Owner	Pose
Askante	Immersion therapy. That is what today is about, for some things at least. The hustle and the bustle of NYC's china town never sleeps... even in the middle of the night, a different kind of person emerges, but there are still street vendors. There are still people in the parks. Usually they're the kind that have no place else to go, or those that live and breathe a city after nightfall. It isn't /terribly/ late, but October's decided to bring more overcast nights now, dropping the temperature so that people coming and going in the dark have breath that reminisces of Dragons. Bright colours bedeck lanterns, neon declares Uncle Li's momos are still open for business. And in the small parks, the street lamps paint puddles of light on otherwise dark lawns. The dinner rush has just let out, those diners that have places to go are making their way to the subways and beyond, some are just coming to find their favourite spots, or their favourite carts, to enjoy what is on offer. There are even a few outdoor heaters, to offer those diners that like to eat on the go, a space where the chill can be warded off. And in one of the old-growth trees, a branch watches the comings and goings, feels the people that walk just below it and out of sight, observing the nature of people in normal happenstance. Something drew it here though and Askante isn't sure what. The city, for it, is a cloud of neurosis just above its reach, hovering overhead, a thing to build up a tolerance to.
Shannon	Whatever the waning hours of the day meant to one, might not mean the same to another. Each moment that passed could mean one thing to many, or many things to one. There was simply no way of knowing. One among so many on the street wandered amongst the food stalls, her breath crystallized in front of her face in a draconic puff of white that belied her angelic appearance.      And it was no figure of speech, for there was simply no missing the sweeping, snowy wings tucked in neatly against her back, like a living cloak against the oncoming chill of winter.      Of course, the dove-grey cable-knit sweater did its part, as did the thick, lined dark blue jeans and soft but stout black leather boots. Too, the little paper plate full of fried vegetable dumplings in her hand took a bite out of the chill as well as warding off the pangs of hunger. Despite the rumblings of her own stomach, though, the sight of a hungry child tugged at her heart even more. With a light sigh and a smile, she kneeled down, offering the little urchin her dumplings. They did not last long, the raven-haired, ragged girl snatching up the offering and running off with them before the lady could change her mind.      An angel's work was never done.
Vitali	Chinatown. This is where Vitali has been spending his days and nights for the past while. It might be the middle of the night, but the Siberian is wandering his way nigh silently across the grass as he makes his way from Columbus park. The man's dark hair has been left mostly free to fall over his back, though the sides of it have been drawn up and secured with a pale grey clip. There are a number of wide and diaphanous ribbons in a pale grey shade, fluttering softly from the hair clip, and the ribbons are longer than what his hair is in length. It is perhaps an odd thing, but he wears a set of traditional Chinese robes. The part that covers his upper body happens to be white, and from the waist they fade swiftly from pale to darker grey. There's a pattern of leaves and cranes upon the wide and flowing sleeves, as well as on the robes and the back. He wears them comfortably, and with familiarity. Much like others who are about at this time of night, his breath fogs in the cooler air. His dark gaze is drawn to the brilliantly coloured lanterns, and a hint of a smile finds the corners of his lips. His dark gaze passes over the people who leave the business, and then his attention turns towards the vendors that are set up on the street. And his steps turn towards the candied fruit vendor. His steps are calm and soft and even, and his hands rest lightly at his sides. He stops in the next moment, his gaze tracking to the little ragged vagabond, and he tilts his head faintly to one side.
Askante	There is no describing how another sees the world. Work never to be done. People to be observed. A mark to be found. The milk of human kindness seen like a white light in shadow; some know exactly what they're looking for after all and it can start -so- young. Maybe that little urchin isn't taking those dumplings straight off to someone else, it doesn't matter in the end. Food is a gift, whether it ends up being regifted or not. But other hungers are like one wrong note in a symphony to an ear that has perfect pitch -- it requires the tilt of the head, the finding of that note, the catagorizing of it, the quality, how skewed it is from what it ought to be, contrasting the dissonance from the resonance. And cities are organized chaos, so the branch in that old tree watches, looks, seeks, face by face, mind by mind; did you pay the bill? Did you leave the gas on? Are there going to be dogs on the way home? Are you going to have to talk to your boss tomorrow? is that crack in the pavement a chasm you'll fall down into a pit of bad luck? No, none of those.... none of thoooose.... It spots Shannon, lifting an alien face from its camouflage, black eyes invisible in the dark, but the spines of its head rattle just a little, like tangled bine stems in the depths of autumnal gusts and it rises like a cat from its tree bough, hands and feet gripping the living wood. Kindness is rare, but like a thorn, the discord rattles it and it flips upside down, hang from beneath, the oversized leather duster that it wears hanging from its lean frame and drops, sommersaulting into the darkest spot beneath the tree. Fingers all crack, roll up and down the scale of an invisible piano, toe claws curl into the earth, then it starts moving, blending in though every instinct in the human mind says it shouldn't. Nobody really looks at the monster in their midst, the mind just refuses to look.
Shannon	Where savory had become another's meal, perhaps sweet would sate Shannon's hunger. Rising to her feet, she flicked a few stray bits of debris off her knees, smiling softly as she watches the little one scamper off with their prize. At least that one would have a decent meal tonight. The aroma of the sweet candied fruits called to her like a siren's song, beckoning with notes of exotic, yet somehow familiar delights. Her own stomach rumbled its warning, the fuel tank of her body running on empty. A light laugh escaped her, the winged young woman turning her steps towards the candied fruit vendor.      But something stopped her for a moment. It might be nothing, or it could be everything. But something was raising the hairs on the back of her neck and ruffling her feathers, however briefly.      Perhaps it was just the evening chill.      Perhaps it was more.      But whatever it was, soon was forgotten, as she did spot the vision in stormy greys and misty white, something that was indeed familiar to her. She smiled, directing her steps towards Heng-tali, stopping briefly nearby to bow. "Hello there!"
Vitali	The world is forever an interesting place. How it is seen by one does not always or often mirror how it is see by another, even if the same thing is looked at. Vitali watches the little urchin for a long moment, and then his chin lowers slightly, his gaze turning to the ground and to one side. "Mm," he murmurs faintly. His expression eases to a neutral cast, and his dark gaze lightly passes over each of the vendors in turn. And his attention settles upon the candied fruit vendor once more before he starts to head in that direction. There is a certain tranquility and serenity that seems to possess him, at least upon outward observation. Inwardly might well be a different story, given that there are two spirits which currently reside within his body -- one that belongs and one that intrudes. There is a pause that claims his steps, and he tilts his head faintly to one side as his dark gaze turns towards a tree. Was there something there? Did something move? The fingers of his right hand move slightly within the sleeve of the robe that he wears, and he studies the darkness for a lingering moment. A trick of the mind, perhaps. He gives a faint shake of his head, the diaphanous ribbons softly fluttering as he does, and then he closes the remaining distance to the vendor before securing a single stick of candied fruit. With the treat held in his right hand, he lifts off the end piece of fruit before popping it into his mouth to eat. Vitali turns his head to look towards Shannon, and he faintly inclines his head to her. "Ni hao," he offers in greeting, his tone soft. He takes a moment to look her over, and then he plucks another piece of fruit from the stick to eat it.
Askante	You must have imagined it. A trick of the weather, the wind, the shadow. But black eyes narrow. Oh, if they could only see what it sees. Abruptly that hair on the back of the neck feeling amplifies tenfold, then just as abruptly, becomes a pervasive background noise -- like that worrisome feeling that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you -- the shape in the shadow vanishes in a cloud of buzzing flies, all of which evaporate moments afterwwards, as the ectoplasm they were formed of evaporates. So it is, that exchanges can be easily had with the two at the fruit vendor, even with several passers by if such an inclination happened, before the vendor shrieks and goes on a stomping the foot fit: In chinese: "Cockroaches! COCKROACHES!" and with it, the middle-aged woman dances back, doing the Cucuracha, until with a shudder, she runs to her elderly mother sitting in a shopfront to take over whilst she goes to the washroom to calm down. And with it, came the imagination of the buzzing of flies, shadows exploding in the shape of flying insects that feed on death and decay and seven foot tall looms over the fruit stand, staring down at angel girl and russian spiritualist both. It spits over its shoulder, then takes off its jacket, shakes it and puts it back on again immediately. "Hello," the voice is quite sweet sounding, low contralto or high tenor. It's hard to define. They are their own entity and conform to no gender standard. "Social niceties, I know what those are. See?" but it points two left arms at Vitali, two index fingers long and extra-jointed in the middle. "You are Yin."
Shannon	There had definitely been some oddities in the angel girl's time in the city. One simply learned to roll with the punches, and this was no exception. Despite the instinctive ruffling of her feathers, and the flare of her wings, she calmly lofts one brow at the bizarre vision that greets from the shadows. There was a distinct lack of fear, and only mild surprise in both her expression and body language as she studied the bizarre creature painted in shadows and hellish shades of blackest night.      Indeed, this creature might seem to know some of the basic social niceties, but seems to not know others. She simply cleared her throat, a soft hrrmphing sound to alert the being to her continued presence.
Vitali	A trick of the mind, perhaps a trick of the other spirit that resides within his body. It wouldn't be the first time, and it would likely not be the last time either. Vitali tilts his head to one side, his chin ducking faintly as there is that feeling that makes the short hairs on his neck rise up. There is a shift of one of his feet and a quiet step taken across the grass, and his dark gaze passes across the others within the area, slowly. Something is in the night, but the question -- as it often is -- is what? Vitali's attention turns swiftly to the vendor as there is that foot stomping fit, the words well and truly understood by him. He makes a slight gesture of his left hand, lost where it is within the fall of his sleeve. It is a strangeness. There is a faint murmur of sound that slips past his lips, the faint movement of his fingers lost beneath the fall of the silken sleeves, and there's a soft blue that gives a faint shimmer before turning nigh invisible, appearing an inch or so beyond his physical self -- a shield, of sorts, crafted of water. He steps aside from the vendor's stall, to have space around himself as the tall figure manifests, a hint of surprise that shows in his dark eyes. There is a flicker of silvery-blue that touches his dark eyes only briefly at the oddness of the jacket being removed and then put back on. One spirit understands this gesture, and one does not. He half bows to the entity. "Ni hao," he offers in return. "This one fits Yin, in some ways," he says softly. Not in all ways, perhaps, but in some -- the female aspect of it, at least. He keeps a certain amount of distance between himself and the tall shadowy creature.
Askante	Askante looks at Shannon, top of the head, inch by inch downward to the soles of her feet and slowly back up. "Is your throat itchy?" it asks. "It might be feather dander. Or it could be dust. It is probably dust. Dust makes the throat very itchy, but then you sneeze and if you do that too much, you have to do other things." It makes a double negation gesture with its arms. "Very difficult. Too many contrasting arguments. We don't want to go there. Ring of roses. Sneezes. Bless you or not? I do not know. Could be just dust." It shrugs both shoulders back, then cracks its neck left and right, looking serious again, as if it hadn't been originally. "Yin." Another gesture to Vitali and it drops down to its haunches, tail snaking out behind it but somehow not being trodden on. "No skirts to look up. That is significant. It is not the female. No, no. It is the ... white. You. Do you get offered dumplings and honey treats? You should. Incense and offerings and bribes in red paper envelopes." It peers up, then stands up once again, eyes the fruit vendor's stall, ignores nearly everything but a sugared lychee, which it selects and leaves a single quarter for. It glances up at Shannon, sniffs the lychee, looks at it and nibbles on the edge of. Black eyes look up one more time. "Thank you." For what?
Shannon	Shannon's eyebrows flick upwards briefly, but she nods, albeit with lines of confusion etched into her youthful features. "You're welcome," she begins, a touch hesitant. "But for what?" She herself has no such shield as Heng does, but she stands her ground as if she did. Other than her confusion, she appeared quite calm, and rather steady. Had she perhaps faced such oddities before as manifested now in the duster coat? Had she faced stranger things still? One might never truly know her tale, for she kept her stories to herself, simply awaiting an answer in silence.
Vitali	The Siberian tilts his head a touch to one side as he listens to the strange one's words, his dark gaze holding fast upon the figure of it. He blinks slowly at a part of the words, a breath of curiosity touching him. "Sneezing does not always result in other things," he says softly. His arms remain at his sides, the long sleeves lightly draped past his hands. "Ring of roses? Has the Black Death returned?" Vitali asks, a flicker of curiosity to his voice. There is a glance towards Shannon, and then his attention returns once again to Askante, studying the figure as the neck is cracked first in one direction and then the other. "Do you mean death?" he asks, half wondering aloud. There is a soft movement of his feet upon the grass to bear him backwards a step when the creature lowers to its haunches, and his lips purse briefly together. "This one finds it impolite to look up someone's skirts," he says softly. His head tilts a touch to one side. "Such offerings are not made to this one. There is no one who lives that cares to do so," he says softly, his dark gaze turning briefly to the distance before sliding back to the unusual figure of Askante. He makes a slight gesture in order to bring one of his hands free from his sleeve, lifting the fruit stick that he'd been holding in order to pluck free a sugar-coated lychee that was next along.
Askante	Askante taps its forehead, then the tip of its nose with one digit, pointing at Shannon, then gesturing with a flick toward Vitali. "Found you, you found this one," it replies "...sometimes, chance is a lucky cat. Sometimes, it is a little white bird, sometimes, it is a beetle. I am not sure why sometimes it is a beetle, but you don't kill them if they have horns, in some places. You keep them in a box and name them," it frowns at that, which makes all the tiny scales shift in odd ways. It then continues to nibble on the lychee as it gestures with the other three hands in a big cloud around Vitali. "Here, it is like a negative. On the other side, it is a big cloud of white. I see you, pretty thing that lives under the skin. I see you. You're a clever one, I haven't seen another like you in a long time. Long, long, long time. What year is it?"
Shannon	Whatever was going on, it only seemed to confuse Shannon more. She dips her head, however, in acknowledgement of the thanks--to do otherwise would be supremely rude, and she had no wish to earn the wrath of a being of unknown abilities! "You're welcome," she murmurs, simply content to observe the exchange between spirits for now. One in a clothing of flesh, the other in a duster jacket.      Much could be learned by observation alone....
Vitali	There is a moment of focus to the gesture that Askante makes, that odd pair of taps before it points to Shannon. And then Vitali's dark gaze turns to the winged woman, studying her for a brief moment. The words are oddities in and of themselves, and his attention can't help but to turn back to Askante. "In China, it is said that crickets hold luck. Ladies would catch crickets and guard them in small cages, place them near their pillows so as to hear their songs during the night," he says softly. The way he speaks of it is as though he knows the practice or has, perhaps, partaken of it. Vitali pops the lychee into his mouth, rolling it across his tongue before crunching through the melted sugar coating of it. He chews it up and then swallows the small bite, his tongue flicking out quickly and briefly to barely damp his lips. He tilts his head faintly to one side, considering the words that have been said, and he inclines his head a touch. "This one does not see what you see. Perhaps it is Yin, and Yang. Perhaps it is something else," he says softly, a whisper of a smile touching at the corners of his lips. One of his eyebrows quirks faintly up, and he slightly inclines his head towards Askante. "It is said to be not afraid of growing slowly, but to instead be afraid only of standing still. Time is fluid. Known, sometimes, and unknown in others. It is twenty twenty-nine," he offers in answer. Heng Zhihao has occupied this body for a few weeks now, and either by overhearing or by catching the date on a newspaper, it would seem that she has learned at least a little bit.
Askante	Askante takes another nibble of its lychee, gazing up and to the right with it, it hunkers back down again onto its haunches, the tail slooooooooowly curling around like a cat's so that it covers its bare toes. Attention trickles back down to the pair afterwards, turning the candied fruit in fingertips. "That calender... hmm..." it blinks owlishly. "Three hundred years, I think, since last I saw one like you. Before that, a thousand past. Anyway, it is what I see. It is not Yang. Maybe when you lived, you had the positive energies but you do not have them now. All that is positive is contained in the skin you ride. I know this, though... the skin you ride is kind. If he was kind to me, he was likely kind to others." It shrugs, looks at its fruit one more time, before popping the whole thing into its mouth. It looks at Shannon, rattles its spines softly. "You stand steady. That's a good thing. I think you have questions though. Questions are always good. Sometimes you learn how to make fishing lures by asking questions. Sometimes you get stones thrown at you. Depends. I'm a bit hit and miss at figuring out the kind of crowd that accepts or rejects questions. SOmetimes..." it leans in with a grin "...I don't care which it is."
Shannon	"You're right, about the one Heng 'rides' with at the moment. He is quite kind, and very dear to many," Shannon offers, crossing her arms briefly over her chest. "But I'm not certain I quite understand the nature of what is happening to him as fully as I ought to do. Surely there must be a reason it is happening, yet I cannot fathom what that might be. I've seen some odd things in my short time in this world, but still... this is truly rather unusual."      Indeed, questions were good, and while times for playing one's cards close to the chest were necessary, this might not be one of them. To not take advantage of an available resource in resolving a rather sticky issue would be...foolish. But how best to proceed?
Vitali	The stick of fruit held between his fingers is give a simple little spin, and his gaze falls to it for that moment. The next piece of fruit is deftly plucked free of the stick, the popped into his mouth to be eaten. The slowly moving tail earns a glance from him, yet he doesn't see fit to put additional space between himself and Askante. "That is a long time between sightings. It is unfortunate that ones such as this one are not more common," he says softly, a thoughtful note to his voice. He raises an eyebrow slightly, and there is a flicker of a smile that touches his lips. "This one might have been surprised if it was Yang," he muses, sounding just a touch amused. The ribbons attached to his hair softly flutter out to one side in the fingers of a passing breeze, though he pays it no mind at all. He tilts his head a touch to one side at the mention of the skin, and there is a faint flicker of silvery-blue that shows in his eyes, briefly. "He is unharmed," he says softly. 'So far' seems to nearly hang in the air after the words are said. His gaze flicks to Shannon, studying her in steadfast fashion whilst she speaks, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. "A reason? Is there a reason for the rains to come, for the wind to blow?" he asks softly, watching her a touch closely. "He is unharmed. He is not dead. What more would you seek to know, to understand?" he asks. There is an unspoken 'yet' to both of those statements, it seems. If there was harm wished then it would or could be done, or such is the impression that the words might lean towards. The next piece of fruit is plucked from the stick, and he rolls that sugar-crystal covered treat between his thumb and forefinger briefly before popping it into his mouth.
Askante	"Not particularly unfortunate. Quite the opposite." Askante replies quietly, shrugging two shoulders up, the others rolling forward, exaggerating the gesture. "The dead are meant to move on. When something happens that is strong enough that it keeps the dead outside of the cycle, it can go a few ways -- there are many that can call the dead back, few that can hold the dead contained, even fewer that can successfully be ridden by the dead for long, before there are consequences. Papa Legba, he will eventually come a'callin'..." not a threat in its tone, it seems like the creature believes it to be an inevitability. It looks at Shannon, thoughtfully, as if trying to decide education levels in this particular sphere at least. "There has to be a circumstance that allows the skin to be ridden - those that invite must reach a state of mind where their minds are open. Some can act as a conduit, others as a consort. Some can just hear. Some are so terrible, that they take possession, devouring the host, a memory at a time until there is nothing left. Once, there used to be a good many that would fight the restless dead, now there are far fewer, mostly because nobody believes any more, it is not taught. Makes it easy when there are still strong willed ghosts with the tenacity to dominate the soul enough to occupy the same space as another. You know the laws of reality? It is said that two things cannot occupy the same space at the same time. It defies laws that were set in place a long time ago. It is a little more squishy when it comes to different states of existence, but there are still laws."
Shannon	Shannon's brows loft briefly as she listens, her head bobbing slightly at key points in Askante's discourse. "Papa Legba, huh? Voudou, if I'm not mistaken?" She purses her lips, lines etched between her furrowed brows as she thinks back, her eyes closing for a moment as she searches her memory.      "My dad's an undertaker. He's had some pretty colorful funerals in his time, and one of them involved someone he called Papa Legba. An... intermediary spirit, sort of a guide to the dead. Either to their own personal Hell, or if they were innocent, to something better?" There is an upswing in her tone on the last few words, more as if asking a question or for confirmation, rather than making a statement.      She shakes her head and shrugs. "It was several years ago. I just remember thinking as a little kid that it was nice someone's Papa came to look after them and make sure they got to Heaven. Looked up the rest later on. It was one of those interesting talks my family and I had about how different people believe different things."
Vitali	The Siberian man tilts his head slightly to one side at Askante's words, and a hint of a smile touches at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps there are others like this one but they have simply escaped notice," he says, a breath of amusement to his voice. Whether or not he knows of any, he doesn't offer up any details. "You do not approve of what this one does?" he asks, one of his eyebrows quirking up. He inclines his head slightly towards Askante, perhaps agreeing with a part of what is said. "This one has been thus for some weeks. If death comes for this body then this one will return to the dark," he says softly, lifting one of his shoulders in a slight shrug. Heng Zhihao could leave his body whenever she wants, and yet she doesn't. "This one is pleased with this body. It is capable. This one does not seek death for it," he adds, giving a small nod. He lifts one of his shoulders in a faint shrug. "An invitation is not required," he says softly. "This one does not devour the host nor steal its memories. He is intact. His senses are intact. The door was not closed. The door was not open. He is a Voice," he says, his brow furrowing slightly before he gives a small shake of his head, displeased with what he's said. "Mm, this one does not think that spirits are bound to the laws of the physical," he adds. He draws in a deep breath before letting it out softly, and then he lifts a shoulder in a faint shrug (the left rather than the right, it might be noticed) on the topic of Papa Legba. Heng Zhihao knows little of voudou.
Askante	"Legba is Hoodoo, aye. He is the opener of the ways and the closer of doors also, he lives in the moment of the cross-roads and rather enjoys whiskey and the company of dogs..." Askante replies, listening to Shannon. "One of the last spiritual beliefs that persists in volume and practice. He's also one of the more polite beings, relatively speaking. I don't mind dealing with him, when he calls... much." It frowns a little bit, narrowing eyes as it goes into a state of recollection, listening also to Heng Zhihao. Abruptly it says in a rather blunt tone: "Heibai Wuchang, they who are black and white impermanence," looking blandly at the somehow rather cocky spirit inhabiting Vitali. She does have supreme confidence, doesn't she! It seems so. "Their very name and existence, states the fact that the spirits -are- bound to the laws of Heaven. I wonder how you slipped through." And it may try and discover it, you never know. The tip of its tail twitches catlike, then curls at the tip, recurling. "All spiritual frameworks have their travellers, those that patrol the near-moment of death. Some, like zooastrianism have a higher-mind entity, the plane that she exists on transports to the high Astral. But the purpose is the same." It cocks its head a little, asks rather off-side "...do the people of this world still believe slavery is permissable?"
Shannon	"Huh. I guess one could almost draw a parallel to Anubis in that regard, with the reference to dogs perhaps being akin to the symbol of Anubis... and being the Opener of Ways. It makes for an interesting thought exercise."      For a moment, Shannon almost seems a little pleased with herself, at least having rememebered the Papa's name correctly, her wings giving a little ruffle-flick before settling against her back once more. Maybe just a tiny bit of pride could be allowed once in a while?      But that pride soon melted away like a spirit into the chill evening mists on All Hallow's Eve, replaced by concern, and no small bit of wariness. She might not quite know who Heng is--but Askante certainly seems to, and it doesn't seem entirely a favorable memory! Vitali was safe for now--but for how long would that last, under the circumstances?      She would have to talk to Askante, and soon.
Vitali	"Hak Bak Mo Seong. He and Heibai Wuchang work together. They are the deities, according to folk religion, who are in charge of escorting spirits to the Underworld," Vitali says softly, inclining his head towards Askante. Heng Zhihao is confident, but perhaps she has reason to be -- Vitali is not her first 'victim', so to speak. She's walked in other bodies before, for varying lengths of time. This time that she's spent in Vitali's body might be a longer time than what she typically spends in a body, but she seems comfortable and at ease. "This one did not slip through. This one was simply not collected," she says softly, lifting one of her shoulders in a faint shrug. There is little detail offered, but it is a topic that Heng Zhihao would rather not speak on. "Perhaps in some areas, perhaps not in others. This one does not know," Vitali says, his brow furrowing slightly before his expression clears. His attention turns to Shannon and he tilts his head a bit to one side, studying her for a long moment. "You have concerns," he observes, tilting his head a touch to one side. "Do you doubt that he is not harmed? That his spirit lives?" he asks. He studies her intently and for a long moment, perhaps weighing her reaction more than what he might her words. "It does not benefit this one to harm the body."
Askante	"Hmm. Now that's interesting," ASkante muses, as nobody answered a pertinent question. Its tail flicks a little bit, then it starts to pat the pockets of the duster it wears. It looks like that's the kind of duster worn by trailblazers when the west was conquered; hardened leather, but waterproof and with a lot of scars on it that speak of many a river forded, many a cattle rustled and perhaps many a knife-fight escaped or gun-fight persevered through. It looks odd, on the creature, but clothing is a thing. It eventually finds what it was looking for, which is a small round stone with a natural hole through the middle. Nothing exciting, just that. It holds it up, peers through it, looks up at the sky, over the park that they're in in that dark of evening and then at various people. Heng-Tali and Shannon are the last. Peek through. Lower the stone. Peek through again, repeat multiple times, as if verifying things.
Shannon	Peering over at Heng, Shannon studies the familiar, yet oh so unfamiliar features. Various emotions vie for supremacy upon her features. Concern. Worry. Anger. Frustration. Her brows furrow deeply, making her seem for a moment older than her years would suggest. "His spirit lives. Of that, there is no question. Yet you have spoken more often of the body not coming to harm."      She shakes her head, letting out a rather heavy sigh that crystallizes in front of her face in a rather large puff of mist, in the chilly night air. "Will you ever release him to be as he once was? Or has he been captured and chained? Did you ask him for his help, or did you take without asking? One is slavery, one is not. And slavery... is not acceptable."
Vitali	It was a partial answer that Vitali had offered, but it was what Heng Zhihao knew. And what she gleaned from the Siberian's mind as well. He has a limited understanding of slavery. His dark gaze studies Askante, watching the flicking of the tail when it happens and the patting of pockets. The stone that is withdrawn earns his attention, and he raises an eyebrow slightly as he studies it. "What do you see?" Vitali asks softly, curious whe the stone is alternatingly peered through and then looked past that repetitive number of times. It's a curious thing. His gaze turns to Shannon, and he tilts his head to one side at her words. Then he gives a nod. "Shi de," he says softly, a smile touching at the corners of his lips. "His spirit lives. This one did not intend the harm that the body came to, before," he offers, half bowing to her. His gaze focuses upon the mist of her breath, marvelling at the sight of it for a brief moment, and there's a faint murmur under his breath, and there's a faint movement of the fingers of his left hand which goes unseen for the fact that his hand is within his sleeve. And the misty breath turns to crystalline snowflakes that hang in the air. He shifts minutely, his posture straightening a touch. "This one does not know. It is possible that he will be released as once he was. Or perhaps he will not," he says, raising an eyebrow slightly. "This one did not have a choice," he adds. Which doesn't necessarily answer the question that had been asked. But it perhaps hints at the answer, under a certain light.
Askante	Askante looks at Shannon without looking through the stone this time. It tilts its head at her belated response, but it seems relieving to it, looking at her wings a moment, then back to Vitali. "Things unseen. It is a fairy stone. Celts blessed them, in the land of Tir Na'nog." It replies. "I can see your other face." It explains, but otherwise remains quiet, listening. This is something that deserves to be heard.
Shannon	Shannon's brows quirk upwards, the angelic-seeming girl tilting her head as she glances between Askante and Heng-tali. "So it was any port in a storm, then?" This draws a slight scowl to her features. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tilts her head forward and just shakes it for a second. Was this a taste of what she had put her friends and teachers through the past couple of years, now coming back to haunt her?      But what would they do, under such circumstances, when faced with someone who potentially needed help?      In her mind, there was little question, but also the need for caution.      "Were you being chased or harmed, then? Do you need help? What happened, that made it necessary for you to do what you did, and claim the body you ride now?"
Vitali	One of his eyebrows quirks up as the unusual stone's origin and purpose are revealed. "That is... unusual," Vitali says softly, his gaze focusing upon the stone. His gaze lingers upon the stone, watching it and studying it without looking past it to Askante. "You mean...," he begins, pausing as he lifts his gaze past the stone and to Askante, tilting his head a touch to one side, "this one's face instead of the physical body's face?" This is suggested, half asked, a touch... uncertainly, perhaps. His gaze slides over to Shannon after a long moment. "Bu," he says firmly, giving his head a small shake. "It was not a storm. To not remain in the dark, this one did not have a choice. You do not understand this and you seek to. Heng Zhihao has no light to shed for you and does not wish to speak further on this predicament," he says, drawing in a deep breath before slowing letting it out. He looks away, his gaze turning out across the space. "This one appreciates the offer. There is no help you can give. This one must walk this path, alone and not alone. With him. The body is necessary," he says quietly. Ghosts can do little without a body, and there are things that Heng Zhihao must do.
Askante	"Yes," All that ASkante says, though it tilts its head a little bit upward, considering something. "That is not truth though. There is help that can be given. It may not be help that is wanted, though. Or help that is expected." It states that, looking at one of its hands, which it reaches out toward Heng-Tali fingers bringing long claw-like nails together in a fine point under its black eyed gaze. It pinches them together, maybe two or three inches from the russian and pulls back a little bit, only to release again. It unfolds itself once again after this, stretching tall and putting away the stone without offering it to anyone. "I should have a ....a ... thing. What is the name of it... oh, yes. Pho-nuh. People do not contact in the same ways as once they did. Maybe I shall get one and ask for lessons in how to use it."
Shannon	"At least that's something I could help with," Shannon mutters softly, her tone starting to betray a bit more worry and frustration than perhaps originally intended, or wanted. "Phones are a relatively simple matter." She's dipping her head forward, rubbing her temples lightly. The light from a nearby lantern glimmers in the corners of her eyes, before tracing a glistening path down her face. No, this one was well out of her wheelhouse, and there were very few she dared to approach for help on the matter. To attempt anything further on her own would likely prove foolish.      But who could she ask for help?      Mentally, she began running through the possibilities, her brows furrowed in concentration. This was not going to be easy, but at least there were a few she could ask....
Vitali	There is a shift of his gaze back to Askante, and he faintly tilts his head to one side. He lifts the empty stick, which had been holding the candied fruit, and after a brief glance to the nearest garbage can, he shifts his hand minutely and then flicks the stick in that direction. It hits the far edge and then tumbles down into the can. His hand returns to his side, and he is quiet for a lingering moment. "The offer of help is appreciated but this one must not accept. What must be done belongs to this one alone," he says quietly. His brow furrows as his gaze shifts to those pinched together claws, and then his gaze lifts. "Mm," is the only sound that quietly escapes him in response to the gesture. Vitali blinks once at the suggestion of a phone, which is a thing that Heng Zhihao has no understanding about whilst the Siberian has a limited understanding of it. It makes for a confused sort of look that Askante receives. "Messages were easier to convey, before," he says softly. He shifts his left hand within his sleeve and in a graceful movement, he offers out a pale grey handkerchief neatly folded upon his hand. His gaze turns to Shannon after a moment. "This one does not mean to cause you sadness. This one understands. Zhege hen baoqian," he says softly. The latter words mean: 'This one is very sorry', in Mandarin. "You care for him. Do you believe he has betrayed you by allowing this one to be present?" he asks in a quieter tone.
Askante	"I believe she fears. Not for herself, but for her friend -- because what you do is not sharing, it is dominating. THose that are dominated are not usually entirely happy about the process. Sharing makes others less fearful that their loved ones are unwilling. And what you relate seems contradictory, though you may not see that it is -- you use his gifts, say that you are comfortable and mean him no harm... for now. That he is not injured... for now... in the tone that you make. The sympathy for your situation is lacking because you are not seeming as genuine as your plight suggests that you should be." ASkante replies. "You are duplicitous, without trying to be duplicitous, by the nature of what you do. Let her speak to her friend. If you have no fear yourself, you have nothing to worry over." ... ... ... it has a point.
Shannon	Shannon simply closes her eyes for a moment, the glistening lines down her face joined by others in silence. Her shoulders do not shake, but her wings begin to droop, their tips soon trailing along the street. "No," she replied, her voice thrumming with the ache of fear and sadness. "I don't believe he ever could or would willingly betray me, or any he called friend. But had I been there for him as a better friend might, I wonder if he might not be in this predicament now. Perhaps I could have helped him, or even you, find another way. Now, when I try, each path is closed off, when I have been taught through my life that there are always choices. If any have been guilty of betraying another, it would be I who betrayed him in this way, and not the other way around."      When she finally looks up, it's slightly more to Askante. "There is very little I fear. I've healed and survived what should have slain gods. I dare to be open about my mutation in a world that is not always very friendly towards my kind. I've faced down dangers that would give some of the bravest out there pause, and come through it all alive. And now, to be told I am helpless to do anything for my friend? No. This, I cannot and will not believe."      As Askante speaks, though, she falls silent, listening, and letting him say what must be said. This was out of her hands for the moment, at least.
Vitali	"This one does not mean to cause the wing-ed one fear, either," Vitali says softly. His dark gaze turns to her, and he half bows to her, his gaze lowered, the gesture one that is both polite and apologetic in nature. After he straightens, his gaze turns to Askante, and he listens to what is said. "This one does not mean to be contradictory," he comments. Yet he offers no clarification on anything that may well have been so. Nor does he reiterate what had already been said. "This one does not ask for sympathy," he says quietly, lifting his left shoulder in a faint shrug. What he's said has been the truth, even if not necessarily the complete truth. "This one cannot guarantee what will happen in the days or times to come. It is better not to promise that which may not be able to bear fruit," he says, giving a small nod. What has been suggested is something that is considered and weighed by him, at length. His brow furrows a little bit at the notion, and he shifts his shoulders slightly before his gaze turns to Shannon. "What has happened to him is not your fault. This predicament would still be his," he says softly, a gentle note to his voice. He falls quiet then, and he tilts his head a touch to one side as he studies her. He steps closer to her, and then he lifts the handkerchief to lightly brush it over one of her cheeks, if she allows him to do so. "This one will allow you to speak with your friend, alone. Seek this one out at dawn, in the park," Vitali says softly, inclining his head slightly towards her.
Askante	Askante does not interfere, nor reply much to anything that was said by either. It simply listens. When all is said and done, it informs: "If you have need of myself, I can be found in the ruins of the Church du Lac, in Sunnydale. Consecrated ground is comfortable." Wait, what? Apparently so. But other than that, its work here is done. And so it literally vanishes, into a cloud of fly-like shapes, which evaporate a moment afterwards.