[Sandra] :: LOG :: It's Always... Eyes

[gmlogbox]

Characters: Brings-the-Pack, Daphne, Emma, Ghost, Nolan, Salem
Location: Edgewood House - Downstairs
Time: 7/25/2017 - Night - New Moon (waxing)

Summary: Sandra, after having had a rather peculiar dream, walks into the Edgewood house, and continues to believe that she's dreaming. Once it's confirmed that she's not, she briefly meets Emma, and has a rather in-depth (but somehow still vague) talk with Ghost about the Nothing.

Log begins here. Where that one cuts off, this one picks up.

That uncertainty only grows as the silence does, without much to curb it (though a valiant attempt is made). It's only really when Emma speaks that Sandra seems to snap out of it, gaze shifting pointedly from the robed figure. "My apologies," she says, addressing the room at large. "I didn't mean to interrupt." A pause. Then, to Emma, "Sandra Ulrich," she says, a quick glance spared in Salem's direction as he heads elsewhere. Something about that move seems to normalize things back to the usual neutral baseline. "I must have just been arriving when you were headed elsewhere," she says, attention shifting back to Emma.

Nolan leans to the side, watching as Salem moves past him up the stairs. "I don't think you were interruping much," he says to Sandra. "Though I'd only been here a few minutes, myself."

Emma watches as the 'audience' settles into their silent seats, though she keeps her attention on Sandra, "Oh probably. More time passed than I could keep up with, so I've been away more than a year I imagine. It was necessary, and a lot of good came of it, but-" there's a noted emphasis on the next part, "It's good to be home." Still perched on the chair she'd been sitting (incorrectly) on, she gives Sandra the fuller version now. "Heart of Fire Forges the Stone Spirit, Athro Ahroun of the Get of Fenris, and returning Elder, currently packed up under Chimera with Sagacity." There's a hint of speculation in her study of Sandra.

Brings-the-Pack remains silent, letting introductions get taken care of.

"Fair enough," Sandra says to Nolan, her attention soon shifting back to Emma. Given the introduction, for all that it should probably give her a second's pause - given givens - she instead seems to be easing into this whole 'ignore the guy in the corner' business, affording the Ahroun the usual deference, and the slightest aversion of her eyes to keep from looking at the other woman too directly. "It's an honor, and a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," is offered, in spite of what comes next. "Brings Winter's Bite. Fostern Philodox. Shadow Lords."

Ghost looks down at her empty glass. For the third time she seems to find it an excuse; she ducks back into the kitchen yet again. There's some dish clattering as she rinses it out. And then some quiet. She doesn't return right away. Maybe she's rinsing it very thoroughly.

Nolan peers through the rungs of the banister after Ghost, and when she doesn't return right away, he pushes to his feet. With a nod toward Sandra, he slips past her and into the kitchen.

Strength of will and claw, Emma has plenty of. Over time she's managed a fair bit of cool confidence too- but her poker face is lacking to the point of being non-existent, and so the tribal tag on that introduction earns a blink big enough that it could almost be heard. She recovers quickly...ish, and bobs her head, "Emma will do for most circumstances. It's good to meet you."

Introductions between the two garou finished, the cloaked figure standing near the wall offers to the Get, voice tinged with the accent of a big cat, "It is good to have you back at the sept. Will you, at some point, share the tale of your excursion with the sept?"

Sandra briefly notes the departure of the two as they adjourn to the kitchen, a nod offered to Nolan, though the bulk of her attention remains on Emma. The response she gets from the Athro earns a touch of a humorless smile, in turn, one that speaks of acknowledgement. And though she opens her mouth to speak, the cloaked figure interjecting blows it all to hell, a spike of tension going through her shoulders, and that uncertain look reappearing rather abruptly. "Thank you," she says quickly, "for saying. And I assure you, any, ah-- any questions you have, I've become accustomed to answering."

Ghost looks up from her cup as Nolan enters--apparently she was studying it intently--and clears her throat. "Mmng. Hey." She reaches for a towel, gives the cup a quick swipe, and puts it away. "Did you, uh, want anything?"

Nolan takes another sip from his own cup and sets it down on the table. He casts a glance over his shoulder to the others and then gives his focus to Ghost. "Nope," he says. "Just checking on you. Everything all right?"

Emma glances to the robed figure and offers a nod. "I've a lot of rounds to make, getting back in touch with those I left behind, but yes, I hope to share what I can." This dance she seems more practiced with, but she doesn't linger long on the conversation with the cloaked guest. Sandra gets her attention again, and humor born of self-confidence triggers her reply, "I was mostly just wondering what the hell gene pool /I/ ended up in that I couldn't have snagged at least three more inches of height. Just three. That's not even being greedy!" She uses that break to slide off the arm of the chair she'd been perched on, rising up to her full five foot three as if punctuating her comment.

Brings-the-Pack offers, "Dyamite comes in deceptively small packaging." He adds, "And I am certain that those left behind are excited about your return."

There's really no hiding the relief that comes from Emma directly addressing the figure, though Sandra does her best to keep it downplayed. As a result, the Ahroun's comment gets a short-lived breath of a good natured laugh, though the Shadow Lord's hand raises to stymie anything further. "Lower center of gravity has its perks," she notes, her gaze *finally* shifting towards the robed figure, the voice finally settling her a bit more, now that it's a bit more recognizable. "And I'm-- sorry," offered to him, "for the peculiar reception. Seeing you--" A pause. "Well. Simpler to say that I haven't been sleeping well lately."

Ghost shakes her head. "It's fine," she says. "It's the, um, the regime change, I think. I'm antsy." She glances back toward the main room, and then jerks her chin in that direction, before she heads that way. "I should be happy about it," she adds, in a lower voice.

Nolan leans against the frame separating kitchen and living room, folding his arms over his chest. "That, awful as it was, was a known. This is unknown." He shrugs, but there's a grin there, as well. "It's not only natural, it's appropriate to be anxious. On the bright side, I was at the assembly the other night, and they let a cliath metis claim Warder, so I think there's going to be a bit of tolerance, regardless of which one takes Alpha."

Emma offers a smile first to the robed figure, dipping her head in polite acknowledgement, "Thanks for the kind words." Sandra gets one as well, "True, true. Well, I've some errands to run. Need to check on my apartment and make sure all's still in order there. I'm sure I'll run into you all again soon." She glances toward Nolan and Ghost at this, "Catch up with you later. Gaia watch." Then she's making her way to the mudroom to fetch shoes.

Brings-the-Pack nods his head as a farewell to the Get elder as she leaves, then addresses Sandra. "Sorry. I was letting you two finish your introductions uninterrupted." He asks towards the other two present. "Who do you think has the better chance of becoming Alpha?"

"Yeah, I met her earlier today. But that's not really what's worrying me," Ghost admits to Nolan, before looking toward Brings-the-Pack. "Like I was telling Mr. Salem and, uh, and Emma, I don't really know either of them. I think I've met them once or twice, but that's all."

"The same, here," Nolan says, sobering. "I don't have much opinion beyond - one would be as untraditional a choice as we could find, and the other might kill us with speeches." He quirks a grin, and then looks back over his shoulder. "I suspect yon cougar-man might have similar anxiety. Not the same reasons..." He returns to Ghost and lowers his voice. "And not as direct an investment, I'd bet. But similar in the way it presents."

Brings-the-Pack offers his opinion, gliding over to the light switches to flip one and deepen the shadows he's in, making him seem less out of place. "Slug is practical but untraditional. Intelligent but irreverent. And very enamoured by technology. He has few qualms about getting things done and dirtying his hands in the process, but that's to be expected of a ragabash Gnawer. Jamethone is.... esoteric and verbose. He can also be difficult to understand at times, but he is also an accomplished spirit-worker. He would be much less of a departure for the sept."

There's a knock at the door, a bit quiet.

"Which one is more likely to want to kill something strange and unexplained?" Ghost asks. It's pretty obvious she's not asking for theoretical reasons.

Nolan looks over at the sound of the knock. "That isn't going to happen," he says to Ghost, his voice low and quiet, but also quite firm, and then turns, crossing the space to go open the door to the stranger beyond.

Brings-the-Pack nods in agreement with Nolan. "Both Slug and Jamethon are very different in how they act and how they would lead, but both of them are reasonable and empathetic. I doubt you have much to worry about."
Ghost watches Nolan go, then looks toward Brings-the-Pack. "I'm...not sure either of those were really a direct answer," she points out, but it's clear she's paying attention to who's at the door as well.

Nolan's brows rise, tipping his head to look for said cookies, but simultaneously steps aside and with a sweep of his arm invites the woman into the house. "I'm Nolan," he says. "Welcome to the re-built, better-than-ever, house at the edge of the woods."

Brings-the-Pack asides to Ghost, "Sometimes there are no straight answers." The hooded figure turns and nods its head in Daphne's direction. A greeting of a sort.

It is, perhaps, the talk of Those Things Strange and Unexplained that's put Sandra into a more contemplative-- or, at least, pensive mood, leaving her unnaturally quiet throughout a topic she's proven to be quite fond of, her eyes turning towards the door and, consequently, towards the new arrival. The mood evaporates, and she straightens subtly, offering the newcomer a nod, and letting the others set the tone for the time being.

Ghost mutters, "That's what I'm afraid of." She twists to see Daphne, but stays where she is right now. No greetings from her.

Daphne watches Nolan as she steps in, and then looks to the others. She's careful, somehow, when she walks past the threshold. "I-- I'm Daphne. Kin to, to the Fianna." She's not so much *fearful* as uneasy.

"Fianna?" Nolan asks, excitement in the tone. "Ragabash of the same," he says, hand going to his chest. "I was beginning to think I was alone." He closes the door behind the new arrival, and looks past her to Ghost. "It's *not* going to happen," he says again, the humor leaving his expression, jaw setting.

Brings-the-Pack asks Ghost directly, "What particular question are you seeking an answer for?" And to the newest arrival, he offers, "I go by Brings-the-Pack. Apologies for," and he waves an arm up and down indicating his current state. "But I assume if there's a no wolves in the house policy, there's likely an unstated no cougars in the house policy."

Again comes a slight nod from the Shadow Lord in acknowledgement of the introduction, "Sandra," she replies. "Shadow Lords." A pause. Then comes a polite, but softly spoken, "Excuse me a moment," as she adjourns to the kitchen, apparently taking a cue from Ghost to go find a fascinating glass of water.

Ghost's ears turn faintly pink around the edges, but she gives Nolan a small, slow nod. Looking to the mage, she shrugs. "Basically, anything that has to do with me and Hanford, to start. The sooner those can get answered, the better. And if it's all some big ridiculous misunderstanding, /even/ better. --Ghost," she says to the newest entrant, rather distractedly.

Daphne takes in the introductions, and blinks at the one that comes from the robed figure--eyes widening when he says 'cougar.' She gives Ghost a nod when *she* gives a name, and then glances back to Brings-the-Pack briefly. "I'll just... put these in the kitchen, unless you want them out here?" she asks, returning her attention to Nolan.

"Kitchen is fine," Nolan answers with a grin. "Though, if I might?" he adds, half-reaching for the package. Only half of his attention is on Daphne, cookies or no. The rest is fixed on Ghost, and her conversation now with Brings the Pack.

Brings-the-Pack mulls over Ghost's words for a moment before proposing, "I might be able to see about there being a connection between you and Hanford. That is, of course, assuming The Nothing has not eaten and rotted any connection." An aside to Daphne, though Ghost has the overwhelming majority of his current attention. "Thank you for bringing Cookies."

There's the sound of running water after Brings-the-Pack's comments, after which the Shadow Lord re-emerges, leaving enough room for Daphne to slip past if need-be. "What connection?" she asks.

Ghost's expression is part dubious, part blatant curiosity. "...How?" she asks. Her gaze flicks to Sandra, but only for a moment. There's readable tension in her shoulders.

Daphne hands off the canvas bag to Nolan, looking a touch confused. She doesn't speak.

Nolan bristles at something, faint but noticeable tension. It dissipates some as he takes the bag and peers inside. "Oh," he says to Daphne. "I just meant to take the one." Which he does, and then makes an aborted gesture with the bag toward the kitchen. His gaze lingers on Daphne, his expression unreadable.

Brings-the-Pack seems focused on Ghost. Specifically her hands. "How? Through some minor divination and luck-based magicks mostly. Not my area of expertise, but I can typically muddle through." He adds to the metis, "If you're interested."

There's a note of irritation in Sandra's expression. "What connection?" she repeats, doing her best to keep her tone from reflecting that look.

"I'm interested in answers," Ghost says, in a way that suggests she might not be as terribly firm on that as one might expect. Perhaps she's somewhat nervous. As he's looking at her hands, she looks at her hands, but only for a moment. Sandra brings her gaze up again, and she flushes. "...I don't know," she says. "That's the problem."

Apparently clueless, Daphne hesitantly takes the bag from Nolan. She goes quickly to the coffee table, and draws a plastic container out of the bag to set it there.

Nolan watches Daphne for a bit longer, but he doesn't say anything, and after she puts the cookies on the table he shifts his attention back to Ghost.

Brings-the-Pack looks up from Ghost, where most of his attention had been, when Sandra repeats her question. "The Nothing, which seems to have its origins rooted in Hanford," he says in response. "Those who get contaminated with it tend to be consumed by it. But Ghost seems to be able to--to an extent--cure the contamination. So there seems to be some kind of connection. In my mind, at least." His attention turns back to Ghost. "I'll probably need some things to do this properly."

Sandra appears as though she intends to ask a follow-up question, when Brings-the-Pack offers a bit more of an explanation. She nods, then, frowning at-- something, but-- "I think I'd heard something to that extent, at some point, but it was vague at best. In any event," she looks to Ghost, "I wasn't aware that was you." There's another pause; a question that's lingering there, but it goes unasked for now, leaving her to chew lightly on the inside of her lower lip, that contemplative look on the rise again.

Ghost's gaze flicks several times between Sandra and Brings-the-Pack, before she eventually nods to the latter. "Okay." If anything, she seems faintly relieved. "Do you need me to do anything?"
You paged Daphne with 'BTW, for whenever Sandra pulls out of Whatever This Is and takes a look at Daphne or catches sight of the Spiral, would anyone with a fairly decent grasp of Wyrm Lore pick up on anything of import about it?'.

Daphne presses her lips together and goes to the kitchen, perhaps to make her presence less obtrusive. The conversation is clearly important.

Nolan seems torn, for a moment, looking between Ghost and the others, and then after the kin of his tribe. When the decision is made, it's Daphne that he follows, heading into the kitchen after her, and drinking down the last of the water in his cup.

Brings-the-Pack offers, "Come visit me in my territory tomorro.... When the moon is no longer in your auspice phase," he says, altering the initial plan that'd been in his head. "I might need an hour or three to work the ritual. You only need bring yourself." He shifts sideways, seemingly getting ready to head out through the kitchen door again. "The sept ought to have a get-together again to share info exclusively on what we all know about The Nothing. And Hanford."

"It really should," Sandra says under her breath, absently casting a glance towards the door

"I'll come," Ghost says. To the rest, however, she's silent. Her eyes follow the mage as he moves to depart.

In the kitchen, Daphne checks the fridge, runs her hands over the counters, and contemplates the back door. Escape.

Nolan gives a nod to the robed man as he passes. He watches Daphne for a moment after before he approaches. "You're fine," he says to her. "You're safe, here. I can't stay much longer, but. Maybe we could talk, soon."

She's aware of being followed, and it changes her posture, brings a tension to the line of her back. "Okay," she says in that raspy contralto. "You have a cellphone number or-- or something?"

"Then I will see you soon," the cloaked figure says as he steps to the back door, in line to exit. "Farewell. Pleasant dreams," he offers, as if that might be a thing.

Though meeting the best wishes with a frown, Sandra nonetheless offers the departing Mage a nod, a glance cast in the direction of the kitchen as Nolan and Daphne speak. After a moment, she looks to Ghost, and says, "How does it manifest for you?" a little more under her breath this time, to keep it out of earshot. "This connection. Beyond granting immunity." A pause. Then, "If you don't mind me asking," added for politeness sake.

"I don't know if it's immunity," Ghost admits. "I've never actually been near any of this...ooze people talk about." There's a little more color in her face now, though it doesn't last. She moves away from her position to claim one of the chairs in the seating area, now that it's been largely abandoned, though when she sits, it's not very comfortably. "I've just been near people when they're sick with it." She regards Sandra side-long. "...Dreams, they think. Maybe. I have dreams that seem similar to what some people have, especially when they get sick with it, except I've always had them." There's a long pause. From her expression, she might be thinking something over.

"What kind of dreams?" It's a carefully stated question, but there's a certain gravity to it that's difficult to miss. "Has anyone other than you been known to have them without becoming, or having been ill?"

"Yes," Ghost says. "But only since this mess started, I guess. They're just, um. Thematic. Dark. Cold. There's a dripping, usually close by. I have other dreams, obviously, I just...have those too. But I've always had them." Her lips press together, hard enough that they go a little white. "...And there's been umbral changes, since I've been here. I spook most spirits. I look.../different/, on the other side of the Gauntlet. I didn't used to."

Sandra remains quiet for a moment, visibly turning that over in her head, brow furrowing subtly. She doesn't *mean* to be staring at Ghost in the meantime - and, indeed, isn't, to some extent, as it seems Ghost is more the focal point that just happens to be in the way of the middle distance - but that's how it ends up-- until, eventually, she casts a glance towards the kitchen, seeming to remember that they're not alone in here. "We don't have to talk about it now," she says. "Or much at all, as I'd imagine you'll be put on center stage if there *is* a moot called to discuss this, but--" There's a pause. A long one. A frustrated look follows, but nothing more comes of it.

Ghost sits up a little straighter. Her jaw sets. "I don't attend those meetings any more."

A brow raises. Though there's a knee-jerk response waiting to be said, Sandra seems to think better of it, though that furrow still plain in her features. "You seemed to indicate before that you were nervous about the new leaders," she says. "Has no one assured you that you'll be protected, if you attend?"

"That's not why." Ghost almost makes to stand up, but she ends up staying in her chair, even if she's still rocking on the edge of it. "Besides, what I just told you is pretty much all I know anyway. There are a lot more people in this Sept that know more about Hanford than I do, and they'll be at any meeting on it."

Again, Sandra opens her mouth to respond. Again, she closes it. And again, there's a note of frustration, though it doesn't seem to be directed anywhere specific. Finally: "Fair enough," is said, without any real argument to follow, and no indication that one is pending. Save: "Thank you, though. For saying what you have. If there's anything else you're willing to say about it, though-- I'd like to hear it."

"I don't know," Ghost says, after a few moments. "And, like I said, that's the problem. None of it makes any fucking sense, least of all to me." She still remains seated, but her fingers curl a little harder against the ends of the armrests, pressing into them.

Sandra looses a slow breath. "That makes two of us," she says gently, raising a hand to rub at her eyes. Another pause follows, her hand dropping back down to her side. She looks back to Ghost, and says, "For you moreso than me, I'm sure."

It's Ghost's turn to start to say something, and abort it. Instead, she gives a very slight, stiff nod.

Sandra keeps her eyes on Ghost for a time. Then, after several long moments of deliberation, says, "You said--" even if that, ultimately, trails off. A couple more moments pass. "You said," she begins again, "there are others that know more. Who are they? Are there any Theurges among them?"

Ghost frowns, even squints a little as she considers the question. "I don't even, um, I don't even know all of that. Mr. Salem and Emma have worked on it. The mage that was here. The Corax, Val? She was working on it for a while too. Nolan's been looking into the part that isn't Hanford, but that's connected to it. A bunch of Garou went into some parking garage that's really bad with the stuff a while back, I guess. One of them didn't come out alive."

There's a notable interest in Sandra's gaze upon hearing about the parking garage, but it soon comes with a note of recognition. "Right," she says. "Thane had mentioned something about that. Said they didn't learn anything new, either." She pauses; shakes her head slightly. "Arguably, it's not the practical side of things that hold my interest, if 'practical' is even the right word for it. And it sounds like there are more than enough people covering those details already."

Ghost turns her head and lifts an eyebrow at the Shadow Lord. "...Then what does hold your interest?" she asks, perhaps in spite of herself.

A silence settles. With it, comes conflicted look that comes and goes over the course of a single heartbeat. After a time, it seems that no answer will be forthcoming. Makes her answer - "The dreams" - carry more gravity, which Sandra has to be painfully aware of. "The dreams are what interest me."

Ghost leans back. At first her answer is simply a non-committal grunt, but after a few moments she does speak up again. "I've had those dreams since forever," she reiterates. "I don't know why other people would have them. I don't. But I'm not sure they actually /mean/ anything. I have a lot of weird dreams. Some of them are just stupid. Some of them are pretty fucking bad. Some of them..." she shrugs. "But it's always been like that. Why do they interest you?"

It's with some resignation that Sandra moves away from where she's standing-- seats herself somewhere closer to the metis, her eyes briefly on the front door. There, with only some of the earlier hesitation, she says, "I think-- I may be having them."

Ghost's attention goes back to Sandra's face. She appears to be studying it, as she asks, "Dark, cold, dripping? Or, uh, something else? I've heard there are different ones that seem related."

If the Shadow Lord is at all uncomfortable about the scrutiny, she isn't showing it. Keeps her eyes on that apparently fascinating middle distance when she begins to speak. "Something else," she says. "A grave of black oil, like a lake. Housing the remains of something-- vast. Something I don't recognize." A pause. "It's a woman that leads me there. Black hair. She's the only thing I can really hear; laughing, running through a desiccated forest." She shakes her head slightly. "I know my dreams," she says. "I know them well. This-- wasn't one of them."

Ghost shakes her head slightly; it's clear from her expression that the description isn't familiar, though she offers, "They're always talking about the, um, the black ooze. I've never heard of a lake of it though."

That it isn't recognized gets a slight frown, which is likely to surprise no one. "I've never seen the ooze before," Sandra says, "I don't think anyone's ever described it to me." Beat. "What I saw was like a tar pit," she says. "Thinner, maybe-- but thicker than water, definitely." Her brow furrows again as she considers. "Have you seen many people in these dreams?" she asks. "Or-- things that look like wolves, but-- aren't, exactly?"

Ghost visibly stiffens. Her answer is, quite noticeably, reluctant, "...Sometimes." A beat. "Not just in dreams. There are--were--we fought some monsters that looked something like wolves, a while back. You'd, uh. Mr. Salem could describe them better. It's hard for me to think about them."

"I understand," Sandra says gently-- and, for all the world, certainly sounds like she does. "You don't have to say anything about it if you don't want to. The reaction alone paints a clear enough picture for me." Which seems to be relieving, in itself, but only up to a point. "I just have one question," she says, "that you can answer, or not. Though-- for confirmation's sake, I'd prefer it if you did."

"Which is?" Ghost asks.

"The eyes," Sandra replies. "They were missing." She looks over to Ghost. "Does that sound at all familiar?"

Ghost doesn't say anything for several long moments, before she says, "I don't know why."

"I'm not expecting you to know why," Sandra says, in a tone that almost sounds reassuring. Might be, if she wasn't caught up in her own thoughts. "All I needed to know was whether or not it sounded familiar." A pause. "The woman," she says, "she-- looked normal. Save for that one detail."

"No," Ghost says slowly. Almost as if she's dredging the words up from somewhere. "I mean, I don't know why they don't have eyes. It's always...eyes. The monsters didn't have eyes. Your woman doesn't have eyes."

Sandra nods slowly, turning that one over for a time. "Hers were gouged out," she says, "but she acted like she could see me." Beat. "I couldn't tell if she'd done it herself. Didn't think to look at her hands." Stated as if she had any choice in the matter-- but that doesn't stop it from being frustrating to her, apparently. "I'm not really sure if it matters, though-- if she did it, or not."

"The monsters," Ghost starts. And then she stops. There's a little bit of a visible struggle before she can start again. "--the monsters don't have anywhere for eyes to go. No...um. No eye sockets."

Sandra watches that struggle carefully, though doesn't look inclined to say 'give it a rest' anytime soon. To what's said, she nods slowly-- and says, "Maybe it does matter." A pause. "It changes things a bit, doesn't it? If they did it to her to make her more like them, or she did it for the same reason." She frowns. "Keeping in mind," she says dryly, one brow raising, "that I'm aware that we're not talking about a real person. And, even if we are, she could just be symbolic. Still..." The frown deepens, that furrow returning. "Of all things," she says, loosing a sigh, "it had to be eyes."

Ghost reaches up to rub her thumb against the bridge of her nose. "I'm not sure if there's anything else I can help with," she half admits, and, perhaps, half suggests.

"There's not much more I can speculate on without rupturing something, either, I'd imagine," Sandra says dryly. "It's something I'll have to speak to the Theurges about." She glances over at Ghost, then. "I know it's not the easiest conversation to have," she says gently. "Especially if you've spent most of your life dealing with it, in one form or another. So... for what little it's worth, I appreciate you taking the time to speak to me."

"Dealing with that, no," Ghost says, as she sits up again. "Just the vague dark, cold, dripping sort of dreams. And those aren't the ones that ever bothered me very much. It's um. It's no big deal, I'm just sorry I'm not much use for any of this." This time, she does start to stand. "And I think I'm going to get going."

"I could stand to do the same," Sandra replies. "And there's no need to apologize."