[Emily Littleton] There's no moon in the sky tonight, though Emily knows that it hangs, fish hook slender and elusive as sin, behind the heavy cloud cover that shed fine white flakes into the last November evening. The air has gone past cold enough to see your own breath and into the sort of stillness that true winter brings. It has not been snowing long, so it is something of a novelty still. The ground hasn't frozen hard enough for snow to stick. It blurs the lines her eyes study, breaks up the heat of her frustration. It tangles up in her lashes, makes her blink. When she exhales, she can see the eddies her breath makes in the night without magic.
This is a kind of magic.
When she'd left the apartment, Emily had been walking a lot faster. Every footfall beat down some of her frustration, tamped it into hard-packed anger, smooshed and shaped it into something manageable. By now, that flame is just a flicker, a pilot light, nothing volatile and dangerous. Not now.
There's a light stiffness in one of her legs. You can hardly tell it from the way she walks, but anyone as in tune with Life patterns as Bran is might notice. Her hair is down, and falls in dark waves. She's wearing a dark jacket, jeans, boots. Her sweater is a pale lavender, when the light of a passing lamp catches it enough to cast color from it. Otherwise it appears grey. Her scarf a pale cream, otherwise appears white.
The Singer is a bright spot on an otherwise drab and quiet tableau. The snow falls, bringing a hush to everything, even her anger. The snow falls, and for the first time, Emily considers that Winter has come and her birthday is imminent.
The snow falls.
The Singer breathes out.
And somewhere, somewhere, there is some peace of mind for her to find, squirrel away, borrow on and make her own this evening.
The dark water sloshes against the shoreline. Fathomless. Opaque. She stops walking and stands still, looking out over it, wishing it was another other-named sea. The water swells and recedes, time and again, finding its own sort of heartbeat, pattern, current. She stands in a circle of lamplight and keeps quiet. Keeps still. Keeping still is harder than keeping quiet. Emily needs practice in both, just now.
[Bran Summers] Bran, too, is a bright point in winter, a bush with bright red foliage amid a sea of bare branches or a bonfire lit up on desolate tundra, pulling things into the light (and the heat - don't get too close.) These are the things he brings to mind, walking the drab lakeshore that is enough like Home to help him calm himself down, his strawberry blond hair reflecting the light of the moon.
Bran isn't familiar with the way magi have a tendency to gravitate to each other in Chicago. It happens in other places, but the pull is especially strong here; needless to say, he isn't expecting to run into someone else he knows.
He's just watching the waves, listening to them whisper against the shore as they crest it. He likes water: things gravitate toward their opposites. Any alchemist is aware of that.
He has his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, and the snow has powdered on his shoulders. His anger has been dampened now that he's had a walk and some time to cool his head, but it still flares back up whenever he remembers the conversation and whenever he thinks about its implications. Like Emily, he feels betrayed and he feels hurt, but unlike her he isn't fully sure why yet. There was no violation the way there was for her, and so his particular situation is not so easy to sort out.
His breath comes out in a slow puff and mists around him as he stops and looks at the waves.
And then he sees Emily. Bran is a friendly man, and he likes to talk to people when he feels upset. He doesn't have to talk about what's bothering him; just being around someone else is sometimes enough. So he lifts a hand in a wave and then he starts over, smiling and watching her to see whether his approach is indeed welcome.
[Emily Littleton] It is hard for someone like Emily to deny the presence of a man like Bran, he who comes like a burning bush in the desert, who is a beacon on the shore. She is more a solid place in the storm, though Emily is still learning to rise about the troubled seas. To turn the push in her that is
Unrelenting toward surety, toward an
Unyielding bulwark. She is young, and her emotions some times run off course, off tether. But in this coldness it is easier for find repose. In this Winter, she can come back to her own
Reverence.
She was the child who breathed in Winter and out Wonder. Somewhere, inside, she still is.
This city pulls them together and forces them apart like marbles in a spinning drum. It does not surprise her when they group together, and neither do the quiet weeks when she hears next to nothing of her Awakened brethren. She wishes, some times, for a more even pace; it never comes.
She is a little ways away, but they are close enough to make out each other's defining features, to compare that to one another's resonances. He waves. Her smile broadens and she steps back a little, opening her body language, welcoming without taking her hands out of her pockets.
When he draws nearer, she says, "I didn't realize you were still in town." It's warm; Bran brings out a warmer note in Emily than most of the Chicago mages. She owes him nothing, maybe that's why. It's unencumbered, and even a chance meeting can be respite from her responsibilities. "It's good to see you again. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?" she asks, even though she likely didn't celebrate it.
[Bran Summers] Sometimes asking other magi about their holidays can be inviting tension into the conversation; many of them are Orphans. Many of them are driven, lonely people who don't have anyone to spend the holidays with, or who have suffered losses - family or friends - and notice it. But while Bran has had plenty of his own travails this year, because being Awakened isn't easy, it's been nothing like that.
He smiles at the question, coming to stand next to Emily beneath the lamp post. He's only a little taller than she is, and he stands straight-backed with his hands still comfortably tucked away in his pockets.
"I did, thank you for asking," he says. "I invited my mother over to celebrate with myself and Justine and her fiance Adam." Ashley wasn't there on the day of, the way she has been in prior years. Even last year. But things run their course, and the separation has been a long, slow process, like watching a firework and then seeing the smoke and embers drift off through the air and fade away in darkness.
"I'm not in town for very long," he says. "I have some business up in Rockford so I stopped to see Ashley and check up on my work at the chantry house while I was in town for the day."
A look toward her, something simultaneously friendly and inquisitive. "Did you spend the holiday with anyone here? Or have you been here long enough that American traditions have ceased to be novel?"
[Emily Littleton] "How could anyone with good sense eschew a holiday about good food and gratefulness?" she asks, looking (
mock) offended that he would suggest she didn't like the holiday. It's an easy affectation, one that fades away once its meaning is taken, and is replaced by a little shake of her head.
"We had the week off from Uni, so I went home for a Christening. It's good to see family," she says, and it's a nod toward his holiday as well. Bran manages a companionable conversation without overmuch expectation; that's something Chicago has taught her not to expect in the Awakened world. "It's also good to come back."
She's been here several years, now, but Chicago is not home. It is still not home. Perhaps winter settling in has reminded her of that. Emily's gaze slips back out over the water.
"I was just at the Chantry a couple nights ago, down by the well. I got a chance to see your finished work; it's impressive." This is not exaggeration. Emily is not in the mood for exaggerating to bolster anyone else's ego. There's a sincerity that comes with that bluntness. She's offering a genuine compliment.
[Bran Summers] Emily mentioned the last (and first) time they spoke that she liked to build things; it does not surprise Bran to hear her compliment his work as such. He turns another smile in her direction. There's almost always the hint of one lighting about his eyebrows and cheeks, and all it takes is a slight twitch of his muscles to get it to actualize.
"Thank you," he says. "I thought it was a good thing, building it to remember the fallen. Some chantries don't honor them that way, and I'm always glad to hear of the ones that do." He's a soldier, like most Flambeau, and he's seen allies and friends fall in the course of a War most members of the Traditions think they've lost. He knows he himself probably won't reach old age - maybe not even middle age. He's accepted that.
"You struck me as the sort who'd have interest in Matter, as a subject of study." He doesn't know Emily is an engineering student, of course, but he indeed got a sense for what she likes, her preferences when he spoke about perfect order. There's the understanding there of a fellow architect.
There's a moment where he looks back out at the lake, leans his back against the lamp post behind him. His posture is still very straight, but there's an easiness to it; it isn't rigid. Just proud. "What made you join the Singers, out of curiosity?" And then he pauses, looks over at her and adds, with another smile, "My mentor keeps company with a member of the Chorus and Adam is a Singer too. It's always interesting to hear about it. Everyone seems to have such different reasons."
[Emily Littleton] He asks after her Tradition, and Emily's smile pulls in a little at the corner, carefully amused. Her chin ducks just slightly; it changes the angle of the lamplight in her eyes and they are once again merely dark, not blue-grey.
They are both Architects, and they are both socially aware. This is not a conversation by lamplight at the lake, not solely. Emily knows this, but for a moment she can pretend it is. She glances up, at him, just long enough to take away the lines of his face and the set of his smile, to commit them to fleeting memory, before she looks out over the water again.
This is not a simple thing you ask, says that look, and yet she attempts to answer.
"I grew up outside of the Church," she tells him. It is more or less true. "I visited, at holidays, or when I was home with my godfather and grandmother, but it wasn't foundational for me the way it seems to have been for many Singers."
She glances over at him, but doesn't let this small pause linger.
"We traveled, for the whole of my life, and one of the things that gave me was an appreciation for the experiences that transcend cultural and geographical divides; the things that make us human, wherever we are. There's War, and Love, all manner of sufferings and happinesses, but there is also profound Faith. If not in God, then in something greater than the sum of all our individual self-aware
human parts, or even in Humanity itself.
"The Chorus lets me honor that and elevate myself as an instrument without it becoming heresy. There are others who, like me, believe our gifts impart a responsibility, are a call to action if not arms."
She shrugs, a little. This answer has been refined, honed, made more resonant over the past months. Bran asking her, tonight, on the cusp of all of her anger, is a good thing. It makes Emily
remember, raises the words of her Oaths to the forefront of her mind.
"It called me Home." She smiles, it's softer and less social. This is a small moment of honesty, of vulnerability entrusted to the friend of a friend.
She turns now, to face him, hands still in her pockets. She lets her eyes find Bran's, clear and calm and intelligent. She's offered, and now she asks: "What called you to the Order?"
It's deliberate phrasing, though it sounds simple and unobtrusive on her tongue. There is a chivalry about him, an old and knowing thing.
[Bran Summers] Bran listens, and it's with true interest. He isn't the sort who wants to figure people out, gather pieces to them and slowly assemble it together into a picture: he just seems to genuinely like them. (Or maybe he did, once, and now he's gotten good enough at the Seeming to have fooled himself as much as everyone else around him.)
But Emily's answer is a good one, and it seems to please him as he listens; there's a thoughtfulness that hangs about the corner of his mouth, that smile still in place while he watches the waves and the flakes of snow settle into his hair like they've been called there to melt.
"It's wise, knowing that Awakening's a responsibility," he says. "It took me longer than you to figure that out. There's too much that's broken in the world for us to just sit back and do nothing with the power we've been given."
Been given, he says, and while Bran has never said he is a person of faith, he is caballed with someone who is, and he's considering inviting a Singer in with the two of them. He's at the very least open to the idea, even if he is not a Singer himself. He could have been one, though, perhaps.
"The Order recognizes what's divine in us...what's been set to flame by a Will greater than our own, most likely," he says. "For a reason. I joined the Order because it taught me how to structure my magic and shape it into something more. I thought," he says, after he's had a second to reflect, "that it would be the Tradition that would let me reach my fullest potential and help me bring out the potential of the people I knew."
He draws his hands out of his pockets after a moment and folds his arms, his shoulders still relaxed. "When I was still orphaned, I had a friend the Technocracy killed. And I've always thought that there has to be a better way than the fate that met him and the complacency that's settled over the world. The Order of Hermes has always held the other Traditions together and pushed them toward something higher. It seemed like the best way, to me, to build that."
[Emily Littleton] She listens, and the whole of Emily's attention tonight is not so weighty and cumbersome to bear. It does not drag him down. Perhaps, tonight, in recognizing what is sacred and strong within one another, they will elevate each other. Lift each other up out of whatever anger or frustration has found them. It is possible for Emily to do these things; once she was quite good at them. She could be again.
"Sometimes I think your Order is a very different thing than Ashley's," she says. She can say this without any disrespect, because Bran knows Hunger, knows her better even than Emily does. There is no malice or judgment in the Singer's words, but a quiet distinction drawn. She does not see them as two halves of the same whole, or even two hands working toward the same whole.
"When I was orphaned," she tells him, mirroring his structure. Call and response. It is a familiar thing to her, as one of the faithful. "Ashley encouraged me to speak with the Singers. I may have considered the Order more strongly if someone like you had been here," she tells him.
"I think we fight for similar things. I hope to become a Guardian, rather than a Theologian. There is too much work to be done in the world for me to sit idle, minding my books and my God." She says this, too, without judgment for those who choose a different path. It takes all kinds, but Emily is not one to sit idle. She does not know how to keep still.
"Do you feel the things you do, with your Will and your hands, effect change?" she asks, with direct interest. This comment of his calls up something Molly had said not long before. It reminds her of the ember burning at the pit of her stomach, the quiet outrage. "Can any manner of pushing against complacency and apathy
really shift people's awareness and drives? I want to believe that it can, but it's been a hard day for believing."
She says this with a meaningful pause, a thing that rolls under the current of their conversation easily. Emily has her suspicions at why he might be out for a walk beside the freezing lake, during snowfall. They can't run too far cross-purpose to hers.
[Bran Summers] [Oh boy. +2, girl has already gotten on my nerves tonight.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Bran Summers] [And I'm not angry.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 6, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] [Aware as Empathy: Cuz I'm pretty sure there's something going on, else you wouldn't be out here freezing your ass off. Am I right?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] [Really? +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Bran Summers] Bran does not want to say anything kind right now about Ashley McGowen, nor does he want to have to defend her to Emily, defend her view of the Order. But Ashley is a Tradition mate, and whether he likes it or not, Ashley is an Adept and he isn't and she's a major figure in Chicago. She's an old friend (right) and a political tool; she's both of those things.
The way his smile shifts looks convincing, though there's something pensive about it, something a little sad, though whether that's for Ashley or because she doesn't quite share his vision, it's hard to say. It might be both - then again, Bran doesn't seem like the sort of man who pities. There's no anger, none that Emily can see. "Ashley and I were mentored very differently," he says. "She does have a very different outlook on the Order, but that's something that it's good to remember about people, I think. Things have to be torn down before they can be built up again, sometimes, and it's people who have a knack for that who find the flaws in a system so they can be corrected. She did a lot to help me and Justine affect change. Sometimes all a person needs is a little guidance."
Guidance that she is no longer getting here, but that's neither here nor there.
"I'm sorry that you got the wrong impression, though. Ashley's always been a little cynical." He flexes one of his hands, perhaps because there's a chill coming into it, and then they return to his pockets.
Emily's question to him, the burning ember that he's suddenly aware of, draws his eyes back to her. They're a little inscrutable behind the glare that appears over the glass that shades them, cast by the lamp. She says it's been a hard day for believing, and he grins suddenly and reaches over to give her shoulder a squeeze. It's friendly, nothing that lingers, meant to reassure because she's amused him somehow - not in a way that seems cruel. He probably sympathizes, in fact; this man has probably had days like that.
"I've always felt like I effect change," he says. "I've spent my Awakened life trying to get people to remember that we stand for change. A lot of them have forgotten, but sometimes all it takes is reawakening hope. We have to fight the apathy in the Awakened community before we can turn to the Sleepers, I think, because we're as guilty of it as anyone."
[Emily Littleton] Bran doesn't want to say anything kind about Ashley McGowen just now and Emily imagines that she, wherever she is tonight, would not want him to defend her. Ashley doesn't take well to such White Knighting. It reads too much like help.
"I didn't mean to belittle her paradigm or goals," she says, and Emily's hands come out of her pockets (
empty [nothing to hide]). She rubs them together, blows into them for warmth. "Just that a lot of people seem to pick their Tradition for social as well as political reasons. And, at times, it's as much the medium through which an idea is presented as the idea itself that becomes resonant with a person -- I think you might have made the Order Sing for me, the way you talk about it.
"That's all I meant."
So there's that, an acknowledgment, a clarification. It's also a small warning that Emily knows what his sort of charisma, clarity of purpose and word, and drive can mean. She can name him as a Leader of Men; she can appreciate it in him without necessarily falling in step beside him.
Her hands go back in her pockets, but she smiles over at him when he grasps her shoulder. She lifts her chin a bit in acknowledgment. It's pleased, and she's centered enough today that there's no startle behind being touched. She's been getting better.
"So, really," she asks, eying him with an awareness of the way that people work that is not strong enough tonight to divine his mental state without asking. And as they are not close enough comrades to read each other effortlessly, she is reduced to words, and to whatever he will offer her. "What brings you out to the waterfront in the middle of the night? If you're just visiting from Boston, you can hardly miss the cold just yet."
It's gentle, this question. It's broad enough to leave him many outs. But there's a pull to her asking, something inviting and genuine. She wants to know, but does not need it. There's nothing invested here, however he answers. It's a freedom he might not have with other people; its a dangerous sort of charisma that Emily keeps. They have enough in common for her to seem familiar, and she's solid enough in her own personality to remain staunchly this side of sycophantic, even with how he pulls at people, even if he's the flame and she might be a moth.
[Bran Summers] ((Gah, sorry, AIM disconnected without me knowing it and I didn't see the new post.))
to Emily Littleton
[Emily Littleton] ((AIM's being pretty buggy just now. No worries about the delay!))
to Bran Summers
[Bran Summers] Men like Bran usually do not have the luxury of being open with people. The Awakened community is really not that large, after all, and one never knows who they'll meet down the line later who might remember something said offhand, some slip up that didn't really seem important at the time. (Ashley learned this: Kage has never forgotten the impression that Ashley's views of God left on her. Kage has also not forgotten things Bran said at that same meeting, and it's likely that Bran will have to contend with that view he left her with, should they speak again.)
This is the lot of a politician. Bran gets along with and likes many people, but he can only be open with very few of them. There are ways in which his Order and Ashley's aren't so different after all.
"Oh, I understand that," he says, of Ashley. "I didn't think you were belittling her. I'm just used to the idea of the Order she presents to people, by now." And there's a little smile there, rueful. It's a look of a patient man who realizes a close friend of his means well but doesn't always communicate properly; one might imagine he's had to sweep up the mess many a time. (That is, in fact, exactly what he does, and in some ways it's why they were effective as a team.)
It is a little cold, and there's a flush to his cheeks that's not embarrassment or anger; the wind is just toying with them, burning along the edges of his jaw like a dull razor. "I wanted a walk," he says, but his tone isn't really closed. He's recognized that invitation, and it's clear that he wants to take it; it's also clear that he's hesitating.
"Did you know that Ashley is studying with the Verbena? Did she mention that to you?" It's a leading question. He's aware that it seems to come out of nowhere. But he waits for her to respond, first.
[Emily Littleton] [I am totally not surprised by this at all. (Evasion!)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Bran Summers] [You aren't? +WP 'cause I really wanna know.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily Littleton] She knows the hesitance, and it isn't in Emily to push against it in another politician. She knows what favors their silences buy them, and why so few questions are answered directly. Like the one that he asks her, that raises her eyebrow in a subtle mark of surprise, but nothing more.
Emily shrugs a little.
"No, though I can't say it surprises me," she says, evenly. "There's a Disciple in town, and they seem to be friends." Emily leaves whatever speculation she has on that friendship aside. There's been enough strangeness between her and Jarod and Ashley this Fall to leave her wondering if there wasn't something more at play. After this conversation, she'd have to be a little more watchful.
"She lost family and a cabal-mate this summer. I can understand wanting to learn Life, after that. I'd be lying if I said it was a dissimilar motivation to my own." Emily breathes out memories into the night air. She hopes the cold carries them away. "But I didn't know he'd decided to teach her, or that she'd even asked."
It raised questions for Emily, who was cognizant of Jarod's methods. It left her chewing on the inside of her lip, even if she didn't elaborate on the things she kept quiet.
[Bran Summers] [Hm. Empathy?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Bran Summers] Bran releases a breath; it doesn't make a sound, but Emily can tell how deep the sigh was by the vapor that suddenly clouds the air in front of him and swirls away into the night. "Yeah, I met him, I think," he says. But he offers no further opinion on Jarod because Jarod mentioned Emily; it isn't smart, knocking a person in front of someone who might be his friend.
The last thing Bran wants to bring about or deal with tonight is more White Knighting. He is an outsider here, and no matter how quick his smile or well-placed his words, he knows that. They will defend each other before they will side with him. He can tell that there's something complicating the matter; if he thought a little harder about it, he could guess at what it is. And he does have the thought, briefly: because that particular complication would be useful, if he were so inclined - but Emily doesn't seem angry about it, precisely, and there's also the certainty that even if he were to use it, Ashley would find other avenues, if she hasn't already.
And he isn't going to do it just out of spite, not when it wouldn't do any good in the end. He's not cruel, at least.
"I'm just a little surprised that she didn't ask me," he says. "I've always been skilled with Life and she knows that. Hell, I came out and helped her forge her instrument for it and she didn't tell me what it was for." A pause. He might have said more - but Emily, from what she said, seems to him to back cross-Tradition training. It wouldn't be wise to say more. So he doesn't.
[Emily Littleton] It is complicated, but Emily isn't upset. It's an odd sort of detachment: she cares, to some extent, but feels no ownership over his actions. The girl exhales whatever frustrations that brings up into the night. The float away. They're weightless. Her eyes close for a moment, lashes kiss her cheeks. Don't mistake this for repose: it's only quiet.
"Maybe that's why," Emily offers. She shrugs a bit, and reaches up to run the fingertips of one hand through her curls, to loosen the places that the wind has knit together, to shake out the dampness of fallen and melted snow. "She has always had you as an example. She knows, more or less, your viewpoint. She respects you enough to have your Will shape her focus -- think on
that for a moment," she points this out, because it's resonant. Because his magic will always have an echo in hers. She is mindful, this Emily, for all she is new to this world.
"I'm not going to pretend to understand your friendship, most days I don't understand my own with hers, but sometimes Ashley seems to need to surmount something. To climb right over the top of it and claim it. Going to another Tradition for their viewpoint isn't a bad thing, necessarily. Our differences can enlighten one another and if she's really so very certain in her beliefs as she seems to be, then she'll return validated and galvanized."
Her lips purse a little. She's not justifying what Ashley's done, just offering up reasons not to be overly upset about it. Though, the Singer suspects there may be more jealousy here than anything else at play. That's a suspicion she keeps to herself.
"I've studied with him. Life was the first Art I learned after waking up. I was still orphaned and had no intention of joining the Verbena. What he's shown me surely influenced how I practice magic, but it hasn't changed what I fundamentally believe."
There's nothing in Emily's tone or cadence that suggests approval over Jarod, either. There's no sweetness or nostalgia. This is simple conversation.
"Of course that may not be how you feel about it, and I can understand that. The Chorus isn't too happy about learning outside of its bounds either."
[Bran Summers] Simple jealousy may indeed be all there is to it; Emily hasn't really spoken to any Hermetics at length except for Ashley, and now Bran (who is not about to rant to her about his views on primal magic. Not after what she's just told him.) She might have the sense that there's something deeper at play here, but it's hard to tell what it is, if it's there at all.
But Emily tells him: think on that, she respected him, and he does seem to genuinely consider that. And he nods. But what he does say is, "I'm concerned about a person's ability - anyone, not just Ashley's - to belong to one Tradition, study at length with another, and be able to keep the two separate. There's that trite line about a man serving two masters that applies here."
Which is, in fact, the real core of his worries. And if he worries about it, he knows that others are going to; he knows that they were associated quite closely with each other for a very, very long time. Emily isn't the only one at the moment who is worried about a web of interpersonal complications; Bran just has a reputation at stake with his. And his cause depends on how well he can get people to back him.
There's another smile that he turns in Emily's direction after a moment, amused and wry. "It sounds like you understand how she thinks, at least. You're right. I'm going to hope that's all it really is."
[Emily Littleton] "It's a valid concern," she tells him, agreeing with his assessment. Emily nods a little, solemnly. These are heavy things to consider. "But ultimately, we all fight the same battles. She's talking with a Verbena. While he can be an ass," she concedes, "It's not like he's Mad or Fallen."
Emily suspects that Jarod might just have been his charming self, given and opportunity to upset the balance of power in an established friendship. The thought gnaws at her temple a bit, threatens to blossom into a headache.
This is complicated, for both of them. Emily doesn't have a reputation to worry about, just yet, but she might some day soon. She understands what that means, and implies. One of the reasons she has been so angry with Chuck is based on a similar pattern of implication and implicit consent. Only one. There were so many reasons to be mad at Chuck just now.
"I'd be interested in your thoughts on the sphere, some day, if you happen to be in town again. I'd be happy to offer you mine, which are not Jarod's, but between the two of us we may be able to find some common ground or common concerns." She shrugs, a bit. Emily likes discussing magic, and paradigms, and the way their viewpoints conflict and complement one another. She finds it, as an academic study, intriguing. Pragmatically, it gives her better footing for collaborating with people outside of her Faith. There's little to lose, until it devolves into disrespectful argument.
"Or," better yet, her tone seems to say, "Maybe we'll just grab a pint and ignore both of them. It beats getting frost bite." Her smile is warmer, now. Echoes his wry amusement. She wears it well.
[Bran Summers] Bran has not yet given hints that he would disrespectfully argue with Emily; Singers, after all, are a group he's worked closely with. He has some measure of respect for them, even if he finds the Order to be a better choice with a magical practice he respects more. No: there's just a dislike of Verbena that is becoming more and more ingrained. Sometimes one or two bad experiences can ruin a group of people for a person.
Emily suggests a pint and ignoring them then, and Bran laughs. "Sure. I'd be glad to. I ended up leaving most of my glass at the pub with Ashley." He also left Ashley (or perhaps Jarod) to foot the bill. He doesn't feel bad about that.
"I'll certainly share the insights that I have on the Ars Vitae, if you're interested in hearing them," he says. "I don't have occasion to come out this way often, but I'll give you a call if I'm anywhere close by. Or you can call me if you have need of anything out here that Ashley can't cover." Any Hermetic issues, he means. He doesn't insinuate this as though he'd want her to go behind Ashley's back, just: the offer is there.
Bran steps away from the lamp after a moment, giving a quick shake of his head to let the snow fall out of his hair and drift to his shoulders. His hair still looks like the color of dawn in the lamplight.
"Lead the way. But not the Hung Drawn and Quartered, please."
