[b][center]
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 
[/center][/b]

When Fran received Emily's call, she too pondered the options. The prospect was difficult, even though the woman had known they would likely face hostility. “You've suffered, haven't you?” Fran stepped forward, in spite of Sean and Emily's warning. 

Although Francesca was genuinely worried about Sean's condition, she was quite careful in her body language and intonation. She had weighed her options and made a choice. Fran's spirit (a giant neon eye painted on a metallic ball, with a robotic and monotonous voice that spoke short, sentences) spread a message to all three holders; to stand ready in case something would happen. To Cerberus in particular, the iron eyeball relayed; “S. Merister is consistently unreasonable. The environment eliminates stealth. Werecats are known to hunt at night. Retreat is not productive. Please remain alert.”

Although he did not reply, Fran stretched out her hand to Sean. “I can help you. You and Firittes can come back with us to the Hub. I've heard Edea is quite worried about you.” 

At the mention of that name (which the other librarians might recognise as the daughter of the executive director of the Library) Sean burst out in tears. It was known that the director kept his daughters and wife sheltered... As the man's spirit; a succubus, had a strong influence on those around him, but there had been rumours about the director's youngest daughter seeing someone up until a few months ago. Not that the rumours had ever been confirmed... Yet it seemed Fran had done an extensive amount of research. How had she even gained access to such a detailed persona on Sean?

“Come with me, I promise you can go back to your old life.” Fran assured Sean, who for a moment seemed to believe it. Even Steve the ragworm let out a deep, sad cry and it curled up before Sean and nuzzled it's holder. However, the armour seemed phased in a totally different way than Sean. A deep voice sounded from the metal suit, unfortunately reminding Sean of his situation;

“She can't help us,” It told it's wearer, “Sean, you know we've tried. The dragon will just hunt us down; she has tormented us for far too long, found us after days of running and whipped up sandstorms that forced us to return.” Valor, the armour, picked itself (and thereby Sean) up from the ground (and Steve) it groaned in deep thought, drowning out Sean's sobbing.

“And how does she know of me and Firittes?” The living armour continued. “Or you and Edea? This is the first time we've seen her, and both are well-kept secrets...” Sean appeared confused to this notion, and Steve too became uneasy.

“You call yourself Francesca Lamont, who are you?” Valor asked directly; it's chains starting to slither in various directions. 

“Political Relationships, of course I research my interlocutors.” Fran replied calmly, although her spirit repeated the request for the other holders to stand by. 

“No...” Sean murmured, as anger returned as his dominant emotion. “No, you wouldn't know this.” He made a handsign towards Steve, and promptly the ragworm dug into the sand. As did Valor's chains. “But it doesn't matter. You ignored my warning. Now you die!”