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Oh he is very easy to read, or a very good actor, and either one is interesting information that Ouija logs away dutifully. They almost pine for the lack of Nosferatu contacts, they'd love to be a fly on the wall or know even slightly how Edward behaves in even more privacy, but this layer is welcome, too. Duke doesn't like Birdie - makes sense to Ouija, Toreador often miss the forest for the astroturf.

"She's fortunate to have your influence, in that case." A little lying, now, stepping out of the realm of double-meanings in order to properly shore up their opinion. There's no way this man would trust Ouija in general, no need to let ambiguity and 'technical honesty' be the enemy of their aims. Only Anarchs thought the naked truth was more valuable than anything else, sometimes you had to clothe it in better disguise.

Their eyes widen a bit at the revelation of the Daughters. Not exaggerated shock, either, let Edward think he can see through Ouija's attempts at self-control, that would be very good.

So much of Kindred politicking was laying groundwork.

"That's fascinating." Ouija lets honesty gild that comment, because Birdie, at least, actually is fascinating, and it's not like Edward's opinion of her talent is wrong. It's just that this greedy scut thinks he's entitled to manage it.

"For the moment I'm still regrettably very needed in Las Vegas. If the west is ever to be won, it will be by the devotion of Camarilla agents in difficult circumstances." Apologetic. "But if I may beg your leave to remain for a few weeks, to observe and have the pleasure of your court's company and Bridget's performances..."

Fishing, still. Does he want them gone? Is it a relief to hear this isn't an appeal to remain? Obviously he wants to show off 'Bridget', and Ouija can't disagree. Peace, stability, control, ego, it's all coming together in rough hewn outline, what this kind of man is. Perhaps there's something about him to like, underneath it all, but Ouija has no spade to make those kinds of excavations.

Duke is, at least when it comes to Birdie, more jealous than he ought to be. As a soldier Embraced to the Toreador he has little talent to compare even to Edward's other Childer let alone a Daughter of Cacophony, and his Sire's attentions being so split toward her is a sore spot he prods at with idle disdain, like a bleeding cut inside his cheek he refuses to let heal.

For his part, Edward does not relax but he does not get more tense at the idea of Ouija staying so long or the offer (because he can see that plainly for what it is) to be out again. He smiles, though, at the little show of shock. He's well aware of how Birdie generally operates, but he sees no sense in it now that he has her here. Using her bloodline (which he genuinely believes to have come from the Toreador) as if it is a medal on his vest is a pleasure of his, and a show of power. He will not keep secrets he does not believe should be secrets, and he trades on the mystery and rumors of others for any bit of power he can wrest from it.

"On that," he says about devotion of the Camarilla, "we certainly agree." He holds his own devotion to the cause, such as it is, very highly. "Arrangements have been made for you fitting a Primogen, and you are welcome here to see the benefits our structure has given the city of Denver for such a time."

Then, as if he cannot help himself: "I'm a performer in my own right. If you plan to stay so long, Bridget will bring you to one of our own shows. Our talents aren't what hers are, but it is... A hobby I enjoy indulging in, knowing the city is well off even when I'm on stage." It is the only bit of control he lets slip, a pride he cannot contain.

Outside -- the distinct sounds of a mic check filter through to the room. A laugh, Birdie's. The general and discordant noises of instruments plugged in and mic stands being adjusted.

"Please," and here Edward gestures to the door again: invitation and dismissal all in one. "Go enjoy the show. Should you have any questions, you may ask Bridget or request audience with me again."

It might be useful, if this Childe doesn't like her. One of the key components of manipulation in Ouija's view is to find out how to make others want what you want them to want. And if Duke dislikes Birdie... but there has to be a good reason why. It's possible that it could backfire. Two weeks hopefully ought to be enough.

"You're very generous, Prince. I'm grateful for your hospitality." Ouija finds it easy to listen to that, the boasting. And perhaps in some way it's earned. It does take work to be a leader, even a mediocre one.

Ouija turns a little, and then turns back when Edward offers the almost compulsive confession that he does his own shows; that he might be, in his own way, vulnerable to an audience. Chinks in the armor, these things are not only vital to the Kindred generally but invaluable to the Followers of Set... even without Ouija's nebulous personal plans. Warmth, excitement, gratitude, these are not difficult to summon up, in light of the lapse and how it may prove helpful. "That would be a privilege. Thank you."

At the dismissal, Ouija bows again. "May Set give you victory, power, health, and all manner of beautiful things, Prince Edward."

They exit, swiftly enough to betray a certain amount of excitement at seeing Birdie perform, but with an attempt to curb the speed and not look rude. That one of those 'beautiful things' did seem to be Birdie was at the forefront of their mind, but they'd managed to avoid making their real feelings known, and it looked as though Denver was insular enough that a minor Setite Primogen's reputation was lost. Good. Very good.

And bad, really, in a way. If it had seemed impossible, Ouija would be more discouraged. But they slide into a seat at the front of the stage, instead, with an ease they do feel but telegraphed plainly. Birdie might be professional enough to shunt concern to the side while performing, but why should she have to? It all went well enough.

They look up, and bask in the potential of her presence, and it is neither the Toreador nor the Setite in them that longs to forget a while in bliss, in vibration. Is it her discipline?

Ouija considers that it may not even matter if it is.

If it seems rude, Ouija's haste, it goes unremarked upon. Maybe filed away as their Setite appetite, or a different appetite entirely. It's not as if Birdie's charms are unknown among them, and they are not the first to rush to one of her performances.

(Jason, it should be noted, follows shortly after to sit at another table near the stage with a party of his own.)

The crowd is still murmuring when she takes the stage. Conversations, loud and not, bodies moving and chairs pulled from and pushed to their tables, glasses clinking. Birdie has a band, here, though it's small and contains not a single Kindred in its membership besides Birdie herself. Simple, too -- drums, a bass, a keyboard, and Birdie on her own guitar.

When she gets to her spot she stops to search through the crowd for a moment, smiling but tense, until she sees Ouija safe and unfettered in their seat. The tightness falls away from her shoulders and she looks, finally, at ease and at home on the stage, taking a moment to lock eyes so they know she's seen them.

But, back to business.

For a moment it looks like Birdie is shuffling aimlessly behind her mic, until she starts to stomp out a beat with her right foot on a hollow bit of the stage. It's loud, steady, something driving when she starts to sing. It's an old waulking song, all in Gaelic that she manages to pronounce passably to anyone that knows the language but that she only has a rough understanding of.

Maybe later she can tell Ouija the story of how she learned it.

The music swells, some regulars in the crowd doing... A close approximation of answering the call-back nature of the song. So, too, does her Discipline. It will be a first for Ouija to experience it here, since she hasn't used it with them before.

Melpominee is much like Domination, though instead of acting as a hammer to a thought it's a teasing wind to a feeling. Right now she is focused on camaraderie, the lightness of being among others who know you, the bouncing rhythm teasing it out from the depths wherever it can find it. A feeling that takes you far from anger and shies away from jealousy, that begs reconciliation over escalation.

When the song is done the feeling lingers a little in the air, not unlike the way she'd held notes out in her first performance for them. Birdie smiles at the applause, laughs a little, and says into the mic, "Got your attention, huh?"

The crowd laughs, too.

Most of the set list is much the same. No more Gaelic, of course. Mostly singer-songwriter fare, acoustic covers of pop that meet the criteria. Not all have such emotion tied to them, and none quite the same, but they follow a theme. There is longing, in some. Sweet and easy sedation in others.

Nothing is angry.

Nothing is dissident.

Nothing is unsatisfied.

She really is brilliant, and Ouija can see how someone might get addicted to her music, her draw is a siren to the serpent, and it scatters their idle thoughts of the Nysus like so many marbles, bringing them back to their center, a kind of peace they haven't felt properly for decades. Reconciliation over escalation indeed, and Ouija feels that confusing jumble of emotions sorted out for them, in the moment.

It's nice just to be, to feel along with others, and lose personal identity briefly. There is a theme here, and Ouija sips water absently, with no real use for it and only the need to regurgitate most of it later, listening, attentive.

It's not a skill they knew she had, and in a way, when it fades, it leaves them with more questions. That's only to be expected. Even in the non-rare clans... Ouija's worked with Tremere many times, contrary to what they told her about 'not knowing what to look for', and it's their exposure itself that urged Ouija to pretend to know nothing. Some clans guarded their secrets with bloody ferocity, it's no surprise if Birdie omitted, or held back a power, in her concert.

Ouija wonders, trying to keep their brain on track while simultaneously wanting to surrender to the promise of peace, if Edward has a hold over her, something other than fear of reprisal. If there's a bloodbond, blackmail, bribery, there's often something. But it's so hard to put up any kind of negativity against the coiling velvet of her singing, it sedates, and feels irresistibly warm and comfortable. Not unlike the last few peaceful moments of freezing to death and being utterly unconcerned, but less threatening.

No use plotting, or scheming, not when she's doing this. Ouija abandons the threads, finishes their drink and leads the crowd in applause for song after song. There's not even hardly any time, it doesn't seem to matter. It's dark and close and intimate and complete.

When the show is over, Ouija stands up, but lets others mill forward and around to talk to the band, to socialize. They slip off to one side, taking casual note of Jason at last - he is certainly the most interesting of the Prince's retinue - and then heading outside for unneeded air.

They hadn't known she could do that so well, or at all. It's a lot. No wonder the Prince wants to keep her close. That skill alone... And even those thoughts weren't sufficient to dispel the feelings, pleasant, peaceful, that still hung like smoke in their soul from the performance.

Edited 2022-02-03 01:06 (UTC)

There is always a joy of some kind, even here, in performing. At least, for the time it takes to perform. While the feelings linger for others, slide through the air like smoke once the fire has been doused, Birdie has no benefit of it. The warmth she sings to them is never hers to keep. Which means the warmth she does get, from the lights and the applause, can't stand well against seeing Ouija walk away. She had hoped...

Well.

She had hoped for not that.

Birdie's immediate worry is that she's somehow offended, by not giving a warning beforehand or unearthing something with it that they didn't want. It wouldn't be a surprise if that were the case, it's happened before. Maybe she was wrong in assuming things had gone well with meeting Prince Edward. Maybe quite a lot of things, honestly. She's got the possibilities unfurling in her head as she visits with fans when Jason comes over and picks her up in a bear-hug. A good way to stop that particular train of thought in its million tracks, and a good cover to whisper in her ear, "Your friend did fine for a snake, go outside for a minute and I'll cover."

So she does, her fans easily distracted by the bassist from Seventh Son, grateful and more than a little anxious the closer she gets to the door Ouija left out of.

"You know," she says as soon as she sees them, "I can get you earplugs if you didn't like it. I'm not sure if they'd work but it's worth a shot."

Edited 2022-02-03 01:44 (UTC)

Sunlight isn't something Ouija's ever missed; the stars are bright enough. The far-away chatter and laughter from inside is close enough to intimacy while being safe, bootlegging emotion while they buy time to equalize again.

They don't expect her so quickly, though, but it's a free and easy smile for her joke, taking the time first to clarify the most important thing, "I loved it. You were incredible up there."

The jokes, the winding-up, can take second priority. "No, but where do you get off on filling me with inner peace and tranquility?"

This would be a spectacular time to tell her, privately, about the Prince, about how it went specifically. Plans, counterplans. Kindred nonsense, all the things they filled their waking hours with that mean nothing.

They don't. They just watch her, enjoying the way the shadows play in her hair, and imagining her somewhere else. With severed tether. Discipline is a hallmark of most Followers, a necessary evil to fulfill their aims.

It is not discipline that makes them hesitate to 'talk shop', though. The opposite.

"Sorry, if I worried you."

Edited 2022-02-03 10:52 (UTC)

And as easy as that, most of Birdie's more immediate anxieties ease away, a smile on her face that is far more genuine than any she'd had inside the Broadstreet.

"Oh, that? All part of my plan to lure you away from Las Vegas and dash you against the Rockies like any good siren."

This would be a good time to fill her in, to plot and scheme, until the moment the door opens again and lets out a little crowd of patrons. One of them doesn't head for the street or his car, he just leans up against the side of the building and waits, sparing a glance at Birdie and Ouija but not outright staring.

Roger, one of Edward's ghouls.

One thing they might notice, about being around Birdie in Denver, is that there is very little breathing room.

Her smile doesn't go away entirely, but it takes on a plastic rictus feel, like a thing frozen in stasis, all the warmth gone far too quickly.

"It's fine. The first show can be a lot, I get it. If you want to stay out here, I have to wrap up a few things... I can grab your bag for you, then take you over to your accommodations?" There's something in her voice, now, that sounds like a play at being responsible, formality injected into her speech like botox, smoothing out any sharp edges of her usual humor.

Everyone was addicted to something. It sounded trite, or best case, it sounded like one of those cynical sayings meant to cover up the shortcomings of the sayer, but in Ouija's experience, it was true. If you looked long and hard enough, there was always a vice. The real danger was not knowing how to manage it.

And, to her master plan, "It's working."

They glance up as the crowd files out, exhaling upward to puff hair out of their face, and one of those ingrained-in-habit little anti-hunter feints. Look ma, exhaling activities!

"No, I very much enjoyed it, I just wasn't expecting it... and I am grateful to you for inviting me here, as well. I'll come back in and help you, if you need it?" Ouija decides, not liking the way this feels as-is, but understanding the necessity for it, for the moment. Birds in little cages deserve lockpicks... But there has to be a way to do this that won't blow up on them, and the better machinations take time. Even if the Followers approved of Ouija's grudge (they don't), and even if there was a presence in Denver (almost certainly, there isn't), they would not actively step in to assist for what they would assuredly call extracurriculars.

"The Prince has invited me to see a show of his, as well. Do you think that's all right?" Anything overheard is going to get back to his master's ears, and Ouija's tone is bland as can be while they calculate. A show--Edward's pride--is most certainly the linchpin here. They're hungry for it, a way to hurt, a way to humble. A way to push this Prince to learn, which is a comparatively recent development but one the Followers (of Vegas, at least) are very sincere and adamant about. There's no sense, or reason, in just torturing someone for kicks, even someone who's earned a personal dislike. Bringing their weakness to them, making it apparent to them, actually bettering them, is a real argument among the faithful for taking any action.

Ouija wants to better the hell out of Edward.

"His band plays on Wednesday," so, a few nights from now. She's aware of Roger standing behind her the way a mouse is aware of the cat. "They're very bluesy, I think you'll like them."

As if Ouija has given her any indication they would like Edward's current style of honkytonk blues.

There's a lot to be said for comeuppances, but that can wait for now. For the moment there's a game to be played, a dance of talking around what she wants to say, shaping words that will hopefully have a meaning Roger won't pick up on. But Roger has been around a long while, which leaves her with empty smiles and banal scripts to go through, line by line.

"Come in, then. I'll meet with Edward for a minute, and then I can show you backstage. All the wine moms still at the bar will be very jealous of you." Birdie says it all with practiced ease, well rehearsed humor, the common kind of joke that's easily found lying on the ground after the party is over.

Another group walks out as Birdie turns to go back in, and this one has a good share of Kindred in it. One perk of her skills has always been that it leaves mortals a little more willing to walk home alone with strangers. She smiles at a few that smile at her first, familiar.

Then she reaches behind her to grab -- Ouija's hand, their sleeve, the edge of their coat. As if they'll get lost in the push of people, but more privately it's that she wants the confirmation that they're the one at her back and not Roger, or some other informant; that it's a friend.

"Well, you remember one of the two things my sign said when we met," Ouija murmurs, without skipping a beat, "So you can believe me when I say I can't wait."

Ouija continues to just quietly process internally, following Birdie inside, offering a good natured groan at the hallmark^TM humor, "I did not come to this state for cougars. I'm sure they're wonderful people..." They trail away, paying attention actually to the locals who don't sound like they have heartbeats. It behooves them to recognize faces even if there's no time for more formal introductions, and Birdie's smile is a tick on the scale ~~of Anubis~~ against her leaving, if she has friends here. But then, arguably... all Ouija really wants is to help her have the choice. If she is bloodbound, or if Edward has some other hold over her, then it won't be straightforward at all.

They make a soft sound of curiosity at the grab, divining after a moment it isn't a specific solicitation for them to look at or notice anything, and then they squeeze her wrist back, attempting supportive with a perfectly neutral expression.

That surely has nothing to do with a little noodley snake gently and inquisitively slipping from one sleeve up into Birdie's, and Ouija adds, apropos of that, but ostensibly the bag, "Thanks for holding onto my things for me."

There's a lot of holding going on, isn't there? Metaphorical, physical, and noodle.

She laughs at the mention of cougars as they walk through. "Well, they can certainly have fun." Has Birdie had a lot of experiences with the local cougar population? Maybe, possibly. She's certainly not going to Kiss and tell about it, at least not right now. Ouija might notice that glancing blow at the subject, though, and that while she smiles at locals and nods and greets, sometimes shares a quick peck on the cheek with someone or other, it all seems... Perfunctory. A well worn habit of respect masquerading (ha!) as affection. It's hard to have friends, really, when everyone will report on everyone else.

The squeeze is noticed, appreciated. She turns back to Ouija, about to direct them to a spot they can wait for her, when she feels a New Friend crawl up her arm.

For the first time tonight, the expression on her face is an actual true look of delight, a moment of unfettered honesty here in the bar with the house lights on and stragglers nursing their final drinks. It doesn't last very long, but it was there and it was real, and she tries to subtly hold her arm a little away from her side so this New Friend can move about freely toward her elbow.

"You're welcome." A smile lingers as the rest of her expression mellows. "Let's hope some of your things will stay polite while I'm in there." A raise of eyebrows, here, and the hint of a smile. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Handholding, holding patterns, holding ~~out for a hero~~ and holding their breath. The little hint about cougars is fun, and if it weren't for their Ghoulish third wheel, they'd probably ask something about Birdie being exclusive, but it feels ...wrong to do so now.

"I have no doubt." Ouija loitered in the corner, looking around with a less-than-relaxed air, waiting patiently for Birdie. Thinking of her in there being called Bridget, being scolded or even praised for her performance, made them want to wrinkle up their nose in disgust.

At least the snake contraband was a success. That was all the support they could give at that point, and they brightened up a bit when she returned, going to retrieve their bag and let her show them to their 'accommodations'.

Ouija slept the day away, dreaming, as Kindred often did, of their former life, and a harsh life indeed. The bite of mortal hunger, as keen as that for blood. The whip and welts of the lash, for minor offenses deemed grievous in that century - of fear, and the comparative luxury, glimpsed that other world beyond that of the dust through which the actors without sponsors clawed. The rich... the rich were the same, everywhere, everywhen.

They woke abruptly, recognizing the sunset with an acuity born of a Follower's even keener knowledge, that Ra was gone now for a time, and the engulfing, beautiful blackness had returned. They had until Wednesday to make some sort of plan, but that would be only the earliest opportunity. There would be other chances. Birdie still had their snake, but that was well and good, she probably needed it more than they, at this moment. They fumbled for their phone, finding her number.

Evening. Are you up?

The rest of the evening had been sedate, in comparison to the anxiety it had begun with.

Edward, for his part, had opted for praise if only because he likes to believe he isn't a tyrant and is, on some level, very aware of how precarious his hold on some things can be. For the duration of Ouija's visit she's been relieved of her regular duties managing affairs at the Broadstreet so she can focus on their accommodations, with an understanding that she'll uphold her scheduled performances and an emphasis existing unsaid that she is to paint Denver only in the best light. Also a very spoken emphasis that she is now responsible for their behavior while in Denver, and anything they do will reflect directly back on her. Maybe the joke about being a tour guide wasn't too far off.

In her own haven, Birdie had different dreams. Those of Daughters are painted by sound, Fugue Music twisting through every image. Sometimes it is of the performances of her Sisters she has never seen, singing where it's still night. Sometimes only shadows of her own memories. Lorelai has been prominent, sometimes singing. Sometimes screaming.

She tries to not dwell on it.

There's a little delay in her response, partially because she is not as prompt a riser as others, and also because as soon as she does she takes the time to wrap her new friend back around her wrist and pet its head affectionately, because it is a good noodle and she appreciates that it may be having a time being away from its master even as it brings her comfort.

I'm up, I'm up!

What would you like to do tonight?

I think our mutual friend misses you.

Then an image of the snake wrapped around her hand, tongue flicking against her thumb.

Ouija heads out onto the balcony to get a glimpse of the city lights. Some Kindred miss the sun, and the daytime generally, but Ouija never has, not even before they gained a new affinity for the night. Night always feels quieter, softer, more intimate and less demanding (in and of itself, less so when one factors in court politics). And it is beautiful what humans have done in the past century or so, with their lighting technology, to push back the boundaries of their time, and conduct affairs when they want.

They perch there for a bit, waiting for her to get up, and during the delay they answer emails from home. It takes a few minutes of quality time, instructing their understudy how to interact with the local Malkavian Primogen, Ms. Prism Morgan (She was catholic in life, and that wasn't long ago, so it's probably best not to risk a blessing from Set), explaining to one of their newbie ghoul contacts that just because something was old didn't mean it was valuable, that sort of thing. No actual fires to put out, just nonsense.

Ouija enjoys the message and the photo, quietly chuckling at her wording.

Are you committed to anything?

They look out at the city skyline again, frowning a bit.

I'd like to just spend a little time with you, if that's all right. I'm glad she's behaving! She is happy to eat earthworms if you want to feed her.

There is nothing pressing, tonight. Well, nothing beyond the sweet little noodle curled on her hand and the prospect of spending a little time with Ouija. Both of which are a pressure she likes.

Her own haven is considerably less swanky compared to where Ouija has found themself. Mostly by her own design -- it was a 'gift' from Edward, in the way most of his gifts operate, but one she was able to have some part in choosing. The house is small but cozy, a good sized basement and room enough for her to stretch out in. No one else comes in that she doesn't expressly invite, but there's a security system Edward has access to that tells him when she leaves and when she gets back. Always something, usually small and banal, to remind her.

She wanders through it aimlessly, smiling down at her phone and twisting her other hand in the air as the little snake coils around restlessly.

No commitment but to now find earthworms and see you. I can pick you up?

And do you need anything? You only brought one bag. We can get anything you want, with some limitations. I refuse to buy you anything in lime green, for example.

It would be nice to see her place, yes, nicer to discuss with her, veiled or unveiled, the components of Edward's court, the mechanisms of this lock that ought to be studied and then judiciously unpicked. Nicest of all to see her in general, even if it is the her that wears a tortured mien and goes about all dressed in disguise, the coping her, the mask. There is still some of her inside it.

Yes, I'd like that very much.

I travel quite lightly, but I might be able to use sunglasses. The moonlight hurts my eyes.

I'm not sure there's a way to make lime green look good, so really you're only saving me from myself.

Ouija has had the benefit of seeing her, even if momentarily, unfettered. Moments, songs, deeply enjoyed between the veils and the coping and the lies. Reprises in reprieve that had as much to do with the company she kept as distance.

She wanders her haven, now, with more purpose.

Well, I'm happy to play savior for you if only for the sake of the little one. For other reasons, too.

On my way.

It isn't too terrible a drive from her home to the hotel. The Colorado winter night is cold, but there's no snow or ice on the ground to make it difficult, and she has no idea what kind of car it is she's driving beyond that it does its job capably and will play her music if she pushes the right buttons. Which, honestly, is all she cares to know about it.

When Ouija gets in, they'll see she's not so much for disguise tonight, or at least not the one she'd had last night. Soft slacks, a sweater, her hair down with a few little braids in it as if she cannot help herself from putting them in. Birdie even has on the same jacket she'd worn the first time they'd met, and the snake is curled up comfortably in the same pocket she'd put their number in, as if reserved for Ouija-related business. She looks more at ease, too, just being out of the Broadstreet, away from Edward, with no potential to have any back-room meetings for at least one evening. Time to do with as she pleases, and what she pleases is nearly exactly this.

"Here," she says, handing them a pair of sunglasses. Her own, by the looks of them, because they have daisies all over. "Just to save your eyes until we can find a pair for you."

Ouija slides into the car with familiar ease for someone who grew up in a century of horse and cart. They've had a long time to get adapted to the things that matter, and this vehicle isn't terribly intimidating. Better, there's no ghoul chauffeur to be snouty. Could this be true privacy for a few moments?

Best to capitalize on that, and quickly. The car could be bugged, potentially, but it's much more of a potential than literally seeing Roger hanging around like a bad penny.

"What a lovely little car." Ouija adds, leaning forward to fiddle at once with the glovebox, actually trying to poke around to see if there's an obvious recording or transmitting device. Hey, heated seats. They'd do so much better with this if they had their Nosferatu companion present, but alas, that's too much of a favor and Sunday rarely leaves Los Angeles these nights.

The idea of Edward using Nosferatu allies also seems vanishingly slim. It's possible. Some Toreador (and Nosferatu) could hold their noses long enough to take advantage of the alliance, but not many, and not usually for long.

Ouija notices halfway through reclining their seat that she is more at ease, and that, more than anything else, convinces them of the probable privacy of the vehicle.

"Is there anyone you trust in this city at all? Anyone you care about, that you wouldn't want hurt?" They take the sunglasses, with soft delight, "These are flowery."

There's a lot to take in over just a few moments.

Birdie lets Ouija do... whatever it is they are doing (why is her butt warm?) as she pulls slowly out of the hotel roundabout and back onto the street. There could, possibly, be a bug in this car. It is probably an ant, because Edward hasn't had a strong relationship with a Nosferatu in Colorado, or even just a young Kindred that would have the needed skillset, in years. Birdie had been tasked with making in-roads on that front, once, but she didn't really try that hard to build a bridge.

There are still Nosferatu around. They still report to Edward, if they feel it's needed, if it's in the interest in keeping the peace. But they don't do favors.

"Trust? No." She turns, driving aimlessly right now. The playlist she's got on is the one she'd made of Ouija's music from judging their taste, and she turns the volume down a little lower so she can think around it and the music she has in her head. "Everyone talks, whether they mean to or not. And the list of who I do want to hurt is shorter."

One hand goes to the snake in her pocket, the other stays on the wheel.

"You don't have to do this, you know." Birdie turns, when they hit a stop light, so she can look at Ouija without potentially crashing this car, which might be a metaphor for something. This is not the first time someone has come in like this, for her.

"You can just be here, if you want to just be here."

Ouija is happy to be a lot. They're hopelessly perverse that way. But it's also nice not to be scolded for messing with the bits of her car. Nothing blows up or buzzes suspiciously, either, which is excellent. Ouija is again tempted to stop all this plotting and revenge, to relax and enjoy her company, but tells themself, pretty firmly, to multitask. This is important.

The little snake butts her head up against the questing fingers delightedly, seeking the warmth and to twine up between her index finger and thumb. She's having a great time with her new friend, happily oblivious to the ills of Denver.

"I've been weighing it up." They saw no reason not to be honest, even if it made them look potentially like a worse person. "I don't want to be your knight in shining armor, and you won't owe me any boons for doing this. Helping you is only a part of why I want to; there's ma'at here, a suffocating sort, and it needs to be disrupted."

Ouija is at this point confident they can make a case for that to the Setites. Their clanmates won't come help, of course, it's a case, it's not the incarnation of Ra Himself. But they also won't disapprove, and that is vastly more important.

Helping her is only part of why they want to do it. They don't tell her explicitly that it's the tipping point; if they fail, she will feel worse, almost guaranteed, and that isn't fair.

"Is it a bloodbond?" They're more quiet, now, trying to pick apart the wires of this particular bomb.

Birdie turns back to look at the road as the light turns green. The little snake gets a kiss at the top of her head as she listens to Ouija, and then Birdie gently extricates her fingers so both hands are on the wheel.

There's not much she can do to argue against ma'at, she barely has any understanding of what it means. And if that's the justification then she'll let it stay out of her reach, because as much as she doesn't want to see harm come to them, she also doesn't want to keep going like this. Maybe that's selfish, in light of everything. Selfish, too, for her to want to avoid the discomfort of this conversation and jump back into easy banter, but at least that she can resist.

"No," just as quiet. "No bloodbond."

For a few moments the car just continues forward, Duke Ellington switching to A.F.I. through the speakers. Birdie takes a needless inhale and says, "My sire is in torpor. There was... It was an incident. He's got her in one of his properties around town."

Saying it is like ripping off a band-aid. It hurts, and is a relief, and maybe might allow that wound to heal better in the open air. Or maybe she's just inviting infection. Her fingers go white knuckled on the steering wheel as she remembers -- calling out to Lorelai with a Phantom Voice, the way she'd looked when she'd arrived, all distraction and violence. The way she'd looked the last time Birdie saw her.

Birdie laughs, sudden, incongruous and pained, but it breaks some of the tension inside her.

"Can you look up where I can get earthworms? I have no idea where I'm going."

"I think you've suffered enough." Ouija adds, eyes going to the side-view window where a car that has been following them for a few roads now continues to match their movements. This is far too much.

They really enjoy the music, at least, and the idea that she's relatively clear headed. Edward's not as awful as --Nope that's pretty awful.

They clear their throat quietly into the not-quite-silence, really letting that steep for a second. "I'll take that under advisement." I won't try to get you to leave her.

Ouija pulls out their phone, identifying Anglers Anonymous 'Open Late For All Your Bait' fishing store. "I can't believe I'm going to have to sit through a blues concert for this." They reflect, "I'm sure that's against the Traditions. Somewhere. In the fine print. Surely."

"Thank you."

She says it, and it feels inadequate in the quiet cocoon of the car. There feels like too much for a simple 'thank you,' from the fact that they're here at all to the simple way they don't push for more details. Even the discovery of Anglers Anonymous, which sounds a little like it doubles as something a little more sordid than bait.

(Birdie does not notice the car following behind at all.)

"Oh, don't say that. It could be much worse." She takes her right hand off the steering wheel to poke Ouija in the shoulder. "It could be a Bob Marley cover band."

Her seriousness, now, is entirely mocking.

"Mmm," And this the reply, as if anything more might be dangerous, but Ouija doesn't stress yet to find out anything further. It is a huge potential complication. How to save one Kindred from a toxic Domain is hard enough, but to save one and another (an unknown quantity, even!) in torpor, that requires even greater logistical planning.

Doable. Still doable.

"Sounds like a terrible innuendo, doesn't it," They remark about the shop's name, and then they look astonished at the poke, with growing delight. It isn't just the playfulness; that's something they're fond of, definitely, but the comfort of casual touch is rare, in Ouija's experience, for their kind.

"I see the depth and breadth of your loyalty, now," Ouija returns, automatically joining in with the banter, and still considering vectors, underneath. "Why doesn't Duke like you, do you know?"

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