After 8PM on a Thursday night, where else would a student and employee at UCD be but a bar?
Lots of places probably, but one particular student slash employee is in a bar, some quiet-ish little hole-in-the-wall dive bar where the median age of the patrons is skewed wildly by fresh-out-of-high-school students and silver-haired professor-types.
Sid is somewhere in the middle of that demographic, leaning toward the younger side though every day brings her a little closer to thirty. She's seated at a booth, not really in the back because even on a Thursday night this place is just busy enough that no one really gets their pick of locations. But it is quiet enough that no one has actually come over to bother the pretty, busty redhead in glasses, for which she is eternally grateful.
Perhaps she's waiting for someone, perhaps she just came in after her shift and got lost in that book she's reading. Which would make it the most interesting General Biology I textbook in history.
So chances are she's doing course reading over a beer. And by the look of those slightly pinkish cheeks, that's not her first one.
Grace Evans
[Awareness! Otherwise, I will have to use some other excuse to get her in the bar..]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Trent Harrison
[[Pre-Emptive Magedar!]]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 3, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Sid Rhodes
[oh right awareness, drinking so not terribly paranoid SID YOU FOOL]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Sid Rhodes
[being relaxed makes a person MORE perceptive? what madness is this]
Grace Evans
Grace is not after a drink when she walks into the place. No, she's after that incredible 'Sid' feeling she could sense from the street, suddenly suffused with lightheaded glee that wasn't really there.
It had to be the bar, right? The bar with the big crowd full of tipsy people... Sid, why.
But there's things that need done. And she can only hope that Sid will let her muck around with her phone on limited information. Hopefully Sid's heard the news by now.
So, she's there in the doorway, wearing a black tee and jeans, sneakers, and that laptop bag slung over a grey jacket. Totally bland. In the darkness, she looks like anyone, really.
Her eyes scan the bar trying to find who she's looking for....
Trent Harrison
Ahh, yes, the bars around a university. Almost without exception, they cater to students and faculty, though usually they cater to one of the other; it isn't often that you find a place where both sides of the coin that is higher education can be found. The reason for this is both simple and obvious; there is a certain level of disassociation required between faculty and enrollees, or improprieties can occur (or at least be insinuated). And at the very least, if you get overly drunk and make a fool of yourself by slipping and headbutting the bar or drastically missing with a dart and smacking someone in the back of the head, you've lost a wee bit of your authority for lectures.
The good news is that this place is the exception. Every campus has that one facility where the "cool professors" and TA's hang out and while they may not share in their students' drinking games, they at least raise their standing among the student body by being willing to go out and have a drink.
Trent Harrison is not what most people would consider one of the "cool professors." He teaches an obscure field that is highly-specialized and theoretical, he is in that age range that is not quite old enough to be a silver fox and he's new to the campus. So he hasn't received a reputation for being one of the hip teachers yet (and probably won't). But he didn't come here to be hip; he came here because it was a long day and he could use a drink.
Of course, he feels those familiar tingles on the back of his consciousness and they feel him. That race of the butterfly up their spine and the sense (almost sound and smell, but not) of a storm rolling far, far away. Trent pauses just at the door, considers a moment and then slips inside, his eyes already seeking out Sid and Grace, the latter of whom he doesn't specifically have a face to put a Resonance to (there were a lot of people and it was dark) but certain he'll have one soon enough.
Sid Rhodes
Sid had decided when she ordered this, her third beer, that it would be her last. As soon as she feels those other resonances she finds herself thoroughly validated in that decision. She senses them long before they sense her, that desperate euphoria a perfect compliment to this area and this establishment as students and faculty and townies and the like drink to forget midterms or that one psycho professor, sheezus can't he go one day one day without assigning two essays and three chapters of the text to be read before Monday? She feels them while they're still down the street, before they even know to come here looking for her. A wave of butterflies shift over her skin before an oncoming storm.
When Grace enters the bar, even a casual glance will find a familiar pale, bespectacled face aimed right in her direction. If she looks quickly enough, she can see the way Sid's face relaxes at the sight of her. She'd had an idea that it would be the apprentice, but doesn't know her resonance like a thumbprint yet.
Sid's brown eyes shift past Grace to see the bearer of the second, stronger resonance. Surprise registers in her expression before it shifts to a slight, almost nervous smile. Immediately, her eyes drop down to the hand that she'd stabbed, but of course he'd be without a bandage by now. Looking up again, she offers both the mages an upward nod that is both greeting and invitation to join her at her booth.
Grace Evans
Finding Sid isn't too difficult, especially when she's staring right at Grace.
Just when she gets to the booth, the butterflies flutter across her skin, and her shoulders raise like that's just completely uncomfortable. The last time she felt that was in the theater, and suddenly the bar full of tipsy people feels even less safe. Damn, why that particular memory...
She turns toward the street, even as she attempts to greet the other woman, and says (to the door) "Hey, Sid..."
Trent Harrison
Sid would note that the hand in question is in fact free of any type of bandage. There is not even a scar there, thanks to the man's skill at Life magic (which he would have simply used at the time, if he had not been...well, because reasons).
The man gives a warm enough smile when he sees the two mages...or more specifically, sees Sid and places a face to the Resonance that is Grace. That smile drifts away however just a little when he notes the lack of comfort the Virtual Adept is showing, and he holds there for a moment. He doesn't seem like he wants to encroach and make Grace any more uneasy, and he puts up his hands slightly in a conceding way.
"Good evening. Is this a bad time for me to stop by here?" He's leaving it in their hands; if they like, he's clearly okay with departing.
Sid Rhodes
"Hey," she greets, pitching her usually quiet voice to be heard above the din, which is not as bad as it will be tomorrow but still. Sid tends to be rather quiet. There was a time when she was quieter, a little more on the timid mouse side, but she's changed over the last few months. Denver, allowing other people to get close, and serious trauma will do that to anyone. Probably.
She frowns at Grace when the other mage looks so wary. It's so strange to see someone else being that way and not her, but then, Sid knows them both, sort of. She trusts both of them, at least a little. And she trusts the tipsy college students who are still getting their beer legs to act like tipsy college students. There's a sort of comfort in it, really.
"Do you remember Trent?" she asks. "I, uh, I stabbed him," she adds in a much quieter tone, but at least she doesn't apologize again. She does however glance at the man's hands once they're up and opened out to them, checking again and expressing surprise that his hand is copletely clear. She frowns at it, and looks up to him, but the look eases a second later. They're mages. Everything about their lives is unrealistic.
"I don't mind," she says, but she looks up at Grace. She's the wary one. "I think he can be trusted," she says, though without as much conviction as she would for, say, Jim, who Grace probably still has yet to meet. Or even Pan, though he seems to have wandered off like Justin. She thinks he can be trusted, though, at least, he was alone in her truck with her for some time and didn't try to hurt her, so. Eternally apologetic for hurting him though she may be, Sid trusts Trent about as much as she would trust any stranger.
Grace Evans
To her credit, Grace puts on a smile despite the memory of butterfly wings not being the most pleasant. Not the butterflies themselves, but the feeling of that man, and then what happened next...
But that wasn't his fault, right?
"Yeah, I remember Trent, and I don't mind either."
She slides into the booth opposite Sid, berating herself for letting that discomfort be so obvious that he'd comment on it. "I just had a memory of the last time I saw you, that's all," she says to Trent.
Trent Harrison
Sid introduces him as the man she stabbed, and he smiles a bit ruefully. As apologetic as Sid is, he is rather embarassed over the situation himself that he needed to be stabbed in order to not be locked in place. That look of chagrin slips away a bit though, when she says she thinks he can be trusted and he relaxes fully when Grace is able to smile and gives him permission to stay.
"Thank you, he says with a gracious smile of his own, and on his way to the booth he raises his hand to the bartender, who nods back. He's only been here a short while, but he's already made himself known well enough to have the kind of regular drink that can be ordered with a simple gesture.
"It is quite all right," he says to Grace as he moves to take a seat. "My memory of that evening are not particularly good either. I should introduce myself more properly. Trent Harrison. Adjunct Professor here on a guest basis, for now at least" He extends a hand to Grace, his voice lowering here so as to be lost outside of their table. "Bani Fortunae of the Order of Hermes."
And he looks at Sid, smiling to her as well. "Good evening, Miss Rhodes. You are well, I hope?"
Grace Evans
Grace has heard of the Order of Hermes, and from a Hermetic too. What Kalen had to say about them was bleak. Don't trust us, at least until you have powerful friends, he said. Quick to slight, not so quick to forgive.
Handshakes aren't her thing, but at the risk of giving offense... she grabs his in her awkward way, still with that strange smile on her face. She really does not know what 'Bani Fortunae' means, but Kalen hinted that names were so very important to these types... "I'm Grace. And I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds impressive."
Yeah, give him a little buttering up. That should avoid offending him, right?
Sid Rhodes
"Mine aren't that great, either," she says, her eyes lowering and her lips curving into a thoughtful, reminiscing smile. Well, her memories of the movie theater aren't that great. And those immediately following are only a little better. After that is a different story.
That smile shifts briefly to one of sympathy for Grace, though. Truth be told, Sid isn't much better off than the the apprentice as far as knowing how things work, or what that title means beyond 'Hermetic weirdness, don't think about it.'
That smile vanishes when the man approaches the table, aiming for her side. Reddish brows raise in a moment of surprise, but not panic. The key to avoiding panic is not getting into situations where panic is necessary. In this case, noticing him coming to her side rather than Grace's has Sid sliding quickly out from that seat, leaving behind her bag on the bench and her book slid closer to the wall. Mirroring Grace's awkward smile, Sid motions to her now vacated seat, letting Trent sit in first, thereby taking the aisle.
"I'm okay," she says, and that's a bit of an understatement, though neither of these two saw her much if at all, or only for a brief time while she was stuck in a month long depression. Tonight she seems a little awkward, but otherwise bright in her own, quiet way. If he takes the offered seat, she slides in next to him. It's not him she minds so much, after all.
"How are you? Both of you. I'm sorry, I haven't been able to meet with my friend to see if she knows a way to that guy." That guy being that Joshua person, the one who might have a lead on where to find that movie reel.
Trent Harrison
His look is immediately apologetic when Grace says she doesn't know what he means. "Of course, I am sorry...I didn't mean to confuse. My Tradition is...one based on formality. Bani is parlance for 'Of the Tradition' among Tradition society. And it really isn't any more impressive than anything else...it is merely old. Though House Fortunae and the Order would appreciate the kind words toward formality." A faint smile.
He notes Sid's sudden dropping of her smile and slide out so that she's not trapped in, and he makes absolutely no mention of it. They are nervous around him because he is an unknown quantity, and he seems to understand that fact and not call attention to it. Instead he acts as if they had subconsciously choreographed the motions so he could have the inner seat as he wanted all along, and gives Sid a grateful nod. "Thank you, Miss Rhodes."
He nods a little bit when Sid mentions that she hasn't been able to meet with her friend. "I understand. I have been seeking out the film with my associate that I mentioned before. We are not having much luck, but the search continues."
Grace Evans
Ugh. Appreciate the kind words toward formality. The smile is still there, but it's strained even more. He is one of those types, then. Grace bristles at formality. The whole name thing is so utterly ridiculous.
"Oh, you know... I'm making it okay. Kind of a tough balancing act really, but, you know who needs sleep, right?" It's the kind of chitchat for a crowded bar. True, and not hinting toward their secrets.
When she does want to talk secrets, she lowers her voice. "Who's your associate?" she asks, "I haven't heard this bit. You're after the film?"
She is, as usual, full of curiosity.
Sid Rhodes
They are very skittish with him, these two women, though Sid's slightly more comfortable. She could have sat next to Grace, showing solidarity and a bit of comfort for her fellow Denver mage and also a wall of We mean business to Trent. Instead she sat next to him, partly to show Grace See? I'm next to him and he's not trying to choke me out or cast Confuse on me. But also, though her regret for hurting him is absolutely genuine, there is a part of her that thinks Well I stabbed him so he probably knows not to fuck with me? Complete with dubious and uncertain uplift at the end.
Sid's hands are on her tighs, though, palms flat to her jeans, because she's not actually going to try to hurt him. Not unless he deserves it. And in this place? Where everybody knows his name and someone - the bartender perhaps - is glad that he came? And knows where he works? It's very unlikely that he'll try to start something.
These are the thoughts of Sid Rhodes, paranoid science student and office assistant at UCD.
"You said they were an Akashic?" she asks, tilting her head to regard Trent's profile. "Will we get to meet them, too?"
Trent Harrison
He is an observant man, and he does take note of the slight uptick of the strain in Grace's smile, at least enough to know that he said something wrong. He's not sure what and now is perhaps not the best time, but he takes note of it and reminds himself to ask at a later date, when the topic hasn't been so quickly switched to more pressing business.
Grace asks who his associate is and Sid--also less than comfortable around him, and also understandable--answers, to the degree that she can. The professor nods at her answer. "Yes. She is part of one of the Tradition's factions called the Li Hai. As to whether you will meet her...that I cannot say, I am afraid." He frowns a little at that, concern crinkling his brow before he proceeds to explain. "Miss Li...she generally prefers to work on her own. We are working together because it is convenient for her to have someone else do the research and speak with local Tradition members while she does the tracking work. I can give you her contact details, but I cannot guarantee that she will meet, as much as I might wish it."
Sid Rhodes
[trying out a thing: manip+subt?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
Grace Evans
"Sure, contact details... I mean, we can share information right?" It's kind of a 'well, duh' thing for Grace. Spreading the light of info always helps.
"I've got some, if you're interested by the way. More about the history of the film and how it got here than anything else," she says, finally offering up a little tidbit herself. "Afraid my own trail runs dry on the day of the showing, which doesn't do much good."
Sid Rhodes
Trent is observant, and also Sid and Grace aren't trying overly hard to hide their wariness. For Sid, what's the point? From the moment he introduced himself in the theater and all through the trip to the hospital he'd seemed to recognize and accept that he was a stranger, and that Awakened society is bound to treat strangers with some amount of trepidation.
"I'd like it, if that's okay." She doesn't explain why, he can probably guess, and he might even be right. "My bag please?" she asks, and provided he hands over the messenger bag over by his hip, she pulls out her phone and prepares to enter the information. "First name?" she asks. As she enters in the number her phone lets out an odd little sound effect and vibrates in her fingers. She regards the message impassively, it could be anyone about anything. Then she slips the phone back into her bag and looks not to Trent but to Grace.
"I have to go. Are you going to be okay?" she asks, and then she turns, offering Trent a slight smile as she reaches past him to slide her book toward her. Unfortunately, whether Grace is or is not, Sid really does have to go, but she provides an out for the Virtual Adept should she want it.
"It was good to see you. I'm glad your hand's okay," she adds as she slides free of the booth. Without anything else by way of goodbyes (not Sid's style), she shoulders her bag and makes her way to the bar to pay for her drinks before heading back out into the night.
[and with that Sid, disappears into the night like a phantom! thanks for the scene!]
Trent Harrison
"Of course." He smiles and hands over the messenger bag and provides the phone number when she's ready, a California area code--if one were to look it up, it is San Francisco, specifically. "Her name is Zoe. Zoe Li." The information is for Grace as much as it is Sid. "Good evening, Miss Rhodes. I hope to see you again."
Once Sid makes her departure, he turns his attention to Grace. "I would be very interested, in fact. We have some amount of information that we have pieced together and guessed at, but more information is never a bad thing, at least in these kinds of matters. Even if yours ran as dry as ours, we may be able to piece it all together with what we know to form something more cohesive."
Grace Evans
Grace and Sid both react by taking out their phones, and Grace at least types in the contact, even as Sid does not, and must leave. "I'll be okay. No worries!" she responds, though this is partly a lie. She does have worries now, and they revolve around madness and horror movies.
Damn, you know, this thing has just about ruined the idea of going to a horror movie for Grace now. They were usually so funny before...
In response to Trent's affirmative, she pulls her laptop out of its bag. "Okay, just be a minute here..."
And it really is just a minute. The thing is fast. She pulls up her own data, and the information she's downloaded from Ginger, even the stuff about the ghul that she doesn't quite believe is true.
"Here, you want to come around to this side? I can show you easier," she says, and there is no hint of the earlier discomfort anymore. She's at a computer. This is comfort.
Trent Harrison
When Grace places the laptop on the surface, Trent smiles and nods. "Of course. Take your time." He doesn't seem to be in a huge hurry at this moment, and besides, his drink is finally coming over. He smiles politely at the waitress and gives her a gracious Thank you as well as a tip of course, and as she makes her way back his eyes shift directly back to Grace, waiting for her to be ready for him as he sips his mixed drink of whatever kind.
When the Virtual Adept tells him to come around to the other side he slides his way out of his side of the booth and moves quickly around to take a seat next to her. He doesn't crowd too close, settling in instead at whatever spot is most comfortable for him to see the screen. He withdraws a pair of glasses from his the breast pocket of his suitcoat and slips them on, then reaches for the drink as he reads. He nods a little bit at certain parts...Joshua Keller, Jane Carole. These are names he apparently knows. The information on FracturedDawn draws a raised eyebrow. Some of the other information seems new to him by the way he reads it more closely, though nothing overtly shocks him.
"Very impressive work, Grace." He sits back, regarding the woman. "Am I wrong in guessing that this was computer work on your part?"
Grace Evans
She shifts the screen out of view of the waitress when the drinks are delivered, but other than that seems perfectly fine with showing off her skills in this place. It's a risk, perhaps. They could be watched. But laptops in university bars are not too uncommon. Just a student showing some work to a professor, perhaps.
And in a way...
The compliment on her work makes her smile, but other than that, it's ignored. "Some of it is mine. Some of it was from other people. We've been pooling our information on this," comes her response.
Trent Harrison
The man nods a little bit, takes the glasses off and settles them on the table. "You communicate with each other." There's a smile, though it's faint and brief and a wee bit pained. "That is a remarkably refreshing change from some places I have been. I am glad to hear it."
"If you would like to give me an email address I can send to, I can deliver what information we have. I do not know how much if anything it will help; perhaps some of what I have on your Fractured Dawn may be insightful. Nothing so much as a name, I'm afraid, but you may find further use than I have. And if you would be so kind as to deliver this information in return, I would consider that a happy bonus."
Grace Evans
"Yeah, well, it's not too formal in Denver," she responds, a little smirk on her lips as if to say 'haha, only
"I could do that... give me a second," she says, and begins signing up a new email burner account. Since she got the information herself in such a fashion, she's well aware of how horribly unsafe emails are. Gmail's nice, but his might not be, and to be traced with stuff this radioactive? Noooo.
"Okay, it's smashingUna1@gmail.com," she says, smiling. "Look forward to hearing from you."
Trent Harrison
He slips a smartphone out of his side pocket and opens up his contacts to tap the number in. "Most appreciated. I will send it off at my earliest convenience."
The phone is put away and he looks over at Grace, watching her. There is a note of curiosity about the man...questions he has but which he does not ask, perhaps because they would be imposing. Perhaps because it is evident that trust needs to be built first, or perhaps simply because now is not the right time, in a bar whether it is noisy or not. Whatever the reason, the fairly older man lets them go for now.
Well, he's not letting them all go. "If you don't mind me asking...and if you do, you may say so and I will not ask again. Have you had past issues with my Tradition?" The question is simply that...a question. He doesn't sound defensive about it, or even disapproving. But he is a fairly perceptive man, and it's not a question he feels he can let go at this moment without at least putting it out there once.
Grace Evans
"No. None at all. I've met one of your Tradition, and he was quite nice," she says, and it's the truth. Of course, that's not the whole truth. Her face betrays perhaps a little fear. The joke fell flat. Great. And now she's alone with him, and she's managed to get him to think she's got a thing against his Order? Shit.
She's been warned of the stuffiness of the Hermetics. And the fact that violating their formality can result in violence. Neither of which she's exactly for.
Trent Harrison
[[Per+Aware for Mage Emp! How do you really feel?]]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )
Grace Evans
[[ Grace has a thing against authority figures. Not Hermetics in general, but anyone who throws their weight around, she's uncomfortable with. Formality, structure, hierarchy, these are ridiculous to her, and she enjoys making fun of it if she feels she can get away with it. But she is fairly easily frightened by the same power she mocks. ]]
Trent Harrison
He is a perceptive one, this Trent Harrison. And she says she hasn't had a problem with the Hermetics, but he notes the little tell-tale signs of fear. The little spike in nerves that she has. Perhaps even a hint (though not why, he's not reading her mind) of why she might be nervous.
Trent is an older man. He speaks in a manner befitting formality and he is an unknown quantity to Grace to boot. He is part of an Order that she has been warned about. And yet...in that moment, he is sympathetic. He looks...perhaps a bit tired, in a spiritual, emotional or mental manner. He picks up his drink, takes a deeper drought on it than the sip he had before, and sets it down over the bar napkin on which it had been placed before looking back.
"Grace...I feel there are some things that I should inform you of. I do not want us to get off on the wrong foot. My Order, they are..." He spots, rewords. "They have a reputation. And because of some, it is not an unwarranted reputation. We are believed to be imperious, demanding, harsh when dealing with others. And these are not untrue for some of us."
He smiles, faintly and pained again. A similar look to the one he gave before. "I am not here to tell you what to do. I do not know whether I am more or less advanced in training than you, and it frankly does not matter to me. This is your city. Miss Rhodes' city. The others who were present there that night, and whoever else may reside here. I, for now at least, am simply a visitor. And to be perfectly frank, I would afford you the same courtesy if you were a visitor in any city I called home.
"I am here to help you, and to seek your help." He shrugs lightly. "If you do not approve of my mannerisms or the way that I speak, that is your prerogative. I am formal because it was the way I was raised. But I do not think it makes me better than you, or worse. It just makes me different. And there is no fault in being different...I would hope we could agree on that."
Trent Harrison
[[Correction: "He stops, rewords." Because spots doesn't make any damned sense.]]
Grace Evans
"Hmm.. Yes, that's pretty much what I heard from the other guy in your Traditon, Trent," she says, when he gives her yet another warning about the Order. For people who have joined a group, they sure don't seem to like each other. "Sorry. I haven't had any past issues with your Order, no. But I don't just trust people either. I'm sure you can understand."
She listens to the rest of his explanation, that he doesn't see himself as above her. And a part of her wants to believe that.
"Well, you are more advanced in training than me, it would be exceedingly difficult to be less advanced in training than I," she sighs, closes the laptop. He's seen the information, best to hide it for now. "Little fish, big pond," she mumbles.
"I was raised to be formal too. Then I shaved my head and went on the world's worst rebellion streak," she smiles at him. "There's no fault in being different, no. Just, I don't see the point in formality, really. I'm sorry if I offended you,"
Trent Harrison
He smiles a bit, taking Grace's explanation with ease. "You did not offend me, and I can understand to a degree. Formality is simply the way I prefer to act. To offer an awkward analogy of sorts, I do not see the point in those who prefer to emphasize profanity when they speak, or those who color their hair in multiple shades that are not that of natural hair. But it is what they choose to do, and it does not harm me, so I do not begrudge them it." He doesn't say it in a way that seems to be lecturing, but rather just explaining how he views it.
He hesitates there. "I am sad to hear that another of the Order feels that way. In truth, there are many very good members of our Tradition. Even a majority. But...when the Reckoning happened and the Union essentially won the war, many of our most advanced members, from all Traditions, found themselves trapped outside this world. We had been more or less defeated and those we would turn to for guidance were beyond our reach. The Order...I would say that we have, perhaps, struggled with this more than most. I would not say it makes the Order wrong, or the others right. I would simply say that a war leaves many scars and not all are obvious. They could be the crippling throes of addiction, suicidal depression, a rejection of all things technological, going mad with vengeance, or a retreat to the very ways that helped create many problems that reared up. No Traiditon fared particularly well, and the Order suffered as much as most, perhaps more."
He finishes his drink and smiles a bit. "I would like to speak to you more about this some time, if you would allow. And to meet more of us in the city. But I am afraid I must get home, so that I may prepare for my class tomorrow. It has been good to see you again though, Grace, and to get a name to go with the face. I hope we can meet again."
He rises to go, giving her a friendly nod and smile.
Grace Evans
He talks at length, like a lecturer, and she just listens... There's some things worth paying attention to in all those words. She's heard similar before, from Gadfly. The war, it's over, and all the bigwigs are gone, out of reach.
She doesn't say that it would be nice to see him again, because, well... No, that would be awkward. They grate on each other, apparently.
But, that is what email is for, right?
She starts packing up her rig when it seems like he's about done. "I have to prep for my class too," she says. "I do look forward to your data." And yes. She really does at that. That email address is going to be hovered over, vulture-like.
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