The Apartment, New York, Monday

[seveninchmotto]

At her core, Isabelle didn't much identify as American. If anything, she was a New Yorker, but a nationality? She didn't really have one. She was a Shadowhunter, first and foremost. And they had their own holidays and traditions. They didn't tend to get too tangled up in the traditions of wherever they were stationed. No matter if they lived there

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[flickofawrist]

Flick hadn't told her he'd be stopping in for a day or so. He'd surprised her before but it was still a priceless thing to be able to do when he got the chance.

So, he'd finished his classes at the Academy, packed a bag and huffed it home, making it in time for the celebrations later. He took the stairs two at a time and was now quietly unlocking the door and slipping in.

[seveninchmotto]

Isabelle didn't hear him.

She was a bit too distracted putting a couple more dresses back in the closet, dancing for a few steps to a song she was humming. His surprise was intact.

[flickofawrist]

Now, Flick only hoped she was home. He looked around the living room and then moved towards the bedroom since he could hear her now.

He peeked around the bedroom door, waiting till she eventually felt someone watching her and turned around.

[seveninchmotto]

It didn't take too long. Just about as long as it took for her to put the last dress back. Something was prodding at the back of her mind even before she turned just enough to see something from the corner of her eye.

She whirled around, and while she didn't actually pull the metal chopsticks out of her hair - where they were keeping it in the most charming little updo - you could rest assured she was about a heartbeat away from it. (They were knives, of course. Everything about her was a weapon.)

But then her face lit up.