2020-02-10 - A Pre-Valentines Day Exorcism

Just as they had planned, a couple of days before Valentine's day, Isabella had been invited over to the new digs of the medical examiner. Upon her arrival, she'll find Yule is well mended, though that left leg is still a touch stiff as the very last of the injury heals. No more crutches, and certainly no knee scooter, all to the misery of those who didn't get a chance to see him on it.

The cabin has had a modicum of changes: in front of the fire place, the living area has come together well, a sofa with a couple of chairs, all in a brown leather and wooden mission style setting. The dining area is still one big empty space, but area rugs add a touch of coziness, as well as reduce the amount of extra noise that made the place feel cavernous in the past.

Yule himself is dressed in a dark blue button down shirt, the cuffs rolled upon his sleeves to reveal the black and red pattern on the interior, and a pair of black dress pants. The door is propped further open, and their spot for the evening is clear: the couch, where upon the coffee table in front of it is a couple of tumblers, a bottle of scotch, and even a few snacks which are in small bowls, consisting mostly of a trail mix and a selection of various nuts. "Hey," Comes the familiar greeting with her arrival, his head bobbing to the side in invitation for her to come on in. "Glad you could make it. How are you holding up with everything going on?"

The relief on her sunkissed expression is utterly palpable when she slips inside of Yule Duchannes' new A-frame acquisition; her green-gold eyes gravitate to where his injury had been. There's also an open appreciation with the way she sweeps her attention over the interior and she comes bearing gifts. A bottle of Glenlivet 21 rests in her secure grip.

Outerwear stripped, she's dressed warmly but casually - Isabella rarely ever dresses up, as usual comfortable straddling the line between fashionable and functional. A soft cashmere turtleneck sweater dons her this evening, dyed a rich burgundy, which leaves the bluish cast of her iridescent moonstone pendant gleaming against the front, scattering motes of color across the bodice. It's pulled over fitted blue jeans and boots - the only other accessory is the dandelion bracelet that she has taken to wearing since the holidays, its three charms making quiet metallic sounds as they move against her left wrist. True to her usual style in the winter, her dark hair remains loose, spilling from her scalp in waves and tangling over her shoulders and back in a windswept torrent. It's getting long - really, she ought to have it cut.

"Housewarming," she says as she presents the bottle to Yule. "Looks like it's coming together, though. And I'm..." She makes a face. "Busy, as usual. But if I started talking about work and research now, I'm going to be here for hours and I believe we have an arrangement, good doctor." She points a finger at him emphatically, sneaking him a quick wink. "No work. We have an exorcism to perform."

She moves towards the living room and settles into the couch, willing to let the man pour out the drinks and settles in the cozy setting. "What about you? How are you holding up?" Firelight plays over the golden flecks of her otherwise verdurous irises, resting on his features. The look of her is an assessing one, but there is concern and subtle affection there, also, inspired by a burgeoning relationship that is equal parts borne from professional regard and genuine camaraderie.

It's that gift that catches Yule's eyes, and a warm smile curls to the corners of his mouth in clear approval. Once it is presented, his fingers curl around it, and a dip of his head shows he'll be right back, retreating to the kitchen to remove the top of the thing before he returns. The housewarming gift? Is something that should be shared with the one who brought it, after all! Once he arrives at the couch, it's a few fingers worth of the liquid delight that is poured into each of the tumblers, and Isabella is handed hers first.

"Right to the point then, I see. An exorcism, as you say. And, after our particular experiment? I'm better. The first week was... weird. Off. And it feels like something more has changed, but after talking with Alexander, I think this isn't just a me or him thing. I'm sure you've felt it to. But," A hand lifts, brushing that thought to the side as he slumps into the couch, picking one corner he can hoist himself up in, all the better to keep an eye upon the woman as he considers. "I won't divert into other areas. At least not yet."

Lips purse in consideration, and to even get started? It requires a sip of that scotch, letting it be truly tasted first before he swallows. "We had our fair share of problems already. Mostly communication things, that we both were to blame on. Likely, me a bit more than her, yeah? But we were making progress working it out. There is a time in any relationship that the gloss wears off, the honeymoon so to speak is over, and the reality settles in. Those things, at least in my experience, were not unique. But the last time we met," There is a gravity there, and this? Requires another pause, and a far longer drink from him as he just lets that thought trail off for now.

She has made herself comfortable by the time Yule returns from the kitchen, situated on one end of the couch with a throw pillow on her lap and fingers absently toying with the charms on the dandelion bracelet encircling her left wrist. Considering that she had not expected the man to return with her gift already opened with every intent to share it with her, Isabella's expression brightens considerably. "I'll have you know just how fortunate you are that I didn't decide to keep it, by the way," she laughs, reaching out to take the offered tumbler from him. "The sign of an affectionate partnership, if I ever saw one."

She waits until he's properly made himself at home in his own couch, before she reaches out to toast him, the crystalline click of her glass against his filling the room; it's only then that she decides to take a pull of the scotch and closes her eyes to savor its burning smoothness, tracking amber fire down her throat to hit somewhere in her stomach and spread its warmth. The intensity of her focus returns to him as he starts to speak, though her smile falters when she realizes what he is alluding to. "We're going to have to talk about that at length later," she murmurs, lip pressing lightly on the glass and imprinting its shape against the surface, the smudge from her gloss leaving that portion smudged and cloudy.

It's only when he reaches the end of his present litany that she deigns to speak, cushions depressing under her more negligible weight as she shifts so she could face him a little more fully, one leg curling by the knee and tucking her opposite ankle under the hook it makes. "I find it hard to believe that you wouldn't be able to communicate with your usual eloquence," she observes. "But I ought not to be surprised that the calculus changes when emotions are involved." She observes him carefully from above the rim of her glass, firelight glinting from the rim. "What happened the last time you met?"

"I'm certain parting with it is such sweet sorrow," Is Yule's teasing reply about it all, and down his eyes shift to focus upon that bracelet, one dark brown arching upwards. "You have a habit of touching those charms, you know. It must either still be new, or you have a horrible tell when things are on your mind." He murmurs, fingers setting that tumbler in subtle circular motions that has the scotch swirling around within.

Up his glass comes to clink with her own as he listens, and the only acknowledgement of that other item to be discussed is a dip of his head. "I communicate quite well face to face. But I'm a creature of the old way of thinking. I like to see people, I respond and thrive on the connection between people. Certain mediums, such as texting? Is perfectly fine for simple, straight forward facts. But in depth communication with emotion is involved? Oh," His head just shakes a bit at that, unable to hide his own amusement at his older school ways of thinking about things, "Differences in age create differences like that, it shouldn't be a surprise. But again, that was small in the realm of things."

A deep breath is soaked in, and then pushed out, before he gets to the heart of things. "I was starting to tell her about some of what I had been diving into. She'd been kind enough to share some notes with me. When I told her about the lost lab results? Yours and mine, along with some of the dead that I'd sent in for processing as well... she became adamant that what I did was illegal and unethical. And she was /so/ certain of it." Up one shoulder lifts, into a hapless shrug, "It's one thing to not know fully that we have little powers of objection when it comes to suspicious deaths... like the one Alexander had me look into. Even religious objections will be considered, but it is up to the ME if they should be followed. Court cases are the only way even those grave concerns can be stopped." A beat of a pause comes, a touch of a frown, as he murmurs, "Not that I don't feel the burden of having to make unethical choices. Putting down only half true causes of deaths, like in the cases of the missing organs. Not telling the family the whole reason behind how their loved ones passed. It's little solace that in those cases, they wouldn't believe me anyway. Still,"

She pretends to think about it, rolling her head back, a dark curl brushing lightly over her cheek at the gesture and turning her eyes up to the ceiling. "...no, there's nothing sweet about it," Isabella concludes with a laugh. "It's just sorrow. Sorrow from having to part with a glorious bottle of twenty-one year old scotch, but I can't be all that morose about it when you're so willing to share, so thank you." She winks at him then, and takes another sip of her drink in savoring emphasis. His casual observance of her present tells makes her grin faintly, brows lifting upwards. "Always looking? I fiddle with this, also." Her fingers alight from her bracelet, to the pendant around her neck, and the jealous bite of its white-gold chain as it holds the gleaming moonstone close to her heart. "Though in truth, I've had this one for longer." A thumb brushes over the well-loved object, lashes lowering when she directs her gaze upon it for just a moment.

"Restlessness," she supplies, instead. "But an accurate observation, regardless. I'm always thinking."

Her teeth clip lightly on her glass, flaring brilliant and white against the low lighting of their surroundings and cutting into it like a razor. "I don't think it's necessarily an old way of thinking," she begins slowly, though she does shoot him a half-lid look. "Not that you're in any way old. Yule, you're not even forty, I think in that regard, you ought to cut yourself a bit of a break." Mischief glints from green-gold irises, though she continues soberly enough, "I can't see how a discussion regarding emotions and relationships can happen thoroughly through texts, anyway, unless one is absolutely inebriated. That and I can understand it, the need to do it face to face." She's a confrontational creature, however - of course she would say that. "It's easier to hide with an electronic medium as a buffer."

Her tumbler transfers to her other hand, arm draping over the back of his couch, bent at the elbow so she could press the heel of her palm against her temple and watching him; as always, she doesn't just pay attention to his words. "I'm not so certain about the legality of doing so for other remains, I'm in no means a lawyer, but for the rest of it, you had my permission to send my results out to get tested, and presumably, you had your own permission to give up yours. I think as far as the legal and ethical weight with respect to those samples, at least, was a burden you didn't have to consider." A thumb rolls gently over her glass. "Though I'm young, also, with a tendency to hare off recklessly, and go half-cocked into a plethora of dangerous somethings. I wonder in the end if she didn't say such things because she was worried about you. What we're doing is dangerous, Yule. Treading into the unknown almost always is. Maybe she just didn't know precisely how to express it."

"Yes. I've noticed the pendant as well. If I had to guess," It's an educated thing, but one that is just as he says, a guess at that, "The pendant is from your family. Something you shared with your brother, or from your mother or father? And the bracelet from Alexander?" One dark brow lofts, a flicker of a smile curling towards the corners of his mouth, his features faltering greatly as the conversation turns back towards the true intention of their exorcism.

"It is equally difficult to misread tone, when it isn't present. That's what I mean. I suppose, if one grew up texting? It would be different. After all, people used to fall in love from hand written letters not all that long ago. Mediums change, and I we are clearly just over the teetering point of when that happened into a whole new world, hmm?" But a shoulder lifts, as he explains, "The legality is actually quite clear. An ME has full purview of sending in samples for tests, whatever he feels is worthy. And given what happens in /this/ place? Sometimes that is still just like a guessing game. In some ways, these experiments I am doing? In trying to understand how glimmer works? Is part of my ethical obligation to be able to diagnose deaths appropriately. Not that the court of law will ever grasp that, mind you. But take for example the car accident. I had a duty to send his blood in to see if he was inebriated, high, under the influence of drugs. I had to do an autopsy to see if he had a medical condition that might have caused him to pass out. Other hormone imbalances in the blood could have told of a different story. We even have the ability to request to do further work on bodies from the family in the name of medical understanding. Usually? It's granted by the families, because they want to know more. No. I'm not concerned in the least about legal obligations in this series of events."

"And as for her," There is a hardness here, a true anger that he normally does well to hide, "It made it precisely clear what sort of person she feels I am, to immediately go to those conclusions. She was /certain/, and then she walked out. If she was concerned? There are many ways to have expressed it, but if that is where her mind goes? No. She doesn't really know me at all, then, and doesn't have any care to understand. My role is dangerous regardless," His head wobbles back and fourth, a whole different ball of wax, as he murmurs, "I could just ignore everything, yeah? But then what sort of person would I be. Lying to families, not bothering to at least try and find ways to prevent these things from happening in the future. What I do is dangerous, but just being here is dangerous. I appreciate the concern for those who have it, and will always welcome it. But no... this went far beyond that."

There's no affirmative response from her - at least, not verbally - when Yule offers his conclusions about the two pieces of jewelry that she wears on the regular, but she is simply too expressive to hide the fact that his assumptions are accurate and well on the nose. A heartbeat or two passes in silence, with Isabella leaning back and watching him with an expression that is equal parts surprised and amused, before she presses her grin against her tumbler. "Have you ever considered a side-business?" she wonders, instead. "A consultation agency, if you will. Nothing so much as to pull you from your regular duties as a medical examiner, but Holmes did have a Watson in the days when private investigation didn't need tests and licenses, and consults don't require them." And then, pitched softly and warmly, "You're brilliant too, Yule. Even without the powers."

That smile pulls higher when he talks of letters, the archaeologist savoring another pull of her scotch before replying, "And I see that you're following the footsteps of your ancient scientific forebears, they tended to be romantics, too." That observation is evident to her, at least. "Though it's my opinion that handwritten letters are completely different. There's nothing personal about ones and zeroes, and plenty with a letter - the paper and ink used, the smell of it when it arrives, whatever unique touches have been enclosed with it, the colors it was written in and the penmanship of the author, signed and sealed in an envelope that must travel through roads and oceans to get to where it needs to be. It is a very tangible piece of the author, gifted to the recipient." She glances down at her glass, directing her lingering smile upon it. "There are plenty of reasons to fall in love through a handwritten letter. I can't say the same about a text or e-mail."

Her words must be catching up to her because she suddenly blinks, and coughs before taking another sip of her scotch, and pays very close attention to the legality and nuances of a medical examiner's work, but there's very little to comment upon - she gives most experts their due deference whenever questions regarding their field are in play, opting to take the opportunity to learn and inquire further when it arises. Her next words slide to the next, instead, sympathy softening the lines of her sunkissed mien further. "I don't think everyone is equipped to understand the intricacies of what you do and the reasons for doing it - it's personal, and complicated, but I only know about your position because I endeavored to ask in the first place." She inclines her head at him, searching his dark features and the frown on his mouth, the hardened edge in his usually warm stare before continuing, "I can understand the pain, if she didn't ask. It's one thing to not understand, because that is perfectly comprehensible - people's life experiences are different and inspired and affected by millions of different parameters and combinations, but to not at least try is hurtful. Did she ever ask you?"

"My mind has been on it recently, actually," This is an ever so softly spoken admission from the man, his eyes flickering down and away towards the fire as he pushes back in against the couch. "But beyond the practicalities of how my real job can happen at near any time, being on call, especially around here... there is the thoughts that float through my mind around how I make it practical, a side business in consultation. It isn't as if many of the people who need help here have money, and it would certainly create so many questions." There isn't a single note of dismissal in it, his features curling into a frown, but up one brow comes at that particular line of thought, "And are you saying I should find a Watson... or a Holmes, dear Isabella?"

"There is equally something about letters in the handwriting used, and if you are brave enough to let your mistakes be seen? The words crossed out, the hesitation in the hand. It's a lost art form, these days, knowing what each jolt of the pen means. Yes, one can tell much from them, beyond just the words," He agrees, his head dipping into a small thought about all the potential of such sentimental things which might be odd, just given how little he possesses. One might well imagine him with a box hidden somewhere that has such valuable things - to him - tucked away in them somewhere in the cabin.

"Yes," Comes the admittance, his head dipping into a faint nod, "It is intricate and complicated, and such laws shift from county to county, let alone state to state. It was the means she employed, the certainty... the lack of questions. It hurts, knowing those are the assumptions she jumped to, and not just jumped to, but hearing her tone of certainty was painful. Relationships require faith and trust both, and in that moment, she gave me neither." His scotch is lifted, that last bit in his drained away, all so it can be filled up again, though this time around with less than the first time. "No. We met only once after that, an accidental run in which went about as well as you could imagine, I bet. I haven't reached out to her, and she hasn't to me."

"Well, then, as one of the foremost community enablers, and a friend, I could only encourage you to do so," Isabella tells him, her smile growing all the more radiant and piercing mercilessly through the half-light of their surroundings. "Considering how this place attracts others like us, I trust that there wouldn't be a shortage of inquiries." Searching his profile, she continues, "Minerva runs the Paranormal Society at Seraphim Acquisitions - even if it starts small, you could always try and see if she'll refer potential clients and cases to you. She's working with us in the nullification project as it is anyway, if you are serious about it, there's always that avenue." The endearment softens her further, green-and-gold eyes twinkling with a wicked glimmer. "I think the references I used make any conclusions to that end evident enough, my good doctor, and I have too much faith in your own intellect to dignify that with a response." She tilts her chin upwards, the look of her playfully imperious as she takes an exaggerated sip of her drink.

If he has such a box, the young woman seated near him wouldn't be surprised at all; his words draw a faint tap of a fingernail against her glass - even the gesture sounds and looks thoughtful. "I know I am," she says after a moment. "That isn't to say I'm completely fearless no matter what my reputation otherwise dictates, there are..." A long pause. "Certain things in this world that terrify me to the very core, but I'm more interested to know if you are. Brave enough to let your mistakes be seen." Her eyes lift to meet his own there over the rim of her crystal receptacle, and holding it there.

She's unable to hide her wince, ultimately, at his confirmation that youthful certainty had gotten in the way over the desire to learn more about her companion; she can hardly expect others to be like most of her acquaintances - endlessly curious and constantly asking questions, but to not while in the kind of relationship the two had been in is a prospect that is confusing to her and by her expression, it would be clear to Yule that she doesn't quite understand the reluctance. She reaches out, but not to touch him - she plucks the bottle she had brought for him from the table and reaches out to refill his glass with a modest amount. "Sometimes it takes time," she tells him, her memory drifting towards the summer. "Wounds of that nature tend to need it before some kind of accord can be reached. It's a small town, Yule. You'll be running into her again, though as your friend, I'm hoping that when the two of you do that some of the hurt has settled."

The green-eyed brunette sets the bottle back down, and turns to face him again. "I'm sorry." The words are quiet, and gentle. "That you're hurting. I know you care about her deeply." Present tense. "Otherwise this wouldn't be difficult for you. I wish that she had at least asked, for your sake if nothing else."

"Yes, well. I have to be knowledgeable enough first to be a consultant," This draws a glimmer of a smile to his features, all too happy to point out his own distinct lack of knowledge in this particular area, even if it is advancing at a nice pace, "But I see your point. I'll consider it. Minerva obviously has her own cause and services, and your boyfriend has his detective agency work, yes? I would not wish to overlap with the work they are already doing." His eyes drop down to watch that refill come, lips pursed in a moment of long lost consideration, before he muses, "Well, if you see any Watsons lurking around," He muses, but that seed has been planted, some idea rumbling around to tumble off the rougher edges as he considers it.

"Mistakes are part of the process. I am just as happy to find myself proven wrong as right, for it still progresses things. At least, when we see mistakes in that light, rather than," His head just shakes at that, and up one shoulder lifts into a hapless shrug, as he explains, "Yes. We will, it will be unavoidable. And some of her haunts, such as karaoke, I'll be certain to avoid. It's her space, her happiness there, that I wouldn't wish to intrude when the reasons I'd shown up in the first place was her. And I still care about her, it isn't a light switch, as I'm sure you well know... but, as I told you when we first spoke about it, it is what it is."

That offering comes with finality, no pursuit upon this particular path from his point of view, but then the wounds are still fresh, the hurt still deep. "And what about you and valentine's day. Have you figured out just what you'll be getting Alexander?" There is a certain smile that does come across his features, as he explains, "I did stop by to see him, in the hopsital, by the way." And surely, given that touch of mischief on his features, Clayton too was reminded about this particular holiday.

"If you mean by agency, you mean as an independent investigator who works out of a home office, yes, he does. Which is why I think, if you're serious about it, the two of you could team up and forge something completely different, if you wanted," Isabella tells him. "You've got the science and the medical know-how, he's got the network, the procedural familiarity..." And ways to get around it, though she doesn't say that out loud. "And the research and investigative skills. The two of you are equally brilliant, but focus on completely different areas and already have a burgeoning working rapport. What weakness you have on one end, he can cover, and vice-versa." Her smile returns, however faint. "It's just an idea, and that would be, of course, up to the both of you. The only caveats I can think of, really, are that he's not the easiest person to work with and he has a unique but worrisome reputation in the community, and those carry a certain amount of risk. Brilliant, yes, but difficult, and while I know these are qualities that you gravitate to in your personal relationships, I'm not quite certain if that extends to professional ones." Her brows lift at that in a prompting fashion.

It is what it is. There's sadness there, but hope in equal parts also from the young woman's guise. "If they're establishments that you don't really frequent, that's doable enough, but if a few of them are, I don't think you need to structure your life and routine around it," she tells him simply, but firmly. "The dice will fall how they will regardless."

Regarding her own Valentines Day, she groans. "Well, my pursuit for ideas had me falling into a rabbit hole I wasn't precisely sure I was prepared for," she says with hints of laughter; as always, the entirety of her being lends into it, burning like a star on the verge of ascension or collapse on the other side of his couch. "I'll spare you the details because I'm relatively sure I embarrassed myself enough this week, but I think on that end, it'll be something simple. I'm glad you're able to see him, though I'm not sure..." And here, she flings the throw pillow on her lap at him. "....if I ought not to be wary at the devil's glint in your eye when you say that, Doctor Duchannes!"

"I also know that Alexander doesn't do enough business to buy health insurance," Comes his dry and drab reply, clearing having feelings about this particular fact, and something he expressed so clearly to Clayton if that look on his face is anything to go by. "But, I see your point. It isn't as if we aren't doing that already, now are we? One or the other of us is always dragging the other off somewhere else. We talked recently about a dream we had as children that... well, both of us and Patrick remembered all at once. I wonder if it has something to do with all the other changes going on around here," It isn't said, but the implication being he had completely forgotten about the memory until just a few days ago, but given he hadn't glimmered back then? Unsurprising.

"I'm not concerned about working with him. I've found, if I tell it to him straight, he listens. May not always agree, but beating around the bush doesn't get you anywhere." It's that certain strong will of personality to match the stubborness of Alexander that is clearly there, though surely that too has its own clashes now and again. "Or the cards, as the case might be. Many things I'll miss, and tarot? Is one of them." That has a faint, softer smile on his features, a far away look that lingers until her groan comes to life.

"Enjoy the journey," Is all he advises to it, a broader smile curling to the corners of his mouth, "I haven't a clue what he is going to do for you, but I'm certain it will be very..." Alexanderish, is the word that goes unspoken, but there is a certainty that somehow? The sentiment, at least, will be on point. "Esme and I will spend it quietly here, I think. Valentine's day. She's still reeling from all of the things going on, trying to figure it all out. Hopefully quiet is exactly what we will get."

"The man has his pride, as we all do," Isabella points out to Yule, quietly. "I've tried to stay out of his professional and financial affairs, not in the least because he would never take any advice from me in either, though that hardly stops me from expressing my opinion." Her expression gentles at the clear concern on the medical examiner's face at the investigator's lack of health insurance, and really, it's one that she shares. "But like I said, if he's willing to formalize a partnership with you, and you, him, that would be up to the two of you to hash out. As always, my role is to propose ideas - I tend to leave the execution to the rest."

She makes a face. "Perhaps I'm cursed in that regard in the sense that if I execute a plan myself, it always goes very poorly."

Draining the last of her scotch, she sets it down on the coffee table with a quiet clack. "I'm not picky, and it doesn't take much to make me happy. Maybe it sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I'm perfectly content to watch him go about his business most days, living his life and being himself. It's that reason that I don't particularly...deal...well...when he's in the hospital." The last is a quiet confession, but one that she pushes sideways and lifts her head up to flash him yet another grin, instead. "A quiet night sounds ideal. You can always try to cook for her, I hear women absolutely love that." A playful waggle of her brows there.

Stretching her legs out, she slowly rises from her place on the couch. "Speaking of, he's still recovering - I ought to go back and see how he's faring. He's checked out of the hospital, but he's still recuperating from the last of the concussion and I'm worried about his changes." She taps her finger to her temple in emphasis. "But this is nice, I'm glad you invited me out here. Say hello to the detective for me, when you see her? We'll talk about the heavier, more dangerous things the next time we see one another."

"Except when it comes to things with teeth. And then you are all execution, of course. It is your turn, especially after the last incident," Comes Yule's quip about her own role, his head dipping at an angle, canting as he glances off to the side for a lingering moment. No words of commitment come to setting out that partnership, leaving it to simmer in the waters of his brain. "And you also have plans that you must see through, such as with my boat, after all."

But he's standing as she does, a soft snort of amusement coming from him for her ideas, "If I cook? One thing will be certain, we'd have a nice warm fire. Probably from the cabin burning down for my attempts." It's a slow walk over towards the door as his head dips into a small nod, "I will. I'm certain Esme would like to get to know you and Alexander both a bit better, because one? She loves cold case files," Which would so much speak to Alexander's own tastes, no doubt, "and two? She's going to just get more and more curious about the weird stuff. Having others that she can talk to about it would be good."

That door is opened, and Yule leans against it, as he murmurs, "But, as you say, another night. Say hello to Alexander for me, and tell him that I'll see him soon. Take care of him, and yourself, yeah?"

"I still maintain that specific assertion regarding it being my turn was decided arbitrarily, so I don't know if I can agree to that just yet," Isabella sniffs, but her grin blossoms over her lips once again as she regards him. "But yes, you and your boat. Let me know when you actually procure one, and we'll send it off properly with all the maritime honors such a vessel requires."

All comments she inundates him with as they move for the door. "Ah, well, I'm glad I'm not the only one, then. Another in the list of commonalities we share, my good doctor," she tells him, all warmth and amusement. "I feel as if everyone else in my acquaintance is a capable chef to begin with, to discover that one of my closer associates is not brings no small measure of relief. But yes, I would be happy to get to know the detective better - you can always give her my number if you would like, and if she's interested in having it."

She lingers by the doorway, looking up at his taller frame at those parting words. "I will, and I'll do my best. God knows I'm not particularly practiced at it." Her form and shadow take on a lean, pursing her lips delicately on the open air next to his cheek. "Be safe, Yule. Please. And if you need anything, you know how to reach me."

With that, she takes a few light steps down his porch, and moves towards her cherry-red Jeep.