Micaiah returns to Kas's lap to cuddle up with him.

Amariah goes and sits on that side of the room, although she doesn't attempt to stack herself on top of them. "I think it'll work out," she says comfortably to the two and a half people in the chair. "We're just thinky types."

"Sure, sweetie," laughs Amariah, scritching ferret-Petaal. "That sounds lovely."

"How do the daemons figure into all this?" Angela asks, tapping the notebook with her pencil.

"Well, that's not something you're going to have to worry about once you and Micaiah go home and nobody has them, but," Amariah shrugs, "there's different ways to do it. Usually people don't touch each other's daemons. It's more intense, more intimate, than sex. Even married couples sometimes never get that far. In which case the daemons snuggle with each other somewhere nearby to whatever extent their shapes allow. In this case, Petaal's touchier than most, and besides Micaiah doesn't have one of her to keep her occupied if they left her out - she'll be involved directly - but really she's not a separate person, if that's what has you concerned. ...Do I need to explain that more than two entire separate people can have sex, too...?"

"I told you I'd heard about the cooperating angel-seekers," huffs Angela. She goes on writing.

Petaal giggles.

Angela's estimate of fifteen minutes is more or less correct. She tears out the page and crumples it. "Yeah," she sighs. "You can do what you like with Kas and Petaal, Micaiah."

She hugs back, arms accompanied by wings, and lets him go.

"So will anybody mind if we take one of the bedrooms?"

"Go for it," says Amariah with a negligent wave.

"Thanks," beams Micaiah.

Petaal rears up and bumps her nose against Amariah's cheek in a ferrety kiss, then follows Kas and Micaiah into the chosen bedroom.

"Now what?" asks Angela helplessly.

"You hungry? Buy me lunch with your fancy credit bracelets," says Amariah, and she pulls the angel to her feet and leads her back downstairs. They sit at the bar and Amariah explains how it works, and Angela dutifully buys them both meals, although hers - given that it's not even dawn where she came from - is breakfast.

Amariah notices him and recognizes the face, and narrows it down from a few possibilities based on the observant look. "Hi, Sherlock!" she says, friendly, before she notices that something is wrong, and leans back, narrowing her eyes. "Oh, you're not the one I was thinking of. What is wrong with your soul?"

"Hello, not-the-Bella-I-was-thinking-of," he says pleasantly. "It was parasitized, if you must know. Gang of vampire assassins. Nasty business all round."

"That sucks," says Amariah. "I don't actually go by Bella. It's Isabella, which is itself short for Isabella Amariah, and when there's others around my unique nickname of choice is the Amariah part instead. This one's also Isabella and she decided to go by Angela for antiredundancy purposes. Angela, this is an alt of Shell Bell's girlfriend, but not the one I met before. Sherlock, you've got a Bella in your world?"

"...Hello, alt of Shell Bell's girlfriend," says Angela.

"I do, yes. I have been calling her Juliet but she may or may not choose to claim that as her distinguishing nickname."

"If she lets you call her that I bet she will, unless there's something else obvious," shrugs Amariah. "Oh, I keep forgetting - don't touch the owl, the owl is off limits - people with internal souls do not, I understand, know this implicitly."

"Noted," says Sherlock. "A pleasure to meet you both."