The calling

[Null Moon] [Alright, guys, this is the first time I'm running a Mage scene for a lot of you, so here are my ground rules and other stuff:

1. There is a high probability of this scene going to combat. If you're not prepared for your character to be injured or possibly killed tonight, it won't hurt my feelings if you drop out now.
2. If you decide to stay, there are a lot of you tonight... please keep your narrative posts to 10 minutes (less would be glorious). In the event that we go to combat, please keep your declares/rolls to 3 minutes unless you are asking me questions.
3. Speaking of questions, please don't ask them in the magetank, especially when it's my turn to post or if we go to combat. I have the attention span of a gnat and will probably miss them. If you have a question, please IM me.
4. If you have any uncrossable lines or themes that you are not mentally prepared to deal with tonight (not including sexual assault or violence against children, those won't be present) please PM me now.
5. I will be starting us off. I should have a post out in ten minutes. Sit tight.
6. Have fun!]

[Null Moon] It comes out of nowhere. Perhaps it interrupts slumber well-earned after the difficulties of the departed year, or comes to them while they're chopping vegetables or watching a movie. Perhaps they're expecting it, the tumult of the city becoming something normal rather than something to be fought against, something to be feared. There is no method in play, no order: it strikes everyone, from the skilled Hermetic down to the struggling Orphan, but only a few are able to make any sense of it.

A headache is what it appears to be at first, an electric coil behind the right eye, dense and throbbing but easily ignorable. It grows, though, sharpens, comes to life in a flash of light and nauseating pain. A migraine, perhaps, a brain tumor, a sign from the One. Those who were around for the reclamation of the Chantry would recognize the voice almost immediately, would recall that one day almost two years ago something eerily similar had been happening on a fairly regular basis. Those who were not, those who have recently flocked to the city and taken up residence within its walls, may very well believe they're going to die.

They don't die. They hear a voice. They see an image. They feel fear, syrupy and sickening, underneath the stabbing pain.

Help. Please, help. They've fallen. There's no one here. Where are you?

And then just like that, just like a moment of clarity in a sea of doubt, the pain evaporates. All that is left in its wake is the image of a two-story house with a snow-covered lawn and a white picket fence, is a red tinge superimposing it all. More than they've ever known anything in their lives, they know that they need to be at that house right now.

Call it fate, call it destiny, call it bad fucking luck, but they're all She has right now.

[Emily Littleton] The struggling Orphan is underground, in a basement room beneath a tall building on the University campus when the pain strikes and she starts hearing voices. She is alone, in the engineering lab, and there is no one there to notice her doubled over, no one there to help pick her up when the nausea fades leaving a sense of urgency and certainty behind. For better or worse, Emily picks up her things and heads out into the great maw of the night in search of a two story building she has never known, called by something she can not explain.

This is how things have gone, of late. Strange whispers and wonders, insinuations, hope. Tonight there is also fear.

The Orphan will not be among the first to arrive, in her dark wool coat, with her messenger bag slung across her body and her car keys clutched in one hand (anxiety [defense]). She is disoriented by her flight across the city, unsure of where she's landed, but the cry for help has elevated her heartbeat and the sense of urgency thrums in every footstep, outweighing the quiet energy that clings to her. The calm is centered in a tiny bauble, strung on a chain around her neck. It calls out into the tempestuous night, in a clear but quiet voice: Home, home, home.

[S. Ashton Winters] Ashton remembered this voice.

Vicious, vivid, the kind of pain she's never felt in her entire life. She remembered it, because neither she nor Dorothy nor the ill-fated Lieutenant remembered this sort of agony. She remembered it. There should be doubt there, but instead there is only seering pain.

She rememberes her name. Catherine. She remembers sacrifice, and when the world came to and the pain subsided, she found herself focusing on the sound of Marcelle screaming in her ears, the sort of scared sound that came with seeing Mommy fall down and make unhappy noises.

She acquired a babysitter. Very, very quickly. The one year old didn't untwine her fingers from Ashton's hair readily. She didn't want her to go; she'd done the same thing to her mother. Cycles, everything in cycles, everything in waves and ebb and flow. She is a creature of habit, but a creature of duty too.

Creator. Mother. Destroyer. Creator.

They've fallen. There's no one here. Where are you?

She knows the call of destiny. And, for once, she can actually defend the place she had tried so desperately to forget. With shotgun in the back of her shitty-assed jeep (coupled with trash bags, duct tape, and You Don't Want To Know), she made her way to the house.

Traffic, for once, was merciful.

She listened to Aerosmith on the way there.

[Corran Witchbourne] *This was a new thing to him. He didn't really know what to think about it when it was happening, nor when it was over but he felt the pull. So he threw a back pack of gear and items together and into the back of the jeep and headed that way as well. Blue eyes searching the night as he drove. Curious as to what had called out in such a manner.*

[Ashley McGowen] "Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!"

Let's assume for a moment that for Ashley McGowen this week has not been stellar. She has spent the majority of it doing one of four things: sleeping wherever she happened to lie down in her apartment, which consists of exactly four rooms (including the bathroom); getting fired; absorbed in magical research that is decidedly unconducive to removing the taint that now haunts waking memory; and arguing with a guy that talked, walked, and smelled like a hobo but in reality was...well, she never discerned his Tradition. Or his name.

When that headache strikes and crescendos into something white and blinding, an aria of pain, Ashley punches the wall of her apartment. Then she kicks it. Then she drops down holding her head and, voice already raw from her earlier exclamation, lies quiet.

She does not believe she is going to die. She believes that this is some lingering effect from last weekend, a parade of backlash and mental anguish that is not going to let up. Not for now. But then again, she is not capable of thinking clearly at this very moment in time.

The voice. I don't care. I don't care who's gone. Leave me alone.

And then, as though it cared at all what she thought to try to ward it off, as though her Will really did have some effect, the pain is gone, replaced by that afterimage of the house. And, once she has risen and wiped pain's residue off her face, sniffed a few times, and collected herself, Ashley knows where she needs to be.

So she goes. She even calls a cab.

[Owen Page] He was working inside the Church when the pain struck; had him coiled right over with his palm pressed to his right eye, had the late night visitors to the Church crying out as he almost collided with a side table set with lit candles. He stumbled out of the Church into the tiny room the Priests used before sermons and braced his arms over the sink as the pain stabbed, over and over.

Help/Agony/They've fallen!/Blinding Agony

Images burnt themselves into the boy's retina and when it was finally over, he was sitting on his knees breathing heavily, fingers locked around a silver pendant hung from his neck. When Owen uncurled his fingers, his palms were covered in half moon imprints from his nails -- he'd drawn blood.

--

It doesn't take him that long to find the place. You experience blind, stabbing pain inside your skull tattooing an image to it and it tends to stick with you long after the event. It's below freezing, and he didn't have a car. Still, he's dressed warm enough for the weather in a black pea-coat and jeans, the hood of the shirt he wears beneath the coat drawn over his head to keep the chill factor at bay.

The Choristers footsteps fall short as he comes in sight of the house, his boots crunching over snow as he steps into the shadowy haven of a tree and watches for a few moments.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan had been staring hard at the glowing screen for what seemed like minutes. His eyes dry as he blinked rapidly trying to dull the ache that had started. But then the pain erupted in his head. Planting his hands on his desk as he tried to steady himself. The pain reminded him of his first forays into the Digital Web. The flash of light too was a harsh reminder of that pulsating glow.

But soon all that passes and what he is left with is something , he has not encountered before. A voice speaks to him..calls to him.. begs for his assistance. He rubs his face over his eyes, to ensure it's not a dream. But then there is an image of a house.... a house so familiar , the memory of it aches within him.

His fingers flit over the keyboard as he brings up a photo on his desktop. One that matched so perfectly with his vision that he knew where he was meant to go.....it was a place that he had already intented on visiting. So he heads to his car and starts driving.. the home of Marla...his guess at who the voice belonged too.

[Null Moon] The neighborhood is quiet when they arrive, in staggered succession and none of them together. Most of the houses nearby have their lights turned off, and those who haven't have the shades drawn. There is no loud music, no roving gangs of hoodlums hanging about the sidewalks, no broken glass or flickering lights or anything that would induce nervousness or anxiety in the average person. Things appear--there's that word again--normal, and whatever is going on inside that house is either doing so quietly, or is being ignored by the occupants of the domiciles flanking it.

Outside the air is cold enough to sap warmth, to steal breath, to make one wonder if one is ever going to be truly warm again. The street is wide, with ample space for vehicles to situate themselves. They find the driveway of the two-story white house devoid of transportation, no cars or bicycles, nothing that would indicate that there is anyone home at present. Some of them know that there are those among them who call this place home. Some of them have met the place's guardians, the strange Marla Hollingsworth and the elusive Jackson; some of them have only stumbled across them in their research, or have heard stories. Some of them have no idea what this place symbolizes, what its significance is.

One by one they arrive, some of them harried and some of them angry and some of them resigned, and one by one they realize that there is something amiss inside the house. All of the windows are dark. Nothing is broken, nothing is out of place at first glance, until they look, and they realize: the front door is wide open.

[Null Moon] [Heavy amounts of magic has been used tonight, but you don't recognize the Spheres that were used. They seem familiar, but there's something twisted about them: they seem darker, almost evil.]
to Emily Littleton

[S. Ashton Winters] The door has been left wide open, and Ashton was a woman who was not having a moment of forethought. She looked at the door, wide open. The woman looked at it, peering for the losted time and looking for some sort of insight. She's done this before, she knows that she's lived these scenarios again and again, and now all she has is a vague indication as to what would be going on.

She looks at the door, too wide and too unwelcoming, and she opens her glove compartment open. The lady reaches for a pair of diamond earrings, assesses the situation, and very calmly puts herself into presentable order.

A lady never leaves home without looking her best, even when marching into absolute danger.

The lessons of Dorothy Morgan never ceased to astound Ashton. she opens the door to her jeep and climbs out. She goes to the back and retrieves the shotgun- the Mossberg is a lovely thing, really. She makes sure all things are in order (shotgun in arm, little handgun in her jacket, both earrings on) and with that, she makes her way to the front step to investigate.

Dorothy Morgan said nothing about looking before you leap.

[Emily Littleton] Emily's footfalls are not quiet as she approaches the house. Her gait slows as the yard looms closer, as the others close in as well. The co-ed is unfamiliar to many of them, dark-haired and dark-eyed (in lighter settings, those eyes would be blue). She is wide-eyed and worried, and not making a show of hiding it on this evening.

She stopped in front of the house, on the walkway that separated the yard from the street, and peered intently at it. Watching. Waiting for some sort of clue. Tentatively, Emily extended her newest senses, those she was not yet comfortable or fluent with, to feel for something more telling than an open portal on an otherwise normal night.

Whatever it is she senses does little to quiet her. Emily's fishes out a small silver locket from beneath her coat. She encloses it in long, nimble fingers, closes her eyes momentarily and thinks on quieter thoughts. If any of the others are near enough to hear, the worried Orphan whispers a quiet prayer before tucking that locket safely back beneath her coat.

[Ashley McGowen] When Ashley's cab arrives in front of the chantry house, the first thing she does is try to get a sense for the energy of other Awakened Minds. Her encounter with the Marauder is still fresh in her mind; he's still abroad in the city. Presumably, marauding.

Ash pays the cabbie and leaves a reasonable tip - for all her myriad flaws, at least she isn't cheap - and cracks the door open, stepping out onto the curb. For the rather unnerving aura she gives off, Ashley is a small woman of unremarkable appearance: standing barely over five feet tall, with shaggy dark hair and a perpetually dissatisfied expression. The effect seemed to catch her at an inopportune time, as she hasn't really bothered to change out of a pair of pajama pants (chequered blue) and a black T-shirt. A black peacoat hangs open from her narrow shoulders.

What she senses when she steps out, when she begins to try to get a feel for the area's resonance, almost sends her back into the cab. Would, probably, if the cabbie hadn't already sped away. Ashley's skin has had an unnatural pallor to it for the past week to begin with, and right now, she pales further.

"Don't go in that house!" she snaps to the others she's seeing arrive in front of it. Apparently called by the same thing.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Parking he gets out and grabs the bag he'd brought with him. Shouldering it he headed down the side walk. The others would see the Witch's approach and feel that "Witchy' Feeling about him. Raising his brows he nodded to them and then looked at the house.

Seeing Ashley he headed over to her, putting himself on her good side and raising his brows at her words. Then looking back to the house*

[Owen Page] "Why not?"

The voice is quiet, but unafraid as its owner steps out from beneath the large Elm tree keeping him from clear visual assessment. Owen Page was tall, about 6 feet in height and dark of coloring, his eyes seemed black beneath the moonlight as he crunched over the frozen earth toward Ashley. He didn't hold her gaze long, nor anyone else's, for the matter.

He seemed uneasy to be in so many's line of sight.

[Jonathan Kincade] Eventually Jonathan pulls up outside of the house bellong to Marla Hollingsworth. He parks the car, but he lets it idle as he retrieves a black satchel from the passenger set. He retrieves a small black pda as he switches it on the car is filled with a faint blue glow.

Then he exits the car and heads towards the house, just in time to see a dark haired female wielding a shotgun make her way onto the front step. Another female off to the side , hands clasped around some object he couldn't make out... who he thought he recognised but only briefly. Then an odd presence could be felt near him, turning to see the approaching Corran to whom he gives a small nod of greeting.

He then turns to the other female that speaks "Okay that's fine with me... any idea what's going inside yet?"

[Null Moon] Without consulting with the others who have converged upon the house, Ashton prepares herself. She calls upon the knowledge and the skills of her predecessors, those who her Avatar assisted long before she was born, as she threads small yet perfect diamond earrings into her lobes. The Mossberg she pulls from the back of the vehicle was only fired once, by the father of her child, before being abandoned in a funeral home a few blocks' walk away from this place. That funeral home has long since been purchased and refurbished, turned into a bed and breakfast by a couple who was well aware of what it used to be.

Everything changes, and progress is always forward. Cyclic. This makes sense to her. The previous owner of the shotgun would not be pleased to know that she's plunging headlong into a house that has a history of bloodshed attached to it, but the previous owner of the shotgun will never find out about this.

Luckily, Ashley has the presence of mind to call out to the Euthanatos woman and anyone else who would think to charge into the house without forethought.

Unluckily, her voice carries.

There is movement beyond the front door, hurried and heavy. Ashton can hear it clearest, but those farther away can see a tall figure briefly illuminated against the darkness.

They all feel it: not as painful as before, but insistent, needful.

Please.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran nodded to those he knew. Even offered a soft smile to those he didn't. When he saw the lady with the shot gun he felt a touch better. At least he wasn't the only one.

He wasn't a large man.. About 5'8", dark hair, blue eyes, jeans, hiking boots and a button up shirt under a leather jacket, he still some how conjured 'witch' when you looked at him.

Looking towards the house he denoted movment and then reached up to touch his temple. He'd heard the pleading voice again*

[Emily Littleton] Ashley speaks, and Emily turns toward her. The Hermetic (another word she does not yet know) is familiar, and this familiarity grants her opinions and instructions credence. She has begun to move towards Ashley when the voice comes again, and Emily reaches up to press her fingertips into her temple. Presses her eyes shut and swallows hard against the nausea she expects to come flooding in after it.

Please.

She approached Ashley and asked bluntly, "Can I help? Or shouldn't I be here?" The girl's voice was foreign, touched with echoes of far away places. She was outwardly concerned, unsettled, and unclear of why they had all been called here.

[S. Ashton Winters] She stops, immediately, and turns.

Her memory, it seems, is impeccable. She looked at Ashley, and she knew the face. Her eyes travel to hers, and remembers the circumstance in which they met ever so briefly. Again, Marcelle had been pulling her hair. (This is a terrible time for the Euthanatos to realize that she spends most of her time being mangled by a toddler.) She looks at the people gathered, she inhales, and she speaks. Words don't come easily, but this is business, and she can do business.

She winces, shotgun in the crook of her arm and she doesn't tense or seem like she might collapse. Ashton is being spurred on, and thank everything someone here is the voice of reason.

"The node's reached out in an attempt to get some kind of protection, as that this is what it did a few years ago when this chantry was established... if history is, in fact, repeating itself," she pauses. She reflects, she speaks again, she stops, and she reflects, "any of you notice anything about this? Details, strange occurrences, do any of you... actually frequent this place?"

Because, clearly, she did not. Ashton took a second to adjust those perfect diamond studs, not because she was fixated, but rather, because they meant something to someone long, long before. She wasn't always so inept with the world beyond.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran motioned to the door* Somethin' peekin'....

[Ashley McGowen] "I haven't been here recently, but someone used Qlippothic magic here," Ashley says, her gaze flicking up toward the front door. Her voice carried, but at least she can alert the others somewhat. Alert them enough that they aren't walking into a slaughterhouse. Alert them so that she can provide some kind of protection. "Just a little while ago. It has to be a Nephandus."

Ashley has to wipe her palms off on the thighs of her pants as she glances forward, looks to all the others. They don't really have a choice here but to confront whatever has called them. Ashley has never pitted herself against a Nephandus, and she can't deny that gnawing fear. She also can't deny the gnawing sense of excitement, of challenge, of anticipation.

A look to Emily, and the Hermetic just shakes her head. "You might as well help. Let me try to ward you guys, at least." She reaches beneath the collar of her shirt and takes hold of an iron link in a chain of links that appear to be made of different metals.

The feel of the ward she extends forth to all of them is unpleasant. It might even concern them, and if they have no knowledge of what a Nephandus is, might even make them wonder a little whether Ashley is all that different from whatever is inside (anyone with knowledge of true monsters, of course, would know better.) Her Will encompasses them, engulfs them, and strengthens them against anything outside. They feel more capable of brushing aside outside impulses.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan turns to the female wieldding the shotgun "No this is the first time I've been here. I've been looking for other Mages in Chicago and then discovered this place. It was pretty unprotected... then I got the message tonight and put two and two together." he shrugs a little, still uncertain as to what is going on.

[Owen Page] The Chorister stays to the back of this impromptu gathering, his hands in his coat pockets, his dark eyes far more easily settled on the front door and the movement beyond it than anything any of the strangers surrounding him are saying. The boy's dark gaze narrows on the flutter of movement; of shadows gathering and shifting beyond the open archway.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Ashley said 'Qlippothic" and he winced..... then she said 'Nephandus' and his eyes widened.* Aww fuck me.
* Slipping the bag from his shoulder he unzipped it and pulled a Remington tactical 12 gauge from it and then shouldered the bag. They were so fucked.

As the others spoke he looked around them. Up and down the street, the other houses. Ect. Left, right... UP..... then back to the house. he kept the shotgun down by his leg, letting the dark do it's thing with the black metal*

[Null Moon] [If you squint really hard, you can see someone standing near the back of the house, looking out the door at you.]
to Emily Littleton

[Emily Littleton] Emily nodded back to Ashley and shied a little away from the Hermetic as she worked. The Orphan kept to the back of the grouping, watching the open door intently. Now and again her gaze flicked through the assembled party. None of them were as familiar as Ashley. Of the others, on Jon got a nod of recognition.

The shotguns were making her nervous, and Emily could only assume that the word Nephandus was similarly unkind and unsafe to the word Maurader, which she had learned earlier in the week.

"There someone inside, watching us," she told Ashley, when there was a natural break in the conversation between more practiced parties. Someone else would have to fill in the gaps beyond that, though, because the Orphan couldn't tell much more than that.

[Owen Page] He hated crowds.

He didn't like this, at all. Too many reasons why it was wrong that he'd come, and yet -- the vision had come to him, so he was meant to be here, on this night, right now, losing feeling in his fingers and toes. He breathed out silently, and ran his tongue over his lower lip; staring over their heads into the doorway.

Absorbing.
Focusing.
Intuiting.

"Death is heavy in the air inside there," he speaks softly, evenly. The boy had a pleasant voice, the kind of soft-spoken hesitancy you might find in a comic-book nerd confronted with girls in his natural habitat. "There's two of them, waiting. One just inside the door, the other is trying to stay hidden toward the back of the house." The boy's breath mists before his face, and he glances briefly, so briefly, at Ashley, at Emily.

"They know we're here."

[Ashley McGowen] The others converse around her, and Ashley continues to cast, to set up this ward. To bring to mind her own Word and the Name that has formed around it, that she destroys -other- things, that the Nephandi should be afraid of -her- and not the other way around. Some of that self-assurance can't help but extend to the others, to the strength of their own Wills.

"Yeah, bad things," is the clipped reply to Emily. "I'll explain later."

She's trying to take extra time to make sure that the ward can extend to everyone. Nephandi, after all, are known for subtle attacks, and there's little more subtle than the Ars Mentis. She's never faced one down, but she's at least read about them. To Owen, she just gives a terse nod, an indication that she heard him.

[S. Ashton Winters] Nothing, she thought. The dark-haired woman shook her head once, and when the vision of the other side faded, she found herself looking at... Nothing. Again. Nothing above, nothing below, nothing here and now. There were no spirits here.

She is an intelligent woman, and she finds herself looking around. She looks at Owen, and the woman uncocks her shotgun. She removes shells and takes a step away from the door, to the side. She looks for something sharp; Ashton settles for her teeth. The woman bites down on the inside of her right had, and bites hard enough that it does, in fact, draw blood. It doesn't hurt, really, it's a superficial sort of wound, but it hurts and it bleeds and that's the point.

She lets herself handle shotgun shells, and she is miles upon miles away. She imbues them with power; to the outside world, she's just a zealot. A crazy woman with blood, literally, on her hands and on her gun.

"Which of you didn't come armed?" she asks, and her voice is dropped conspiratorially quiet.

Her mind is moving quickly, very quickly, about how the two deacons of this chantry came and they took over fairly quickly, they came when the other mages who resided her disappeared, when Ashton seemed to drop off the grid and lose interest. They took control and took care and no one seemed to know or understand why.

There's qlippothic magic here, and she knew this, at her core, that she was supposed to be here, because it was her duty, because this is what she is supposed to do.

[Ashley McGowen] "I don't have any conventional weaponry, but it's pretty useless to me anyway," Ashley tells Ashton. It'll be fireballs and Prime for her; it doesn't bode the best for her in terms of accruing Paradox, but Ashley's handicaps leave her few other options.

To any of the others, the slightly unfocused left eye and the small mound of scar tissue at her left temple make that rather clear.

There's another burst of Will to extend the ward to everyone, hopefully the final one.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran opened his jacket with his free hand, reached in.. and pulled out a Springfield XDM .40cal pistol, turning it he offered it grip first towards Ashley.

Again he scanned behind and around them. Up and down the street, behind.. UP.. then back to the house. He remained silent as he offered the gun to Ashley's good side*

[Emily Littleton] "Unarmed?" Emily asked, her words bleeding otherness and confusion as she looked at the woman with the shotgun. And now a bloody hand. The Orphan took a small step back, resettled her weight and looked Ashton over carefully. That she was utterly and completely unprepared would telegraph clearly to the more militant mages. To anyone who looked carefully at her, they'd find her own resonance was terribly faint despite the energy in her pattern. Untouched. (New.)

"I wouldn't have any idea what to do with those," she admitted openly, eyeing the guns that two of them carried.

[Owen Page] The tall boy at the rear of their little vanguard makes a slight motion with his hand by his side; perhaps a reaction to the Mind magic, perhaps in response to Ashton's query. "I'm not armed," he confirms; and glances down at Emily as she verbally backs away from the proffered gun.

"I'm not trained in firearms, but I remember which end fires." It could be a sense of humor, pulling at the edge of his lips, but it fades too quickly to be certain.

[Null Moon] Time, insomuch as they can think of Time when they're speaking of twisted Nephandic magic involving a Sphere in which few of them have any training, seems to stand still while the gathered Awakened of Chicago compare notes, ward each other, and prepare their armaments. They don't know what is going on, don't know why they've been called here beyond what the spirit dwelling within the Node has given them--not much at all, but then, as Ashton knows far too well, Catherine never was terribly forward with anyone but Darren--but they know that if they don't go in prepared, if they don't have the magical protection and the weaponry necessary to stand up against whatever might be dwelling within the four walls of their sacred place, it is going to end in more bloodshed.

And then there's movement inside the house.

Owen can see clearest of all of them, but there is no style or subtlety to the way the figure lurking within the darkness commands the space around him. They can hear the telltale ch-ch of a very large, very powerful weapon being prepared, and then a baseball bat-wielding man none of them recognize pops out from behind the open doorway, frazzle-haired and splattered in blood.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks.

[Corran Witchbourne] Oh shit. Get down. *Ducking he looks for cover in the yard. If nothing else he ducks behind the fence. If noone took the pistol he slips it back in his jacket and brought the shot gun up.

He scanns the street behind them. UP then peeks though the fence (( Or around what ever cover he found))*

[Emily Littleton] Corran, another unknown (but one with a weapon [that matters at times like this]), told them to get down, and no one has to tell Emily twice. Almost as soon as she hears the order, heards it click into place alongside the tell-tale ch-ch sound, Emily is moved for a safer place to be.

Emily is more likely to take refuge behind someone's parked car than behind the fence. She is not a front-lines type of person. And nothing that hurries past on this residential street is quite as intimidating as whatever is inside of that house.

[Owen Page] Owen doesn't so much run, or make any verbal noise in reaction to the man with the shotgun, appearing at the front door. He simply tugs his hood around his face, swiftly and effeciently sweeps back into the shadow of the large Elm he'd first observed the scene in, and lowers himself to his haunches like predatorial jungle cat in wait.

[S. Ashton Winters] "Neighborhood watch," she said. It was a rather bland statement, but the woman with the bleeding hand and the shot gun said it to the man with the frazzled hair and the blood-splattered shirt. She looked him over once, impassive and blank. Untainted, but cold. She was detached, and it was simply her default.

Disconnect. Do your duty.
Disconnect too far, and lose yourself.

She knows that, the masters of this chantry weren't masters, they were adepts. There were two of them. And they had the potential to be terrifying. She takes a second and looks at the man.

"I need a band aid."

Because someone bit the shit outta her.

[Ashley McGowen] Out pops the man with the baseball bat, and Ashley's thoughts first and foremost are of the zombie movie Bran thought was appropriate on Christmas Eve. (Justine was less than pleased, particularly when he conceded that Easter was probably a better holiday.)

And the sight of blood, after last weekend, is enough to give her a split second's pause before she finds her resolve again. Ashton has been in the city far longer than she, and the Euthanatos gets a sidelong glance as Ashley tries to determine whether she knows this man.

Which she doesn't, apparently. Ashley lets Ashton do the talking, though she isn't willing to hide while the Euthanatos is still out in the open and leave her standing alone. If the man -is- dangerous, it might give him a sense of confidence in attacking.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan's previous statement had seemed to be ignored or perhaps he had said all that was required of him. They are then asked if they hadn't come armed... Jonathan realising that his pistol had been left back at his apartment, locked away in the safe.

"I can use a basic gun.. but don't have one with me." it's only then that he reacts to the person inside the house. Caught unawares as he stands frozen.

[Null Moon] Three of the Mages go scrambling for cover. One of them freezes in place. One of them stands beside the other in a show of solidarity. That leaves Ashton, who has been said to have the bedside manner of a grapefruit, to speak to the man who stands before them wearing overalls and a heavy-duty jacket, toting a gore-stained baseball bat. It emits a faint blue glow as he walks to the edge of the porch, but he does not descend to join them on the lawn.

"Neighborhood watch don't carry no guns," he says, scowling, apparently unconcerned with the woman's bloody hand. "You're with the two inside, ain't ya?"

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran looks and sighs. Standing he moves over to Jonathan and gently nudges him pointing to the fence* Get down man.

*Then he walks up to Ashley and Ashton. Nodding to them. Ashley was his friend and Ashton seems to be the spokesperson... so he'd back them both up.

He keeps looking around while Ashton speaks for them. His shotgun ready but not aimed 'at' anyone just yet*

[Ashley McGowen] 'You're with the two inside, ain't ya?' is a question that could carry several different meanings. If Jackson and Marla are, God forbid, the -cause- of this, saying yes could be a very bad thing indeed. If he knows them, well, so much the better - it would mean he could trust them.

"We're here to help against whatever is in there," is what Ashley settles on saying. Her hand is still up around her throat at the chain of metal links, ready if need be. Impatient, even.

[Emily Littleton] From her vantage point behind the car, Emily watches. Her breath fogs the cold metal of its frame. She held very still. She held still while Corran came out of hiding (safety) and added himself to the pair of targets on the lawn. On some level, she finds this incredibly incautious. On another... she feels it must be somehow necessary.

She tries to keep tabs on where everyone is. Where Owen has disappeared to, and where Jon ends up after Corran tells him to take cover. And while she waits, she watches the house. For any lights that flicker on, for anything out of place, for the source of that ch-ch sound. Because even Emily knew that ch-ch was not a sound that baseball bats made.

[Owen Page] The Chorister shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, and crawled along on his haunches, bracing himself against the trunk of the tree. Twisting, Owen maneuvered a half circle around the tree trunk until he could peer out at the front porch and the assembly upon it without losing the advantage of his concealed position.

The young man's brows drew together as he caught a glimpse of the baseball bat glowing eerily blue in the moonlight; he silently cursed, and fervently hoped he'd be forgiven, given the current circumstances. There was little he could do without drawing the focus of the man on the porch.

Distractions, on the other hand...

The young man felt around for a stone, keeping his eyes trained on the activity on the porch.

[S. Ashton Winters] "You could say that," she told him, "we need to have a few words with them. Are they available?"

She is ever so even-tempered. She has no other setting, nothing but her default. She looks at the man, at his details and his glowing baseball bat. This could not end well.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan's attention to the man wielding the baseball gets briefly interrupted as Corran instructs him to get down. So he moves slowly over to the fence as instructed. Jon had retrieved another name in his investigations.... Jackson... he wondered if this was the name of the man he was looking at now. He waits patiently as the others answer the man's questions and indicate their intentions.

[Null Moon] They're here to help against whatever is in there.
He could say that.

The wild-haired man lets out a hoarse bark of laughter, hefting the bat in his hand and staring at the two women with bewilderment in his eyes. He seems shell-shocked, as though whatever happened tonight had taken a toll on him.

"Y'all are a bit too late if you think you're gonna help anything," he says. "Unless you wanna clean this mess up."

[Corran Witchbourne] *As he stands beside Ashton and Ashley he murmured softly to them* Shooter behind "Batman." Shotgun in hand....

*He keeps his eyes peeled and ready to react to what ever might happen*

[Ashley McGowen] The Qlippothic resonance is older, and she didn't think there was anyone alive in the house. No one Awakened, at any rate. And so, though what the man says makes sense, Ashley's face is wary. This could be a set-up, he could be there to lull them into a false sense of security. It would be best to make sure and just kill the man.

A second later she decides against it, and if she's chilled by how quickly her train of thought went in that direction, it doesn't show. At Corran's words, her hand moves an inch to the right, to the ring of gold.

"Who are you?"

[Emily Littleton] She cannot hear what Corran says to the others, but she can see the way the man hefts the baseball bat. She can see Ashley shift. Emily is holding her breath, breathing only when her lungs scream for air. She cannot make eye contact with anyone from where she is, so Emily shifts to try and get line of sight to Owen and Jon. Some way to check in with them without disturbing the scene on the porch or garnering anyone else's attention.

[S. Ashton Winters] She regards the man, looks over his shoulder instead and tries to get a better look into the house. What she does see, however, is the man with the shotgun standing inside. The woman regards the man at the front, quiet and resolved.

"What happened here?"

[Owen Page] Owen's fingers touch a smooth, flat stone half dug into the earth by the roots of the tree. He unearths it and palms the weight of it in his hand. Turning smoothly, he duck-walks a little way back around the tree and looks back into the shadows to catch a glimpse of the young woman he'd vaguely seen running for cover behind a car.

He looks in Emily's direction for a long moment, as if calculating the distance, then, turning, raises his arm and hefts the stone as far back into the distance as he can, aiming for a strike as the stone re-connects with the earth loud enough to startle the man wielding the shotgun on the porch, to draw him further out onto the lawn.

[Null Moon] Who is he.
What happened here.

"Why weren't y'all asking questions weeks ago before this bitch went out of control?" the man asks.

Behind him, his shotgun-wielding friend hisses to try and get his attention. The man turns his head only far enough so that he can get the other man in his sights without removing the women and the witch from his peripheral--

And then a rock goes sailing through the air, colliding with the earth with a dull thud that has the shotgun-wielding man bursting out of the house, leveling his glowing shotgun at the first person he sees and leaving the front door wide open.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan just stays by the fence, he does slowly make his way closer to the house though. He wants to hear the conversation going on. Then a rock is thrown and the shotgun-wielding figure is distracted. Jonathan gets down into a crouch, ready to make his way inside the building... once the man has been drawn out.

[Emily Littleton] "Fuck..." Emily whispered, without meaning to, as the man came bursting out of the door. She ducked further behind the car, curling her arms over her head and huddling down in the smallest profile possible. With any luck they wouldn't see her. With any luck, the glowing shotgun would not be pointed at her.

It meant she would have to move, again, and risk discovery, to regain her line of sight with the events at play. She hadn't thought of that, not really. She had less practice than the rest of them at storming castles and facing down shotguns.

[S. Ashton Winters] The man witht he glowing shotgun levels it at the nearest person he sees, and Ashton does the same. Her reaction is immediate, undaunted and unscathed. She doesn't shake, she doesn't seem nervous or afraid in the least bit-

"We're going to scare the neighbors," she states, matter of factly, "you're not in any danger, both of us have questions, and we can help you if you can just explain a few things."

Hard to be diplomatic with a bleeding hand and a shotgun, though.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran racked the slide on the Remington and brought it up then, aiming it at glowing shot gun guy. Shit.. his gun is glowing. Corran's is just a cool looking 12 gauge. Glowing shot guns.. in his limited experience, tend to be bettter than non glowing ones.

He does take a few steps to the left, as he's left handed, to seperate him from the girls a bit. So if the glowing blue shot gun has a spread... and they go to shootin', that they all won't get caught in the same shot.

He aims at glowing shotgun guy's head*

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is about to make an angry reply to baseball bat man. She's had altogether too many people this week calling her abilities, her competence, into question, and it's something that she would take with nothing less than indignance at the best of times. And this week has hardly been the best of times.

Then a man with the shotgun comes tearing out of the house, and the Hermetic holds her free hand, the one not around her chain links, up in the air. Ashton, beside her, is stone cold and composed, and for a fraction of a second Ashley envies her the poker face.

"Like I said," she tells them, with only a hint of nerves in her voice, "we're not here to hurt you. Calm down." She considers -forcing- calm here, but if it were to fail...well, it would only make matters worse.

[Owen Page] Success.

In a manner of speaking, anyway. The stone does what it was intended to do, and distracts the two men with the shotguns, coaxes them further out onto the porch and leaves the front door all but unattended and wide open for one or more sneaky individuals to slide through without [one would hope] detection.

Excepting for the small matter of a weapon by which to defend himself by, it seems like the perfect plan to Owen to start inching forward toward the unguarded door -- he had no idea what was about to happen, but hey, he had faith. That had to count for something, right?

[Null Moon] The Sleepers are always saying things like "It happened so fast." Their minds are so closed off, so tightly constrained, that they have difficulty processing anything that deviates from the constructs of their expectations. Loud noises, sudden acts of violence, forces of nature, car crashes... all of these things that seasoned veterans of the Ascension War, that anyone evolving as a will worker and a Mage in the years since they as a collective lost, grow hardened to over time strike the Consensus as alarming and too hard to keep up with, and so rather than owning their limitations, rather than saying "I could not process what happened to me," they place responsibility on the external. It is the events that happened to quickly, and not their cognition that ran too slowly.

Most of the Awakened here tonight do not suffer from such limited thinking, and yet all the same: it's over in under a minute.

Where once there was a baseball bat-wielding man with blood shrapnel across his face and arms and clothes and hair that knew no bounds, there is little more than pulp and disconnected legs after the witchy paramedic levels his Remington and blasts his weapon once, then twice, quite literally blowing the man away before he can even step down off of the white porch. The shy Choirester overcomes his fear of people to sprint across the snow-covered yard, nimble and surefooted, to punch the tall man with the shotgun square in the gut. It makes him grunt with surprise, but does not knock him down or stun him into inaction. Ashley exerts her formidable Will to attempt to pacify the remaining attacker, only to find that he is impervious to such attempts to dictate his behavior using Mind control. The affect would have had a devastating affect on someone like the Marauder, but it simply rolls off of this man like water. What doesn't roll off of him is the shotgun blast that Ashton pumps into his knee. The shot peppers his leg and draws blood and a hoarse shout, but it does not drop him. His gun already leveled, he aims his glowing gun and shoots the doctor, the mother, the Euthanatos, square in the abdomen.

Her stomach opens up like an overripe melon dropped from a distance, and she drops.

Jon hurries inside, taking advantage of the commotion to shield his movement, and bursts into the deathly silent house only to have a horrible smell assault his nostrils: old blood, urine, and feces hit him like a ton of bricks, yet it does not bring up his dinner. If the assault from the Chantry's patron spirit hadn't done so, death won't.

Corran fires off a shot at the tall man's weapon, spraying it with pellets but failing to make him drop the unholy thing. Owen hauls off and socks him in the face, dropping him much as Ashton was just dropped, consciousness robbed. The young Orphan hurries out from behind the car and sprints across the yard, treading through the path already pushed through by Owen and Jon to mount the steps and hurry into the house after the Virtual Adept. Behind them, Ashley calls on the Sphere which has the power to undo a person's very Pattern, her Avatar leading her down a path she may very well not be able to come back from.

She calls down a bolt of pure unbridled energy, and as Emily is hit by the stench of death, she can practically feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up for an entirely different reason. As she and Jon move through the house, they find what the Hunters had come for in the living room, bereft of breath and blood and life. Jon removes a PDA from his pocket and calls on his command of Space and Life to search for other bodies within the Chantry, but the effect fizzles out.

In the distance, sirens wail. A beat, a breath, and the shotgun-wielding man explodes in a burst of purple energy called from out of seemingly nowhere.

And Ashley McGowen's soul grows a little darker.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran swings the shot gun looking for any other targets, and slips 3 shells into the breach to re-load. Not finding any right that second he moved over to Hicks, kicking the blood soaked bat away from his hand... Then surveyed 'his' people.

Seeing Ashton hit he frowns* Shit.....

*He moved towards her.* here.... Lay down let me get a look at cha. I'm a Paramedic.

*From the street, under the cars came another. A LARGE Maine Coon cat, dark gray and black tabby came running into the yard and towards Corran* "Ya ok thar, human?" *Yes the big cat had a New Englandar accent.

Corran nods* So far. Keep watch OP.

*The cat flickered a tufted ear and looked around.* "Cops comin' Human. Hurry hurry"

[S. Ashton Winters] This woman. Is insane. Period.

She takes a shotgun blow and nearly flies backward, finds herself staring at the stars and feeling cold. Feeling wintery ice and what could be death approaching.

She smiles. It hurts, and for a second, she revels in this because this is the way creation is. This is what sacrifice feels like, what entropy feels like. it's supposed to hurt, because it lets you know you're alive. If it didn't hurt, Ashton would have really been worried.

Or, rather, Ashton would have been miles away and no longer Ashton. Returned to a cycle. She starts to sit up. Corran moves towards her, and she looks at him with too dark eyes and a flat expression.

"Good," she sas, "and I'm a docotor. So, I'm fairly certain you'll agree with me when I say that this? Really is not as bad as it looks."

She reaches into her jacket, only to take a punctured flash out. She sighs.

"... my water broke. How unfortunate."

Doctors are notoriously bad patients, and with that, she attempts to get herself together and up to go inside. She could clean up inside the chantry.


[Ashley McGowen] Ashley, at the end of this episode, looks shaken. Drawn. Exhausted, and still unsatisfied: this is the nature of hunger. She killed the man and yet they are no more enlightened, no more understanding of the situation than they were when they arrived. She didn't fail here, but nothing will stop here: there are any number of other things out there to turn her attention to next.

Does she realize what is happening? Yes, on some level she does. She hasn't struck a killing blow on another human being before. Used magic to harm, yes, certainly. This is a step farther.

It frightens her and fear is something Ashley can't reconcile. Fear and doubt sap the strength of one's Will. She trusts her Avatar to guide her, to step in if she needs balance, if she needs additional understanding. So she doesn't think about it.

White-lipped, she looks over at Corran. "Help her or she's going to bleed out," she tells him, with a sharp gesture to Ashton. Then she turns her attention to the house and starts toward it so she can make her way inside.

[Emily Littleton] Emily hurried into the house, without stopping to stare at the talking cat. In fact, she moved so quickly by Corran and the racoon-sized creature he was speaking to, that she could pretend she had imagined it in the stress of the moment.

The Orphan clamped a hand over her nose and mouth when the stench of death hit her. She was unaccustomed to this, as well, and it brought up old (painful) memories. It didn't take long for her to remember to breathe through her mouth and not her nose. She moved through the house with Jon, until they arrived in the living room. There Emily can only stare at whatever they find, mouth hanging open behind the shielf of her hand. Eyes openly showing the dismay (horror) of encountering a scene like this.

"Oh... oh God," she say softly. Over and over again. Until it becomes nothing more than a breathy mantra that slips out from between her teeth.

[S. Ashton Winters] She half growls, and she seems to be an ill-tempered, albeit injured woman, "someone should call Dylan, he owes me... besides, I think he might want to know about what happened here. He was trying to organize folks for a little while."

A hidden sort of fondness, a sort of respect, but as cycles go, she doesn't explore it too far. The woman heads into the chantry to look around and clear herself up. She looks back at those who helped her, though. A look to Owen, "nice right hook, spot on... and good shot, paramedic."

[Jonathan Kincade] He made his way though the house , trying to find if there was anyone else inside. Eventually confident enough that there wasn't, still glaring at the pda as a result of the fizzled spell.

It was surprising that Jon didn't lose his dinner, however it did force him to close his eyes and leave the room. That was an image that would be repeated in his dreams for the next several nights. He steps in front of Emily as he turns her from the gruesome scene they discover. "I think...you've seen enough. Let's go and inform the others." As he begins to lead her back towards the front door of the house.

[Ashley McGowen] The Hermetic steps into the house and her nose - one of her only senses that works properly - fills with the scent of blood for the second time within a week. She stops at the threshold, and then presses onward. Inside the house is full of death, and she steps through, not as affected by it as she would have been before.

It can't be worse than what she's already seen.

She can hear Emily faintly, and she reaches the orphan after scanning the house. There are no Awakened patterns within, nothing. In coming up behind Emily, Ash puts her hand on Emily's shoulder; a small comfort at best, and given that Ashley isn't really the most comforting presence, possibly just even more unsettling.

"There's nothing in here. Let's go."

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran watched as Ashton was stablaized and then got up and headed inside. Blinking he looked to the cat. the ccat looked at him* "Fook me!! Don't piss that bitch off Human"

*Corran nodded and looked around* Hey someone help me get these um bodies out of sight at least. it's dark, blood might blend in with shadow.. bodies.. not so much.

[Owen Page] Owen is shaking out his fist, and gingerly rubbing at his knuckles at the end of all. He kicks the wasted shotgun aside and kneels in the cold earth beside Ashton, grimacing at the sight of her stomach wound. He remembers only the most basic of remedial First Aid from school, but applies it none the less along with the others.

It's freezing out, but he strips off his pea-coat and unzips the hoodie beneath, shucking it off and putting the cotton against her stomach to lessen the blood-flow. Throwing his coat back on, he helps Ashton to her feet, ducking his head and giving her a tight lipped smile. "Thanks," he murmurs, and then sets about the two dead bodies on the lawn, blood and innards darkening in the snow.

"We need to move these guys, and get rid of the blood. And the weapon." Owen leans in, and begins scooping up the remains with a quiet efficiency.

[Emily Littleton] Jonathan steps in front of her, and Emily can close her eyes. Her gaze is no longer glued to the macabre scene before them. And before she knows it, he's turning her around. Ashley has stepped in to lay a hand on her shoulder, and they are all going away. Away from the bloodless scattering of what was once... who was once...

She is ashen, and her eyes are wide as they make their way out of the house. Emily's fingers have slipped back under her jacket, to fish out the little bauble that is such a comfort to her. She wraps her fingers around it, draws a deep breath, and begins to settle. It is not a true sense of serenity, but the turmoil in her lessens palpably. She is a little more resolve and a little less frayed (worn) edges.

"How can I help?" she asks them, when she finds her voice again. "There must be something I can do."

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran looked to Emily* Kick snow over the blood and pick up any bits and peices you see?

*He was working with Owen to get the bodies out of sight8

[Ashley McGowen] "Go home and sleep," Ashley tells Emily, not unkindly, as they step back out into the night. "At this point it's a good idea for everyone to get out of here. I'm going to try to cover this up so the police don't come to ask questions."

She's never been in this particular situation before, but it seems as though they would. And maybe she'll get even luckier and they won't have to contend with the Technocracy either.

She notices Ashton up and about, and calls to the Euthanatos, "What do you think? Dump the bodies or leave them here?"

[S. Ashton Winters] When she comes back out, it's true that the damage wasn't that bad. Sure, there was still a hole in her stomach, and sure, there was still a little bit of a problem, but she wasn't in the worst of condition. There must be something that Emily can do, and she takes a second to inhale, to think, "someone get the bodies in the back of my truck. We can go bury them somewhere. Someone else get to dealing with the blood, and whoever can keep people from remembering any of this? Do it. We need perimeter and crowd control because we do not need this on the news."

She goes off to start gathering up weapons. Those, too, are going in her truck.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Corran grabs the legs he blew off the guy and trotted them though the snow to Ashton's truck, dumping them in.

The massive cat came dragging an arm to add to the collection.*

[Null Moon] [I'm out, fuckers!]

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan turns to Emily "Have you got a car here ?.. Mines out the front I can give you a lift home if you'd like?."

[S. Ashton Winters] She looked at Ashley for a second, seeking for some sort of confirmation with her, "have you got this part handled? I trust you on this, you seem solid."

As that body disposal was the Euthanatos' area of expertise.

[Emily Littleton] Emily slipped off her coat, folded it and put it away from the bloody mess of the yard. She left her messenger bag there too. Somewhere it wouldn't have body parts dragged over it. Jon came up to her while she was paring down and she replied. "Yeah, mine's a little down the street. I... I should help, I think."

She was shaken, and the usual wit and mirth in her tone had fled. Emily stepped away and started helping them move pieces of people, or what she had perceived as people, into someone's truck for disposal. It was, hands down, the most gruesome thing she'd done in her 22 years, but she tried to keep a level head about it.

[Ashley McGowen] The others begin the business of dealing with the bodies, and Ashley turns herself to the task of glossing the area over, of Willing people not to look. Ashton is speaking with her then, and she glances up at the taller woman.

For a moment her face, her blue eyes look like they want to smile when Ashton tells her she seems solid. They don't.

"Yeah," she says, "I've got it. Just try to cover up what you can, it'll make this easier." And, focusing solely on the task at hand, she attempts to cover the area; this house is just like any other on the street, with its white picket fence. The Sleepers, wrapped up in their own mundane worlds and concerns, have no reason to notice it. They won't.

[Owen Page] Owen, returning from dumping the last of the remains in the Euthanatos' car, looks between the two women briefly, then adds quietly. "I can help her with that." He looks at Ashley for a moment, his fingers reaching beneath his coat to wrap around a pendant, it warms gradually and the young man's lips move in silent communication with a deity high above them. It's not much, but it's surely a subtle infusion of warmth, of lifted spirit and a gentle tugging at Ashley's core that suggests she is going to be just fine.

That they are taking care of the problem, that all is well.

[S. Ashton Winters] "Good," seh tells Owen. The woman is filled with something that is not false bravado. This is an assurance in movement. This is strength of purpose. She is not unsure because she has done this before, because she has lived this before, again and again until it seemed as though there was nothing left. There was paradox hanging over her head, and she knew this, but that was neither here nor there. She knew something would happen, not now, but soon.

For now, there was no time to fret or be concerned. She moved to try and get a hold of what was left of one of the bodies. She looks back at the two mages who were willing to help with things.

[Corran Witchbourne] *Once the bodies were policed and the snow covered the blood Corran looked to the others and raised his brows.* We have any clue what happened in there?

[Emily Littleton] She was on her way back to where Ashton was trying to grip the remnants of one of the bodies. "I'll get that," she said softly to the Euthanatos (another word she only half remembered).

The girl's sweater was smeared with blood not her own, and her expression was less settled and far more grim than the others, but she reached down and picked up piece after piece of broken bodies (mortal coils) and put them where she was told to. Until it was done. And only then did Emily reach down to use handsful of snow to wash the blood from her hands, away from her frozen fingers.

[Ashley McGowen] Whatever Owen does has some visible effect; Ashley breathes a little more easily, stands a little taller, though the pallor of her skin has not subsided. The Hermetic looks...a bit ill, really. Wan, too tired for most facial expression.

And when she's finished, when her hand drops away from the chain that's always hidden beneath the collar of her shirt, Ashley stares down at the bloodstains in the snow for what feels like a long time, as though she's forgotten how to move. She seems surprised when she notices that she left the house in her pajamas.

"I'm...going to go home," she tells the others, scrubbing a hand over the side of her face. "You guys have this?"

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan helps out where he can, and also ensuring everyone is alright. A concerned look at Emily, as he wanders over to her and offers her a business card "Emily right ? think I briefly met you with Enid ... look that's my card. If you need to chat to someone or anything at all. Give me a call, shouldn't take me long to answer unless I'm taking my class."

[S. Ashton Winters] "We can handle this, I... don't think I caught your name... or any of your names, really, I apologize."

She was functioning like this was business because... well... it was.

[Owen Page] "It's mostly done." The Chorister offers, and then with a final glance at the snow, then at the others, inclines his head. "I'll wait a little longer to ensure nobody notices anything. The rest of you should get home, out of the cold." He digs his hands into the pockets of his pea-coat and crunches over the snow to his former observation point.

He says little then, but just waits.

[Emily Littleton] Emily took the proferred card and looked down at it for a moment. It was harder than she'd expected to make the letter resolve in her vision, but the name was familiar. From a coffee shop, where so many of her other Awakened contacts began.

"Thanks," she said softly. A little unsettled. The foreignness in her voice was softer now, less pronounced. Emily looked down at her clothes, now dappled and smeared with other peoples' blood, and found a pocket to tuck the card into where it would stay more or less unbloodied.

When Ashton called for names, Emily was near the last to offer hers up. "Emily. Littleton," she said, as if the names were two distinct thoughts. And with as shell-shocked as the co-ed looked tonight, they may well have been.

[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan over hears people giving their names. So he adds his own after Emily "Jonathan Kincade."

[Ashley McGowen] "Ashley McGowen, Order of Hermes bani Tytalus," Ashley rattles off to the tall woman with the dark hair. "I can...oh, I think I have a card somewhere..."

She pats herself down for a second and then reaches into the pocket of her peacoat, searching amid a pair of gloves, a phone, a few bills and receipts, and other business cards for her own pack of cards, neatly held together with a rubber band. Pulling one of these free and retrieving a pen from somewhere in the depths of her pockets as well, she writes her Craft name beneath the one embossed on the card ("Vanessa Novotny") and extends it to Ashton.

"I...everyone else knows how to reach me, right?" The Chorister gets some pause, because she hasn't seen him before, doesn't know anything about him. But in the end he helped here as much as anyone else, so she repeats the process with him, extending a card forward.

[S. Ashton Winters] "Ashton Winters. Euthanatos," she tells them. She doesn't give her rank, she doesn't give much else, but she seems to breathe and seethe and radiate cold. She lives her name, and she lives it well. She nods to those around her, and takes a second to study the card she was given.

"I think we are set," she finally announces.

[Jonathan Kincade] "Ashton....Winters" and the penny drops for Jonathan Kincade. The Virtual Adept having retrieved a list of names, phone numbers and addresses from an old cached file belonging to one Henrietta Bean. It was how he had found this house after all. "Ashton... I think we need to have a talk at some point. I've got your name on a list with several others. Contact details and addresses. I think we need to talk security."

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley nods to the gathered, and then steps out to the curb before realizing that the cabbie has taken off, that it's a long walk from here to her apartment. She looks sidelong at the others and their cars, considers asking for a ride, but really, she doesn't want to be around anyone else right now.

She'll just have to wait at a safer location. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she prepares to call a cab, and then stepping out onto the sidewalk the Hermetic disappears into the night.

[Emily Littleton] I think we are set, Ashton says, and Emily is quick to head back to where she'd abandoned her coat and messenger bag. She carries them carefully, trying to keep them separate from the mess on her clothes. As the group disperses, Emily wanders her way back to her car and heads ... elsewhere.

She'd never had to consider coming home with bloodied clothes before, and so it takes her awhile to figure out a good place to stop and change into the emergency clothes in her trunk. It takes her awhile to figure out what to do with clothes bloodied by bodies that no one should find.

Emily is unpracticed in these deceptions, as artful as she is with the smaller ones. But she has a quick mind, and she can (will) adapt.