Who: Leo Gryffiths and Ophelia Zeigler
What: Talk of seals, demons and what to do if you have to kill a person
When: After the Andley epic fight, Sunday.
Where: Haven
Haven had spread sound thin in recent days, had reached around to find some replacement for stubborn silence that had swept in and invaded with the vacating of one resident, but where Haven had fought, he had slid into it with ease, as if it were a long-put-off but well worn piece of clothing that fitted better than what he had been wearing. In Em Andley's absence, Leo Gryffiths had made more of an appearance, as if by being present and in person (however long his strides, however the set of his shoulders warned not to stop him, not to call his attention to anything) Haven was somehow as it was always, even as he snapped sharply at someone daring to ask about the Christmas decorations going up. No one asked because no one wanted to ask and because if Gryff had made himself available to sign things and to be pointed toward problems, then that was unexpected but certainly not unwanted. Where he had actively avoided being drawn in to the intricacies of Haven's day-to-day life, now he was in the thick of it -- distant, yes and with that difficult look, the one that said you needed good reason to come up and talk to him, the one that kept people at bay more effectively than if he was locked up in his office and tinged the air with the faint taste of threat, but head and shoulders high above the tallest of its residents and always looking around.
He watched to begin with, this waif of a girl who was shy and hesitant-happy in the sanctuary created for people like her and who held at her heart its potential destruction. Gryff watched those who slid away discreetly, who peeled back from her odd sayings and her odd doings and whilst looking for the possible signs and symptoms of potential devastation with dread leaden and heavy in the pit of his stomach, he found only a young woman more lonely in the Andley absence but who drifted on a little brokenly nonetheless. But observation had its limits and there was no other to push in and pursue the inquiry with happy artless words, and it was Gryff who cleared his throat one morning and gestured awkwardly, beckoned her across from the common-room.
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