The line's pretty short, there aren't that many people in today, though the ones that are in are giving the pretty young woman talking to the clerk at the desk a bit of a look. Well, some of them. Others are giving her a look more in the realm of 'pitying.'

"—look," she's saying, "I understand that you can't—is there anything in that area that would delay letters? Some kind of, of, customs holdup or something?"

  "It's possible, but a delay of that sort probably wouldn't be for more than four to eight weeks."

"It's been three months," says the young woman, sounding very upset about it, "how often do you lose international mail...?"

That's the hottest person he's ever seen. The hottest person, full stop.

He would know, he's a vampire, he's been everywhere, he's been to Antarctica, he's had more sex than he can remember (only strictly true due to his forgetting his human life). She's objectively the hottest person on Earth.

And she's distressed. Why is she distressed? Someone should have sent her letters and hasn't in months? He—he needs to find this person for her, but then he wouldn't see her for a while and that sounds—wrong.

  "Look, I can put out a notice for lost letters from—which country was it, again, dear?"

"Uh, I got his last letter from Belgium, but he'd been planning to go to Germany, so it might be from there."

  "Belgium or Germany," repeats the clerk, dutifully. "Repeat the name for me again, sweetheart?"

"Lowell. L-O-W-E-L-L. First name Albert, goes by Blair, addressed to Yvette or Franklin of the same last name."

  "Okay. Address to reach you if I find anything...?"

She dutifully recites her address in a low voice that does nothing at all to prevent vampiric eavesdropping.

  "Thank you," says the clerk. "I'll let you know if we find anything."

"Or if you don't find anything, please," specifies, apparently, Yvette. "I—I need to know if I need to get the police involved, he wouldn't just stop sending letters."

Yvette. What a beautiful name. And a—relative, this Blair, whom she hasn't seen in a while. A long while, for a human. She expected letters.

He's probably dead.

That would be horrible. She would be so upset. She shouldn't be upset.

(He's standing there, frozen.)

  "Are you sure he might not have just forgotten to write...?"

"Yes," says Yvette, bluntly, with absolutely no hesitation. Though she clearly doesn't want to get into a debate about it right now, because then she follows up with: "Um—thank you so much for your help, you've been very kind, I'll try to find some other way to get in touch with him. "

Some more pleasantries are exchanged, and Yvette turns and walks right out the door, eyes drifting right over everyone in the line without any regard for any of them, James included.

—yeah he's gonna follow her, all thoughts of his package forgotten.

Once outside of the post office and away from the eyes of the people inside, she bows her head and inhales a shaky breath.

"Please be okay," she murmurs to the wind, on the off chance that it might go far enough that he might hear it.

Someone does. He briefly touches her shoulder and says, "Excuse me?"

She jumps, and her hand flies to her face to scrub at her eyes to disguise the tears that definitely were not there, nope, nothing to see here.

"—Um," she says, swallowing her automatic apology because objectively speaking, she has done nothing wrong, "yes?"

—shit now he doesn't know what to say. What the fuck, no, that's not him, he always knows what to say. He will be charming and nice and help this suffering lady.

This pause isn't perceptible by a human. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation inside—are you okay?"

...gee, generic isn't it. Well. Maybe it'll fly.

Judging from her expression: no. No, it does not fly.

"I'm fine," she lies. She is not attempting to be subtle about how she is definitely lying.

"I'm sorry, I suppose that must've sounded insensitive. Was it your—husband...?"

"Brother," she corrects. Her ring finger is bare; she's probably unmarried.

She takes a measured step away from him, and then tries on a smile that doesn't quite fit. "I'm sorry, I'd really love to chat," yeah zero interest in disguising how that is definitely a lie, she does not want to chat with him right now, "but I have an appointment to make, excuse me."

"Right." Oh, unmarried, good. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded. I'll let you go to your appointment. I hope you find him."

"Thanks. Me too," she says, and then off she goes without so much as a backwards glance.

Well, then. He supposes he's going to Belgium, isn't he? But he'll need something more than just a name.

He bets he can get to Yvette's place before she does.

He walks somewhere unobserved then jumps onto a rooftop and runs.

He can absolutely get to Yvette's place before she does.

Here is a quaint little two story house in a lovely out of the way neighborhood!

James might notice that there is a human in it, on the second floor.

Probably Franklin, whoever that is.

Any open windows?

Nope!

If he would like to check, the front door's locked, but the back door isn't.

And he can be oh so very very quiet.

The interior of the first floor is pretty and tidy and comfortable, though a bit cramped. The amount of furniture for a space of this size is... suggestive. Like either the residents like buying furniture, or they moved from a much larger house where this amount of furniture was a bit more appropriate, and then couldn't bear to throw some of it away, so they figured out how to make it work. It'd probably start drifting into the realm of claustrophobic if it were a bit less neatly kept. As it is, though, there's no dust on any of the shelves or objects egregiously out of place. It doesn't cross the line into 'unlived in,' though. There are papers casually dumped on a table, a seedling with roots that are soaking in a glass stuffed with water and what-is-probably-paper, unwashed dishes in the sink, a book next to the couch instead of on a shelf, and a number of other casual indicators that people actually live here.

Most relevant to his interests are perhaps the pictures arranged on the fireplace's mantle. Here is Yvette and a young man that looks like her (Blair, probably), and an elderly gentleman with glasses that looks like them both. Here is a somewhat stiff picture from what was probably years ago of four people, Yvette-Blair-father-mother. Here is a picture of Yvette and Blair in front of a very different, much larger house.

They look happy.

That's heartbreaking. But now he knows what Blair looks like. His scent would be useful, though; it's a long shot but can he by any chance detect at least three scents in the house? And more specifically, any scents that are not Yvette's or presumably-Franklin's?

There are a few stray scents of visitors around the house, but mostly it seems to be from two people. Yvette's and presumably-Franklin's.

Fuck.

...but surely they must've kept the letters, right? Right. Can he find them?

Not downstairs, but they might be kept upstairs, somewhere.

...risky. But—

—he tiptoes upstairs. If Yvette arrives he can be fast enough to not be seen.

The stairs obligingly do not creak.

Upstairs has three doors, one of which is closed, and contains the human. One looks like it leads to a bathroom, the other...

... That smells like it's Yvette's room.

Yeah, that's probably where they'd be, isn't it. Into it he goes—

—the scent makes his thirst flare, yes, but it also reminds him of her and he closes his eyes to focus on her face, perfectly etched into his perfect memory—

—then he opens his eyes again and looks around.

The room has a lot of personality, and doesn't have quite the same furniture problem that the downstairs was suffering from. There are a lot of shelves, with neatly organized books and small, pretty knick knacks. A couple of potted plants sit by the window in the sunlight, looking well cared for. In the corner, the small (single) bed is made with fresh sheets. A dresser sits in the closet, next to a rack where a number of dresses hang above a neatly arranged set of shoes. A soft rug that matches the curtains sits comfortably on the floor.

There is a desk with a chair, notable for distinctly not being neat. Or, well, not entirely. There are pens in a little decorated cup (all turned the same way) and miscellaneous papers sorted into (labelled) slots in a box and blank sheets of paper here where they are easy to grab. However, clearly she's in the middle of something at the desk. Here is a stack of papers that are folded like letters, with little colored paper sticky tabs stuck to them with two sets of dates attached, here are notes she's written to herself, here is a map of Europe with specific cities carefully circled in colors that correspond to the little paper sticky tabs, with date ranges written onto them. Here is a small, opened booklet with a list of things to do that are all brother related, including 'Check post office for letters,' which has not yet been crossed out. That'll probably change when she gets back.

She's adorable in addition to being the most objectively hot person in the world. He should have expected this but somehow failed to.

She has also made his life much easier than it could've been. He's certain he can find things with Blair's scent, which is probably the most useful part of this, but this itinerary and everything she's tried so far will also be very useful. A previous letter will also help him narrow down where exactly in Belgium he should start looking.

There are many previous letters! Arranged in order from newest to oldest, because of course they are. The colored tabs correspond to the cities they were sent from; apparently he first arrived in Amsterdam in the Netherlands (blue), then went to Rotterdam (orange), Antwerp (purple), Brussels (green), and the last one came from Liège (red). The letters vary wildly in length, tending more towards terseness than length, but he was quite dutiful about sending one at least every two weeks. Apparently he had plans to make his way to Cologne, in Germany. He acknowledges it's a weird place to visit, but, quote, 'Would it be me if I went somewhere normal?'

A lot of the scent's been rubbed off of the letters, especially the latest ones, which smell mostly like Yvette by now. Luckily for him, a few of the ones in the middle have been conscientiously returned to their envelopes, which managed to preserve the faintest whiffs of maybe-scent. Comparing the faint traces from the different letters is not very good, but it's certainly better than nothing.

Better than nothing, yeah, and it all certainly paints a picture. He's vaguely aware that something's going on in Germany but he's not sure what. He quickly plans a travel route, starting in Liège, then looks around for anything more that might be of help.

In this letter he describes what sort of place he's staying in, and what part of town he was in! That's about it, though, he doesn't describe his plans for his method of transport, apparently he either didn't think that was a relevant thing to tell his sister, or he was planning to wing it.

Any other letters mention transport?

Apparently there was this one guy that was kind enough to let Blair hitchhike with him on the way from Rotterdam to Antwerp. They had marvelous conversations and Blair expects Yvette would have liked him very much. Other than that, no, not really. Unless James would like to know which ship he took to get to Amsterdam?

Probably not useful but costless when he has an eidetic memory.

Anything other than the letters?

Nothing else of immediate use, and it's not like he'll forget anything. He has the map and every letter and the notes Yvette wrote to herself. Her going hypothesis is that something happened in Germany, because Germany's a mess, but she's clearly making guesses.

The notes to herself are... still informative but they make him sad. She's clearly so terribly sad and she's grasping at everything, every shred of hope—

—perhaps he should tell her—

—the Volturi would kill him and then he'd never find Blair and then maybe they'd even kill her and that's unthinkable. So it's decided. He puts everything back exactly where it was and then it's sneaking out time.

Franklin has not left his room, and Yvette has still not returned. Sneaking out is easy enough.

And now he's going to Belgium.

It... might be faster to take a boat. But then again, it might not. He goes back to his place and grabs some stuff he wants to take with him and runs to the coast at top speed not stopping for anything then goes looking for boats while gauging whether swimming will get him there first.

It depends on the boat! Some of the nicer ones would be faster, but they tend to require scheduling in advance, and nothing is really available now now, even if he were a stowaway.

Swimming it is!

...he kinda doesn't want to get saltwater all over his clothing. Hmm. He's sure he can find a waterproof bag somewhere, there must be one for sale—aha, yeah, there. He purchases it, then goes somewhere deserted, strips, puts all his belonging in the bag, and swims, swims faster than he's ever had to. He has to make a couple of pauses to eat—fish are terrible but sharks are less terrible—and then he's in France and the Belgium border is right over there. He runs, gets dry enough, gets dressed, runs more—Liège is rather far inland—there's another pause for food, some farmer now that there are humans around, and then...

Then he's in Liège.

From there he can guesstimate from Blair's letters where he was staying. After months, there's not just going to be the scent of him wafting around, but Blair wasn't actually trying to disguise his location from his own sister, even if he perhaps could have been more specific. With a bit of patience and logic, James can narrow down the location; a modest little hole in the wall of a bed and breakfast that looks... kind of adorable, actually.

Of course the adorable hottest woman in the world has an adorable brother. And James saw his picture, Blair is hot, too, even if not as hot as she is.

He goes to the little hole-in-the-wall place and looks around for anyone that looks like they might know anything.

There's a receptionist at a desk in the front, idly reading a magazine. She looks up when James comes in, and smiles and addresses him in French.

"Bonjour! Are you looking for a room?"

"Bonjour!" he replies in Paris-accented French. "I'm actually looking for a friend. Last I heard from him he came here—that was, hmm, about three months ago? About yea tall, dark hair, goes by Blair but actual first name is Albert..."

"Ah, three months ago...?" she stops to think. "Oh, oh, the Englishman that said he was a linguist? Yes, I remember him, he stayed here for a couple of weeks. Friendly man, very charming. Paid in advance, gone one morning without a word."

"Oh? He didn't happen to say where he'd gone next or leave a forwarding address or anything like that?"

"No, here one day, gone the next morning. One of the maids was very upset about it. He actually left a few things behind, we didn't know where to mail them to."

"One of the maids? What was she upset about? And, ah, I have his sister's address, her name's Yvette, I could mail them to her."

"Oh," her voice lowers, "she fancied him. She was very put out that he left without saying goodbye. Ah, yes, we still have them in a box in the back, I can go get them for you if you'll wait here..?"

"Aha. Yes, he's very fanciable, I understand. I'll be waiting here, thank you."

”You’re welcome!” she chirps, then away she goes.

She returns with a little modest bag of items. ”Please let him know he’s welcome to come stay with us anytime he’s in the city!”

"I will, thank you very much! Have a nice day!"

Okay, and once he's out of sight—scent from inside the box?

”You too!”

The bag contains: one (1) knife that folds in on itself, one (1) razor, three (3) socks, none of which match.

The socks are the only things that could possibly hold a scent that long, and have unfortunately been helpfully washed.

Sigh. This isn't useful.

The guy disappearing suddenly is... ominous. That smells of kidnapping, no pun intended. He wraps the knife and the razor in the socks and stores them all inside his backpack. Part of him wants to give up now, to return and inform Yvette that her brother has disappeared, but—no. No, he has not done all he could.

He waits until night, until it's dark enough that no one will be looking, and returns to the bed-and-breakfast, but this time from the rooftop. And it's stalker time—he will try to go window by window to see if he finds anything, anything at all that's supicioius.

There are several couples that are shagging, but nothing is obviously out of the ordinary.

Grrr.

He runs around the place some more, trying to find anything out of the ordinary but—no, nothing. Okay, time to talk to more people. The following day is... not sufficiently overcast, so he grumps all day and decides to explore the surrounding area, far enough to not be seen sparkling.

(Also a pause for a snack, but no one from the village, just some animal somewhere.)

No one sees him sparkling, and no one will miss the critter he ate.

The next day is a light drizzle that is much more friendly to vampires.

And then he can go looking for a certain maid...

There are a couple maids! It is not immediately clear which one of them was sweet on Blair.

... But one of them does jump a little upon seeing him, and keeps apologizing for no reason and stealing glances at James's eyes.

His eyes.

Fuck. He was trying not to think of that, it's too much of a coincidence—but nearly all Blair's stuff was taken, why would that happen if it was a regular kidnapping? They wanted to make him—comfortable, keeping his things—fuck he might not even remember Yvette, James knows he had a sister only because he visited his town later and saw his family, he remembers her face but with no fondness, that would wreck Yvette—

—it might have wrecked his sister, he doesn't know, he never thought about it—

—he puts these thoughts out of his mind, smiles brightly, and says, "There's no need to apologize. Are you alright?"

"Ah—yes, monsieur, no problem, sorry for bothering you ifyou'llexcuseme—"

"Please, wait just a moment. I wanted to ask you a question, it shouldn't be long." He doesn't quite reach for her but he does take a half-step towards her.

She shrinks, but stops fleeing.

"Yesmonsieur."

"A few months ago, a friend of mine was here—goes by Blair, legal name Albert. He's English. Then he—left, but we haven't heard from him since and his family is really worried. Do you know—anything, anything at all...?"

She swallows and looks a little bit like she would like very much to sink into the ground and disappear.

"There was, um." She shrinks some more and looks at her shoes. "A married couple that looked like you were asking after him. I didn't, they, um. They made me very nervous."

Fuckity fuck fuck. He furrows his eyebrows in worry. "Looked like me, like—the eyes, and skin? Were they looking for him specifically?"

"Ah, yes. They wanted to know more about him, are they, um... family of yours...?"

"More or less, but we're—estranged. I don't like it that they found Blair and then Blair disappeared. Do you know anything about where they might have gone? Did they maybe have an accent?" Not that that means much, he learnt French after becoming a vampire and got a Parisian accent just because that's where he did it but it's something.

"Ah, no, they didn't mention. Parisian, like yours, monsieur."

He nods, and smiles at her. "Thank you very much, madame, you were very helpful. If I find him I will be sure to come here and tell you."

"You're, um, you're welcome. I hope he's okay."

And with that, she flees.

He curses some more in a tone much too high for human hearing then starts looking around the town again, this time looking for evidence of vampires. Dead or kidnapped people, especially, but then he'll have to look around in other cities nearby to see if they suggest a direction—unless Liège gets news like that.

There are the expected number of missing persons for a city, but not the expected number of missing persons for a city that regularly houses vampires, and there aren't any notable vampiric scents floating around in the area. They probably moved on, but the direction they went isn't clear.

This rain doesn't help. He'll... take his chances and go north. Vampires are more likely to prefer the north for weather reasons.

North is the Netherlands!

...

There are no obvious traces of a coven of three nomad vampires, here. There's a vampire that keeps a territory around here that he could perhaps ask, but he wouldn't have been involved in any of this and might not even have been aware that there were nomads to the south of him, eating or turning brothers of pretty girls.

Grrrrrrrr!

South now.

France!

... Nnnope. He does pick up the smell of a nomad, but just the one, no large, three person coven.

And missing persons over the past three months still stable, probably. Come on, where would they have taken a newborn, surely they'd have had to kidnap some humans?

East!

Germany!

Wow, no, these guys do not have their shit together enough for him to get any kinds of statistics to track down nomad vampires of any kind. They are very sad, here. Also very poor.

...that's promising, though. Germany is where Blair was planning to go next and... whatever... social collapse going on here... is probably actually pretty great for a newborn vampire?

(Pretty great for an older vampire, as well, he hasn't eaten in a while, he'll go find some human to nom. Nommmmmm.)

Vampires! Here batty batty here, here batty batty!

Yeah, this is actually pretty great for vampires, everyone's so miserable and expecting death at their door at all times!

He does in fact run into a vampire! Not the ones he wanted, but a vampire!

"Nuremburg's mine, go elsewhere if you're thirsty," she informs him, from about 400 meters away.

"I'm not looking to stay, I'm just trying to track some friends that might have passed by here. A couple and a newborn, about three months ago?"

"Oh. Them. Yep, saw 'em. Italy."

"Oh, that's grand! Do you happen to know whereabouts in Italy?"

"Did not care, do not care."

"They didn't mention anything while you could hear? I promise I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can, I just want to not run around in circles." More circles, rather.

"No. Do I look like I like long conversations? They were a bunch of bleeding tourists. That enough for you?"

"It is, yeah, thank you, and sorry to bother."

Italy is still better than nothing. To Italy, seeing if he can find any more informative vampires on the way.

No vampires are really on the way to Italy.

There are some obvious ones in Italy that he could probably ask, if he wants to do that.

Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.

(No.)

There aren't many places they could've reasonably entered Italy from. He's hoping against hope that one of those entry points will have vampires that might have sighted the trio. Please? Or at least some small villages with mysterious disappearances a while back?

Oh, yeah! Now that he mentions it, these people did go missing a while back!

This is notable not on account of the numbers, but on account of the aim and the fact that they all disappeared in the same timeframe. All of them were really terrible people, apparently, and no one misses them. One of them was apparently a child molester!

...why should he care?

Whatever, it's a pattern. Does it continue in any direction?

Right to Venice!

Then to Vienna, in Austria. Then Budapest, Hungary. Then Romania, then—

Huh. This is actually a pretty clear pattern to follow, if one watches for it with vampires in mind.

...interesting. So he'll watch, and follow, stopping for snacks every now and then because wow he really didn't think he'd have spent the next few weeks of his life touring around Europe when he went to grab that one package that day huh well anyway onwards he's surely moving faster than the trio.

He's definitely moving faster. The trail gets hotter and hotter, the very directed murder sprees less in the past.

Eventually, he catches up with them in Bucharest.

They're letting Blair do the hunting for them, since it matters so much to him. This allows Danuta and Gavriel to enjoy hobbies such as birding, outdoor fornication, and fashion tourism.

And what are the odds Blair is gonna run into a random American vampire?

Actually pretty damn high, what with this random American vampire knowing his scent—or parts of it, enough to recognize it. So, where's Blair?

Hunting, apparently. He has a bound and gagged man casually tossed over one shoulder, then stops to look at James curiously.

"... I'm sorry, is this yours? I didn't think this was anyone's territory." He looks very controlled for a newborn. No hiss, no posturing. Just calmly looking at him with his bright red newborn eyes.

"No. No, not mine, thanks. Blair Lowell, right? I'm James Orland. I have been—looking for you."

Head tilt.

"Oh? What for?"

(On his shoulder, the bound man struggles and attempts to scream. He is ignored.)

"I—ran into your sister, in England. She's very, very worried. She hasn't—given up, yet, doesn't want to think you are dead. She is trying to do everything she can to find you."

"Aw," says Blair, with a fond smile. "Knew I remembered her for a reason."

Then his eyebrows raise. "I wasn't aware she knew any vampires. Except me now, I suppose."

Oh good he remembers. That's—that's really good.

"Uh, she doesn't really know I'm a vampire. Or that I came looking for you."

"So you came trekking across Europe to find a guy that you didn't know, for a girl that doesn't know you're a vampire, or that you're looking for me. Do you do this often?"

"Well not this in particular."

"How long have you been trying to find me?"

"It's been... a few weeks, I lost track of time. A month and change."

"Uh... huh. Might I ask why?"

He seems to find something very funny.

"She was very miserable, and I could do something to fix it. I like helping people, when I can."

"Well, all right. I guess I can understand that. Would you like to help me with an... errand of mine?"

"Sure! What do you need?"

"I would like to kill my coven."

He frowns. "Why?"

"Because they forcibly turned me, dropped me in front of five humans straight out of turning, and my witch power didn't let me disassociate from humans as people, so I found the whole thing kind of traumatizing. I would like to avenge myself."

"...yeah, okay, sure, I'll help."

"Excellent," says Blair, with a slightly terrifying smile. He glances at the human he's carrying. "Do you want this? I already ate, it's much easier to hunt for myself than others."

"Sure, haven't eaten in a while, thanks."

He has fairly good table manners.

Blair obligingly holds his breath and does not fight over the terrible person. The terrible person is properly disposed of.

"Right, so. I'm just going to happily bounce up to them and introduce you and say I made a friend. Then we take them by surprise. Sounds good?"

"It does. Can you fight at all, in addition to being a newborn?"

"Haven't had much chance to practice, I was going to lean on the element of surprise. I have been a very docile newborn, they are not expecting an attack from me and they're expecting to get to work together to take me down. And not for me to get help."

He nods. "Focus on the hands, they're important, but not so much so that you get distracted, a well-aimed kick can get your head off and then they can do whatever they want with you. Your strength is your biggest asset and, yeah, element of surprise will help, even during the actual fight—they will expect you to be unable to do anything smart when your instincts are taking over, so if you prove them wrong that can be decisive."

He nods. "Thanks. I bet I can prove them wrong," he says, brightly.

"Then let's surprise them."

"Let's!"

He then bounces back to his coven, slight spring in his step.

"Hey, I made a friend!" he calls.

"Aww!" says Danuta. "Hi, Blair's friend!"

"Hello! I'm James. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Danuta and my mate is Gavriel."

Blair bounces over to Danuta.

"And he's already met me. This isn't his territory, I checked, we're not stepping on any toes," he reports, all smiles and cheer.

"Good, I hate fights with locals," says Danuta. "Like, travel, sticks-in-the-mud, right?"

"I don't tend to stick around anywhere myself, it gets boring really fast. I went to Antarctica once."

"But what do you eat there?" asks Gavriel.

"Penguins, seals, and whales, mostly. They taste horrid but it's what you have to do."

"Huh," says Blair, conversationally.

And then he leaps forward and rips Danuta's head off.

Gavriel roars and lunges for Blair.

Just in time to be casually intercepted by this other vampire midair and given the bear hug of his life. Awww look, James is making friends!

"I'd say it's nothing personal," says Blair lightly, moving to combo with another head rip, "but I'd be lying."

Both enemy combatants thus neutralized, Blair cheerfully moves on to turning them both into gravel so they can be set on fire.

James helps! And has matches in his large waterproof bag, how prepared!

"Want to do the honors?"

"Yes please, thank you!"

And then they are unceremoniously set on fire. Blair looks very pleased with himself.

He grins at Blair. "Very efficient, not bad at all."

"Thank you," says Blair, cheerfully. He looks fondly at the crackling fires that were once his covenmates. "So, now what are you planning to do?"

"Well, you're alive. Yvette is going to want to know this, some proof would be useful. You used to write her letters, every two weeks. I, ah... read them."

He blinks, thoughtfully. "Oh. Oh I did, didn't I. Ah, damn. Recite them to me? Then I can forge a series of them with the appropriate dates, and you can drop a bundle of them off at her apartment. And blame it on, I dunno. Customs or something."

"Can do." He recites them in order, start to finish.

"Thanks," he says, once the recitation's done. His former covenmates have finished burning. "I'm going to go get supplies, want to come with?"

"Sure."

Off they go!

"So," he says. "We can eat animals, apparently?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you not know? I suppose I didn't either prior to my trip."

"Nah. That's interesting. They smell disgusting, though, are you sure that's healthy? Long term."

"I haven't tried," he confesses. "There are some changes. Your eyes turn gold instead of red—maybe not for newborns—and your instincts work a bit differently. I was maybe a bit less strong?" He thinks back on it. "The thirst definitely had a different character, though. Hard to put a finger on exactly how."

"... Huh. Well, now I'll have to try it. Yvette will want to know, anyway."

"Will she?" He's maybe a touch more eager to know the answer to that question than its innocence would suggest.

Blair studiously does not giggle at the vampire that has definitely got it bad for his sister.

"Yeah. I don't quite remember everything, I'm leaning on my witch power a lot, but I don't think she'd be comfortable with needing to kill people to live. And we absolutely cannot go wrong by handing my sister all of the information we can get."

He nods and—doesn't need to commit this to memory but does the vampire equivalent of that. "What is your witch power?"

"Tracking power, but personality based. My feel of a person. As I talk to people I get more about them, and the better I know them the further away I can find them. But I get little wisps just from being around people. Which is why I don't eat people that don't deserve it."

He frowns a bit but nods. "And Yvette?"

"She's thataway." He points. "Had her right after turning."

"Do you remember a Franklin?"

He pauses to think.

"... Vaguely?" he muses. "My... father? Ah. There he is. Also thataway. I did not have him before, thank you."

"You're welcome."

They reach a store in which Blair can purchase supplies for systematic forgery! Of himself.

"So what's your plan after you've assured my sister that I am not dead?" he asks, at a pitch the pesky humans can't hear.

He shrugs. It's not like he's gonna tell her brother that he's going to charm her and hopefully sleep with her. "No specific plans."

Eyebrow raise.

"None whatsoever? Not even going off to find the next pretty girl to run all over Europe for over a month for?"

"It could be a pretty boy next time."

Blair snorts. "I suppose so." Yeah, bullshit, it is blatantly obvious to everyone but James that he is smitten.

Innocently: "Do you want some advice if you happen to have more than a minute long conversation with my sister?"

"I would appreciate that."

"Okay. So I'm pretty sure she values human life, for one."

"Well, she's human, so that makes sense."

"Right, but maybe don't just kill people because it's convenient. I think if she ever found out she'd be horrified and upset. Even if she doesn't find out, she'd be operating from the background assumption that there isn't much reason to kill random people. So. Kind of taking advantage of some misplaced trust, there, which: do you want to do that, James?"

He would rather die.

"No, that would not be very fair to her."

"Right. So. Horrible people or animals only, preference to animals," says Blair, brightly. Stationary, pens, and envelopes are acquired! Out of the store they go, now. Blair bought several different types so it looks less like he sat down and forged a series of letters.

"Let's see. Don't turn her without her permission. I realize like, Volturi, but I don't think my sister would turn down vampirism. But if you turn her without her permission and full disclosure at the start, she will not forgive you. And do we want that?"

"No, sir. It's bad enough to turn, and the surprise part doesn't help. But I don't think I'm going to tell her about being a vampire, anyway."

His mouth twitches. "Okay," he agrees, blandly.

"So, do also please remember that she is a squishy delicate human. Do not eat my sister. I realize your control's probably better than mine, but do not eat my sister."

He blinks. "I wouldn't. That would defeat the point."

"Well, keep in mind that accidents can happen and that humans can start bleeding at the drop of a hat, so please plan accordingly and do not get cocky. There is only one of her, if we lose her she's gone forever."

He nods seriously.

He considers also pointing out that if James hurts his sister, there is nowhere in the world that he could hide where Blair couldn't find him, and that he believes he has just proven that he's very patient and can play the long game, and plays to win.

Eh. 'It would hurt her' is probably more of an incentive. No need to get nasty.

"Questions?"

"Don't think so."

Yeah he would very much never ever ever hurt her ever he would rather die.

"No? Don't want to learn about the girl you trekked across Europe to cheer up?"

"I expect she will tell me if she wants me to know."

"Fair enough!" he agrees. Then he sits down to start forging letters.

"I don't think I'm ready to trust myself to be around her yet. My control's pretty good for my age but that's... not really saying much?"

"When I was that new I was much worse," he agrees, "but you'll know when you're actually safe to be around."

"Any tips? Ways I could practice my self control?"

"Start small. If you can get human objects, particularly clothing, and especially if there's blood in them, and be around them until you feel under control then that helps. Heartbeats are also an important part of it, though, so you should be around humans before attempting anything more sophisticated. Don't do that unless they are easily disposed of, because you will fail sometimes. Doing it while full for the first few times helps get into the right frame of mind, but eventually you should test your control while hungry."

He nods.

"All right. Thanks. My power gives me something of an edge, I can lean on it to help stop myself, or steer myself if I can't resist, but... My self control is too tenuous for my sister, I think. It's mostly a product of forward thinking and having an outlet to direct myself at."

He nods. "I think control is easier after eating animals, too," he adds as an afterthought.

"Really? I'd have thought it'd be the opposite. I can console myself with getting to eat a serial killer later instead of a mother of four."

He nods. "Really, yeah. So should I take these letters to Yvette and say there was some mixup, or...?"

"Or drop them outside her door like they arrived in the mail, if you don't want her asking inconvenient questions of you," he offers, slightly amused. He does not expect James to do this, but he might. "Blame it on the Germans. Maybe get some of them stamped with obnoxious red stamps with things like 'for review' or 'return to sender' in German, or something. Have a couple get forwarded to Belgium and then sorted out there. I vaguely recall bureaucracy as a terrifying amorphous thing, it can have plausibly held up some international letters for a couple of months. Don't say it was the English that screwed it up, it is both easier to verify and she's more likely to go yell at them so someone else doesn't have to lose their letters."

Wow. She sounds really adorable. Also hot.

He nods. "I'll remember that," he says, wryly.

"Luckily we did actually go through Germany, so I can make this pretty believable." Write write write, he has gotten through many letters very quickly, having a vampire boosted everything is awesome.

"Impatient to get back?" he wonders, mildly, as he writes.

"Somewhat," he admits. "But not enough that I'll rush you."

"I'm not happy about keeping her waiting either. I don't imagine worrying about me is all that much fun." Write write write.

"It's not."

He nods.

"In my latest letter I'm going to say that I'm going from Germany to, uh. Poland, I guess. So that the postage will not obviously mismatch the forgeries like it might if I tried sending anything from Germany again through channels that actually exist."

He nods. "...what's even happening here?" he wonders.

"Short version: they lost the Great War, and so everyone agreed that it was definitely all their fault in the first place. Because of this, they had their economy gutted and have steep war reparations to pay for all of the damages. This has overall made the country very miserable."

"Oh. Sounds terrible."

"Pretty much. The idea was to make it so that it would be impossible for them to ever conduct another war again."

"Or conduct anything else at all, it appears."

"Yeah. I get the impression there was an element of vengeance to it. Someone to blame for all the death and destruction." He shrugs. "Anyway. I could take a week to get all of these airtight, but I think I don't want to keep her waiting any longer. Even if she notices they're forged, she's going to know that no one but me could have forged them, which is the important thing."

He finishes the final letter and seals it. It disappears into his coat, and the rest of the stack goes to James.

"This one I'll send from Poland the normal way, I'm going to pick right back up on sending regular letters from here on out. Please pick up German stamps for all of them, and try to make them look like they've seen some kind of bureaucratic Hell. You saw the letters she got, you're going to be better at forging the outsides than I would be."

He nods. "Will do. Good luck with control."

"Thanks. Good luck with being heroic for pretty people, it was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too!"

...and he zips away.

The trip back is significantly shorter—he's not tracking anyone, just running. He stops places to make the forgery look more real—stamps and whatnot—but doesn't dawdle. He really wants to get back. Who knows what else Yvette got up to in this month away. She could have decided to come track Blair herself, and that would be a terrible, terrible idea for a human. He puts that thought out of his mind.

And he arrives, a few days later. He has a bundle of letters, an overcast day (thank you, England), and a fist with which to knock—

—wait, first, is Yvette in?

Not at the moment, no. Her father is, though.

...he'll wait for her. He sits on the roof.

After a couple of hours, here is Yvette, dressed in a nurse's uniform and looking tired and vaguely unhappy.

Oh. Oh good. He—

—should wait a bit. It wouldn't do to look like he's stalking her. He'll wait, hmm, half an hour.

He can hear her going about her business inside. She calls a greeting to her father, and gets one back. She fixes a very quick dinner for the both of them. One plate gets delivered to her father's room, the other is eaten alone at a table by the window.

Half an hour elapses.

She's so sad.

He knocks.

She huffs a sigh and drags herself out of her chair and to the door, and—

There she is, blinking at him politely.

"—hi. Yvette, right? I, uh." Why is he blanking? Get a hold of yourself man. "Blair's letters," he says instead, handing them to her.

Yvette takes them automatically, at first not registering that sentence.

Then:

"Wait, what? He's, but—" she fumbles with the letters, flipping through them to look at the addresses and senders. "—but, what, you, how?"

He shrugs, recovering some of his composure. "Germany's a mess, apparently? Because of the war sanctions, they and bureaucracy there is in shambles. These got all held forever."

"So he's fine," she says, staring at him. "He's fine and it was just a, a stupid mixup after all."

"Yeah. He's alive and writing letters."

"How did you find them?"

She hugs the stack of letters close to her heart, like she's afraid that if they aren't kept so close, they'll disappear into smoke.

"I have a knack for these things, and I know people in lots of places."

"You—" she pauses, then squints at him. "... I've seen you before. You were, um, at the post office? You overheard me missing some letters a month ago and, and. Just went and found them?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that was me."

She remembers him!!!

She doesn't appear to have any idea of what to say to that.

"Well, thank you," she says, after a pause.

"You're welcome," he says primly.

"Do you want, um, some kind of payment for services rendered, or, or something?"

"—no, no, of course not. I—you just seemed very sad."

"Oh."

Yep, clearly no idea what to do at all.

Then she seems to come to some kind of decision, and her jaw sets and she carefully puts her stack of very precious letters down on a nearby table. This task completed, she slides across the threshold to stand on her toes and gently press a small kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," she repeats.

He touches his cheek, lightly—it's warmer now that she kissed it, if only temporarily—and says, "Anytime." Then he notices this is weird. "I suppose I should go now."

Her kiss bestowed, she retreats back to the other side of the threshold, smiling awkwardly.

"Um," she says. "If I were a better host I'd invite you inside for tea, or, or something, but, um." She looks at her stack of precious letters, then back to James. "Forgive me for being terribly rude?"

"There's nothing to forgive. I will leave you to your letters. I hope your brother is well." He nods respectfully and moves to leave.

"Thank you," she repeats, for the third time, then: "Oh, wait, um—what's your name?"

"James," he replies automatically. "James Orland." He dips his head politely again. Back on his game, there he goes.

"Bye, um. James."

And then she closes the door and goes to read her letters, hug her father, and tell him the good news.

And he...

...hangs around near the roofs for a while. Just to make sure everything's alright and she's actually happy.

There's some crying! But it is the good kind of crying, and she doesn't seem unhappy.

... But there's a thoughtful pause, after she reads the letters a second time once her father's gone to bed. She retrieves Blair's previous letters and compares them to the new set, and hums thoughtfully to herself.

Yeah, that's not gonna hold forever. Hopefully Blair will be back soon enough? ...hopefully she won't disbelieve that the letters are from Blair?

He sticks around a while longer.

The next half hour is devoted to cleaning her desk up and organizing all of the information she has into some kind of tidy filing system. Then, she rereads the letters again.

"What are you up to...?" she muses aloud, sitting at her desk and tapping her fingertips against it thoughtfully.

She goes to retrieve a pen and something to write on—

—then stops, and very deliberately puts both right back where she got them from.

Did she... decide to not write him that letter?

But she probably believes it's his. That... sounded right. Okay. So she won't be unhappy. Probably.

Good.

...and he has a package to collect.

.......he'll stick around for another minute or two.

Yvette retrieves a book from a shelf, and makes it through a couple of chapters before she goes to bed.

Yeah okay.

He goes to the post office—ah, drat, it's closed now, he'll have to wait until the morning. So he goes back to his place—oh, it's kinda dusty, isn't it, he hasn't been around in a while. He cleans everything and reorganizes everything and then stops and—

—doesn't really know what to do now. He's kinda hungry, maybe he should—well, he should not get some random human, Blair advised him against that, but he's sure he can find a terrible person. Maybe in prison? Prison should have terrible people, right?

It probably does, though the one near Lancaster seems to be based around more minor criminals instead of the more irredeemable people Blair tended to eat. They all have sentences of a couple years. It's also significantly more monitored than James might be accustomed to.

Maybe he can find terrible people... being terrible? Maybe in Manchester. He has all night.

He does!

Here is a man who is beating and then forcing marital relations upon his wife, does he seem edible?

Ooh, very edible!

...but maybe not while his wife is looking, James doesn't want to blow his cover. When he's asleep.

They're asleep in the same bed, but it's not all that difficult to slip into their bedroom and steal away the abusive husband without anyone noticing or getting awoken by his screaming. He didn't need that windpipe, anyway, not for his new purpose as 'dinner.'

He very much didn't! But James doesn't want to make a mess, so he's very careful not to break skin until the man is safely unobserved.

The man is easily killed, his blood easily consumed, and the body easily disposed of.

And thus sated, James returns to Lancaster at a more leisurely pace, enjoying the sunrise when it appears.

Eventually he fetches his package from the post office and starts organizing his place with its content; he's going to be a dentist. It doesn't take too long to rearrange furniture and separate out an area to be a waiting room and somewhere else to be the actual practice room. And then he has to post an ad somewhere for it, so that people will know to come to him. That... would be in the post office again, he guesses?

The post office cannot personally help him in his quest for better teeth for England, but they can point him in the right direction, where some people would be delighted to help him begin practicing dentistry!

Does he have an ID and his certification for his new profession?

Of course he does.

(It's forged, but, you know, he did study a lot and watch a few classes and has perfect memory and motor control.)

Excellent! Everything looks to be in order, then.

Then if he could just pay this very reasonable (expensive) fee, and then this other (more modest) fee for his name to appear in this book and then this other (expensive) fee for him to get an ad in this paper, that'd be great.

Ughhhh.

Fine. Not all of this money was obtained legally but he's getting there! He's going to be an upstanding citizen eventually, promise!

Luckily, they have no idea that he got this money off of the corpses of his victims.

He's now free to practice dentistry, and might at some point even get a customer!

Hooray!

...time to check on Yvette! How's she doing?

Not at home! He can probably follow her scent trail if he'd like to, though.

And guess she works at a hospital or something, given nurse outfit.

Yep! There she is, he can hear her voice from outside. She sounds busy.

...yeah, he won't interrupt her. He'll wait until the end of her shift. His practice won't open until tomorrow anyway.

Then he can listen to her while she works!

She's apparently a bit new to this, occasionally asking more senior nurses questions about procedures, but she does not seem incompetent. Quite the opposite. She has a good work ethic and is of the mind that if something needs to be done, she'll either do it herself or help streamline a more qualified person to do it instead. Several people comment that she seems cheerful today.

Eventually, her shift ends.

...he did this. He was the one who made her seem cheerful today. That... makes him much happier than he'd expected.

He happens to casually run into her from a perpendicular street while she's on her way home.

"Oh, um. Mr. Orland," she says, caught off guard by this definitely random happenstance. "Ah, hello."

She fidgets with her purse, looking somewhere between 'shy' and 'painfully curious.'

"Oh, hello, Ms. Lowell. How are you doing today?"

"Good. Really, really good. And you?"

"I'm doing great! I just got approved to open my dentistry office nearby. Did the letters assuage your worries?"

"Congratulations," she says, smiling a... slightly confused little smile, before moving on. "They did, thank you again for finding them, my family was very worried about him. What with him being overseas, with no expedient way to reach him, and... yes, thank you."

"I think you've thanked me enough," he laughs. "And is he well? What is he doing so far?"

"He's well. Ah, to quote him, 'learning every language known to man, making more friends than he can remember'? He's wanted to see the world since he was ten. Probably earlier, actually."

"How does he even feed himself?"

"I have," she says very seriously, "no idea. He's good at, at finding people that need some kind of help? And then helping them, and then he has a place to sleep and several meals a day, and a week later everyone loves him and he's sending money back home. I'm pretty sure it's just magic."

He laughs, thinking that if that wasn't true before it's definitely true now. "That sounds like my kind of magic. I would appreciate having something like that, myself."

"Me, too. But if I got to pick magic powers, I'm not sure it'd be that one."

"What would it be?—I'm terribly sorry, I should not be keeping you."

"That would depend on the nature of the magical powers on offer." She then remembers that they're standing in the middle of the street, and looks mildly embarrassed. "Oh, ah. It's no trouble, really."

"What do you say of having coffee with me, sometime? Then you can tell me all about the magical powers you would pick."

She blinks several times.

"... Yes, all right. Sometime, I don't think I can today, but. Yes." She gives him a little adorable smile.

Not that she's ever anything other than the most adorable creature in existence, but the smile is appreciated. He smiles at her right back, maybe a bit more widely than would be decorous but perhaps he's just a very happy person. "Splendid! How is your schedule constrained?"

(And the way he pronounces 'schedule' definitely gives away a non-English accent.)

"I'm free on Sundays," she offers, still with her little smile.

"Does four sound good to you?"

"Sure," she agrees.

"Perfect. I'll meet you at your place, unless you prefer I not...?"

"That would be fine."

"Okay. I will see you Sunday, then," he says, bowing his head slightly.

"See you Sunday!" She pauses, then waves awkwardly in the direction she'd been walking before. "I'm terribly sorry, I should really, um. It was lovely talking to you?"

"There's nothing to be sorry for. It was a delight running into you today." He is pretty much the most sincere anyone can be about this.

"Yes, it was," she agrees to her shoes, then she gives a little wave and politely flees before she can make more of a fool of herself than she already has.

Eeeeee.

He opens his practice the next day but expects no one to show up this early. And he can barely wait until Sunday.

One person wanders in out of curiosity, but that's about all that happens during work hours.

Aaaaaa when is Sunday going to happen though.

It's still several days away.

He gets two more people who are curious but need no dental work, one drunk, and one very lost person who is looking for a tailor.

He is perfectly charming to all of them—the person looking for a tailor looks cute and he considers hitting on them but for some reason the prospect seems very unappealing—and on the night between Saturday and Sunday he's gonna eat some horrible person or other in Manchester.

Manchester has a number of those!

Would he like to eat this woman who is selling her son to 'clients'?

Uhhh he's not sure where to put the kid after that... maybe he'll drop him in some orphanage? But how without waking him up...

Some other horrible person?

This mugger that's in the middle of mugging a guy?

...sure, that probably counts as a horrible person. He waits until the mugging is done.

The mugging is concluded without incident, and the mugger is delicious.

Hey, look, free money!

Ooh! Cool, money's always nice.

And then it's Sunday!

Fortunately England did not choose this day to suddenly become sunny, so there is nothing at all in the way of meeting the objectively hottest person in the world.

Here she is! At her door, in heels, a lovely dress, and makeup, her red hair pulled back into a lovely complicated updo.

"Hi," she says, upon opening the door.

"Wow," he breathes.

"So what I'm hearing is that this dress does not make me look fat," she says, with a bit of a smirk.

"You look stunning," he says, slipping the smile on again.

"Well thank you." She steps outside and locks the door behind her. "I was promised coffee?"

"You were indeed! And I know just the place..." He offers her an arm.

She gives him an amused look, then takes the offered arm.

"So have you been in England long?"

"Only for about six months," he replies, leading the way. "And I have been here for barely two. You're from here, though, right?"

"Did the accent give me away?"

"Did mine?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I should try harder," he says, perfectly mimicking a very posh accent.

She makes a face. "Too posh, doesn't suit you."

"Wha' if I try this?" he asks, switching to cockney. "Surely be'er."

"No," she snorts.

"Irish! My complexion's Irish, is it not? Or Scottish—specifically Edinburgh, I think I would make a fine Scotsman. Oh, wait, was that culturally insensitive?" That last question he asks in his normal accent, but he's still smiling.

She snickers. "You'd have to ask a Scot, I think."

"I thought there was some form of rivalry between y'all and them Scots in the north," he says, shifting to a southern American accent.

"Sort of," she clarifies, mildly amused by the latest accent. "But not quite. What is that accent?"

"Southern American," he says, reverting to his default.

"Huh. Interesting. So most of Ireland left the United Kingdom a little under a decade ago. Scotland occasionally threatens to do the same thing. England would like everyone to stay together, but everyone that is not English sort of resents us for being the ones everyone thinks of when one thinks of the United Kingdom. So there is something resembling a rivalry between England and Scotland, but it's more that Scotland would really rather people stop forgetting about them, and wish that England would please stop acting like we're England and our charming island sidekicks. There, I think that was suitably biased in favor of diplomacy, aren't you proud?"

He claps lightly, without moving the arm she's holding. "Very proud, well done, I feel enlightened."

"Thank you. So what brings you to England? Our charming weather?"

"I approximately just stopped here," he says, shrugging slightly. "I confess I understand the appeal of your brother's travels; I spent quite a while visiting many different places before arriving here."

"Huh. I would have expected dentistry to not really lend itself well to travel. How do you feed yourself?"

"I didn't practice while I was traveling," he explains, "and I accumulated money from before." Both things strictly true, even!

"Oh? How long were you practicing before? Actually, how old are you, you look like you're in your twenties, but I get the impression it takes an amount of time to get training and some kind of certification for practicing dentistry, and then that plus travelling..."

"I only practiced for a few years—I'm twenty-eight, spent two years traveling, and I practiced between when I finished training and that. I have a very good memory, though."

"Oh, all right." She does a bit of mental math and... yeah, that checks out. "I'm twenty-one," she adds, because that seems like a fair thing to inform him of.

He grins and—here they are, a quaint little cafe, probably more expensive than average, its decoration not overtly couply but there are certainly hints.

Aw! It's cute. She smiles at it.

"I was not expecting you to go to these sorts of lengths for coffee," she admits, a little amused.

"I like to be thorough. Two, please," he tells the person who came to greet them, and they're led to a table inside.

"If you'd been this serious you could have invited me to dinner instead! I would have worn a nicer dress."

"I like to keep some mystery and expectation. Then maybe I'll tempt you to a second date."

"Ah, I see. Very clever."

"I try," he says wryly. They get menus, but James refuses his. "I know what I'm ordering, thank you."

Yvette has no such issues with the menu, she'll definitely take hers, thanks. "Oh? Been here before?"

"Well I did know to take you here. Yes, but only once."

"Aha. So was this very pre-planned, or just the first place you thought of?"

"Neither? It was the first place I thought of after I thought of asking you out for coffee."

Smile. "Okay. Well, it's cute."

"I'm glad you like it," he says, smiling, too. "So, I think you owed me an explanation of what sorts of magical powers you would get, if you could get any."

Snort. "It depends on the nature of the magical powers on offer! If I could just get any I'd just be terribly boring and get omnipotence, and then where would we be?"

He laughs. "Okay, okay, let's see... Personal powers, you can have things like telepathy, sight-range telekinesis, empathy control, the ability to find anyone if someone else describes them to you, the ability to find anyone you've met, electricity-charged skin, does this aesthetic seem to form a coherent whole?"

"Not... really, no. There were even two finding people powers, that just seems excessive, does everyone get a unique power or are we just occasionally changing minor things about a powerset and calling it different?"

"There are no exact copies, but there can be nearly identical one, like being able to hear versus see thoughts, or tracking by knowing someone's face versus having talked to them for five minutes."

She tilts her head. "That is extremely specific, and makes it hard to really say what sort of power I'd get without knowing what else is there in this hypothetical place where magic powers are handed out. Uh. Telepathy's a terrible power and I don't want it anywhere near me. Electricity charged skin is so... not useful at all to anything I'd want to do. Finding people is silly, I have a brother that is useful for such things and it would be a bit of a waste to use my singular magic power on a slightly better version of a thing I already possess by proxy."

He grins. She doesn't know how right she is. Yet. "Let me see, more examples... there's someone who's able to read your entire life history at a touch, there's someone who can perceive and identify relationships between any two people, there's someone who has control over the four elements..."

"Eugh, there's what? I mean the elements thing is cool and depending on how it worked I'd maybe want to steal that, but ew, memory reading and relationship reading, no."

"I suppose those powers are somewhat absolutely terrifying," he says mildly.

"Little bit. Where are you getting them from, they're very specific, are you inspired by a book or something?"

"Or something," he nods. "Not a published book, but a story I caught a long time ago. I don't know all the details but I do remember most of the types of magical powers in it."

"Well. All right." She props her head on a hand and hums, thoughtfully. "So there's mind control and people-finding and electricity generation and elemental control and telekinesis. This is all sounding pretty random, is there some kind of distribution pattern for the powers? I would like to avoid being a repeat of any kind, I'm vain enough to want to be a unique and precious resource."

"The vast majority of people don't have any magic. Among those who do, the powers you'd intuitively think of as 'more powerful' are rarer; so mind-reading and emotional manipulation and elemental control are on the rarer end, while enhanced senses or the electricity are more common. But like I said, all powers are exactly individual.—also, do you want to order? Conversation tends to be better while in expectation of tasty things."

"Oh. Right. I should feed myself, that would be a good thing to do. I'm going to put hypothetical magic talk on hold while I do that." She peers at the menu and picks a sandwich that doesn't seem objectionable and would go well with coffee, and also coffee.

He gets some black coffee and that's all.

Once the order's been placed:

"Okay, so I think I have trouble coming up with a balanced sort of power within the constraints of a system I don't really understand. And the knowledge that most powers aren't very powerful sort of... it seems like it'd ruin the fun to go, 'Ah, yes, I want telekinesis that lets me move objects that weigh less than a pound,' you know? If we're having silly speculation about what sorts of magic powers I'd want, it seems a shame to just. Go with something modest."

"Hmmm... Okay, suppose it goes with personality. Your brother would probably in fact get magic like what you described, someone with a fear of abandonment might get the power to manipulate how people feel about her and each other..."

"Ability to organize everything within a certain radius of me," she says, immediately. "Just snap my fingers and bam, order from chaos."

He laughs. "Dislike messes, do you?"

"Mm, not precisely. I don't usually mind if they're not my messes? But I can't... think in messes. A lot of how I think through something involves making something organized. I figure out the structure of a system and all of its parts, and what everything does and how everything works together, and then I arrange it in a way that makes sense, and then whoops I've organized am entire supply closet, how did that happen."