Vaulted ceilings, rich, dark wood, and elaborate carvings that littered the walls and ceiling of the room. The grand secret, the luxurious mystery held in leather binding.

The Hall of Records.

Danae walked in and sighed, releasing all tension that had slowly began to build as the double doors shut with a soft click behind her.

Her skirt swished airily as she made her way to a table and set down a notebook and a pen. A new day, a new case. It was a real gem, this one, and she could hardly contain herself.

She had heard the whispers of a screaming spirit, terrorizing the locals on the outskirts of Nebula with her screaming. It wasn't a terribly vengeful spirit, and flesh and blood had hardly any bearings in this. No, it was a deep rooted legend of myth situated first in Irish folklore- The bean sidhe, the banshee. There had been tales of a wailing spirit taking matters into it's own hands, but then, that was the reason for the Mendecant's intervention. Their cries were considered omens of death, and as time had droned on and the evil had darkened the world, banshees, once merely messengers, were now predators as well.

Down by the coast, it was only through their allies, the Avatars, that they leaerned of such things, after all. It was an elusive tale, and after the fall of the world, it was something hardly seen. The natural Resourcer in Danae lived for this.

"Banshees, Fairies, and Leprachauns," she muttered with a hint of glee as she glided along the bookshelves, searching for a rarely used volume. The world was timeless, but she still couldn't quite believe that MSI had encountered many banshees in it's time.

Tristan marveled at the record hall that so many resourcers had put together. This was a labor to rival Alexandria. Granted, the Mendecants had computers, xerox machines and whatever filing system was now in use, but this was still quite an achievement.

An achievement that he was probably not supposed to be in. It was really only curiousity that put him here. Curiousity to see what they had on Foletti, specifically. He'd always been fond of those. Pity that their Irish leprechaun cousins had crowded them out of popular mythology.

At any rate, he felt he had a right to be there. After all, he'd given them as much information as anyone had. He felt a little pride in his contributions to this archive. He'd spent more time than he cared to recount with a resourcer firing questions at him like a gatling gun.

"What does a sceadugenga look like, if you please?" he'd been asked once.

"They're shape-changers," had been his exasperated reply, "they look like whatever they feel like looking like."

"But have they a neutral form? One in which they reside between transformations?"

"How would I know if they were transformed or not?"

Shape-changers were always tricky to talk about. Especially the nocturnal ones. Werewolves had come up, of course.

"Can you tell me why werewolves don't like aconite, Mr. Licht?"

"Tristan, if you please. It's something to do with the anaesthetical nature of the plant, I believe. Ask Dean, he likes plants."

The more obscure the creature, the less he had to tell.

"What do you know about tengu?"

"Never pick a fight with one," he'd replied. Truth be told, he did know more, but nothing that they wouldn't already have found out.

And now, here was his favorite resourcer. Youth and prudence rarely went hand in hand, but here was Miss Danae Walker. They weren't exactly friends, but he knew her well enough through Marcus.

He called to her cheerfully as he strolled nearer, "Hello Ms. Walker, how goes the research?"

Upon hearing her name, Danae looked up just as she had found her desired book, and smiled when she saw the fair-haired Avatar strolling her way. Though they weren't the closest of sorts, she still held a subtle fondness for Tristan Licht. Perhaps it was the natural grace or the charming smile, but either way, he was certainly not one that she would turn away.

And besides, today, she had a true topic of ancient lore to brush up on. It was looking better all the time.

"Hello Ms. Walker, how goes the research?"

"It goes well," she replied, turning to face him. "And how many times have I told you to call me Danae?"

Tristan pretended to count on his fingers, stopping at the index on his left hand. "As of now, Danae, seven."

His ability to get along with people was a gift nearly as great as his immortality. Greater in some respects, but he'd probably keep immortality if he had to choose between the two. The more friends one had, the better one was likely to get along.

He took a peek at the file she held. Well, well, well, banshees were making trouble now? Who would have seen that coming. If he'd been told five hundred years ago that banshees would be giving an organization like MSI grief while the Fomorians had all but disappeared, he would have asked his informer if they would like to lie down somewhere out of the sun.

"So," he began, "banshee problems?"

"As of now, Danae, seven."

"Then I would think you'd have gotten the hint by now, Tristan," she said and smiled once again.

"So, banshee problems?"

Danae glanced down at the file she held, along with the book tucked under her arm, then let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Yes, Banshees...Can you believe it? When I first started here, we were battling wendigos and vampires, casting out demons and putting vengeful spirits to rest. Now, I'm humming Irish folksongs while studying up on the bean sidhe to silence the complaints of a few locals."

A slightly fiendish glee lit up Tristan's eyes. He hummed a bar or two before launching into a rendition of one of his favorite such tunes,

"The night that Paddy Murphy died was a night I'll never forget.
All the boys got roaring drunk and some ain't sober yet.
As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play

That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy
That's how they showed their honour and their..."

He broke off his melody, "It's much better with musical accompaniment. And with a singer who knows what he's doing. That helps, too."

He sighed theatrically, "It is a sad day indeed, when you find yourself missing wendigos."

That look was sufficient proof that he had something up his slip. She opened her mouth to question his intentions for the moment, but never had the chance.

Danae always found herself laughing with Tristan again, and once again, as he began to serenade her with some old Gaelic tune, her laughter erupted.

Shaking her head at him, she reached over, lightly patting his shoulder. "It was a lovely song, Tristan...But I think the drunk Irishmen would knock you winding for that," she said, the smile still lingering on her lips.

"It is a sad day indeed, when you find yourself missing wendigos."

A solemn nod followed her statement as she sighed sadly. "Ah...The glory days. How I miss them..." she added, her hand over her heart, but as she looked up at him, she grinned, ever so slightly.

"Ah...The glory days. How I miss them..."

Tristan nodded along, wistfully. "Take an old man's advice, Danae," Tristan said, "never forget how to laugh. Although you may want a challenge now, it won't be as appealing when it comes your way. Keep a few of the silly songs you're learning tucked away in the back of your head. The occasional chuckle is one of the few things keeping us all sane."

This was a true thing. The question was, why did anyone want to be sane? Perhaps it is because we are born sane, Tristan pondered. After all, humans are born with pinkies on their hands. Those little fingers are of small use, but not many people would be willing to part with them.

"Perhaps you should be glad for the banshees," Tristan mused, "Such little troubles give a body the vigour to deal with the bigger troubles that show up inevitably."

Take an old man's advice, Danae. Never forget how to laugh. Although you may want a challenge now, it won't be as appealing when it comes your way..."

Danae nodded as she listened to him, genuinely listened. "I'll remember that, Tristan," she promised, giving him a soft smile in return.

They were wise words, no doubt, and Danae had learned, just a few years past, the dangers of taking yourself too seriously.

"Such little troubles give a body the vigour to deal with the bigger troubles that show up inevitably."

At that statment, Danae wondered what people would think of her if she did not subdue her emotions so. If she laughed giddily like the other girls her age, or skipped down the hall with pure joy. The banshees, she was oddly happy about their emergence, simply because it was new and different, and yet somehow, she had managed to make it seem as though it was just another menial task at hand.

"Perhaps," she said with a nod, rather than trying to explain her true feelings on the matter. "I looke forward to it, actually. I've been bitten by the bug of Celtic and Gaelic lore. I love it almost as much as Greek Mythology and Ancient Egyptian tales."

"Perhaps," she said with a nod, rather than trying to explain her true feelings on the matter. "I looke forward to it, actually. I've been bitten by the bug of Celtic and Gaelic lore. I love it almost as much as Greek Mythology and Ancient Egyptian tales."

"Excellent," Tristan replied, "I've always been fond of Navajo mythology. But that's an ego thing. Being worshipped is nice, now and then.

"But as for Gaelic, would you believe that I've watched the Dagda? He couldn't really bring back the dead, but he was a holy terror with that mace of his. In truth, most men of any stature could lift it but very few could wield the thing. Am I boring you?"

Tristan had mastered the "Am I boring you?" to an art form. When said by most, it meant "Pay attention!" But Tristan had learned to communicate it properly. When he said it, people knew he was really curious as to their feedback. At least he hoped they knew, or he had wasted a sizable amount of time.

"I've always been fond of Navajo mythology. But that's an ego thing. Being worshipped is nice, now and then."

"I wouldn't know...but I can imagine. Uplifted, respected...Sacrifices in your name, dances around a fire for you," she said with a hint of teasing. She knew full well that most of the Navajo tales had nothing to do with such antics, but just the same, she couldn't resist it after that comment.

"Am I boring you?"

She scoffed lightly, shaking her head and smiling at him. He always asked her that, and her answer was always the same as she listened with undying interest and enthusiasm. "Hardly," she replied simply. "What of the bottomless cauldron? A myth too?" Danae asked, moving to the side to lay what she held in her arms down before turning back to him again. The Dagda...All this time, none of her sources had said any differently about the club he wielded that could kill a handful of men with one swing, and resurrect the slain with the other. Amazing...

"What of the bottomless cauldron? A myth too?"

"Not a myth," said Tristan, "Just a remarkable bit of magic. The thing wasn't bottomless, but old Dagda never let anyone find that out. What it could really do was store any amount of objects, usually food, for an absurdly long time without it becoming moldy or stale. The best pantry the world will ever see.

"Were you to find it, I bet you could pull out a cheese put in there hundreds of years ago and find it untouched by time. I once heard that Dagda had Dreamwalker blood in his veins and I would not be all too surprised to find truth in that."

In truth, most great legends had a catch to them. He was just glad that this one had a catch that let it stay interesting.

"Just a remarkable bit of magic. The thing wasn't bottomless, but old Dagda never let anyone find that out."

Her mouth fell open in quiet surprise before she closed it quickly and offered up an apologetic smile. "Sorry...It's just, that's all so fascinating to me. Tristan, I do believe that you set out to make me envious of you with all these tales that I've never seen."

Truly, she was slightly jealous, but only because she wished to see the same things with her own eyes. Those tales came from a purer, simpler time, and she wished that she could know such a thing existed. She had spent hours with Drake, talking of days gone by, and it seemed that Tristan held just as much in his memory bank as DreamWalker did, and perhaps infinitely more.

"Sorry...It's just, that's all so fascinating to me. Tristan, I do believe that you set out to make me envious of you with all these tales that I've never seen."

"You wound me, Danae," said Tristan, "If I had wanted to make you jealous I would have mentioned the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The only magic to those is the disappearing act they've pulled."

"The fact of the matter is that I just like the attention. I'm not sure why I do, but I'm also not sure what to do about it."

Tristan became introspective. Here he was, the dandy of the four avatars. Alika was indomitable, Dean unshakable, and even Melisande had her temper. He, on the other hand had always been the diplomat of the group. Perhaps that was why he hung about MSI HQ more than the others. Maybe he wanted a bit of the courage that these mortals carried about inside them.

Perhaps, an ageless entity such as himself was unconsciously learning from a pack of jumped-up exorcists and spook hunters. Sillier things had happened, but he couldn't bring any to mind.

"If I had wanted to make you jealous I would have mentioned the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The only magic to those is the disappearing act they've pulled."

"Fiend..." she whispered with feigned annoyance, though her eyes danced with a smile. To see one of the wonders of the world would be heavenly for her, but of course, she would be forced to merely listen to the tales of those that withstood time. On the beneficial side, at least the one standing before her now could describe it with amazing eloquence and splendor; Tristan seemed to be quite versed in the art of painting pictures with his words.

"The fact of the matter is that I just like the attention. I'm not sure why I do, but I'm also not sure what to do about it."

"Why do anything about it?" she asked, tilted her head inquisitively to the side. "It's how you are, how you've come to be. There's nothing wrong with that and no reason to change it. We all desire a little of the spotlight now and again."

Granted, some craved it more than others, and Danae rarely craved it at all. Most often, she was thrust into it, pushed onto the stage for some reason or another, to tell a short-tempered group of investigators just how to destroy whatever opponent they hunted. The only time she desired the spotlight was when she was singing, and that was a rare time indeed.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she saw Tristan delving deep into his own. She reached over, gently resting her hand on one of his arms. "Did I lose you?" asked Danae in the softest of tones.

"Why do anything about it?" she asked, tilted her head inquisitively to the side. "It's how you are, how you've come to be. There's nothing wrong with that and no reason to change it. We all desire a little of the spotlight now and again."

Perhaps, Tristan pondered, it was because of how he was still not used to being human. Or human-like anyway. Maybe he was still working out the many kinks that came with flesh and blood.

"Did I lose you?"

"Almost," Tristan replied, "I'd just gone off on a bit of a tangent. It's a habit of mine."

Marcus was a fool for becoming too emotionally attached to a human. Of course, Tristan could very well see how his attraction to Danae had come about. He hoped nothing negative happened between the two of them, he was coming to quite like Danae.

"I'd just gone off on a bit of a tangent. It's a habit of mine."

A slight smile curved her lips and she nodded, a lock of hair falling into her eyes as she did so. "I do that sometimes...It's your own little personal vacation without ever leaving the ground," she mused, then shrugged it away, looking up at Tristan once again.

"So, if I may be so bold...Just what are you contemplating so deeply over there, Tristan? I can nearly see the wheels turning."

"So, if I may be so bold...Just what are you contemplating so deeply over there, Tristan? I can nearly see the wheels turning."

Tristan was not entirely sure what he was contemplating at this point. Perhaps it was the nature of immortality, perhaps his quasi-humanity, perhaps his own position among his Avatar brethren. The were distinct subjects but they liked to converge in so many places.

"You know, life, the universe, everything, nothing, where we came from, where we're going, and how we get from point A to point Q without hitting point J somewhere along the line," that was an evasion tactic he was rather fond of. If you don't know what to say, you might as well say everything you don't know. The needle of truth in the haystack of ambiguity had long been a favorite technique of his.

Danae couldn't seem to stop watching him, smiling slightly. Tristan had an air about him, some sort of graceful humor, a serene deviance that she hadn't encountered before. That, in itself, surprised her, since Danae had certainly thought by this time that she had seen everything.

"You know, life, the universe, everything, nothing, where we came from, where we're going, and how we get from point A to point Q without hitting point J somewhere along the line."

Nodding slightly, she smiled once again. That seemed an awful lot to be contemplating when the conversation starter had been, in fact, banshees. "Careful with all of that...You may hurt yourself," she teased, her voice quiet, as always. "You should watch out for point D too. I hear it's a tricky one."

"Careful with all of that...You may hurt yourself," she teased, her voice quiet, as always. "You should watch out for point D too. I hear it's a tricky one."

Tristan was a little impressed by her ability to keep up with him conversationally. It was not so much that he was conceited as that he had a pretty good idea of how much experience he had at talking and knew how to put it to use.

"Point D and I are old friends," Tristan replied with a grin, "we play checkers together on the second Thursday of every leap year and talk about the good old days."

Nonsense was a bit of a specialty of his. The trick was making it twisty enough to get a laugh but still not too hard to follow. After all, things had gotten a little to angsty for his taste.

Being an elemental was certainly easier than walking about in his sack of meat, bones, and whatever else was inside him. He found sadness to be vastly more irritating in his present form than it had been in his previous.

"We play checkers together on the second Thursday of every leap year and talk about the good old days."

Suppressing a chuckle, Danae crossed her arms in a display of annoyance and sighed. "That 'D'... I'll be having a talk with him. He told me the matches were every fifth Sunday at 13 o'clock. The nerve..."

A slight grin played across her lips as she winked, then shrugged, arms falling to her sides again. Danae did love a bit of humor, but in the end, none found her sense of it amusing in the slightest. Riddles and puns, she loved...and others flew by in life too fast, she felt, to catch the drift of the words.

"That 'D'... I'll be having a talk with him. He told me the matches were every fifth Sunday at 13 o'clock. The nerve..."

Tristan chuckled. She could certainly keep up with him, all right. Too bad he couldn't hang around any longer. He'd have to look up the foletti another time. Now, it was imperative that he get back to the Alcove before his students got together for practice. Punctuality was, after all, a sign of respect.

"Egad," he exclaimed glancing at his watch, "I have seven minutes until my students' next practice. Excuse me, please."

He bowed theatrically. Seven minutes was plenty of time for him to get there. The trick was to do it without being seen.

"I have seven minutes until my students' next practice. Excuse me, please."

She gave a slight nod, offering a smile. "Of course...Until next time, do take care," Danae said, slightly disappointed to see him go, but smiling just the same.

Of course, her work had to be finished anyway. There were banshees to eradicate, after all.