<span style="font-family: 'Tahoma'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
<br/>
Said toward nothing in particular, Ziggy gave a thousand-yard stare in the direction of the far wall, contemplating what to do about the mounting issues surrounding her. On one hand, she had a vial full of magic laeline blood. That had to be worth something, right? On the other hand, she had a merry band of adventurers who were the least merry folks to bear such a title. The Lioness wore an expression of scorn most of the time, whereas her Kindred tagalong was caught between confusion and general angst. Graves, count or otherwise, sort of prattled on with a sense of uninformed optimism she regularly saw from ancient bloodsuckers. There was a running joke in the necromancy community about it.<br/>
<br/>
No one thinks they know more than a dead man walking.<br/>
<br/>
Graves had ripped a new one into the laeline and the supernatural community would discover this at some point. Not the best news to remind herself of, but necessary. Sometimes, the truth hurts.<br/>
<br/>
Ziggy’s frame shivered with a brief feeling of anticipation, easily mistaken for cold. She snapped back from her staring, remembering her cigarette and the conversation at large. Expression dampening, she answered Lily first. “Yeah, well… shit happens. I’unno what you wanna hear.” Credit to Ziggy for not immediately throwing Graves under the bus. “It’s probably not a big deal.”<br/>
<br/>
The Kindred earned the expulsion of smoke in his direction as Ziggy swiveled in her seat to get a better look at the boy. He was, what, early 20s? Not too old. Not much to talk about, as far as she assessed, but wonders came in plain packages sometimes. “Nada. If I had anything in mind, I’d be doin’ it without the approval of the runaways here.” Absently flicking a clump of ash, the magician finally settled her sights on the Shade of Graves.<br/>
<br/>
“So, for the record, there are phonebooks, yes. Also, you could just google it. Did they have google when you were last alive? Did they have anything convenient? Toasters? Indoor plumbing? Cellphones?” With her free hand, the pink-haired femme rubbed at one of her eyes. “You mentioned a name before… I forget the name, but that name- that person, rather- they’d be google-able or whatever. Pretty much everyone is. Even the bitey, slimey, undead-y sorts have social media nowadays.”</span></span><br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="7082" data-username="@Lurktastic" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/7082/">@Lurktastic</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="809" data-username="@Obscene" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/809/">@Obscene</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="6446" data-username="@Braxton" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/6446/">@Braxton</a>