slides to her back, low, low, nearly to the shallow dip just above the cleft of her ass, and his cheek gently presses to hers, swaying with her.

Ari breathes slowly...smiles a little. Just...lets herself feel the moment, and try to forget everything else. This is nice. It. Warm, and calm, and...mundane. Maybe civilian life wouldn't be all bad.

She follows the vampire's lead well as they dance, and doesn't shy from the cheek. It's cozy.

He's silent for a while, just breathing next to her, and dancing, nothing fancy. Just close, just warm.

"What are you feeling, Ariella?" he whispers, his breath warm against her neck.

"Comfortable. Calm," she notes softly in return. Smiles. "And you...?"

Trenton pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, and squeezes her hand. The music floats and flows, smooth as moonless sky.

"I feel ready to kiss you," he purrs, "if you're ready to be kissed."

The light flush over her nose and cheeks returns. They dance, quiet.

"I think so, yes."

Trenton nods, a bit, gazing into her eyes. He doesn't move right away; he knows better than to dive in, it would ruin this unearthly chemistry in a second.

"Dance closer to me," he croons near her ear, slipping his fingers from hers and gently winding his arms around her check and back, fingers softly kneading between her shoulders, snuggling in so her arms can loop around his neck. He dances with her that way for a long moment, waiting for her to change her mind if she so desires. When she doesn't, he pulls back from her cheek again, eyes set to hers, inviting, charming eyes. He moves forward, just a little, pausing to look at her lips for a split second. 

Trenton's lips brush against Ariella's; slow, gentle, inviting, far from demanding.

And then, they're kissing. Softly, at first. Ari is...taken aback. Just...admittedly a bit swept away in the all-too-rare reminder of what it's like to be a normal woman. And in this moment, she's profoundly grateful to Trenton for that.

His hands are busy, stroking her back but never wandering, his lips firm, pressing, but suggesting more than agressive. He holds onto her, voice soft in his breath, and pulls lightly, sucking at her bottom lip. He'll hold it until she's ready to let it go, and not a moment sooner or later.

It's a little longer. Not too short, but not too long. Maybe a little shorter than Trenton may have liked. Ari breaks it first, of course. Smiles faintly, and lays her head on his shoulder as they dance.

He smiles back, not disappointed. Trenton doesn't know what the deal is here; he's charming all the time, but this is different. He doesn't even know her last name.

The dance slows. Trenton finds his hand upon the back of her head, just holding her where she is as they sway together.

"That was glorious," he whispers, he's not sure when. "Would you hold it against me if I wanted to learn about you?"

"Of course not." She smiles faintly, from his shoulder. "Some girls like a little mystery, so no promises. But I'd love to hear more about you." Or have large tracts of their lives in files marked "confidential." But whatever.

He nods, just enough that she should know it.

"I live here in Dublin. My father's an old veteran of the spy game, though he'd never tell you." Smiles. "You're not a spy, are you?" He has no idea.

Ari giggles quietly on his shoulder. "No." She was fired yesterday afternoon. "But it sounds interesting. I bet the inclination has kept you and your sister on your toes."

"A bit. It keeps interesting people floating through here, though." Trenton gently squeezes her shoulder. "We all work as go-betweens for different countries, in one way or another. Terra works for the World Health Organization during the winter, and I'm a consort for MI6 eight months out of the year. I have plans for the other four."

The music picks up again with no break between songs; the band leader is watching Trenton and Ariella, and is not inclined to separate them with an upbeat song yet.

"Oh?" Ari murmurs, listening but not, though absorbing everything effortlessly, "and what are those, if I may ask?"

"Usually I work here. This year, though," he kneads her shoulders, "I'm thinking I might spend them falling for you."

Ari blushes. Feels a pang of conscience. "I don't know how long I'll be in this corner of the planet," she admits softly.

Trenton steps a half step back, looking into her eyes. "Then let me fall for you now." His hand searches for her cheek, eyes full on her.

Ari blushes as his hand finds her cheek. He probably does this with all the ladies, she knows. That doesn't mean it doesn't feel wonderful, though, or even that he doesn't mean it, necessarily. She finally just smiles a bit, and lays her hand on his hand, and nods a little.

The song slows, winding down. There's a spotlight on another couple, and Trenton's glad for that. Ari would probably be uncomfortable at center stage.

Trenton moves in, to kiss her again.

Something shatters next door, from the pub. Someone screams. A blue flash filters beneath the door, sounding another crash.

Ari stiffens, head jerking away from Trenton and in that direction. "Excuse me..." she murmurs, ever soft and polite...and sprints that way, ducking expertly through the crowd to get there fast.

When she flings the door open, it's to reveal a chair flying toward the wall, crashing only inches from her face. The pub is a wreck; patrons lie everywhere, Terra bent over the bar, arms and hair dangling over the edge. Shigoriath hangs above the ground, legs kicking, hands blazing with blue flame, choking under the grip of a furious Radivishe Moorn. He stares from behind a mussed mane of deep, forest green hair, wild and wisping, his black eyes singing over a border of magmatic, glowing orange, as if the black floats in a pool of fire. He stands bare to the waist, clad in black trousers and boots with a split, black skirt open at the front, held to the pants with a silver belt. The lining of the skirt burns blood red.

Rasputin kneels near a wall, gasping, his chest and arm scorches by what looks like whiplash marks.

Ari stiffens...evaluates. She narrows her eyes. That's the guy who had been with Kaz when the Mercurial Wyverns were assassinated. And with Rasputin already down...can she fight him?

No.

She glances to Rasputin. He's hurting. He needs help. He'll weather it, though, she has no doubt of that.

Glances to Terra. Condition unknown, and a friend of Rasputin's.

Taking the long way around the perimeter of the room, she runs in that direction, staying clearly out of the conflict though her eyes remain on Moorn.

The sorcerer is intent on Shigoriath, who is turning purple from being strangled. Terra reacts groggily when Ari comes near, but it's just then that Shigoriath's hands explodes in flames, freeing him from Moorn's grip. The sorcerer is pushed back, hair flying, but he's just as quick to lash his hand forward, wildly swinging one of his sub matter whips. Shigoriath dodge rolls, and the whip streams toward Ari and Terra.

Ariella very much hopes that Terra's back isn't injured, because she grabs the back of her shirt in two places and just tries to drag her to the floor and behind the counter.

It works; Terra's oblivious, until the whip smashes into the bartop. Rasputin, on his feet again, hands glowing with brilliantly lit rings, flings a table at the sorcerer, running after it, ready for him to smash it into dust with his whip. Leaping, hands burning, striking for the kill--

--caught by the wrist. Slammed to the floor. Rasputin barely saw it coming, but the world whirled around him two hundred seventy degrees and jolted, as if in slow motion to the end, to the moment he felt his shoulder breaking and boot diggging into his back.

"I gave you those rings. I can rip them off your fingers any time I so desire, so be still, Marchosias." Moorn's voice rumbles, low, liquid sin. "Where is Ariella?"

A glowing golden hand pressed to Terra's temple as Ari debates. Closes her eyes, and stands up, staring evenly at the sorceror. "I'm here. What do you want?"

The sorcerer's eyes turn to her, boot still grinding Rasputin's spine.

"I am prepared to take over the bid this fool attempted to carry out in my name," Moorn rumbles. "I did not come here to fight. I came here rip a measure of retribution from the lungs of Shigoriath. One should never play two sides when one is mine." He blinks. "I want you, and this idiot, to help me secure Yin'xirziji's cells."

Ari is quiet. Glances to Rasputin...but her face doesn't betray the concern before looking back up to the sorceror. She knows that could endanger him directly. Considers. Finally, slowly and prudently... "What could we really do that you couldn't?"

"Now there is a magic question, but I'm afraid I don't care to answer it just now. But don't be upset at that," Moorn almost chuckles. "It is the duty of the weak to be manipulated by the strong. And my duty to manipulate the strong."

"What happens if we do, and what happens if we don't?" Ari likes to have all the cards laid flat on the table.

"If you do, the goal of spreading the golden spell in its perfect form succeeds. Without harmng Yin, or anyone else. If you don't, I am out of options. I have too much respect for her and that disgusting creature she wed to slice her womb from her body unless I absolutely must." His boot moves away from Rasputin's back.

Ari relaxes inwardly when he steps off of Marchosias. Still...her eyes close a few moments, thinking. It would enable Rasputin's goal. It would be seen as treachery to Julen, but...it wouldn't be. If he's out of options...if he absolutely must. The progression was troublesome. The queen was going to be in danger. And as little as Ariella likes the dragoon's presence...she's the queen of Julen, and the country would be thrown into tumult should something happen to her.

She debates.

Eyes open.

"Alright. I'll help."

The sorcerer doesn't bat an eye. "You ARE a virgin. Aren't you?"

Ari turns bright red at this. "Er..." Still that blush. Pause. "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Because Mantracorns will only meet virgins. That is why I want you and Trenton to go to them for me, and ask them to complete the Golden spell housed in Rasputin's body. Naturally, he must be sedate if he is to accompany you." Moorn holds out a hand, bolts of... something... crackling magenta at his fingertips. "No one will miss him, anyway."

Shigoriath, standing by the door, holds blazing fists up. Looks at Moorn, hesitating.

And bolts.

Ari stiffens at the..lightning. "It won't hurt him, will it?" is her immediate demand.

"Yes. But no one else has the incomplete spell." Moorns smile flashes. "It will only hurt for a second, before it kills his brain. Unless I misjudge and blast his head into cobwebs."

Ari stiffens at the 'kills his brain' part. "No...absolutely not!" She pauses just a second. "I have the incomplete spell." She holds up her hand...and it lights. "I can take it to them myself."

Moorn's smile vacates, so quickly one might think it was never there. He looks down to Rasputin, and hisses, "You passed the spell to someone else?"

"Entirely to ruin your night," the terrorist growls. The ring he had touched Menayen's ship with, the blinking green light, begins to blip again. Subtly.

And just then, the vessel's nose smashes through the pub door, a bay sliding open to unleash twin cannons that flash with laser light, firing directly at Moorn. The sorcerer's shoulder and chest erupt, a bloody flowering blooming over his pale flesh, but still he moves, shifting out of the way, away, and out of sight entirely.

Ari moves quickly...gauges exactly how the ship's lasers are positioned and how they're moving, where they will and won't fire in the next few moments. She leaps over the bar top and tries to get beside Rasputin, get under his shoulder and help him to his feet.

He comes up quickly, partially under his own power. "I'm okay," he assures her, "where is Terra?"

"She's behind the bar." Ari nods once. "I healed her a little, and she appears stable though I couldn't give her a thorough check. Will that have finished that guy?" She gestures towards where Moorn had disappeared with her head. Still holds as much of Rasputin's weight as he'll let her, of course.

He's not ashamed to be supported by her, now. "No," Rasputin answers, "maybe, I don't know. Are you hurt, Ariella?"

"No, not in the least. Can I heal you without ill effects...?" She doesn't know how that 'addictive' thing works. This spell doesn't pass its READ ME along as well as the full version.

"I am fine," he assures her. "Help me round up everyone. Find Trenton, and make him help."

Ari nods as she walks with him as far as the bar, where he can support himself while he musters himself and catalogs his aches into 'works' and 'doesn't work' categories. "Yes. I'll be right back." Her hand lingers on his shoulder a moment longer, and she hurries off towards the jazz club.

The door hands open on a broken frame, smashed by the lasers and errant whip swing. Trenton leans against the wall inside, his lips split by one of the lashes and his cheek cut in the same path. The people are hidden under tables and the stage; he'd corralled them in a hurry.

Ari glances over the scene, then walks quickly towards Trenton. Lays a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He nods. "Far from looking impressive, I was collateral damage." Smiles a bit, but stops; it hurts. "You?"

"I'm fine, unscathed. Here..." she lays her hand on his cheek a few moments, and it goes gold. "John wants us to gather everyone into the next room."

Trenton's breath is gone at the golden touch. He had been about to say something clever, but now his eyes unfocus, lips part without sound. When it's over, he shakes his head like a puppy out of the bath.

"What was that?" he inquires, awestruck.

Ari smiles just a little...a subdued sort of smile. "Just a parlor trick." She holds out a hand to help him up. "Let's get everyone gathered up."

The moment seems wrong to ask for a hug, but at the same time, too right. Still, Trenton excercises good judgment and simply accepts the hand up, smiling his charming smile. "Okay. I'll bring everyone in there. Why don't you sit, and rest a minute?"

"I'm okay. You've been through more than me." Ari smiles at him. "I can help." Once he's steady, she heads off towards where she sees people, reassuring first in a calm, gentle, even voice and then directing them towards the main room.

He watches her for a minute. Huh. It's a wonder she's not someone's hot mom.

For the most part people are quick to comply...it's hard to not have some presence after spending so many years in her line of work. A few are resistant, but they eventually coaxed, too. She doesn't actually slap anyone, though that's only because the wind-up was enough to convince the guy to head into the next room. After checking with Trenton to see where else people may be hiding, Ari heads back into the main room.

Rasputin sits on the bar when Ari returns, Terra next to him, chatting quietly with the ease and utter lack of physical attraction of family. Others sit at righted tables. Trenton is waiting on Ariella, talking with his father, who suffered a blow from a flying chair but is otherwise all right.

"That's everyone," Trenton notes to Rasputin.

"Good then. Ladies and gentlemen. Consider what you saw here tonight a fig of drunken imagination. Tell the story if you must, but by tomorrow every shred of evidence will be gone. Those of you who stood your ground, I applaud. Those of you who fled, I applaud you intelligence." Rasputin speaks smoothly, like a practiced orator; much unlike Radivishe Moorn, whose voice is cold, but natural, flowing.

"The man who attacked this place is not of this world. He came for me; none of you need fear him." He looks to Ariella at that, as is trying to reassure her indirectly.

She smiles a bit at him for that, but makes no comment. She's bracing for any questions, and trying to ready her improvisational muscles to back him up if he falters while people are questioning.

He's smiling, suddenly. No one's questioning anything. Trenton and Terra are smiling, too.

"No questions?" He quietly inquires. Every human head in the room shakes, no.

Ari is...absolutely and completely puzzled. That's not natural.

"Pureblood vampires have all sorts of powers of suggestion, Ariella. These people will not remember this night clearly enough to make sense of it. You, though, seem oddly resistant to it." He tilts his head. "Perhaps because she is Wyvern?"

Trenton nods. "I'd say so. We need to file the people out, though; this is tiring."

"Would you, Ariella? Simply ask them to leave, and make sure the slow ones go."

That would explain her own drooping awareness, yes. Still, she smiles, and nods. "Of course." Looks to the group...the ones she'd shuttled in at first, but loudly enough to address everyone. "All right, everyone, Last Call is long passed, and it's time to head home for the evening. Everyone out!"

A few of them blink. One shrugs, as if he almost knows better, but doesn't feel like questioning. They all fall in, and file out; a neat line of half-drunk, mesmerized Irish.

When they're gone, Terra and Trenton both droop a bit.

"We have to get to work," Rasputin notes, "fixing the door. Or else people may suspect the odd memory they have is true."

"I can set up an illusionary one in the meantime so that no passersby notice," Ari offers.

"Wonderful," Terra chirps, "that's fantastic, please, do! Not too fancy, though;" she beams, "we pride ourselves on being a comfy hovel."

Ari grins at her. "I think I remember more or less what the original looked like. I'll try to duplicate that." She nods, smiles, and heads outside.

A few minutes of careful, meticulous light-shifting later--she can create pictures quickly, but doing one that will sustain itself is trickier--she steps back breathes out, and smiles a little at her work. Nods to herself.

"That looks right! But someone passing by who's very alert for some reason and carrying a light source will notice that it doesn't shadow properly, so it's imperfect."

"No one's going to be alert on this street at this hour," Terra assures her. "Come back inside, and let's get you a drink. Yeah?"

Ari looks around for any watchers in the windows and streets. Finding none, she looks back to Terra, smiling. "Please. I never got to finish my wine, and suspect its utter demolition..." she chuckles as they head inside.

Rasputin, Trevor, and Trenton are busily sweeping and righting tables, Rasputing quiet, Trenton talking and laughing, Trevor chuckling once in a while. Terra leads Ariella right past them, back to the storage area where a vast honeycomb of wine racks sprawls down, deep into the earth. A mustly, sepulchral smell floats up.

"Wow...this is impressive," Ari chuckles. "The secret shame of the family?"

"No. This is mine." Terra's eyes, the same arctic black as her brother's, glow. "I usually bring beautiful people down here..."

This as the door shuts behind them.

"...to fuck their brains out."

Ari smiles a bit. Shit. "And suppose they really are more interested in a glass of wine?" she inquires.

"They might be out of luck," Terra coos, "not that they couldn't have wine. Come on then, darling."

The area before them is catacomb esque, but clean; there are certainly no bones here, just wine, and the sound of water trickling somewhere in the back of the cave.

Terra's unearthly eyes shimmer, her smile pert and charming like her brother's.

"Miss Terra...I'm sure you're very charming, but I'm really not interested." Ari smiles.

Terra shrugs a little. "Your loss. What sort of wine are you interested in?"

Ari breathes out. "A pinot grigio would be lovely, thank you." She smiles.

Terra sways down the hall; she actually walks very much like one might expect a vampire to walk if one did not know how modern they'd become. Her movements are slinky, almost as if she does it for her own amusement.

"You need to loosen up, dearest. You never know when the end comes." Terra reaches up to a high shelf; she stands around five ten, but still steps upon a footstool to get herself there, and comes down with a dusty bottle, labeled more recently. She steps down, but floats to the ground, unearthly and fluid in every breath.

Ari smiles. Considers how many times she's been shot at this year. "Oh, yes. I do understand."

"Yes, I'm sure," Terra chimes, "but there is such a disconnect between understanding and doing." She urges the bottle into Ariella's hands, smiles her bright-fanged smile. "You're very cute. You should be more confident."

Ari smiles her close-eyed smile as she accepts the bottle. "Probably. And thank you. You're cute too."

"Cuter than Trenton. Though I suppose not swinging a cock," this word she draws out a little, intentionally no doubt, "puts me at a disadvantage with you." The opens the door; it's actually a mechanism inside, a four-lever panel that Terra opens by lowering the second and third only, and twisting a dial above.

"It does, a bit," Ari admits, honestly. She's not one to lead people on. Chuckles. "But you do seem to largely have your pick of the crowds that wander through."

"Of those scruffy fags that come into this hall? Darling, I've no interest in them. I like the soft touch of a woman, the gentleness, the curves. And as long as they know I'm a lesbian, they won't sniff around too too close." 

She hesitates at the door.

"So you know," she oozes, "the wrong combination on this door will trap a person in here until it's opened from the outside."

Ari brightens a little at this. "That's actually tremendously helpful to know in case of further complication, thank you."

"Come on, then. I don't want to lock you up." Terra moves on, still swaying; she's actually not that naturally graceful, and still has the ballet shoes as a memento of how much work it took.

Outside, much of the cleaning is done. Rasputin is talking to Trevor about the Olympics, diving in particular, and Trenton is sipping at something deep and red in the corner, musing to himself.

"It's appreciated!" Ari assure in her soft way as she wanders upstairs. Smiles at Terra...looks over to Rasputin, checking to see that he's all right before wandering over to the bar for a glass.

He's fine, chatting amicably. He does glance to her, providing her the same treatment. It's Trenton who rises, though, and wanders toward her.

"Glasses are under the bar, here," he tells her, tapping a section of countertop.

"Thank you!" She smiles, and heads on around. Pondered jumping over it, but elects to not. She's not much of a showboater. Picks a simple tumbler, actually, as is more the custom for her region than stems. "Is everyone all right, then?" she inquires.

"Yes. I don't think that man meant to do any real harm. We get sorts like him now and again." Trenton glances at the tumbler. "Would you pour me one as well?"

"Of course." She smiles, slides it over to him, and then pours another for herself before corking the bottle.

He wraps his fingers around it, but doesn't drink. "Ariella. That was as odd an episode as I've seen in a long while, but I do hope you'll consent to finish our dance?" Eyes down, and back up. "Perhaps tonight?"

Pause. She smiles a bit, after a few moments. Blushes a touch, but..."sure. I think...that would be nice." She smiles, cheeks warm, and sips her wine.

He nods. And sips; no point pressing this issue right now.

"You must have a lot on your mind," he muses, aloud.

Ari smiles a bit. She almost expounds. Pauses. Stops herself. Smiles that smile, the one that she always smiles when she remembers that she just...can't do that. It isn't allowed. "Yeah, kind of. It was a pretty crazy evening, after all." Not that that was what was on her mind. "The green hair set it off."

"I should think so." She's holding out on him. "Ariella, come with me. Let's go find some decent clothes and find a place to finish our evening."

"Sure, that sounds nice." She smiles at him. "Let me check in with John for just a moment...concerned after the blood earlier." And, she heads off towards him. Sets a hand lightly on the terrorist's shoulder...approaching on a path that had allowed him some forewarning via peripheral vision. "Hey. Are you all right?" she inquires in that gentle, demure little tone of her.

He turns fully away from Trevor, who's drinking heavily even by Irish standards, and appraises her. Tilts his head both ways, doesn't say anything. Just looks.

After a moment, Ari tilts hers as well. And doesn't budge. She'd asked a question, and doesn't elaborate further without an answer, gosh darn it.

"You seem to have a note pinned to your sweater, Ariella." He reaches out, plucks it. Smiles a bit. "I think it's for you." Holds it out to her.

It has a small lipstick mark, and a phone number. "If you change your mind. Terra."

Ari blinks. Blushes as she reads it, and titters, taking the note. "It's certainly a good way of getting the message across," she notes, amused.

"Indeed. I'm fine, not that the idea of what the note entails is bad. Hold out your hand."

Ari smiles brightly at him for the "I'm fine" part, eyes closed. And holds out her hand. She trusts him at this point.

Rasputin holds up his hand, and twists the green-blinking ring.It clicks, hisses, and he he slips it off, drops it into her hand.

"Take it."

Ari blinks slowly...looks up at him. "What does it do? And...don't you need it?"

"I don't. Did you hear Moorn speak? He said you and Trenton will be going on this ridiculous quest of his. You will need this, I won't." He smiles a bit, thoughtfully, distantly.

Ari's expression, meanwhile, fades at this. Thinks. "You think that's still happening, then...?"

"Unless the weapons on that ship killed him, yes. Besides, this ring is the device that taught me to pilot the ship." Rasputin looks at it, and into her eyes. "Put it on. It houses a form of the Golden spell that considers non-living systems instead of living."

Ari returns his gaze a few moments...looks down to the ring. And slips it on. She stiffens a bit when it blinks, and the large and shrinks to fit her finger. Pause. "Do you think he'll come after you for the attack...?"

"No. He wouldn't be that directly vindictive. He'll find a way to get back, for certain, but it wouldn't be so direct as trying to harm me." Rasputin remains quiet, then, a far off gaze in his eyes.

"The best way to deal with a man like that," Trevor puts in, "is just to go along. The harder you resist, the harder he will make your life. Besides," this with a sly smirk, "mantracorns aren't that hard to find."

Ari blinks. Pause. It occurs to her that if Trenton knows this and she doesn't, he's deeper into information stuff than he'd mentioned. But then...she is too, so she can't take offense to that. "No...?" Pause. "I definitely need to get some rest first."

"We can handle that. You can have a room on the second floor," Trevor nods. Trenton sighs just a little, inaudibly.

"We can put off our trip into town, Ariella," he assures her. "This is kind of important."

Trevor digs in his pocket, and fishes out a set of cream-colored keys. "The queen suite."

Ari smiles apologetically at Trenton, but nods. Smiles at Trevor gratfully, and nods again as she accepts the keys. "Thank you!"

"Up the stairs and to your right, lass." He gestures to a set of carpeted stairs, freshly swept. At the top of those stairs, Ariella will find a long corridor, apartment-style, with multiple rooms. It's simple, but warm in an Irish country sort of way; there are wide-brushed landscape paintings on the walls, a starry night reproduction and several simple forestscapes as well. Ari's keys are marked 'three' and room three is a simply furnushed, four room apartment; a bathroom with all the facilities and a tub/shower combination in polished white porcelain, a living room area with a simple foldout chair, a desk, and a television, a bedroom, and a simple kitchen with appliances... and a carpeted floor. There's a chandelier just low enough to bump her head.

She takes her time to look around, too, appreciative. It's a very pretty suite...though hazard pay means that she can generally afford decent places, it's more in a spy's best interest to take non-descript, mid-range rooms. This is nice. Eventually, though, sleepiness overwhelms the novelty.

Ari isn't one to sleep nude...so, she carefully removes and folds all of her clothes, and situates herself in the room's provided bathroom. After a regimen of nightly prayers, she settles herself into the ridiculously comfortable bed, and proceeds to drop straight off.

It is a restful sleep environment, always made more so by the soft mist of sleeping gas Trevor tends to filter into the individual air systems after a certain time of night.

***

In the morning, Trenton knocks at her door; it's about ten hours later. He has a platter of French breakfast foods, arranged by size; Terra baked them, naturally, she has the culinary talent between the two. Most of the food is in the form of warm baguettes and grape jam, but there is a hot cup of coffee as wel, and a banana sliced into rounds on a piece of toast.

Ari is well-rested, and has been up for a little while. Morning prayers are over and done, as is a shower, drying her hair, and brushing yesterday's clothes clean to step back into. She's currently engaged in brushing her hair when she answers the door.

And can't help a smile. Aww, that's just...d'awwwww...

"Aww...you're sweet, Trenton, thank you." She smiles a bright, sweet smile, close-eyed, and steps back from the door, holding it so he can show himself in.

And he does, pleased as punch, to distribute food to particular platters stored in the cabinet. "Did you sleep well, gorgeous?"

"I did, thank you! This room is just heavenly." She giggles softly. "Much like this fare, thank you so much. It's really very considerate."

"Honestly, your beauty is absolute and your personality sweet, and I'm trying so very hard to impress you that I feel no need to pretend all this is a natural phenomenon." Trenton brings a platter to her, with bread and jam. "Did you dream of me? You did, didn't you."

Ari chuckles as she accepts the platter. "Of course." She doesn't remember. Grins. "Will you be joining me for breakfast, then?"

"If that would make your day brighter, by all means! And if it wouldn't, then by some means of which I am not at liberty to discuss." Trenton laps a bit of jam from his fingertip.

Ari chuckles. "It would be lovely." She smiles at him, and wanders over to the table with the food. "Did you sleep well too, then, I hope? I know things were still in a fair state of disarray when I abandoned you."

"We took care of things." Trenton moves to sit across from her, a grand smile on his face.

By the time he sits down, though, there is a third guest at the table; Radivishe Moorn fades into sight, only heralding his arrival by a few seconds, sitting with his hands clasped over his knee. His deep, forest green hair swishes, soft and mossy.

"I'm sure," he quietly says, waiting to be noticed. He does love that part.

Ari jumps, eyes a touch wide and on her feet immediately, chair scooching back. She does have reason to be leery, after last night.

Trenton reacts just the same way. Moorn yawns.

"Sit down you outstanding boneheads. Sit." He glares at Ariella. "I come bearing your mission parameters."

Ari bites her lip. Debates. Moorn's strength, her strength. Rasputin's words. The potential reaction of Moorn if he sees the ring, considering his reaction to finding out about the spell. The danger. How much danger doesn't really register as a concern with her. Danger to Trenton. Trenton's potential hidden qualifications.

Finally...she just sits, quiet.

"Lovely choice," the sorcerer smirks when Trenton follows her lead. "The path to the Mantracorn world exists in the center of a landmark in Northern Ireland. Just north of Belfast, you can find an old mansion called the Wildwood Inn-Sanitorium."

Trenton's eyebrow lifts. Moorn glares him to preemptive silence.

"It once housed travellers in its east wing."

"Hang on. What's the big deal about this place?" Ari looks squarely at Trenton.

Moorn folds his arms.

"It's an oubliette," Trenton hisses. "It's a place you put people when you want to forget about them. Only a handful of people return from that place with their sanity intact."

Ari's expression goes serious at this. She looks back to Moorn. "Is there any particular reason we would stand a better chance?"

"Most people who venture there are treasure-seeking malcontents with all the vision of a stack of soup spoons. You are both spies, and greater than human. You tell me."

Ari pauses. Sighs softly. Trenton's words last night hadn't been without wisdom. They're either going to just deal with this, or she's going to spend the rest of her life running from a guy with unknown abilities. She doesn't have the support of the military to fall back on anymore.

"...so we need to find our way to that Mantracorn world, track them down, and ask them to complete the Golden spell. I assume you'll be in touch afterward. Is there anything special we should know about getting back from that place?"

"They can send you back if you make it to their world. Mantracorns are understanding creatures." Moorn takes a bit of jam. Tastes it. "Foul muck."

"All right. Are you providing any equipment?" She'd had to turn in her firearms and such, and hadn't brought her personally-owned ones since she'd been spirited out of Julen before going home.

"The oubliette provides. Guns would not be of much use, however..." The sorcerer sets a wand on the table, no bigger than a flute, and streamlined silver.

She tilts her head, looking at it. Considering the power of the ring, though... "What does it do?"

"Many things. You could strike something with it; it will never break. It is a solid construct of ether, its weight counterbalanced by its own anti-gravity properties. If they were to fail, somehow, this wand would drop with perpetually increasing velocity and smash a vaguely wand-shaped hole through the core of this miserable rock." He's clearly quite proud of it. "Ether is the only substance I know of that can act as a conduit to the necessary ion ribbons at the Sanitorium."

Trenton blinks. Moorn scowls.

"You will need its power to progress there."

Ari nods a little. "All right." She'd dwell on it longer, but gets the feeling that Moorn cares more for working out details than for sharing them with other people. She moves along. "What are the known dangers of the place?"

"Monsters, getting lost, insanity," Moorn shrugs. "Traps, the whole bit."

"Wait...monsters? What kind of monsters?"

Moorn smiles at this. "Delightful creatures. Some are quadrupedal with spider-legs and mushroom heads that open in a swell of delightful stinging insects. Some are foot-high black devils with a penchant for knives and stabbing, but my very favorite is the Canine Absolute."

Ari winces. "Dare I inquire?"

"I should think so. The Canine Absolute is a living hive. It is a deep maroon feral god that looks something like a hairless skeletomuscular wolf, and it vomits packs of hellhounds. Delightful."

She's admittedly agape at this. "...Okay. Please forgive my language, but what the hell could possibly motivate us to head in there knowing that?"

"Me." Moorn smiles just a bit more. "And the fact that the consequences of the fabricated Golden spell include an agonizing death." He smiles a bit. "That is why Rasputin's dear scientist died. It is why he will soon die, as well." He glances at his fignernails, entirely for effect. "And you, too."

Pause. Then Ari groans softly, fingers finding the bridge of her nose. She has no choice but to believe him...it explains certain, hidden signs of pain she's been picking up in Rasputin. "...That's a good reason." She finally sighs. "And having the spell completed will alleviate this? And...I'll be able to pass it to Rasputin?"

"Absolutely. But I would hurry, were I you. You probably have a week or so left to live." Moorn stands, then, looking to Trenton. "You are too quiet."

Trenton just blinks.

Ari just nods a bit. It's...right in pace with the rest of her week. And, honestly, she's not undeserving of death after leading to the deaths of so many comrades. But she's very concerned about Rasputin. She stands, then, and heads over to get her jacket.

Moorn smirks. "Don't forget this wand. You WILL need it."

He fades then, and pops out of sight.

Trenton sighs. "I'm sorry, Ariella."

"For what?" She looks over at him as she slips on her coat. Smiles just a little bit. "You didn't do anything."

He smiles sheepishly. "That's what I'm sorry for."

"You couldn't have done anything." She smiles, still...sets a hand on his shoulder briefly before picking up the wand, face thoughtful again. "So can you get me a map to this place?" She looks over at him.

"Only to it, certainly not in it. Actually, I can take you there myself. It's not so far." Trenton offers her the coffee cup. "Breakfast does your body almost as good as I would?"

She pauses. Smiles just a little, and nods as she accepts the coffee cup, and seats herself to eat, quiet. She can spare the extra ten minutes, and being nourished helps. "I'll need to pick up some rations on the way there," she finally notes softly. "His choice to note 'hurry, you have a week' may indicate that it will take more than a few hours."

"Maybe. I would prepare for at least a day, down there." Trenton nods. "It is a maze, after all. Father can help you with rations."

Ari smiles a bit, and nods. "What about firearms? 'They won't be helpful' isn't the kind of thing I take someone's word on..."

"You should always carry ammunition. If nothing else, shooting locks or levers is always effective."

Ari smiles, and nods. "So is there any chance of borrowing or purchasing some from your family?"

"Naturally. We have a storage beneath the wine cellar. Do you remember the door code?" Trenton is, as ever, mildly amused to the untrained ear and eye. All this business with hellhound packs concerns him but, then, displaying such fears in front of a woman he hopes to come to know intimately is simply not an option.

Ari considers this a few moments. "No...I don't know that I ever heard it, actually."

"There are three levers before the door. Reset them all so the knobs point up, and then pull only the first and last." Trenton grins. "If you forget, pretend it's me, looking at you."

Ari smirks, and nods. "All right. Won't you come, though?" She inquires as she finishes eating and stands. "I'd prefer to have an owner of the things there assuring me of what I can take."

"Of course. We are rather in this together." Trenton holds the door open for her... naturally.

Downstairs, Rasputin sits on the bar, dressed in normal clothes, a bottle of beer in each hand. Terra lies across, her head nestled firmly on his lap.

Ari glances at them...but they aren't between them and the vault. Pauses...and then just heads that way with Trenton, closing her eyes. If Moorn hadn't already told him, she'll tell him on her way out.

Rasputin, for his part, is actually consoling Terra about her utter failure with Ariella; though he does cast an apologetic look toward the wyvern.

In the cellar, Trenton pulls aside a massive barrell and flips the lid open. Inside a handle gleams in silver; when he twists it, a portion of the wall slides away.

To reveal a wall full of guns and tools; binoculars, belt kits with lockpicks and first aid stuff, burglar's tools, the whole bit. The armory consists mostly of various pistols, but some light machine guns and a few briefcases, holding collapsible sniper rifles, occupy their spot.

"Choose wisely," Trenton intones. And snickers.

She smirks sidelong at him, and looks over the coffers critically. She finally chooses a utility knife, a pair of night vision goggles and one of the handy belt kits, a pistol...and, after thinking about the 'giant monsters' thing a bit more, picks up a small, powerful semi-automatic assault rifle. Smiles her demure, choir-girl little smile at Trenton sidelong. "If there are monsters roaming about, I want proof that an assault rifle won't work on them before I'll give up trying." She titters.

He grins. "That's what I was thinking. I'm bringing this." He reaches down, picks up a small tube with a handle. "Say hi to the blooper."

Ari's innocent smile broadens to a little grin. "Reassuring!" She beams at him. Breathes out. "Are you sure you want to come, though...? You don't have as much stake in that. I pretty much...don't have a choice, but I certainly wouldn't be traipsing into this place if I did."

"I've known you a day. That's twenty hours longer than I needed to know that this world would spin into oblivion should something happen to you." Trenton snaps a belt on as well, and a backpack, which he stuffs with magazines and MRE's. He's listening, naturally.

Ari is...quiet. Processing this. Finally...she smiles, just a little. "Thanks, Trenton." Breathes out. Doesn't push further. She's grateful...feels selfish for not screaming at thim, making him hate her, and see him stay back because of it. She feels selfish, but...she'd be lying if she said that she weren't completely terrified. She isn't a face-kicking agent. Not as her primary function. She isn't a killing machine who does the hardcore combat. She does her job very well, and she isn't afraid in carrying it out. But this...is something different entirely. And she's scared.

She does watch what he's doing...enough MRE's for both of them. It makes sense. One of them can carry the pack while the other can be unfettered and more ready to watch and defend, and switch off.

"I have some semtex, too," Trenton goes on, knowing she needs the subject changed. "I don't know, but I want to believe most locks in the Insanatorium can be undone via mechanism. It's supposed to be a great big puzzle box." He zips the bag. "I'm ready, when you are."

"I like to think of semtex as a puzzle solution in putty form." Ari beams...though it fades despite herself. Finishes unobtrusively holstering her weapons. They'll be made more readily available on the ride there.

"Yeah. Let's go." She nods.

Trenton seals up the armory and leads her out. The dusky scent of this place calms him, somehow; he worries that, once outside or deep within the catacombs of the Insanitorium, he may panic. Still... she cannot face this alone. 

In the upper level, Rasputin is waiting for them. At the sight of the weapons, he stifles "what's wrong" and nods, understanding. "Ariella, I want you to take the ship," he says, quiet, voice quivering a little. "The ring knows how to fly it."

She nods. "All right." Her voice is quiet. She just...clasps his hand briefly, and then simply goes. Closes her eyes once no one's in front of her.

Rasputin rises, almost shoved from the bar by Terra. He steps after Ariella.

There may never be another moment.

"Ari..." he says, even as his powerful arms swing wide to enfold her.

Her eyes snap wide when they clasp around her, startled...in the short time that she's known him, Rasputin has never been so overtly emotive. Never comfortable with touches.

Her eyes squeeze shut...and she hugs him tightly. "I'll find a way to save both of us. I will," she murmurs softly, fighting to keep her voice from cracking.

"If you can save yourself, that will be enough," he whispers, failing to keep his from doing the same. 

She's quiet. Finally, sighs a shaky sigh. "No. It wouldn't be." She hugs him tightly, and then slips away to turn and leave.

He lets her go no more than two steps. Trenton looks away as the terrorist follows after her, reaches for her again. His powerful hands find her shoulders, turn her into a kiss so sudden Rasputin would never know if he planned it or not. He knew, though, that no matter what happened he could not let this chemistry die without a fight; deep inside his heart, so long abandoned by feeling, he knew the signs he saw in her eyes and the quiver in his heart could be the makings of a perfect love... somewhere down the line.

Ari's heart catches in her throat, eyes snapping open, stiff all over...but relaxes, somewhat, a few moments later. The tension remaining...is a good kind. Her eyes fall shut, and, after a moment, she kisses him softly in return.

Trenton sighs, but only inwardly. Yeah. Fuck, but yeah.

Rasputin holds her, just holds her, just existing in the moment, in this second; he has no idea if he is a good kisser. He met her only a few days ago, or was it a week? Two? He can scarcely remember. All he knows is the moment is theirs.

He probably isn't...but she probably isn't, either. The magic is in the moment, and him, not finesse. Ari's cheeks are ver warm when the kiss parts. She gazes up at him open...before her eyes travel down. Can't really look at him. It may be the last time she does.

He takes her chin, gently, against his hand, and tilts it up again. "There will be a next time," he whispers, "as long as you want it."

She manages a smile. A small, strained, one, but a smile. She nods.

"I will come for you when I figure out how to get around that 'only virgins' rule. Magic is such a deceptive force," he says, speaking quickly, as if trying his best to ward off his thoughts. "Go. I have faith you, Ariella. I trust you with my life."

She nods. "Pray for me." She holds onto his hand a moment longer, hesitant to let go, unwilling to release the moment...and then remembers the threat to him, the consequences of waiting. She closes her eyes, and again turns to head for the door.

"I will," he says after her, but doesn't stop her again.

Trenton, meekly, follows her. The ship awaits outside, utterly unsubtle.

Just outside of it, Ari pauses. Hesitates. Now. When he'd just seen Rasputin kiss her--and her return it...this is the best shot to keep him safe. She likes Trenton a lot, she does...if she hadn't already been involved with Rasputin....

"You should stay," she notes softly as she unslings her semi-auto and sets it beside the seat.

"No way," he's quick to answer. "So I was wrong about John being a fag. Doesn't mean I'll let you go into this place alone."

Ari smiles sheepishly. "Well...er...about that. There's only room for one. If you do come, I need to sit on your lap..."

"Oh, well, if insist." He's all smiles. 

Ari snickers softly despite a heavy heart. If they really tried, they could probably sit safely apart. He's smaller than Rasputin. But...it would lighten their thoughts on the way to a fearsome oubilette, anyway.

Soon she's situated on his lap, and the ring does its thing. Ari breathes out, surprising herself as she takes the controls expertly. "Here we go," she murmurs, assuring herself.

"I already did," he assures her.

She has to smirk back at him. "This thing goes fast," she warns. This, just before they're off to Wildwood Inn-Sanitorium.

---

In an entirely different place, the scene is much more mundane as a few passengers disembark from a private jet. Two stick together: a five foot seven female in an earthy-blue headscarf and abaya, with glasses over apparently pale grey pupils.

Yin glances over to the prosthetic-eared Petrovic, who had quite insisted on not letting herself get shot at this time. "This should be quick...I hope. I'm not sure. I have an...eerie sort of feeling. I don't know, I feel like this isn't going to go as smoothly as it may."

She ponders this as they walk, and step into a pre-arranged car. "Of course...that's probably just learning from the last seventy experiences." She snickers.

"Let it never be said that you don't learn quickly," Petrovic scoffs, getting in with her. Keeping away. He's sick of being in love with his general's wife, and tends to take steps to keep it quiet, these days.

"Are we going straight there, then?"

"Yes. Depending on how quickly and simply things go, there's a certain bed and breakfast near here that I'd love to spend a night or so in for relaxation's sake, but...well, yes. Pending how well this conversation goes, and whether Rasputin tries to take me hostage or any such. You did relate my order that an aggressive act against you will be treated with equal hostility to one on me, right?"

After all, Petrovic had stabbed him repeatedly.

She watches the town drift by slowly. It's very nice, really. Very pretty, very...quaint. Traditional.

Yin checks with her fingertips to see that her horns are totally concealed--they are--before stepping out of the car. She glances over the damage...hm. This probably has something to do with Gabriel's injuries. At least they're in the right place.

"Er..." she calls to the young man as she approaches... "I suppose you're closed for business, then?" She smiles just a little. Her opaque lipstick doesn't show the blue tinge.

"Never," Trenton calls over his shoulder, "as long as God loves the Irish, and he does, there's whiskey."

Petrovic climbs out of the car, leaning on the hood. He knows this kid. Trenton... something. He's MI6. He decides to tell Yin this.

"That boy is an English spy," he points out.

"I know. He looks like his father." Yin smiles a bit at the wyvern. It does mean things have a better chance of getting hairy...they're presumably Rasputin's allies, and skilled, despite English tolerance for Julen. No doubt the reason for Petrovic's warning. She heads towards the fellow, looking for the best way in. "Good to know! Should we grab an alternative door, then?"

"Nah, just step over the rubble and watch out for the blond by the bar. He's bought thirty drinks in a row for people, and John's thrashed, has been since Ari left I'm told." He smiles some, sadly, but away from Yin. "C'mon in, both of you. Ask Terra for a drink."

"Thank you so much." Yin smiles. "It sounds great."

Since Ari left...?

Sure, she'd come to speak to Rasputin, but she'd never gotten a chance to talk to Ariella, either...the agent who had been tuined on a mission she'd assigned. Chevalier had screwed up, no doubt, but...Yin wanted her side of the story. God knew she'd gotten the raw end of such a thing once...

She heads inside cautiously, glancing around.

Inside, Terra is sitting on the bar, patting the shoulders of a dark haired man drowning in allcohol; Rasputin. The inside is much clearner than the out; in fact, it's more pristine than it was before.

Behind the bar, Olivier stands in jeans and a wife-beater, washing glasses, eyes to the floor.

Yin's eyes find Rasputin first...she'd been looking for him, after all. But then:

What the hell...?

Who's the blond guy? Who looks remarkably similar to her husband. He looks just like...

"Oh my god," she manages to murmur immensely softly, just under her breath. She debates...doesn't know the story, or who it really is. But she certainly knows who it looks like...

She debates...and debates. Maybe Rasputin would be less likely to react violently if she didn't immediately corner him? Debates...and quietly approaches the blonde doppleganger's side of the bar. "Hi," she greets, just a little softly. She's softspoken nowadays...in public. Yin smiles. "Could I get a cognac, please?"

Olivier looks up at her, and smiles Revilier's smile.

"Of course, mademoiselle," he answers sweetly, and prepraes the requisite drink. Sets it on the bar.

Petrovic enters about then, and almost immediately goes white. Speechless.

"Thank you so much." Yin beams at him, and sips it standing. Looks over to Petrovic. Gauges his reaction. Oh yeah. She nods inwardly...and just once, just slightly, outwardly. "Would you like anything?"

Petrovic shakes out of his stupor. "I'm sorry," he says, "I was just... lost in the young lady's eyes."

Terra preens. "Happens all the time."

Petrovic approaches the bar, and finds a stool next to Yin. "I'm fine."

Olivier recognizes Petrovic, too. His smile says as much, though his lips are mum, silent.

Yin smiles softly. Closes her eyes, arms folded. Okay. Analysis of the company: two children of a retired top spy, both involved with that world themselves. Rasputin. This guy. No one else.

Fine.

She opens her eyes. Smirks a bit. "Okay, fine. You two can say it. You," she notes to Olivier, "look very much like my husband's brother." She slips off her glasses...and her eyes stop being grey and slip into that icy, distinctive blue.

Olivier's expression sharpens a bit, still amused but suddenly interested. "Do I? And who might the husband of such a beautiful young woman be?" He glances to one side. "Petrovic. You're getting old."

Petrovic is just smiling, more so than Yin has probably ever seen.

Yin snickers softly at the note to Petrovic...and especially notes her friend and Head of Security's reaction. Huh. How sweet.

"Revilier Omeaux." She smiles a bit, and holds out a pale, delicate hand. "Olivier, I presume. I'm Yinxirziji, but I generally go by 'Yin.' A pleasure."

She wonders if it's the real deal...but the reaction to Petrovic had been an odd notch for 'yes.'

Olivier smiles at the hand. "A dragon." He looks to Petrovic. "You approve of this, Petr?"

The stone wyvern nods. "Wilth all my heart, I do." That felt good.

"Then I approve as well." Olivier takes her hand, thumb stroking the knuckles of her hand. "I am indeed Olivier Omeaux. It is a pleasure to meet a woman who could turn my little brother into a little man."

"He had that handled before I ever met him, I think." Yin's grins a bit. "But I was happy to do the rest." She's always there in Rev's defense...even when absolutely no ill will is intended.

She smiles a grateful smile at Petrovic, sidelong, for that one.

"So..." she sips her cognac. Thinks. "I think I speak for both of us when I say...there are lots of questions right now. But for the sake of sparing a complete interrogation, I'll just ask for now...when are you planning to let Revilier know? The poor thing is going to go berserk with not knowing how to react, but he does love you dearly, and cherishes what he thought was a memory."

Olivier's smile broadens. "Does he? Actually, I've only been back for a few days. I have a world to learn again, and someone to care for. A promise to a friend." He glances at Rasputin. "He lost his beloved and never was able to tell her how he felt, not really." He's changing the subject, Petrovic notes, with admirable skill. "So you are a dragon. Does that mean dragons won?"

Yin glances to Rasputin...quiets a bit. She does notice the subject change--such things are becoming her new battleground--but lets it go. She really...hm. She did like Rasputin from their limited interactions...it hadn't been personal. But...damn. Ariella Chevalier. Did she...die, then? Ugh....

Pauses at the second part. He's not giving her chances to dwell. "Absolutely not." She looks back to Olivier. "Revilier and I met as enemies. It's a horrendously long story, really, but neither I nor your brother has allowed any Draconian power to sneak into Julen's power structure as we rebuilt it together several years ago. It is my absolute belief that, now that humans are aware of our existants, wyverns and dragons must stand together and not waste their resources on a neverending war, if either wishes to continue to stand at all. The subjegation of either would be the death of both. Although peace has been successfully maintained for awhile now, it is most certainly not by concessions from the wyverns' side." She smiles a bit. Hell no. She's getting bloody protective of Julen despite her loyalty to both.

Olivier just smiles all the while. "Do you carry your soapbox everywhere, or is such oratorial mastery natural to you?"

"It's natural to me," Terra notes, "I'm getting a little bored. We need someone to break in and trash the place again."

At this, Yin just flips him the bird. If he's really that related to Revilier, he'll appreciate the frankness. "Bite me. I've been dealing with diplomats all week." She snickers, and sips her drink. "That was the long version of 'no, Okarthel goes back and forth between trying to assassinate the traitor dragoon and singing praises of me through its gritted fangs.'"

Glances to Rasputin, before looking to Terra. "It looks like quite the event...that was Radivishe Moorn, I presume?"

Rasputin sips his whiskey.

Olivier does chuckle at the finger. "You won't get his words," he explains, "this man has died. This woman took his soul with her."

Terra shrugs. "Yeah, it was. It was scary. He could have leveled this place, if he wanted to."

Pff. Yeah, I could tell from the way he bled all over my carpet. "At least it's intact. Though..." she looks back to Olivier. "What happened to her? Miss Chevalier..."

Olivier shakes his head. "She sacrificed herself for the life of another. Let us leave it at that. So, Yin'xirziji. Are you returning to my brother any time soon?"

"Yeah..." her eyes trail away from the terrorist again. It could be a ruse, sure, the whole thing, but...no. It's not Marchosias's style. He has his own set of morals and values. This doesn't fit into it.

"I came to ask some questions, but...it's most certainly not the time."

She sighs inwardly. Damnit. No. She can't justify it. He's already suffering, she'd died...Yin just can't justify it. The line has to be drawn somewhere. Who needs to stop hearing 'you've miscarried again,' anyway?

She pulls her expression carefully from its clouded thoughtfulness, and looks back to Olivier. An unknown...possibly the real deal. Maybe not. But maybe. "Would you like to come?"

"Of course. I want to see what my brother has done with the gift I gave him." His eyes sparkle gold, and flecks of the light dances over his skin.

The edges of Yin's lips twitch at this. It's the only hint of the laughter she withholds. Oh god. Yeah, if he means the golden spell...he does most of it in the bedroom. And oh, what a gift.

Of course, there's that other thing.

"Julen's stunning nowadays...it truly is. Yin beams. "Let me just finish my drink before I jump back onto a plane..." she snickers, and sips. "The flight will give you boys a chance to catch up, anyway."

"I understand." Olivier chuckles a bit; he knows the look. Yin's good, but he was unearthing spies long ago and knows how to read them. "I doubt I have appropriate clothes to meet my brother. Suppose," he glances at Terra, "I go in the nude, and shame him out of office?"

Terra winks. "Bet you could."

Yin rolls her eyes, though she's smirking. "Definitely related," she observes. Snickers. "Clothes aren't a problem, I can arrange those easily. Besides, I doubt he'd care. I still have to fight or bribe the man into his dress uniforms every time."

Soon, though, she sets the empty glass down.

"Alright. If you're ready, then. At least it was a little bit of a walk." She smiles, and leaves some money beneath the glass. It's just a one euro bill on top...but much more beneath, to help ease the repair costs. She stands.

What about Rasputin?" Petrovic asks, quickly returning to security mode. "We can't just leave him like this."

Olivier looks at him. Purses his lips. "The man has a point, Yin."

Yin closes her eyes. Thinks. "Where's Trevor Travellian?"
"In the cellar," Terra chirps. "Working on the wiring for a new security system."

Yin nods. "Is it all right if I head down and talk to him?"

"You're more than welcome to, although, knowing who you are, you should understand that you're putting yourself in a very vulnerable position that's probably not advantageous for your country."

Olivier looks at Terra, who smiles a bit after her little speech. "What?" she asks. "I can be political, too. I just choose not to be. Shut up and look pretty."

Yin smiles a bit. "I do hope that's a generalized statement and not a warning."

She remembers him well. The last time she'd seen Trevor Travellian...he'd taken her out to dinner. That night, he'd shot her in the back.

Of course, she'd call him full of shit if he claimed that his aim wasn't good enough to make it fatal.

"It depends. Technically, we're all on vacation." Terra slips down from the bar. "Go ahead, if you want."

Petrovic's arms fold. "I would rather you let me go in and get him, Yin."

Yin debates this quietly. They really do have a lot of leverage here. But what kind of complications is she really willing to risk the headaches for, really, for the sole purpose of showing some respect to Rasputin and an old face in the Game? The slight would be remembered, and she could make them pay if it came to blackmail...but did she really want to deal with the trouble?

She thinks. Finally, nods. "Alright. Thanks, Petrovic. I'll wait." She smiles a bit, and stretches. She's still wearing her headscarf, but it's actually pretty comfortable.

Petrovic nods, and wanders into the cellar. Olivier leans against the bar, gazing at Yin, dissecting her the way Revilier does.

His lips part after a moment to ask some innocuous question, but close at klaxons wailing from outside, drawing closer and closer. Terra's eyes, playful and amused, snap instantly to defensive mode, and she hops off the bar.

"Law's coming," she blurts, unnecessarily.

Yin blinks...and slips her glasses back on. Shit. She'd cleared her visit through the right channels, but this will still look bad. Soze can only spin so much.

Terra sets up behind the bar, quickly in serving-wench mode, and Olivier, though not really connected to all this, washes glsases to fit in.

"Oi, there's free parking around back," Trenton's voice wafts into the bar. "Big night for you guys?"

"Out of the way," a harsh voice barks just as its owner shoulders into the bar; one of about seven suited men abruptly fanning out over the entrance of the tavern. The lead man, one agent Brian, sweeps open his suit jacket, hand on a concealed pistol. "No one move. INTERPOL. Hands where we can see them please thank you."

Yin sighs softly, and folds her legs. She wonders if they're going to be long, but for now, says nothing. Local police would have been worse, so she's fine.

"Rasputin," Brian barks, "where's Chevalier?"

Rasputin doesn't acknowledge any of this. He simply takes another drink.

"Tell me where she is, or I give these men the go-ahead to paint that bar with your brains."

silence.

"She's been noted as having 'left,'" Yin notes from where she sits, turning to face the agents. "I'm trying to find out the same myself, however, I don't believe that Rasputin has anything to do with her location at this point."

"Ma'am, forgive me, but when I want you to speak to me I'll ask you something." Brian draws his pistol. "Rasputin. Speak or die."

He doesn't speak.

Terra is wriggling inside; it's Interpol, she can't risk offending them directly. Olivier hasn't got any real power right now, either; but it's clear he's itching to do something about it.

Yin's expression fades. She quietly slips off her glasses...and her head scarf. She stands, then, unafraid of being shot for it, and turns to face the agents. "Excuse me, Special Agent. I do know your relation to the case, but I have a missing agent too, if you recall."

Brian is about to respond to her with a command, until he sees who she is; naturally, the entire world knows her face at this point. Several of the others cast curious glances at each other.

"What are you doing here?" Brian asks, the ballsiest of the bunch. "Disguised, alone, in a room full of spies and terrorists?"

"What are you?" Yin returns. She shakes her head. "I never got a chance to talk to Special Agent Chevalier before she was dismissed from service, and she left Julen immediately. Considering my involvement in the operation, which you know, I wanted to hear what she had to say for herself before assuming that the record was correct. My information pointed to her being here. As did yours, apparently. If you have any further doubts as to my legitimacy in being here, the visit was cleared through all proper channels. In the meantime, do kindly get the sight off of my forehead." She glares. It's burning like hell.

He does move the gun, but doesn''t lower it. "Interpol does not now, nor will it ever, answer to you. My information pointed to Rasputin being here. I was worried about Ariella, but this man is a terrorist and murderer. You'll have to excuse me. It isn't normal for a royal to be in the same room as a terrorist without a hostage situation involved."

Yin narrows her eyes. She's getting irritated. "The other reason I'm here is was find Rasputin. I don't know how he's alive, but he still does carry the state secrets for which we first involved Chevalier in the first place. Julen does not have the jursdiction to overide Interpol here and I won't attempt to do so, however, the joint nature of the operation considered I would move that we reserve a chance to question him as well. And frankly..."

She shrugs.

"If you think it's that strange that I would personally venture out to get information that I have a particularly marked interest in, you haven't been paying much attention these last few years."

Brian smirks a little. "Naturally. You understand you'll probably be investigated for being here." He holsters the gun. "We received a tip as to his location. He didn't say you'd be here, though."

Rasputin just drinks. He was hoping they would shoot him.

"A tip?" Yin cocks an eyebrow. "Who's 'him'?" She is going to kill her a bitch...

"You know I can't tell you that. So. Are you taking him, or are we? As long as he's in custody, I think I can walk away." Brian folds his arms.

Yin sighs softly. She hadn't come equipped or ready to make an arrest. Not that she can't figure something out...and it would certainly be in Rasputin's best interests to take him, herself. And she wants her information.

"We'll take him, if Interpol will permit. Do want the rights to a questioning session?"

"I want him dead. But yes, I think I should insist on that." Brian buttons his jacket again. "If I stay any longer, it'll mean paperwork. Don't fuck with us on this, okay? You're not the only entity in the world that can get into other government's shite."

"Petrified. But I didn't intend to. We really do appreciate your cooperation in Siberia and hope to maintain the good relations. We'll be in touch over the questioning session. Further, if you do end up investigating my presence here, we'll cooperate in return for its remaining quiet. It should be easy to prove. The disguise is simple: I can't sneeze in public without a mass hysteria among certain humans that I'm obviously the spearhead of a wyvern conspiracy to subjegate your whole race. I wear it on pleasure trips too." She smirks a bit. Individual humans she can deal with, but even they can't really argue that they're a bloody panicky breed in large groups.

He nods. "You'll excuse me. Chevalier saved my ass a time or two in Siberia. It's kind of important to me that she's found." He waves off his men. "Tell your husband over there he's allowed to speak, too." And he turns to go.

Yin narrows her eyes. Debate, debate...damnit. Goddamnit. Saying something prolongs a discussion she's sick of. It opens up new questions she doesn't even have answers for. It raises public scrutiny and question.

But she can't explain away Revilier being here, and if they investigate that, there may be a genuine uproar.

"That isn't my husband. We certainly don't think that all silver wyverns look alike. But I guess that's a cross-racial problem even within the same species." She shrugs, and begins to wrap her headscarf again, turning to go about her business.


Brian nods. Doesn't turn back around, though. "My mistake," he mutters as he leaves the bar.

"Fuck you too," Trenton can be heard from outside. "Asscock."

Terra breathes out. Oliver just smiles. "Are we leaving?"

Yin nods. Sighs, looking at Rasputin. "So, I have no choice but to have Petrovic take you into custody and take you with us. Those guys would have really fucked you up. I don't intend to. But please come quietly, for both our sakes."

Yin smirks, ease returning a little bit. "Dragon? I could have sworn that was the smell of something cracking open a crypt." She holds out a hand. "Hey, Trevor. Been awhile."

The spymaster takes it, briefly. "Too long. How's your back? Better than my jaw, I suppose?"

"But of course. You children are lovely, by the way." She smiles.

"Aye, they are. Good, strong children who should be keeping me up in my old age." Trevor glances at Terra, who shrugs. "So. Petrovic here tells me he'll burn my tavern down and choke me with the ashes if I hurt you again. So, how about we make arrangements to part ways? Olivier here is going to need a passport, and I'm going to need a favor."

Yin nods once. "Also, Interpol was just here. I need to take Rasputin, or they will. Julen doesn't have a major conflict with him; they'll kill him. So...what's the favor?"

"I'll let you know. I'll have Terra meet you at the airport with the papers." Trevor smiles. "Keep an eye on this one," he slaps Petrovic's shoulder, "he's a bastard."

"Fair enough. And that's okay, he couldn't keep up with me were it otherwise." Yin smirks sidelong at Petrovic.

"Rasputin, we'll need to cuff you for apearance's sake. You understand. If you need to take anything with you, let us know now." She nods to Petrovic to do it...though she's keeping an eye out for him, ice crystals spreading a little on her hand in preparation for his defense.

Petrovic, quick to respond as ever, whips zipties from a pocket and approaches Rasputin, who doesn't react even when the ties jerk his wrists together. The light in his eyes is gone. Petrovic hauls him to his feet, a little too roughly.

"Alright, then," Olivier chuckles, "that was the easiest plane ride I've ever talked myself into getting for free."

Yin's a touch subdued as she watches Rasputin...well. At least it's not a loose end. But she still wants to know what happened to Chevalier.

She looks back to Trevor. "I had more to say, but Interpol derailed most of it. Take care, huh?" She smiles a bit.

"I will. I still have the pictures my boot-cam took under the dinner table." He winks.

She mock-glares at him. "And if they ever find the internet, I've been working on the right hook, too." Snickers, and slips on her glasses. "Mmkay. Time to go. Nice meeting you, Terra, see you soon. Shall we, then?" She looks to Petrovic to make sure he's doing all right with Rasputin, nods a bit, glances to Olivier...and then just turns to leave, heading for the car.

Petrovic drags Rasputin along, and Olivier follows, quiet and obedient for the time being. Terra and Trevor say their respective goodbyes, and they're soon off again, heading home.

Olivier mostly listens on the plane as Petrovic catches him up on what's happened; he leaves the details of Yin and Revilier's relationship out and concentrates on the political sides of things. Rasputin remains quiet all the while.

It's not until they reach grace tower that the terrorist speaks.It's the middle of the day, and crowded wiith business traffic. The plaza is overflowing with people and booths; one of Yin's 'reach out to the people' projects.

"I forgot about this," Petrovic groans. "Going to be a tough time dragging Rasputin through the crowd."

"I don't think the crowd will be a problem when the sniper on the department store roof across the street opens fire, but please, handle the situation however you like." He's looking through the car window at an intermittent spark of sunlight glinting off something glass across the street.