i'm not a saint

You know what’s fucking awesome? Reaching a point of in your life where not everyone knows how to get in touch with you, and you can easily dodge the things you don’t want to do with a handwave and an excuse. Must have just missed the messenger or Yeah, I’ve been in {insert place here} for a week, the note disintegrated by the time I got back. Oops! Wessex can be found when she wants to be. When it suits her. When she hears whispers of being wanted. Find his note she does, raising a brow at the request - her interest is thoroughly piqued, and it would be a good excuse to see the new bar. She thanks the messenger and with her part done, the Natural disappears into the night, leaving the Wraith to make her way to the Domiciles. She moves like water, a dark shadow in the moonless night, a thing that slither in the corners of large, candle-lit bedchambers and dark alleyways, if the Grounds boatsed either such things. There’s the slightest creak as she opens the door (yes, like a normal person) and finds Sunjata sitting with the little griffin in his lap. It seems innocent enough. Likely isn’t, as she knows that nighttime meetings are rarely good, unlesss they come from orgasms. This isn’t one of those kind of meetings. “You’re lucky I was in The Grounds, “ she says by way of greeting. “These days I’m more often in Halo than not.” Aka, she wouldn’t show up for just anyone WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here