For Jelani

[bitterguardian]

Balthazar Blake doesn't always answer his PINpoint texts right away, but when more than twenty-four hours go by with no reply, that's worrisome. The Arcana Cabana sits empty, doors locked from the inside, but of course he's not the most tidy person so it's hard to tell if there's any minor signs of struggle. Nothing seems terribly out of place, though, at least no more so than usual. The nearest thing there is that could be a sign of abrupt departure is the coffee left in the pot, but that's not reliable either. Sometimes he just forgets.

Upstairs, Saint is sleeping on the couch, but slithers off and hobbles over to slurp on Jelani's hands, tail wagging. There's still a little food in his bowl, and water. Not much, but the bag is sitting on the floor. If he's gone another day, the dog will be able to knock it over and feed himself, but he's apparently well-behaved enough not to do that when he doesn't need to.

It's while Jelani is upstairs investigating that a sound comes from downstairs. It's a thump, impossible not to notice. Impossible to mistake for nothing.

Comments

[halfbreedczarnian]

"Yeah, I think he mentioned that." She knows there's more to the story than that. These guys can count their lives in centuries; there has to be more.But, as she said, she hasn't tried to get that story out of Balthazar yet, and she doubts she could get it from Horvath. It's not really relevant right now, though.

"Ain't sayin' much, or ain't sayin' nuthin' at all?" She asks, staying where she is, watching Horvath get up. There's not much she can do to help at the moment she feels like, and she hates that feeling.

[bitterguardian]

"Let us say, its has nothing relevant, for the moment." He sighs, pacing carefully to an open space on the faded rug. Saint looks briefly interested, because getting up means something might be about to happen, but when he's ignored he goes to flop down by Jelani.

Horvath makes a vague gesture, light flaring around him briefly, then coalescing in his hands. He stands on both feet, braced and wide apart, cane leaning against his leg so he can have both hands free. Apparently he's not dependent on it just to stand in one place. He mutters low over the ball of light, which pulses and swirls, then he throws it like a hard pitch in baseball, for the living room window. It sails straight for it, and passes harmlessly through the glass, and fades into the air beyond.