Into the woods

[Jarod Nightingale] Life had a habit of getting in the way of best laid plans. For Jarod, that meant his nice, relaxing weekend had been spoiled by a trip to Tokyo and an unexpected substitution in a runway show. He'd been rather tempted to turn the designer down, but ultimately the pay check had proved too alluring to pass up.

Naturally this all meant that he was looking forward to the planned outing in the woods moreso than he might have otherwise been. Frankly, it was exactly what he needed right about now. The ground was covered in a light layer of snow, and since it was a week day, the parking lot where he now sat was relatively empty. Most sane people didn't go for outings into the woods on a wintery monday afternoon. Evidently, Jarod was not entirely sane. Or at least, not entirely normal.

This was evidenced even more by the fact that he'd chosen to await Emily's arrival not within the comfortable confines of his BMW, but rather... outside of it. There was a bench right at the head of the trail, on the outskirts of the woods, and Jarod sat there now, gazing up at the cloudy sky and playing absently with a dead maple leaf, which he ran his fingertips across almost as if he was in the act of memorizing the precise spacing of the veins.

Naturally, given their surroundings, he wasn't dressed in a business suit today. Instead he sported a pair of dark blue jeans (still rather expensive, from the look of them) and a warm-looking black felt coat, beneath which was a white long-sleeved shirt. Around his neck had been tied a soft black scarf, and on his feet, a pair of hiking boots.

[Emily Littleton] Cancellations, delays -- Emily knew these words all too well during the holiday season. When Jarod had gotten ahold of her, and it had taken a little effort, she was accomodating and easy-going about it. Monday was fine by her, she really hoped he had a nice trip, try not to sit next to any kids (delightful little germ vectors), all that like. She stopped short of asking whether he needed a ride to the airport. Jarod likely had People for that, or his People had People, or something.

It had taken her a little longer to find her way out to the woods. Emily did not possess a vroom-vroom fancy car, with snazzy suspension, or any of the other delicious features that made Jarod's car nestle into turns and hug the road tightly. She drove a car of indeterminate age (when was that model manufactured?) that had seen better days, aethestically and mechanically. It pulled into a space a little ways away from him, despite the near-empty lot.

Emily stepped out of the car wearing jeans and an assortment of layers designed to provide similar warmth to his rather efficient coat. Her coat, too, had seen better years, but it served its function more or less. The layers were in a variety of autumnal colors -- ocher, russet, cranberry, creams -- and had the overall effect of going together (more or less) as if she'd planned it. Her scarf was a deep cranberry red.

Her car did not chirp or flash its lights when she locked the door. In fact, Emily used a rather antiquated system (a key, fitted into a lock) to secure her vehicle. Not that anyone would want to steal it, borrow it, or even look at it for too long. Tucking her hands in her pockets, she made her way over to where Jarod was sitting.

The snow squeaked under her feet. The sound always struck her as strange. Emily was more at home with the crunch of autumn leaves, or the splash of puddles. The odd sounds snow made, its capricious way of helping one lose their footing, the way it melted into a bone-deep cold and wet, all of these things led her to regard it with a mild distrust.

She stopped about two arms' lengths from him, watched (studied) his features for a moment, and then smiled.

[Jarod Nightingale] There was something almost peculiarly perfect about seeing Jarod outside, sitting still amidst a backdrop of snow. Almost in the same way that he so frequently gave the impression that an entirely different animal lived beneath his skin. There was no definitive proof. Only... an instinct. A gut reaction. Winter was his home. He belonged there. For a brief moment, after Emily got out of her car and looked at him (he was slow to react to her presence, as if lost in thought), he was like a living statue in a hibernating garden.

He looked oddly tranquil. At peace, almost. And he didn't look cold, despite lacking the numerous layers that Emily had used to insulate herself. Then he broke the spell by shifting his eyes to rest on her own, and he offered a surprisingly honest smile as he stood up from his seat on the bench and stepped forward to meet her. The pale skin on his face was tinged slightly pinkish in places from the crisp air, along his cheekbones and his lips, and his breath puffed out in a tiny cloud of steam as he breathed.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to humor me and join my little adventure. Are you warm enough? We might be here awhile."

[Emily Littleton] He surprised her, often, but Emily had decided that that was part and parcel to Jarod's existence, and the strange, tangential way in which he'd entered hers. She'd seen such mutability in him -- flashes of frozen anger, moments of cool repose -- that she was starting to seem him as something Slyph-ish, as much as felinesque. Jarod was not safe harbor in the storm, no, he was the storm, in all its terrifying beauty.

"I'm fine, thanks," she answered quickly, when he asked if she'd be warm enough. Emily's skin was still warm from the car ride over. Her cheeks and nose were not yet chilled and rosy. She exhaled tiny clouds that dissapated quickly into the air between them. It was hard to imagine, in some ways, how at home she'd been in these woods not more than a week ago. This was clearly his playground now.

"Shall we?" she asked, not of a mind to loiter at the picnic bench for too long. Emily's hands did not leave her pockets (perhaps she hasn't gloves]), but she did take a long, appreciate look around her settings. It was beautiful, if cold and destined to soon also be wet. The light dusting made the barren woods glisten as if born anew, sharpened the contrast between colors, made everything strange and unknown again.

[Jarod Nightingale] He was a study in contradiction, at times, this was true. He was also... intense. Like some kind of delicious but extremely rich dessert. People craved him, but most were hard-pressed to handle him in extended doses. Perhaps he was best taken in the same way he so often presented himself: as a one-night-stand. An evening of being caught up in a fascinating, beautiful storm, before waking up alone and with the pieces of one's life strewn about but otherwise still in good working order.

Most people did take him this way. But Emily was seeing him now for the fourth time. And they had an entire afternoon to adjust to each other's company. Before turning to lead them down the path he'd chosen, Jarod leaned forward and ran his fingers through the (slowly becoming familiar) loose curls of Emily's hair. It was an affectionate gesture, and one might notice that he was not, at present, wearing any gloves. The tips of his fingers felt cold against the edge of her warm ear, but they weren't icy enough yet to have become numb.

"You look cute," he commented with a playful smile. Then he turned and started walking down the deserted path without waiting for a response. The woods were very quiet today. Calm and mostly empty but for the occasional skuttle of some small animal amidst the dried leaves. In the distance, a cardinal sounded a faint trill.

"Have you met anyone else like us in Chicago?"

[Emily Littleton] He might have presented himself as a one night stand to many (single performance [no encore!]), but Emily hadn't seen him that way. It was possible that, in her entire existence, she had never seen anyone that way. She preferred to catch hold of interesting things, to study them intently (if sometimes passively) until they began to make sense, to turn the captivating moments into something truly awe-inspiring: knowing. She did not get caught up in the whirlwind without wondering why it was there in the first place.

It could be terrifying in its own way, being subject to that sort of quiet attention (intent) or curiosity. Especially if he was used to being viewed through a very selective (self-selected) lens, posed in precise answers to practiced questions. It was possible that, given time, Jarod would find Emily unnerving in her own way.

What he found now, though, was the way her eyes softened and warmed when he touched her. The faint curl (pleased) of her mouth. The way she looked over at him, fondly, and then off in the direction of the bird call.

"Mmm... besides Enid?" she asked, trusting that enough time had passed to quell the rapids that had formed between those two. She looked up at the sky, trying to place names as they walked. "Ashley... I met her at a cafe, and she was trying to explain..." Emily's expression became momentarily perplexed ... "Philosphical groups? We didn't get very far, though. And, hmm, Jon. Perhaps a couple others, but I couldn't tell you for certain if they are or aren't like us. They just seem to come up in the same conversations."

[Jarod Nightingale] It was possible that Jarod might come to find Emily unnerving at some point. It might even be likely. For someone who worked so diligently at keeping people at arm's length, it was a fair assumption perhaps that he had reasons to want to keep them there.

But then, if he truly wanted that with Emily, logic seemed to dictate that this... was not really the correct way to go about it. Not simply because he was spending an extended period of time with her, but because he'd brought her into a world that was... personal. Private. She knew things about him that most never would, and that intimacy didn't only come from sex. Many other people knew those details about him. Not everyone knew that he could heal himself by force of will alone.

And even fewer people knew that, despite all of his urban luxuries, he was still, and always would be, most at home in places like these. The evidence of his contentment was there, even in his usually enigmatic eyes.

He'd been ahead of Emily at first, but now he slowed his pace so that they could walk side by side. He still had that leaf in one of his hands, and he let it go so that it drifted down to the ground lazily before he reached into one of the pockets of his coat to pull out a pair of black leather gloves, which he slid on before flexing his fingers experimentally. Seemingly satisfied, his hands found their way back into his pockets for the moment.

"Traditions," he corrected Emily on the proper term. "Most of the Awakened end up flocking together at some point, for safety if nothing else. But you're correct about them being... different schools of philosophy. There's more to it, but that's basically the point. Everyone has their own way of interpreting reality."

[Emily Littleton] One-night stands weren't all that intimate, even if you rode someone's skin and senses as closely as Jarod could. They were illusory, feigning a closeness that only truly came with time. Emily was more than a mortal coil, a vessel of flesh and bones, blood and sinew. He might know what quickened her breath, tautened her flesh, but he was far from knowing her. He had yet to grasp the quick of her, the quintessential Emily-ness that was illusive for all the openness and sincerity he'd seen in her.

Emily, for her part, did not begin to think she'd grasp the core of what Jarod was, or was becoming. She was enjoying the conundrum, wrapped in a riddle, riddled with inconsistencies, and tied up in a beautiful seeming. He was a clever puzzle, and it pleased her.

"That's hardly different from the rest of society, though," she mused, taking his correction in stride. "Awakened or not, people have been fashioning belief structures, ways of interpreting reality, for as long as there have been people." She wasn't arguing, really, just failing to see this as novel. So yes, there were groups, and yes, they were important, but Emily didn't see a reason why this had been so important to some of the others.

"Does anyone stand apart from these Traditions? Study them, reflect on their similarities and differences? Or is it about finding the right encampment, and staying there, mostly?" Do we hold hands and sing kumbaya together? Or is this a bit more like...politics?

[Jarod Nightingale] Emily's musings on the nature of traditions was hardly bothersome to the Disciple. On the contrary, he smirked with barely contained amusement, as if to imply that he really did not think much of the practice himself. (Especially not when it involved holding hands and singing kumbaya. One could easily imagine that Jarod Nightingale was the sort of person who would be more likely to stick a knife in his hand than sing bloody-fucking-kumbaya with anyone.)

"Some do. The traditions call them orphans, and try to scoop them up and indoctrinate them. It's a silly game, but... there are others who are much, much worse. When you're alone, you make yourself a target, and sooner or later someone will come for you who you will wish you'd never met." And here was a topic of discussion that was hardly in keeping with the pleasant atmosphere of their surroundings. "I won't lie to you. It's human nature, I suppose. Given the possibility of limitless potential, people can become dangerous. Some of them will hurt you. And they're the majority."

He paused a moment to let this sink in before moving on.

"I avoided the traditions for a few years, but ultimately it became impractical. It's much easier to learn when there are others willing to teach you."

[Emily Littleton] She pulled her hands out of her pockets and wrapped her arms around her middle, almost as if she was hugging herself. Emily had no gloves, so the cold bit into her fingers as soon as they were out of her pockets. She looked over at him, scrutinizing his expression for a moment. Her own was colder, less inviting, somewhat calculating (but not cruel).

Letting the quiet hang between them for awhile, Emily turned her attention out into the vast, glistening forest. The winter sun wrought long, slender shadows from barren trees. The prolific leaf litter of a few weeks ago was covered over, assumed away by the recent snowfall. Her dark, weaving umber path was only a whisper now, peeking through where some bit of ground was sheltered by the trunk of a fallen tree (king).

The court slept. It seemed like their voices carried on forever in these somnambulent halls.

The quiet stretched further, frozen, pulled to a brittle breaking point. Finally Emily stretched her fingers, which had grown achingly cold. She brought them up to her face, cupped them and blew warm air into them, and then tucked them away again, into her pockets.

[Jarod Nightingale] Emily was quiet. This proved an interesting change of pace for someone who was used to keeping the company of people who were much more chatty than he was. Still, Jarod didn't seem to mind. He could exist in silence for quite some time, should the mood strike him, without ever feeling discomfort. Perhaps, were the situation slightly different, he might have done just that, walking along the sleepy forest trail and simply soaking in sights and sounds around him.

But there had, in theory, been a purpose to this outing. To explain to Emily a few things she'd need to know about the world she now found herself in. As someone a very long time ago had done for him.

"I suppose I'm not really the ideal teacher for these things. My point of view doesn't fit neatly into any of the prescribed boxes, and I've no experience trying to... mentor anyone. So you may be better off talking to someone like Ashley." He shrugged, as if he had no investment in the matter one way or another. "But I asked you here so that I could answer any questions you might have, because you should know what you're getting yourself into."

[Emily Littleton] She couldn't quite shake the feeling that she'd been knocked to the bottom of the social totem pole, yet again. It bothered Emily, the way an old hurt rising to the surface ached. It bothered Emily, too, that there were boogie men waiting to complicate her life--moreso than waking up already had complicated her life. Mostly, it bothered Emily that she knew so little about all of this, little enough to fail at the rudimentary task of putting forth meaningful questions.

Perhaps what bothered her most, though, was that she was out in the middle of nowhere, with a man she knew very little about. A man who really had no reason to take an interest in her as she was several years his junior (in many ways). This line of thought was panic-inducing, and Emily felt her heartbeat start to quicken.

It was also foolish. Stormy eyes searched the landscape for some familiar, comforting signs of Autumn. If Jarod had wanted to hurt her, he would have already done so. If he'd wanted to spirit her away like these boogie men, well, she was already in the woods, far enough out that her cellphone likely didn't work. He wouldn't be offering her information (or would he), or counsel (or would he).

She rounded her shoulders and move her hands to her jean pockets. She jammed them down into the pockets, where the faint warmth from her body battled the cold. Feeling her fingers close around cold metal of her keys was comforting. Emily exhaled heavily. The little cloud that sailed away from her was quite burdened, indeed.

"I don't know that I much like Ashley's way of teaching," Emily mentioned, quietly, still not looking over at him. Unsettled. Her mouth worked a few disjointed shapes, then closed again with offering up more words. She shrugged a bit, just taking it all in.

[Jarod Nightingale] [Perception+Empathy]

[Jarod Nightingale] At first glance, Jarod probably didn't seem like he was terribly capable of empathy, and it was true that his brand of it was a bit more aloof than was desired. But he was, if nothing else, quite perceptive, and he'd been training himself to read people for most of his life. Whether that keen gaze of his studied from an entirely scientific point of view, or if there may have been some semblance of emotional recognition as well, most never got to know him well enough to see the difference.

Briefly, his footsteps paused, and he turned to regard Emily thoughtfully in her silence. When she finally did speak, his expression was carefully neutral, but as he returned to walking once more, gazing now at the details of the scenery around them, he said softly, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I know it's a lot to take in at first." And it never really gets any easier. "Ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Still, I'd rather have knowledge, for all that it can be cruel."

There was a beat of silence before he added, finally... "Anyway, you're safe with me. At least, as much as with anyone else in this city." Which may not have been saying much, really, but it was all the comfort he could give.

[Emily Littleton] "That's just what you'd say..." Her voice was quiet and trailed off, almost sadly. Emily shifted, pulling her hands out of her jeans pockets and stuffing them back into her jacket pockets. She closed her eyes for a moment, pushing back the echoes of not here, not now, and drew a deep, piercingly cold breath.

She pulled one hand out of her pocket again (restless [idle hands] devil's playground) and ran her fingers through her hair. It was unbound, a rarity these days, and she pulled some of the curls over her shoulder in the motion. They framed in her features better this way, covered her ear, made her feel (seem) warmer somehow.

"It's okay," she said, sloughing off the sadness in her voice and pushing it out of her expression. Swallowing back the bitter bits of fear. Forcing herself back to the reality she knew. That it was cold here. That he had been kind to her, inexplicably warm. "It's okay. I'd rather know." She'd rather learn, than be comfortable. Rather grow, than stay safe.

When Emily finally looked over to him, there was an (worn) apology in her eyes. "So, ultimately, most people choose a ... Tradition," she repeated the lesson, forcing herself back on track, away from the boogie men and bad dreams. "Even if only for pragmatic reasons."

"And those who don't," or those, like her, who had Woken Up alone, "Walk a dangerous path." She smiled, thinly. "Right?"

[Jarod Nightingale] Emily's hands were restless, and Jarod glanced at her again as she spoke, noting her behavior. When she finally got around to working back to their intended subject matter, he nodded. There was a hesitance in his own response, though, as if his desire to explain these things had somewhat.. leaked away.

"It's always dangerous. You learn to be careful. To be... aware of things." You learn not to trust. "But as you mentioned... not really so much different from the mundane world. Just, on a grander scale, perhaps. Human nature is human nature. There are predators and prey even in the cities. Especially in the cities." People can be crueler than any animal.

He paused to contemplate this, reaching out to his side to run his gloved hand over a low-hanging branch from an oak tree. "Maybe you already know that?"

[Emily Littleton] They were coming up on the clearing, the place where the path widened and the fallen trees (kings) kept court. Where she had sat and looked out over the water, watched the deep shadows of a late Autumn afternoon reach, claw, grasp their way across the seemingly placid surfae. Where the dead, dessicated leaves had shuffled and whispered their way across the forest floor.

Somewhere, underneath all of this white, it was all still there.

Somewhere, underneath all of this newness and change, Emily was still there, too.

"It was a long time ago," she said, fighting to pull the corners of her mouth up (smile) even as the corners of her eyes pulled down (sadness). As they approached the still Court, Emily found a seat on the fallen tree. She was done with walking for a little while. "But yes... I suppose... some things don't change as much as we hoped they would."

The stillness of the woods was almost palpable. It made her tense, now, for long-forgotten reasons. Much like waiting for the other shoe to drop. If he dared to touch her mind, Jarod might catch the shadow of memories (unpleasant [unclear]).

"We were new to the city, and I didn't know my way around. I didn't know... anyone." It didn't matter what city she was talking about, or when. He could fill in the gaps with whatever scenery he liked, and the story was the same. "I was a little younger than Enid, so I should have known better." She shrugged a bit. Emily danced around the story without telling it. Telling just enough of it that he could guess at the rest. "I was missing three days before they found me. But they did... find me. So I guess it could have gone worse," a slight smile. A shrug.

Emily kicked at the snow a bit with her shoe. "Though, really, it's an old story. And, well, only serves to illustrate a point you already made." Emily piled the words up on top of what little admissions she'd offered him, obscuring it quickly, hopefully before he had much of a chance to reply. "So now, I guess, I doubly know better. So you won't have to worry about me."

[Jarod Nightingale] [Man+Subterfuge - let's see how good he is at hiding his emotions today]

[Jarod Nightingale] Maybe this was it. Maybe this was why he'd picked her out of a crowd. Some completely unknown and yet strangely perceived similarity. But that couldn't possibly be it, because he hadn't know, couldn't have known... and because people like Jarod were the predators, not the prey. They took what they wanted from the world, because they could.

Even now, as they settled into the clearing and Emily took a seat on a fallen tree, Jarod moved as if he was more a creature of this serene wilderness than he had any right to claim. His footsteps were near-silent, despite the crunch of snow and leaves, and he paced back and forth once, slowly (prowled) across the clearing before finally coming to sit beside Emily. He watched her as she told her story, and his eyes, for all their exotic beauty, were veiled somehow. Watchful, but near-impossible to read. Whatever her story made him think or feel... on the outside there was only ice and snow.

"Who said I worried about you?" he finally asked, almost contemplatively, which may have been construed as a cold response, but ultimately his actions contradicted his words (as they often did.) He slid in so that their bodies rested against each other, then reached out an arm to wrap around Emily's shoulders and pull her gently into an embrace. The other one soon followed, around her waist, and he practically melted against her. As if he could wrap her up completely and hide her away from all the world's ills. Or maybe just her memories of them.

Very softly, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

[Emily Littleton] Who said I was worried about you?

"Yeah... no one..." she replied in the space of the scant few heartbeats that passed between his aloofness and his arms enveloping her. She'd closed her eyes as she exhaled the words almost as an admonishment to herself, deflated, so she was somewhat surprised when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Emily leaned into him, slipped an arm around him, and hugged him tightly. Like a much younger girl would, like she would have if the story was not quite so distant in her past. This (neediness) passed, though, and she leaned into his embrace more than held fast to him.

His softer words got caught in the tangle of her curls, in the softness of her hair against his cheek, buried under the (shaky) sound of her exhaling (fear) the past, and drawing in (winter [warmth]) the present. She sat with him for awhile, letting the unexpected gentleness wash over her, calm her, bring her back to center.

The stillness was less painful now, less prickling against her senses, less taut with unseen cautions and threats. It was merely quiet, and still. The woods were truly beautiful, when she looked at them with a bit of inner calm. She seemed better, too. Beneath the layers, he could tell she was calming.

"Thank you," she said, very softly. Hugged him gently.

[Jarod Nightingale] For someone who was capable of such biting cruelty as Emily had witnessed him exact upon others in the very short time they'd known each other, it was surprising how comforting he could be. She told him what had happened to her, and rather than reacting with shock or judgment (of any kind), he simply offered the only thing he really could, which was the familiar warmth of another human being. Perhaps in the end that was enough. It meant something, anyway. His embraces were rare, and not given very freely.

He gave it freely now, though. And as Emily clung to him at first, his perfect mask of placidity cracked just barely, and there might have been the faintest glimpse of something more human. But if this was the case, Emily couldn't see it, because he had his head resting atop her own, kissing the softness of her hair once, reassuringly, as he breathed in the lingering scent of her shampoo.

After a moment she loosened her grip. Her hold on him more gentle. His own remained precisely as it was. Secure, without being tight. Protective, almost. When she thanked him, he responded with a gentle sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat. Only then, finally, would he let his arms slowly fall away.

"If anything ever happens to you... call me, alright?" And he meant that, or he wouldn't have offered.

[Emily Littleton] He seemed to ebb and flow on an unknowable tide, sometimes flung violently between extremes, sometimes calm and soothing. Emily had begun to simply expect the unexpected with Jarod. She had not seen enough, understood enough, to find a discernable pattern. From that pattern, someday, maybe, she would be able to predict something in him. But there was always the seeming calm--quick to rush back in if it was ever shaken loose or disrupted. Someday, maybe, she'd understand that, too.

She pulled back enough to look up at him, to lock her storm-colored eyes on his indigo ones, seekingly. There was a flicker to her heartbeat, and odd mistrust flaring momentarily and dying out just as quickly. Emily had no real fuel to feed any skepticism about Jarod beyond how odd this moment was to her. She had had precious few friends (the word is acquaintance) in recent years, and fewer yet that she could call on if things got rough. Perhaps no one in particular she would call if...

Something told her, though, that this was not the time to quip or push him away. Emily, so quick with a wry smile, nodded. Once. Then again. (So this is what trusting feels like...)

"Okay." Jarod would likely not know how monumental that one word was (acquiescing), though he might hazard a guess. He might not realize how odd it was for Emily to curl back into him, hug him once more, fail to argue his offer away. Not fight. Not run away. Not... simply let it sit between them unanswered.

The Verbena may not know what an unexpected gift he'd extended, but he'd undoubtedly recognize her own tenuous offer. Emily, who had zealously guarded almost every thing he had learned about her, withheld every city name at first, offered up little -- Emily, who would call him if anything ever happened to her, chuckled a little (wryly [it couldn't be helped]), shook her head a little (disbelievingly) and offered up the oddest non sequitur.

"This is not quite how I thought I'd be spending my birthday." Her tone was lighter, unencumbered by the seriousness of the previous exchange. Almost amused. It was a good change, a welcome change most likely. She sounded almost... pleased.