<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 22px"><b>Gyran Strand</b></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 12px">Sitting on the kitchen table, leg crossed over the other, the painting on the counter, a pistol aimed to his head by a woman who looked like she could use a vacation and an upsetting dog whose was probably part of the reason they were here now. <br/>
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She had instructed him to sit which he gladly did and while she still aimed the gun at him began her barrage of interrogation. It was all disconcerting especially now that he had The Sage within arms reach. Yet he remained calm, neither nervous nor angry. Actually he found her intriguing and something else...something he couldn't yet define and that thing, that feeling was why he allowed himself to be caught. <br/>
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...... <br/>
The blue mist had tracked The Sage to a painting in the kitchen much to Gyran's relief. He had just grabbed the piece of art when he heard the sound of a cruiser and a barking dog out on the road. He hurried to the window and slightly shifted the thick purple curtain. And that's when he saw her....coming out of the cruiser, a fiendish looking dog trailing behind her as she started running for the porch. Gyran froze, why? He was a marine, perfectly trained. He could have disappeared out back before she entered, could have attacked but no, he stalled, wanting to see her up close, to confirm something he can't quite place. But there are things that were clear to him, things his instincts screamed out; she was not a threat, she was not an enemy. <br/>
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"Well then, out with it" she had demanded. That smirk, he shook his head softly and smiled. "I am not a burglar," he began, his voice deep and calm. "I'm not some sort of criminal mastermind either. My name's Gyran and I am a friend of the family." <br/>
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<i>Why again was he being sincere? Why wasn't he planning to escape? And why give out The Name?" </i>  These questions bombarded his mind as he took to his feet. He was quite nonchalant with the whole "caught you" situation, even in the face of a gun. Again instincts. She wasn't going to shoot, that he could tell. <br/>
"I came to pick up something of mine. Something he safeguarded for me. " he nodded over to the painting as he spoke. Gyran wasn't one for animals, especially dogs. Not that he had anything against them, no, he just wasn't the pet man. Never owned one, never cared to. So when her dog crossed the little yards between them and playfully tried licking his fingers, he visibly twitched and shivered nervously. <br/>
"What the.. .?! "</span>