If Felicity Van Brunt had learned any one thing from proximity to her father, it was this:
Lycanthropy was, if correctly applied, a perfect murder weapon.
Wolf hair, yours or no, isn't ever going to trace back to the version of you that walks on two legs. Same with claw sheds, saliva, blood, any of it. If they're looking for a wolf they're never gonna find a person.
Of course, you need to be careful. Because that two-legged side of yourself does leave a trail. That, of course, takes you back to the 'correctly applied' part of the equation.
Varcolac is a massive pack on the other side of the country, with very little in the way of feelers out Port Leiry way. Ostensibly, Felicity's exile there had been under the idea that she would build those bridges, but she'd shirked that duty as quickly as as she'd put two and two together that this was just her father trying to bide time until he could figure out a new, better way to get rid of her.
He'd almost done it, too. But it was sloppy, and she was made of something just a little stronger than silver, and made even sturdier by the presence of people like Arte, who'd pulled her out of the thick of it, and Chamomile, who had put her back together without even knowing her, and now Avi, who had convinced her that the time for snarky exchanges and thinly veiled threats had passed.
Avi, who had graciously provided a private plane and a plan.
Well... half of a plan.
At least... 37% of a plan.
"I always think I miss this city and then I remember the noise, and the smells, and the people, and how most of them would just as soon leave you dead on the street as call a hospital, and then I realize, no... I absolutely know that I miss this city."
She's leaned up against a bar in some high-bar, low-brow lounge with plenty of atmosphere and a cover-charge that would send most eyes spinning.
She does miss New York, which is why she better live it up this weekend, because she's probably not gonna be safe to come back here for a while. She feels like they need more back-up. Like maybe they should have gotten more to come with; but she wants to involve as few people that she gives a fuck about as possible, and Avi, well, he volunteered. "You sure this isn't incredibly stupid? Like, you can bail any time. What if it gets you in the shit?"
Time: March 5th, late morning
Location: The Crayhorn Estate, Khaggon
Status: @efraincrayhorn, @glynwarrens
It was odd, standing before the door of Eobald’s study in Efrain’s manor after all that had happened to her since she’d first laid eyes on it. She could remember the curiosity that had clawed at her stomach like a wild animal when she’d discovered the arcane lock on the door, and had spent days after that wondering what secrets Eobald had been keeping from her even in death. It had annoyed her. But then things had shifted, and as Efrain had become more important to her, the door had sunk deeper and deeper into the recesses of her subconscious. She never truly forgot about it, would even walk past it sometimes when she stayed in the manor and stop in the hall just to look at it. The door represented untapped potential; a secret so worth keeping that Eobald even refused Efrain entry.
And now here they were. Thalra had stumbled across a way to break the arcane lock on the door almost by accident. It was a surprisingly easy spell. She looked back over her shoulder at Efrain and gave him a reassuring smile, before taking another step towards the door that was only a handful of feet away. Her fingers started to trace through the air, leaving behind faint trails of purple light like the tail of a comet as she muttered the verbal components of the spell. It only took a few seconds, but then there was a small flash from the lock on the door as the magic surrounding it shattered. Thalra grinned.
She looked back at Efrain as she took another step towards the door and gestured to it. “Well, would you like to do the honors or should I?”
