[Teapot before him, a plate of pastries beside it, Braxiatel sits at the kitchen table with Strindberg's Ett drömspel open in front of him. Braxiatel stirs sugar into his tea, and a faint smile crosses his face as his eyes flicker to something in the seat to his left.]

[He leans forwards and pours a second cup of tea, then lifts it up to hand it over, the smile widening.] I don't know what you mean by 'ulterior motives,' Comman—

[Braxiatel's fingers tighten on the cup before he can let it go. For a moment, it hangs there, hoping for a hand that cannot take it.]

Ah.

[It is a quiet realization.]

[Braxiatel sets the cup down, away from him. He leans back in his chair and picks up a scone to eat.]

[sitting a safe distance from any water or the zombies and Like-Likes, Suiseiseki is currently hugging ... air. and chattering gleefully to whatever air-creature she is hugging]

-could come, desu! It's been lonely here without Souseiseki, but now that you're here, you can meet all of Suiseiseki's friends, desu~ You need to be careful, though. Some of the people here aren't like Jun, desu; some of them are like your old Master. [she squirms a little, letting go of the air and apparently taking 'Souseiseki's' hands] But Suiseiseki will always protect Souseiseki, okay? I'll keep you safe, desu.

[Botta smiles with something like startled relief at nothing in particular.]

Truly? But how...can that be? ...No, of course, I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm so glad...

[He looks troubled for just a moment.] You know I can't stay. The Renegades still need me.

[A pause, and then the smile returns in full force.] ...In that case, I gladly accept. [He steps forward, embracing the air in front of him...

and suddenly looks both bewildered and forlorn as he realizes there's nothing there.]

...What...?

[Emil has taken over the bottom floor of the library, shoving chairs and tables aside so that he can camp out in the middle. One of the curtains from... somewhere has been converted into use as a picnic blanket, enough to sit at least five or six.

Emil has been busy cooking /all day/ just for this moment, and it seems like he's cooked for an army. Surrounding him include: creamy vegetable soup, some kind of cold bean soup, a tower of warm sandwiches from grilled cheese to meatball, cold sandwiches with cold meat, bowls of sweet custard, tiny coffee cakes with homemade icing, at least five different kinds of cute miniature pie (apple, cherry, chocolate, peanut butter, and pumpkin), crockpot-made macaroni and cheese, some kind of frito pie, yogurt and jello partfait, cottage cheese and fruit, a bowl of fruit cocktail, fresh sliced apples and peanut butter carved into shapes of KITTENS, cute pears, cupcakes that are happy, cupcakes with stylized fruit on them, and campfire cupcakes.

Yes, that's a lot of food. He might get zombies to come in here. But the weirdest thing is that he's eating and talking with invisible people. Or yelling at himself, as it were. His wolfish creature sits at the other end of the rug, clearly disturbed, while a black kitten sleeps on Emil's lap.]

Here, Richter, try some of this! It's your favorite, right?

Wake up, you moron!

[Emil stares at a spot to his left.] I... what? But I am awake. A-are you sure you don't want any of the—

SHUT UP! You're hallucinating, you idiot!

[And here Emil looks skeptical. Of himself.] ... No, I'm not.

Whatever. I'm done trying to talk you out of it.

[He winces as if slapped, and when he looks up again, he looks like a kicked puppy.] W-wait, where did everyone...

Oh.

[ooc: FOOD. HAVE AT.]