#scarsdale

Once satisfied, she offers the folded note towards its mouth. "Well, that means it is clean."

"I can see it's a Chimera, I'm not -blind-!!" He squints at it. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(As the note is placed in its mouth, it closes. And for the first time, it blinks, before levering itself in a circle, and starting off)

"The Baby is a messenger, not a monster."

(Towards whichever exit is most convenient, even if it is where the nocker is leaning)

Hirim watches it move, looking faintly ill. "It could maybe be both."

She hesitates, pushing back her bangs. "Sluagh, Hirim."

(Assuming it is unmolested, it will calmly and methodically lever itself along the wall, and out, towards the trod. It stays high up, out of reach, for the most part, where it can)

Hirim moves out of it's way, disgusted. "Sluagh is one thing, Zara..... this is another."

(Disappearing from sight, soon after eyes are taken off of it)

She drops her gaze, a little frown and shrug.

Hirim slumps against the wall. "Oy vey.... "

"I am sorry that it startled you, Uncle."

"Startled me??" Incredulous. "I should have a heart attack!"

"Ah, but then who would take care of Ratchet?"

"You!" A gruff growl. "You don't get married, you stay with him and take care of him. Easy."

"Well, yes. Likely. Spinster librarian, nu?"

"Feh." He limps in and drops the pry bar with a clatter onto the table. "What about the blue boychik?"

Her cheeks color, and she shrugs. "I don't... I don't know. It probably... I don't know..."

"Earl's very nice."

"High praise." Sourly. "Make sure he keeps it that way, nu?"

Muttering under his breath.... "Sleepovers...."

Zara's cheeks are still burning, head ducked low. "He... I-i-i... th-that was my fault, I told him to stay, it was late...."

"Yes, yes...." He waves it away. "I know."

"It won't... don't worry, it won't work out, I'm sure."

"No? Why not? He doesn't treat you good?" Genuine concern as he peers over his glasses at her.

"No! No, not that. He's always nice. Just... he's always nice... and I mean... I don't think.... I'm not as nice back, I don't think."

"You? Not-nice?" Clearly this is outside the realm of possibility, and this is a -nocker- saying it. "What do you mean, not-nice?"

"I don't... he wants.. he thinks I'm... he likes to say I'm... I'm pretty, or that I'm... I'm lots of things, that I'm -not-, and it... I don't... he makes so much fuss, and it's... I don't know what to say or do."

He stares at her for a moment, and then an uncharacteristically gentle smile dawns. "Oh. Zara."

"Lookit me, hm?"

Dark eyes flick up.

"Such a catch? A prize? But your Uncle Ratchet stays around, why I don't know, but he does."

"Ratchet loves you."

"Yes." Simply, letting her put it together.

"Earl thinks... " a soft sigh. "This is all very strange territory."

"Heh. The strangest."

She nods. "But nice! But scary."

He chuckles. "If it scares you... -really- scares you... get out. Get away and come tell me, nu? But if it's just.... scary-new, scary-different.... maybe stay. Talk to him."

"Earl wouldn't... no, he wouldn't hurt me. But it's... lots of things are scary right now. Scary but nice but..."

He picks at some fraying threads on a swatch. "Yes."

"You and Miriam... had a good talk?"

She nods. "She... she knows who I am. So."

"I didn't tell her!" A protest.

"She remembered. She almost remembered, I think, before. Looking at the curtains, nu?"

"Yes? HA!" He chortles. "Ratchet owes me fifty dollars."

"Do you two bet about everything?"

"Almost." Smug.

"She's... she's nice, too. And I don't know what to call her. Do you think Miriam would be okay, for now?"

"You should ask her." Gently.