"We could try again tonight, I suppose."

She nods. "That might be best."

"What else is there to do in this city, then?"

"I'm not entirely sure! There's supposed to be a wonderful daytime theater scene, though, and quite a few parks, and some museums..."

"I should like to visit a museum, I think."

"Art, science, or history?"

"History."

"Very well! I think we passed one, actually..."

Then they can backtrack to the museum. Eliana is interested in how the lack of easily accessible magic affected the development of history and culture. What sort of class and power distinctions arose? How did nations sustain themselves? What institutions seized power?

The museum - and an energetic curator - contain answers to this not easily detailed in the margins of this tag! (This museum is about pre-Breaking history, mostly.)

Eliana is a perceptive and thoughtful museum guest. She could easily spend most of the day with the exhibits and interrogating the curator.

Fortunately, this museum's open pretty late!

Unfortunately closing hours exist.

Alas.

Is it late enough to resume the search?

Yes!

Mora had been interested enough to keep up with the museum conversations, and is privately of the opinion than Eliana is adorable when she's nerding out.

Mora restarts the process of wandering, her steps taking her towards some of the quieter, more out of the way music clubs.

Eliana follows, vigilant.

Mora frowns when she sees where her feet lead her - a quiet club, dim and smokey, with a door man who lets them with with a quiet nod. 

"I don't like this..." she mutters.

"If trouble starts, shed some blood I can use," she replies.

She smiles. "Will do. Up the stairs, then?"

Into the club.

It's muffled. The sounds of the street don't reach into here. The lighting is dim, the fabrics dark - 

Except in the room Mora walks into.

Every surface here is pure white, except little cream stars stitched into the silky cloth, barely visible.

There's a woman, with vibrant red hair, standing facing away from them, also clothed in starry white.

...Not exactly what she was expecting.

"You're not precisely my daughter, are you, Mora?" the woman asks, not turning around. Her voice sounds odd, empty.

Mora just takes a sharp, deep breath.

"Who are you?"