Anne sort of vaguely listened, her head being stuffed up and in the backwash of rapid shocks and swings, trying to absorb the information that had been just dropped on her.

Dante didn't seem....well, he seemed *human*. There was nothing strange to him at first glance, other than that early-white hair and those pale ambiguously colored eyes. He sat, breathed, ate, smoked, staggered around half-asleep, and did other various activities that were typically human. There wasn't any preternatural aura, he didn't sacrifice children by the dark of the moon, wasn't a Satanist as far as she could tell, and hadn't anything more bizarre going on with his sex life than an overabundance of girlie posters and what he used to cover their chests with. Nor had he, as far as she knew, done anything lurid to her during any of the time she had been at his place. He was.....weirdly normal. (Aside from the regrettable taste in office decor and clothing.) It spooked her.

Trish.... She flicked eyes over to Trish. She didn't even *want* to contemplate anything about Trish yet. She had enough on her plate as was with the phantom pain of several feet of steel rammed through her chest still vivid in her memory.

God, those visions were getting to be bastards.

"GOoooOOOOOOD *MORNING*, Annie! Are you there?" Dante waved a hand in front of her face.

"Gah! The hell?" She forced her breathing back down. Then sneezed again. Dammit.

Dante smirked. "Sorry."

"Like hell you are."

"Mouthy. Anyway, class. Where were we?"

Anne rewound the conversation. "You're saying that the thing that was after me wasn't a demon, but a faerie?"

Trish nodded absently, not seeming to notice Anne's rather more thorough look in her direction. "According to what I've found, yes. A Scottish faerie called the Nuckalavee. Nasty thing."

Dante grunted, leaning back. "I don't know a whole lot about faeries, either. Yippee."

Anne twitched, random half-ghosts of memory flickering and tugging at her mind. "....I think I do. Or did. I think I'm Welsh. I think...." She put her face into her hands, saying very softly... "...dammit."

Dante frowned, putting a quick hand on her shoulder. More softly and compassionately than his usual demeanor: "Don't push it, Annie. I can tell it's not easy."

Anne nodded, face still in hands. "I hate this," she whispered. "Not...knowing what's real and what's not."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Faeries....I...know most of them weren't supposed to like cold iron," Trish supplied haltingly.

Dante glanced over. "Yeah? Well, the damn thing kept regenerating even after I sliced it with Alastor and shot the shit out of it. And Alastor's steel on steroids."

Trish paused. "Most. Maybe not all. I think maybe that thing's weak point is fresh water?"

"It'd be safe to say, babe. At least it's something to work with."

Anne put her face up again. "I....I'm...pretty sure I'm Welsh. Originally. Being a Celt and all....there's a lot of lore on them back home....I remember bits and pieces....and in university, I remember...." She half-shrugged, snuffling again.

Trish smiled a very little bit. "We'll take what we can get. Which begs the question...uh...how are we going to keep the Nuckalavee from trying for Anne again?"

Dante leaned back, looking thoughtful. "I have some ideas. Well, other than going out only during rainy days and so on." He cracked his knuckles, black-leather fingers wrapping around each other. "And I have some things I can try." Crack, crack. "And if those don't work, I'm sending the sumbitch all the way back to Scotland if I have to." Crack. "Vortex is your happy friend."

"...uh.....right...." Anne trailed off.

Dante pondered. "Speaking of things I can try.....Trish? Hold down the fort, babe." Pause. "Yeah, I know, you're still pissed at me, but this isn't for me. I'll be back in a few hours."

Trish arched a golden eyebrow. "What're you thinking?"

Dante got up from his seat and started to shove the drum set aside. A trapdoor was revealed. "Let's just say I'm going to be in the basement for a while."

"Wha...oh, right. *That*. Be seeing you when I see you."

Dante flipped the door up. "Right." He dived inside in one graceful motion, the trapdoor closing behind him with a thunk.

Anne looked at Trish.

"Er, well, what is he--"

Dante bounced up out from the trapdoor again with a slam. "Oops, forgot something." With no preamble, a hypodermic needle was aimed at Anne's arm and went in.

"OW! FUCK! The *fuck*?"

Dante brandished a now full vial of blood. "Sorry about that, got everything now. Take two." He dived back down the trapdoor again.

Anne winced and rubbed her wounded right arm. "The *hell* was *that* about?" Trish sighed and got a bandaid.

"He's got an idea again. I think he's having fun, so leave him alone."

Anne glowered. "I hope he gets my cold."