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A day passes. Jarvis is closer to booting up. Juliet is closer to control of her fire wand. Shell Bell is closer to actually needing that lightening feature on her coin bandolier.

Juliet asks, when she gets home after studying demons: [What, pray tell, are your findings, Sherlock?]

She has not put any blood in the microwave yet.
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[My findings are that you are in no danger of addiction,] he says. Smugly. [And the vampires of the bite shop are not in the habit of murder.]

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[That is nice of them,] she says. [If you get a me-type nibble after the couple hours it takes me to get too tired to practice wanding safely, does that warrant skipping breakfast, shrinking it, what?]

She'd have expected, naively, to make some noise at this point about moving slow, but apparently she doesn't code even spontaneous-orgasm-inducing biteyness as A Sex Thing To Give Very Prolonged Thought To, she just thinks it sounds nice and wishes to incorporate it into what she's up to with her life.
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[I think for tonight, I will have a full breakfast just to make sure I am not feeling peckish while we experiment.]

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[Good idea.] She puts a jar in the microwave. [Not wise to grocery shop on an empty stomach. You do know how much it's safe to take? I've probably got better-than-average safety margin even without squares, because Slayer healing, but.]

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[I do know.]

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[Good good.]

She indulges a pleasant little squirm.

Shell Bell winks at her.

[Aaaand I just failed at the no-winking-from-Shell-Bell half of the exercise but at least I got it over with, I suppose.]
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Sherlock laughs.

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The microwave beeps. They teleport. Juliet hands over the blood.

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"You knoooow," says Shell Bell, "it'd probably be safe for me to just leave you two by yourselves on the beach, and you can brainphone me to pick you up when you're done. Juliet's got a few squares tucked into her socks."

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"I think that is a fine plan," says Sherlock.

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"All right then," says Juliet.

This plan is enacted. Juliet studiously practices with her fire wand.

Only somewhat for the purpose of learning to maintain concentration in spite of distractions, she says: "So about how long does it last, in safe amounts?"
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"How long would you like it to?"

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"I don't know what my choices are. Ballpark. Seconds, minutes, half an hour?" She thins her thread of fire where it hovers over the sea until it's just a line, and then she overdoes it and it splits; half of it fizzles and she renews it a quarter-inch thicker, then starts it to rippling.

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"More than seconds. Probably less than half an hour."

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"How likely am I to need to form a preference about duration beforehand due to loss of the ability to speak?" she wonders. Her fireline flickers but she recovers concentration enough that it doesn't go out completely before she reassumes control.

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"Not sure," he says merrily. "We could do a short trial run and see what you think afterward."

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"I like this plan," she says.

She adds temperature variation to the rippling of the line of fire.
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Sherlock smiles.

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"You said that it lasts till contact is broken - does that mean bitey contact or snacky contact or just any contact at all up to and including innocuous hand-holding?" She coils the line into a ring, joins up the ends and then splits it. It flickers again and she forces it back into existence.

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"That part I'm less sure of."

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"Science," says Juliet sagely.

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"Ah, science."

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Juliet starts playing with dipping the fireline under the water. She loses it several times before she can force her brain to believe that it'll go. It is magic fire, and it will in fact dip below the ocean and go right on burning there if she asks it. Bits of the sea begin to simmer quietly.

This variation on the exercise is sufficiently absorbing that it occupies the rest of her practice time before she declares herself tired. It is perhaps a credit to her discipline that she didn't hurry or make this declaration earlier than she has in the past.

She sits down in the sand and tucks her wand into her hair; she's not quite as practiced as Shell Bell at that, either, but she can do it. "Between Slayer healing and - which tattoo is it that does healing, I think it was the sun one - I probably won't have a bite mark tomorrow morning, but before we know that for sure is there some non-traditional location that's easier to hide? I don't want to have to stutter at Mr. Giles explaining myself, and I think his concern would probably trump his librarian sensibilities if I showed up with a half-healed barbecue fork wound."
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"I can bite you anywhere you like," he says cheerfully.

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Juliet begins considering locations. (She blushes just a little bit.)

Her shirt today has a bit of a loose neckline. She pulls it down over one shoulder, and the bra strap with it. "Slightly left of traditional?" she asks, drawing a circle above the far edge of her collarbone with the opposite finger and looking up tentatively.
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