Cheyenne feels the tremor go through Cheryl at the sight of the wolf, and quickly turns to soothe her with murmured words of encouragement, still holding her hand and putting her other arm to wrap around her shoulders. But she startles when Harry suddenly shouts, in vulgar language no doubt, and can't help but crack a chilled, half-smile when the wolf startles too and actually runs off.

"If only it was that easy before," she says, with a shake of her head.

She stops crowding Cheryl once Julian comes forward to shake her hand. "Yes, I graciously let Julian take the Distillery while I was setting up the Hanging Gardens. Cheryl was always the better with taste, between the two of us."

The tickle fight is brutal and bloodless. Faina ignores Matti's cries and protests for mercy, although she laughs so hard herself her lungs hurt. The laughter is infectious and it swirls between them in warm halos of light and color. And although she doesn't stop, she can be easily thwarted; she isn't actually trying to wrestle or attack him. So it's more like a dog playing with a kitten.

"Plenty of meat on them bones. It's too late for you! You'll keep me fed for at least a week!"

She manages to dodge his flailing the first time or two, then Matti catches first one wrist and then the other, and Faina stills. Panting as she tries to catch her breath, interrupted every few seconds by more giggles. Her chest aches like she's one deep breath away from a coughing fit, and tears gather at the corners of her eyes.

Then faster than a blink, the world pitches black. The changeover is so sudden and jarring that it leaves the imprint of its light trail in her vision, their singular bulb speeding off into the night. She freezes, skin prickling, until her brain picks up the scattered pieces and remembers what time it was.

Shit. She didn't realize it had gotten that late.

Fingers lace through her own. Faina tightens her grip on reflex. Her hands are slick with the salve, which sends shivering tingles across her palms. The ghostly glow of Matti's smeared makeup becomes the beacon in the blackness as she blinks the light trails away. His hands are warmer now than they were.

"Ah, well. Guess you escape from me today," she says, somewhere between airy and disappointed. "I never would've been able to fit enough of you in the fridge anyway. Too much waste."

Without loosening their hands, Faina collapses onto her side next to Matti, a melting into the clothes pile.

"Didn't realize it was blackout time."

Jack nodded, the hint of a grin on his lips. "It's very handy ta work in a place o'business where ye get ta pass the buck as a matter o'course." Wasn't much opportunity in life where that was the case.

Fact of the matter was, the Bar was far more than just an ordinary pile of brickwork and wooden beams and where the job was just about keeping a crowd under control. It was living and breathing. Wild. And sometimes, magic could only be countered with magic. Anything more than that was beyond the control of men like Jack and Lee.

"I think so too," he agreed, with a deep 'harrump' as he brought the chair back down on all four of its legs. "Fer all I'm explainin' to ye now, most of the time the Bar behaves as it should an' yer job is as ordinary as any other pub. An' I do try ta schedule two on a shift even durin' slow hours jus' so both ends o' the bar are covered, which means yer rarely by yerself if shite does hit the fan."

It also meant the staff could swap out who was upstairs and downstairs, or who was on break or who wasn't. Good for security and just good for peace of mind, so you weren't alone if shit happened to go south while everyone was trapped on a Transatlantic trip.

Jack stroked his fingers through his short beard. "That bein' said... ye gotta be mindful of the ghosts, sometimes."

Natalia's attention was elsewhere as they got into the elevator. Chewing on the information Dionaea and Karim had separately revealed. Thinking about the upcoming meeting. Worried there was more surprises lying ahead. So she didn't notice Karim move as she stood quietly, staring down at her hand as if a cigarette was going to magically materialize there, only to start as the elevator stopped... mid-floor.

She jerked her head up, gaze sweeping around, before turning to him. "What--"

The kiss he swept her into took all the breath away and swallowed the rest of the words with it. There was only a heartbeat of shock before instinct took over and Natalia returned it. Her fingers entangled in his robe and dragged him closer, if that were possible -- heat and affection returned in equal force, the thirst of a dragon raging underneath it. It was only as he finally pulled away and she began to follow after him to bring his lips back to hers that Natalia realized what she was doing. She froze, blinking at him, pink flushed across her cheeks.

Then, clearing her throat, she smoothed the robe back down that had crumpled under her grip and patted it, before stepping back. She seemed at a loss for words, both at what just happened and the faux-innocent expression Karim wore as he started the elevator again.

No one had ever dared try something so bold to her before. And she didn't?? hate it?? Actually, her instinct was to kiss him again -- she was doing so good to stay away from him...

The elevator arrived with a soft 'ding' before Natalia could decide on what, if anything, to do or say to him. All she could do was shoot him a glare and hope she wasn't still blushing as the doors opened onto the conference room floor.

There were a few smaller rooms and an office on this floor, but the elevator opened directly onto the atrium that led to the main conference room. They were, for the moment, still alone. Who knew where Erica and Dionaea had gone. Breakroom, maybe. The others would filter in from downstairs as the time grew closer.

Through the atrium doors lay the main conference room for the House of Nine -- a picturesque scene of a high rise corporate office with floor to ceiling windows along the back wall, a large sleek table in the center of the room flanked by expensive high-backed chairs. They were quite modern around here. The only thing that would give the room away as being something other than an executive conference suite was the massive stone structure seated at the head of the table closest to the windows, with its back to the gloomy, stormy scene outside.

It was a throne; the old throne of the Rinaldi domain, to be exact, passed from ruler to ruler for longer than the Rinaldi matriarchy remembers, the throne preceding their records. A throne carved from some archaic black basalt stone and threaded through with currents of frozen magma, catching the light like rivulets of gold. Dragon wings were carved across the jagged top and two dragon heads sat guarding either arm rest.

Natalia contemplated the throne as she led the way into the room -- clearly, it was her seat at the table -- and, after a pause, pointed to it.

"You can sit there."

To have an institution as long-lasting and stalwart as the Bar Between was a special thing. Particularly to longer-lived supernatural creatures used to the otherwise inconstancy of time. Everything you know and love that is not of yourself will eventually grow old, wither, and die; whether it be something as small as plants to as large as people. It was a sad fact of life that Jack had learned to live with. Many others of his generation -- particularly when not born into the curse -- had not. Many of those much younger than him, had not learned how to deal with it. So it was nice, to have a place like the Bar that remained mostly the same as days turned into years, turned into decades, turned into centuries.

Along with the constancy the Bar provided came the patrons within it. Many of whom, over time, went from customer to employee. Jack did, after Isabelle left with the twins and left Christopher on his own; many others were in a similar boat. There was just something comforting in knowing, even if only by sight and smell, the folks around you. Knowing which patron had what chair for the last 30 years, knowing someone's drink order, knowing someone was going to cause a ruckus if they had too much to drink. Predictably could mean the same thing as stability, in a place like the Bar, for the people who otherwise had none.

The day had so far been average. A bit busier than it had been of late, post news of the Stenlakes' disappearance, so Jack had foregone his usual seat at the bar to perch himself on the customary stool by the doors that opened from the foyer, his nose buried in a London gossip rag -- he'd already read all the in-print papers he had from this side of the pond, so they were down to this. He had a whisky old fashioned glass balanced next to him on the thick chair rail moulding that he drank from every once in awhile; he'd been nursing the same glass most of the night.

His appeared general apathy to the din around him hid the fact that Jack was actually paying attention. The moment anything started, he could be across the bar in seconds diving into the fray, if needed. So far, everything moved like clockwork, a well oiled machine of regulars and employees. No one new had wandered in through their doors since he'd been on shift.

Still, as he made his way over to the bar -- making a beeline straight for her -- he made sure to ask, in his thick, baritone Scottish brogue, "Ye busy, St. Juste?"

"Maynard, please report to Medical for onboarding."

`EVE`'s monotonous drone cutting so abruptly to the quiet hiss and crackle of the live intercom makes Maynard's shoulders jump to her ears. She inhales in a quick, sharp gasp. Almost drops her soldering gun.

"Maynard, report to medical."

The intercom clicks off. The only noise after is a ragged exhale and a creak as Maynard rocks back in her chair. She contemplates her workstation, eyes unfocused.

It's a mess of tools and repair projects and spare parts; it takes at least a month to fix everything back into its proper place from the engineer on the previous rotation, and she is elbow-deep in the reorganization process.

Annoying time to be called away.

Report to medical, Cody's voice echoes in her ears.

She wonders how upset the Captain might be if she dodges the rotation eval, just this once.

```Would you like me to continue?```

"No, thank you, EVE," Maynard sighs. "We can continue diagnostics once I get back from medical."

Once she says as much to the ship's onboard AI, she finds it's not much effort to haul herself to her feet, undo the toolbelt around her waist and drop it onto the workstation's surface, sweep the long red curls into a rough ponytail. Shoulders square and spine straight, she marches her way from where Engineering is tucked away to Medical.

She passes no one else, but she almost wishes she had. Her hands remain as steady as always, loose at her sides. Her breathing remains even and calm. It's only the somersaults in her stomach that give it away. The squeeze of her heart in her chest.

Look how fine I am right now. This is fine. Just gotta see the ex-wife about a physical. No big deal. Routine, some would say!

As if.

The doors to Medical yawn open with a hiss of sterilized air, and Maynard steps through.

"Reporting," she says as she enters, her lips trying to twist into a polite smile.