Bella is hanging out in a Jarvis - the familiar one - handwriting a nonaggression proposal-slash-bribe. Has to be handwritten. Damn fussy demons. At least it's okay for her to conjure rather than personally harvesting the weird ink she's supposed to use.
"In the absence of being able to ask Mary or Alice, or even consult Glass or Lazarus about how my opacity works, I think trusting the crystal ball is the best bet." She looks up at Mercury's sky; during the day it's a pleasant lilac but right now, where she is, it's nighttime. "It'd be a big change, though."
"I should probably get to know Soph. As just-me. That'll help. Do you know how she's holding up, have you been talking to her?"
"...Has anybody been talking to her? She probably needs someone to talk to at least as badly as I did."
"She is like herself. I'm not especially good at describing personalities," says Sherlock.
"I'm not sure what I could add to the situation," he says, "but if you want me to, yes."
"I don't know what you'd add to the situation either, but it's probably less awkward than me teleporting into her room and being like 'so... hi.'"
Soph is indeed in the room with the bunkbeds, eating directly from a pint of ice cream. The ice cream appears to be helping.
Bella snorts. "Tricks are about as good as could be expected. Tony had an idea. But I'm not sure yet if I want to implement it. You know how Shell Bell forked and merged?"