The Sentinels legs and hands, thumbs together

It was him. There was no denying it.

It was his scent that she noticed first; the spiced perfume of fresh earth. He was quite unique in that; but the starlet had quickly missed it as a phantom, passing sensation. Indie hadn’t been away from the gang for too long, perhaps just a couple months, and the memories still burned hot in her head — it was not the first time that the reverie of his scent wafted past her nares.  But the vaudevillian choked down her biting retrospection [just like every other time she experienced true emotion and vulnerability] and rolled her tongue to rid both her mind and mouth of the taste. There was no time for such things.

But at last a clearing of a man’s throat hooked Indie’s attention and she raised her head to regard the figure before her. The Vamp wholeheartedly expected to see a Siren standing there, watching her, trying to figure her out [or, perhaps it was that white pest who had difficulty reading social cues], but no pale pelt stood before her. It was a man, and the brute’s mottled hues of cedar and ink spoke what his words couldn’t.

A moment’s silence fell over the two. Indie canted her slender crown inquisitively, as if questioning the specter in front of her — then it clicked.

"Don?” she questioned breathlessly. The vamp took a slow, dragging step towards him. “You’re not a vision, are you?” It was so bizarre that he would be there [amongst all the other places in the world] that she almost believed her eyes and ears were playing tricks on her, not just her nose. The immediate emotional reaction to this surprise had been unwelcome, so she continued to wax poetic. “Or a phantom, a ghost who bedevils these charred remains?” her cool contralto questioned thrice, drawing close to Donovan’s form with another step. Then she halted her slow dance towards the familiar stranger and stood firmly upon her four dark pillars.

Once the initial consternation wore off of her expression, questions began to boil and roll within her mind. Why was he here? How did he find her? What did he want? Where were the others? And suddenly, in light of all in information she instinctively sought, that last question seemed the most important. “Are the others here?” she intonated softly, wishing to see the patchwork faces of her harlequin gang but doubting that the entire group would [could] travel this far.