Rosemary came to realize that, to most of the Clan, they seemed to not know much about her - which, she supposed, seemed obvious in hindsight. After all, she liked to keep strict divisions between her public life, private life, and work life. Perhaps that made her a bit cold to others, though that certainly wasn't her intention. Still, she wanted to make sure everyone knew she could be approached for medical matters or... even friendships, though her asocial tendencies made her internally bristle at the thought of it.

Taking a seat near the hub of the beach during sunset, she set out a small thyme-scented candle she'd made and used a small bit of flint to light it. "I'm holding a small question and answer session over here! If you have any medical questions, you can ask me now or in private. And, if you have any personal questions for me, I'll do my best to answer them," she called out to the crowd, ears twitching nervously. She wondered how the extroverted members of the Clan coped with all this interaction. A crowd hadn't even formed around her, but she still felt nervous enough to consider yelling 'never mind!!!' and getting out.

As the charcoal bengal clumsily left their cozy perch, the ocelot tilted her head as she waited for the kitten to approach her. Her two smaller eyes drifted over to the abandoned leather-bound book, though, as Rosemary found herself interested in what this kid wanted to read - it looked like a musty old tome, and she somehow doubted it contained the usual childish fairytales. If Aita liked to read anything that the rest of her family preferred, then Rosemary supposed it could be anything so long as it contained useful information.

As the child stopped in front of her, the ocelot's four eyes converged on the smokey feline as she heard the question; an odd one coming from a child that probably experienced little death thus far in her life. The witch grinned, the expression nothing more than a slight twinge of her lips and nearly missed upon her face. "Necromancy isn't my field, but it can certainly be done. Ghosts appear from time to time, though they're a bit uncommon and tend to have bizarre abilities. Did you know that the Tanglewoods are led by a ghost?" Rosemary answered, her voice sounding disconnected from her words as her flat tone scraped against the excitement of her words. She genuinely liked answering questions about magic, but she never seemed fully capable of expressing so.

Ah, more nieces came to join her - which made a brief flash of a smile appear on her face before it winked out of existence. "Yes, Katherine, I'm his sister; well, half-sister, if you want to get technical, as we're only related through our father," she answered the first with a small nod. The witch wondered, as she looked at Katherine with some curiosity, whether this one might turn out magically inclined like some of the rest of the family; Rosemary would keep watch for that. Proper witches needed to be female for the best magical ability, so she was quite happy with how many nieces she had now: plenty of potential students for her to teach.

Glancing at Caesar, she huffed slightly. "Every group needs someone they love to hate on, and you fit the bill for that, Lemonhead," she answered tartly, her raspy tone not changing to match the animosity in her words. Either way, she didn't exactly answer his question; she gave a general answer to a specific question, which only seemed fair. She made no secret of disliking the officer, though she hardly went out of her way to act openly against him - even if she would attack his mind in secret.

As Sylvina wandered over, the ocelot didn't seem to notice for a while, given she spent some time answering the girls' sister and the resident asshole of the group. But, at the remark, her orange-amber eyes looked over to the kitten, her expression unchanged despite the silly amusement that fluttered around in her brain. Ah, girls were just so adorable as they explored the world - she took the compliment in stride. "Thank you, Sylvia," she answered, cutting herself off from rambling about the tail in question - like how she liked it herself too, and how it certainly came in handy for balance.

As he caustically replied to her, she struck a look at him. One that could only be described as a mix between pity and annoyance, like when someone discovers that their pet has diarrhea and left its stains all over the couch. "You're sour like a lemon; isn't that obvious?" she answers, her impassive deadpan failing to convey the animosity she held for him properly.