Yvette is dropped in Beacon Hills
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"Right. Thanks."

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Drive.

Drive.

They're at the Argent house. It's nice and suburban. Fairly big.

You wouldn't think killers lived here.

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"Okay, I'll go find the bestiary, you stay here with my mom and Matt."

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"Sure." She glances at Matt. "Would you like me to untie you now? I was mostly worried about you doing something crazy while Mrs. Argent was driving."

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"I'm not crazy. Just- well, no, I am crazy. I'm not evil, or violent, naturally. You've never had a kanima."

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"I'll make tea."

She goes to the kitchen, her boots stomping loudly.

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"No arsenic, please."

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Snort. "Thank you, Mrs. Argent."

She unties him, because of course she does. She's that kind of person. Besides, Mrs. Argent is terrifying, and now they are in her lair. Matt would have a bad time if he tried anything.

"So, hello, I'm Yvette. I'm new around here."

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"...Hey. I'm Matt. I'm old around here. Local boy, been here since I was born."

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"I come from another dimension, you might have heard."

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"Yeah, visitor from the future. Sure you're from another universe? They're good at hiding."

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"I checked for my parents, and they did not exist."

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"That must have been hard."

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She shrugs, and looks away. Damn, why did she mention that, now she recalls that she has feelings and they are inconvenient feelings and she does not particularly want to start crying now.

"Anyway. You mentioned you thought you were turning into a kanima?"

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"I started growing scales on my torso."

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"Oh." Blink. "That's alarming, I'm sorry. I'll try to help, if I can."

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"You'll try, yeah. Good luck. I don't think anyone involved wants to help. Maybe the Argents get a new family pet."

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"Tea, for anyone who wants some."

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"Yes, please." ... As long as it's not poisoned. It isn't poisoned, right? Mrs. Argent seems too directly murdery to jump to poisoning people. Hm. Or is she? It's served out of the same teapot, yes? And she can watch Mrs. Argent drink first.

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She sips.

She smiles at Matt.

She sips.

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Matt was not actually handed tea, but there's some on the kitchen counter.

He does not partake.

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Yvette was just making sure, okay, she is perfectly justified in her paranoia of the woman who shot someone half an hour ago.

Sip.

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Allison loves her mother's tea. 

Well, she doesn't hate it.

Here she is, with a heavy book. She heaves it onto the table.

"Okay, so this is the bestiary. It's all in French, so you might have some trouble with it. I'm not that fluent, but my mom can translate."

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"Should we trust your mom to translate?"

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As Yvette learned from her googling of her parents, Google Translate existed in 2009. Or, well, exists in 2009.

"Google Translate is awful for direct translation on its own, but it seems like it could be used for checking. It'll butcher the translation, but get the words sort of right. That's likely enough. Don't trust Allison to check, too?"

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