Aradia, meanwhile, stays relatively chipper on the way through Islington. There's rarely an excuse for her to venture this far past the Thames, so there's a fair share of wide-eyed staring and random observation - how some buildings feel like they're barely standing, idle musings on the few signs of obvious vampire-dom around, that sort of thing. It's best to make the most of the situation, right?

Her prattling trails off when they arrive, as the woman's arrival startles her just as much as it does Clara. The all-too-familiar sound of a lamppost's light dying across the street is proof of that, even if Aradia herself scrambles to maintain visual composure, damnit not again. Oops. "Doesn't ring a bell, honestly. Maybe the letters could help?"

Now's not the time to regret sleeping through highschool classes. Or have considerations for privacy, apparently, if her immediate darting over to the mailbox is any indication. If her hands co-operate long enough, she's got ideas of prying out a letter or two to see the address. "O-or one of us could try talking to that lady, maybe she's one of the ones who can hear...?"