To Flow From

Alex stomped into Emanare in heavy, snow covered boots, hair full of fluries and a cross look on his face. "All right. Who's playing with the weather then? Because it certainly wasn't me."

He continued to bitch before throwing himself down into a chair at James table. "It's cold."

Jophiel leaned against a wall in the basement, drink perched on an outcrop. It had been far too long since he last visited. The humidity from the bath made his wings feel heavy. Dressed in a grey robe, wings flared slightly, he'd decided to forgo pretense and illusion for the day.

At the moment, his attention was drawn to a small patch of brick work inlaid in the floor. He studied the delicate grapevine pattern. He sighed happily, gesturing to the person beside him, "Beautiful isn't it?"

Sundays weren't any different at the Emanare than any other day. It was crowded with a multitude of beings, corners and nooks isolated for peace. Any beverage was served at the bar on each level by one of the Morgan women.

It was simple, it was relaxing, it was neutral. That was the charm.