Tonic left. He wasn't really planning on leaving, he just decided, halfway through a rerun of Star Trek, that it was time to go. He put on his trench coat, put on his backpack, grabbed his wallet, and left. He didn't know where he was going, how long he'd be gone, or how he was going to live, but it didn't matter. His boots were strong, his jeans were rugged, and his coat had seen more than even he remembered. He didn't leave any notes, he didn't tell anyone, he stood up, put on what he took, and left.

Mysti stood in her Circle, arms outstretched, her concentration obvious in the look on her face. There wasn't anything of cosmic importance on her magical plate tonight, a general spell of protection, some herbal spell to help her cat's hair balls, and a green candle spell for a little help on the bills. She was well rested and aware of everything around her; casting often made her hyperaware of herself, and she felt a small tinge in her belly, a yearning, a desire that she didn't immediately recognize. She finished her spells for the evening, broke the circle, and sat down with a wine glass half full of grape juice. She thought back to this feeling, and it was slightly familiar, but unplaceable.

"Do you know how little I want to lose you?" Morgan thought as he watched her Avatar sitting just inches from his, quiet and perfect, beautiful and perfectly representative. Morgan hadn't known her long, and most of his interactions with her were here in this chatspace. Her beauty was not exquisite, but well "above average" as far as he was concerned. Beauty didn't matter as much as her soul; Morgan saw it for everything it was, deep, complex, and utterly wonderful. He wasn't yet sure, even after all these months, what he wanted with her, what his overprotective girlfriend would think, or how she could possibly fit into his life. He had often thought about his perfect - the girl that fit almost everything he wanted in a soul mate, not that he believed in such things anymore. Regardless, she was it. Strong. Witty. Just flirty enough to keep him guessing if there was anything there, any possibility. The circumstances of his life seemed to say otherwise, and Morgan watched the simple animations of the chatspace avatar. He didn't know what to say to her, how to respond, or what she must have been doing in other windows to stay online but say nothing here. Chatting somewhere else? With someone else? Jesus, Morgan thought, how could someone I have almost no interactions with bring me guilt? No matter, his rational self continues, it's not in the cards - she's 3 years older, working, we're not even in the same social groups. Nonetheless, Morgan watched her avatar disappear from his screen, and he took another drink.