Well, obviously Mo had to hit someone. Or something. But rather than demand answers, Pierce just sighed, perching on the arm of the sofa beside the chair she sunk down into. The mug was picked back up, hands curled around the ceramic, and he took a sip of tea - ahh, the scent of soothing chamomile.
He gave her a moment, as if relishing the emotion she actually let herself exhibit for once. "They're ghosts or spirits, perhaps?" he asked casually, shifting his icy blue gaze toward her face.