They watch Harry Potter, Adarin is introduced to Wikipedia, he makes the second thingamajig. Isabella interrogates her alethiometer.
It's kind of cryptic about whether she has to fear being a "crazy witch". But she's tentatively optimistic and still brainstorming new ways to format the question. (She complains about the alethiometer being bad at numbers and at "yes" and "no".)
It can, however, identify landmarks by referring to whatever they're named after. It's not so hard to interpret on the subject of where she may find a place to claim. She moves into it, Adarin in tow, Metis retained as a friendly advisor but apprenticeship terminated. The place has plumbing and a generator already; she gets satellite Internet for an entire half-day of spellcasting and collects a hand-me-down laptop from a mortal friend of her mother's. She sets up arrangements for building a nice big wall along the edge of a clearing on her appropriated property. It's a very busy couple of weeks.
Eventually she tries asking the alethiometer a fifteenth way whether she's prone to crazy witchitude. Whether she'd ever hurt someone she loved if they rejected her, or even threaten it.
The alethiometer says: love violence counter-to querent nature.
She's starting to get the hang of interpreting it, even if most of the practice has involved getting the addresses (via intersection and cardinal direction because it can't give her anything so useful as house number or latitude) and this is - this is pretty damn good.
This is good enough.
Of course, that's not all the answer she needs, is it?
Path goes looking for Vernaia.
"Noooo," laughs Isabella, flinging her arms around his neck as though he had made any move to actually leave the room, "do not do that. We have things to do."
"Ah yes, things. Wonderful things."
Adarin wants, very dearly, to kiss her. She's right here, in fact. There is literally nothing stopping him from, say - dipping and kissing her. Daemons have made it clear that she supports this, and he wants to, so...
He can just do that.
"Productive, cooperative things," murmurs Isabella, absently, looking up at him (he's got more than half a foot on her; it's very much up). Not quite all the way to expectant, maybe, but solidly in hopeful.
He laughs, softly, and dips her, leaning in to kiss -
- It's right at this moment that the magical equivalent of the doorbell rings.
"Fuck," he hisses.
"Yambe Akka take all the stars and drown them," snaps Isabella, reverting to English in her frustration, "timing, timing..."
Sigh. Well. Apologetically, he rights her - he's not going to drop her because the moment's ruined.
"We will," he sighs, "have to pick this back up later, Isabella, I'm sorry..."
Magical equivalent of a doorbell noise, again. Adarin glares in the door's general direction.
(Vern is doing the same. "They were so close!")
"Well," sighs Isabella, "let's go attempt to not call whoever it is an idiot to their face, shall we?"
"Worst timing imaginable," he mutters, collecting Vern and going to the door to answer it.
The introductions begin. Most of them are exactly what they appear to be, and Adarin's information proves to be pretty accurate. At first, it goes without any problem, but then someone decides to cause a bit of trouble.
"Hiiiiii, Ada," says a blonde, from behind Adarin. His face tightens a little, subtly going from 'poker face' to something that looks long suffering and hopelessly resigned.
Immediately after, it's pretty obvious why. With absolutely no regard for his personal space, she drapes herself over him, hands exploring his chest a little. It's very, very obvious that Adarin is not pleased with this.
"Hello, Lenora," he says, in a very practiced evenness. "Please get off of me."
Isabella supervises with what might be called controlled dismay, then says, carefully in English: "Nobody else has that spell on, do they?"
"But you're comfy!" says Lenora, looking amused. "And you're sharing secrets."
"All the same," sighs Adarin. "Do at least attempt to get off of me."
"Bu-"
"Off," growls Adarin.
She sighs dramatically, and then extracts herself from him. She gives Isabella a curious glance, then looks back at Adarin. "Soooo. What'cha talking about?"
"Oh," says Isabella, "I was given a partial guest list in advance, but I don't have it fully memorized; I was filling in a gap in my information."
She tilts her head. "Nice bird. Looks fluffy."
"Do not pet him," Adarin says, immediately.
"Don't ever," hisses Path, feathers standing on end.
"Because I said so," Adarin growls, stepping between the two in a very protective manner. He is not letting anyone touch Path without Path and Isabella's expressed permission. No.
Lenora raises an eyebrow. Then she shrugs, raises he hands, and - backs off. She goes off elsewhere in the party. That was certainly an interesting thing to learn - usually, Adarin's not quite so directly threatening. Now she's curious.
In an undertone in English, Adarin says softly, "I'm going to stay near you. She could try something, and I hope you don't mind but I'm going to make sure she doesn't manage anything."
"I could just send Path out, away somewhere...? I didn't really grasp till just now how thoroughly people here might not get it; you picked it up quick."
He manages a little tiny smile. "You sounded very serious about it when you told me. I'm also not in the habit of brushing off possible results, even if they sound bizarre. You can send Path away, but be careful where - Lenora's good at teleportation. He might be safer here."
He looks like he means it.
Someone else - a respectful personal-space bubble away from all present - approaches. "Excuse me, but I don't think I understand. Why is it so bad to touch the birds? They don't look fragile."
"It's not a fragility problem, it's... Hard to explain, though. Isabella? You know more about it than I."
"Oh," says the guest, nodding understanding. "So for some people it's all right...?"
"For some people. I don't personally know anyone who does it, or at least not so they'd tell me. My parents are careful around each other's daemons, even."