33 Apocalypse Ave, Sunday Evening

[hotceltogoth]

Ronan was staring at his computer screen, trying to figure out how the hell to write, "People are disappearing in such a way that even the Manual doesn't have a record of them," into a precis. For the Manual. Because that was going to go over well, obviously.

Yeah, he was going to go and check his messages instead, smiling softly at Isabel's voice. That would be him hitting speed-dial, yes, and calling back.

[Expecting one, obvs, but otherwise open for calls/visitors/etc.]