[Emily Littleton] A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket...
It has been too long since the Others kept Court amongst the frozen (fallen) Kings. Too many nights since the moon rose low over their quiet gatherings. Too many days of still-cold sunlight, undappled by leaves, broken only by clouds and the on again, off again snow.
Winter could last so. damn. long. It was wearing her out.
The dark-haired Other brought her carrier bag (basket) of take out and home-made treats (offerings [sustenence for the long, cold winter night]) up to the door of Kage's building, trailing a sense of wonder (Reverence) across the starstuff along her path. She is better, tonight, less touched by the horror of it all. She is better, tonight, less soul-wearied and worn thin.
They have much to talk about, and the gravity of that cannot be communicated in the beep-beep-boop sounds of calling up to Kage's apartment so she could be let in through the gate. It is a solemn knocking upon doors (hearts) thing, but the technology of it all gets in the way.
And speaking of technology, Emily has left hers elsewhere.
Unburdened.
Unadorned.
Standing at your door.
And the line rings through...
[Kage] The line is still ringing (can she have forgotten) when the old building's door opens and Kage stands in the doorframe, shoeless, smiling. The smile touches her dark (no evidence of their true color, their true name) eyes and it is real. "Why hello there," she says, as if it were the opening volley in a risque joke. "I suspected you were here." And the wind is howling, above the buildings, above the skeletal trees and above the church (no bells [yet]). "Come on in before the cold rips the vision you and that food provide away."
This is the first time Emily has been inside Kage's building, if not the first time she's stood without it. The building itself is so old there are echoes (sometimes [step]) that attend movement. It isn't old at all when held against European standards, but by American, by Chicagoan, it's weathered a lot: fires, riots, generations, madmen, and Kage's apartment is just up the stairs, and she left it unlocked when she went to fetch Emily, so Kage opens the door for Emily without bothering for a key. There's no hurry; the walk up the stairs can be leisurely. The other dwellers of the building are quiet, or at least out for the night.
[Emily Littleton] The line is still ringing, but Kage has come down, so Emily puts away the intercom and shifts a little, toward the doorway. It is not a quiet night, not a quiet night at all, and the wind whispers between them even in this place, sheltered as it is by the building (old [knowing]).
There is a church across the way; this much is not forgotten, not missed out.
"Hail, and well met," she says, her mouth curling into an echo of that smile. It is warm, but not entirely unguarded. They walk up the stairs together, one after another, slowly and calmly. Like there is nothing at all wrong with the world. Perhaps, just for one night, there is nothing at all wrong with the world. Perhaps, though Emily would very much doubt it.
"It's been too long," she says, by way of an apology. "Thank you for having me over," she adds, and it is an acknowledgement. And so they dance. Helloes and how are yous, what a lovely place you haves and what have you brought for dinners. It is easy, this walk with me talk with me dance. It comes easily to Emily, because she has had to make so much come easily in recent days.
"I brought potato leek soup and some wonderful sandwiches from the deli. One's vegetarian," she adds, but doesn't say why this is important. One is vegetarian, and there are a handful of reasons why that might be. (There is a church across the way [and it is the season of sacrifice] Lent).
[Kage] "You're welcome," she says, courteous (courtesy [fault]). "You can hang your coat on the rack."
The coat-rack is just inside the door. Just inside the door, the living room; all books and shelves and fireplace and old seaman's chest for a table (travel [catography]). All tapestries and illuminated letters, framed, an R. in jewelled colours framed on the wall just beside the door. There is a leather recliner, a couch with a William Morris throw tossed o'er it, and there is a cellphone blinking and plugged in to its charger. There are a lot of books. There is a music stand of walnut and a chest or three stacked against the wall. No musical instrument in sight, not right now. There is a badass sound system: the signs are there. The floor is wood -- hardwood, spare rugs thrown over.
There is a hall, not quite just ahead, but almost just ahead, with closed doors and a little crook at the end, turning into a couple of stairs that lead up to a door only half-glimpsed from here. The other side of the hall and the entrance: the kitchen and the dining room, a thick, Pre-Raphaelite table of wood with beeswax candles lit [the wick is quick] and burning haloes of radiance into the air. There is a lamp on in the living room, and the fireplace is burning, but there is no light on in the dining room. There is a laptop, closed, on the floor by the wall beside the table.
"And it has been too long. But I'm hoping that you've really been well. No dangerous calls in the middle of the night. No meddlesome troubles to unsweet your sleep. Here; let me take that." And without further ado, she'll take the food to the kitchen and get out plates. Emily, if she follows behind, will notice that the kitchen's counter doesn't quite match -- it just looks new.
[Emily Littleton] You can hang your coat, she says. And Emily does. She slips out of it and carefully balances it on one of the pegs of the coat rack. (You can stay awhile [I think I just might]). Kage's home, not the first she has seen today, is warm with candlelight. Rich with the tones of hardwood and weathered accents. It is a tapestry of its own, and the warp and weave are pleasing to her.
She leaves her shoes by the coat rack, as well, and pads through the house on her tip-toes (not silently, no). She comes just to the edge of the kitchen, but waits beyond its border. Waits on something, what is unclear. Waits on Kage, yes that must be it.
"I am hoping for that, one day, too," Emily says, and it is a careful sort of thing to say. It is a no, not quite wrapped in a but we don't have to talk about that. "I have been hoping, actually, that the same were true for you. Have things been better?" she asks, a little less lyrically. Blunt. (Concerned.)
"Is it quieter now?"
[Kage] "Tea," she offers, "Or juice. Or," here, a smile, "Hot chocolate? I have real hot chocolate. The kind you pour with a chocolate pot and is thick and spiced. Or wine?" Emily will give her preference, and if it is tea, she'll have another choice: black or green. If it is juice: apple or pear. Oh, or coconut milk.
While the matter of what they should drink is taken care of, while the wind raps its knuckles against the windowpane (the kitchen has a window, tiny, shrouded by greenery; when there is light, it must be lovely), traces out messages in frost and the reaction of winter against a house that cages fire, a language nobody's learned yet, nobody will, fairytale language, means nothing but it is lovely. And dark, outside. Very, very dark.
"Have things been better," she says, an echo. And then, more quietly herself. "They've been quieter. Is that better? I've had less unwelcome guests appearing at my door, all hours; that much is better." Her mouth quirks, wry. "But I don't know if I like the quiet," wistful, maybe. "This quiet. I like to have things out -- to see them clearly; do you know what I mean? When things are too quiet, I wonder."
By now, the soup is -- Mug or Bowl? -- poured and the plates, with sandwiches, have been set at the table. Kage looks a question at Emily, while hovering at the switch which will flood the dining area with light that does not come from candles.
[Emily Littleton] "It hasn't really been quiet," Emily says, wistfully. Wishing for quiet, for that unknowing, was a sign of something. A sign of what? She doesn't know. She chooses juice, and pear at that, and they will find a place to sit. Kage will either flood the room with lamp light, or leave it half-dark from the candle flames. Emily doesn't say, but she prefers the half-light (prefers the half-dark).
"Have you heard about Enid?" Emily asks as she lowers herself into a chair. She is not fluent in the faelike tongues tonight. She is banal, dragged down to a more earthly place. An arched eyebrow, a pregnant pause. If no, then she will continue; if yes, there is only a knowing nod.
"She's staying with Ashley, now, but I think she'll be moving soon. The boy -- Austin? -- is on his own. It worries me, but I don't think it is mine to carry." Compassion. Concern. She sighs a little.
"Is it always like this? Either quiet (ice) or storm (fire), with hardly any in-between?" It is a calm question, for all its gravity. Emily is calmer now, somehow.
[Kage] "I heard about Enid," Kage says, and her tone is neutral (even [steady]). "A conventional family and trouble in China." And she listens, of course. "Why don't you think it is yours to carry?" she queries, and it is still neutral. "Do you want to do something about it?"
The room is still half-dark, half-light; the room is gloaming, and they are each softened [blurred] by flame and shade. The candleflames only flicker when they say certain words and look a certain way, moved by breath alone (and language [speak]), not draft, no ghosts. Washed gold. The question Emily asks is a question that she has asked Kage before, and it is a question that she, likely, will ask herself again and again until she has an answer (sink [swim]) that satisfies her. If she ever has an answer that satisfies her.
Kage gives the question due consideration, again, and her answer is simple: "Yes. And no. And both. It's just like living, Emily; there's always some thing going on. Some people are better at causing trouble or getting sucked into it than others. Some things are louder, some are quieter. There's a lot out there."
[Emily Littleton] She considers what Kage has asked her for an overlong moment. Emily has been on the precipice of explaining something about her past, standing at that terrible edge, all week. All month. Since she Awoke, wide-eyed and lost to the newness of it all. It has been rising in her, slowly, coming to the surface through the cracks in her veneer. There weren't enough cracks to night to let it show through; she was better rested, calmer, collected.
"I want... for him to have options. Places to go, people to talk to. So that when and if he chooses to be alone, it is truly a choice." No one should be abandoned in their time of need. It is a clear thought, one that doesn't need the personal investment she feels to telegraph across that small space. "I don't know that I am the right person to offer, but someone ought to. And if I feel that way, the only someone I can compell is myself."
There is a quiet here, and she tries not to let these thoughts dovetail too closely to the conversation at Ashley's earlier.
"And I suppose that makes sense. This is living, after all." A little smile. Not wry, just knowing. My, how we've grown in the past few weeks. "Other than this," meaning Enid, meaning Austin, "I've mostly been studying. You would be proud," she says (look Ma'). "I'm learning new tricks."
[Kage] Emily is on the precipice of some revelation (gleam), and Kage is watchful, but she doesn't feel the need (want) to pressure Emily into unspooling whatever it is she's been considering, whatever it is that touches her dark eyes with that expression. Nay; the Orphan is content to stay watchful, to listen, to eat her potato and leek soup, her sandwich and to drink her coconut milk. This is what she offers, to the first subject: "Why don't you think he already has these options, that he's just alone now because this is the way he has of staying low?" It's not an idle question. If there's a reason, Kage wants to know. Did Austin run from Ashley like Henri did?
"I'm afraid he'll probably have to stay low for a long time; maybe leave the city. I'm a little surprised Enid's going to stay, but," and there, that's the end of that thought. Kage heard about Enid. Not the whole story, but she can read something between the lines of what Enid's said, and Ashley, and now Emily. Continue with this: "It sounds as if you do believe it's yours to carry; so carry it. Just know that he's in a lot of trouble
Then Emily reveals that she has learned new tricks, and Kage raises her eyebrows (challenge [cool]) and grins (easy). "I'm glad. More of the same? Good tricks? Tell, tell. Or show."
[Emily Littleton] Emily's breath pulls in between her teeth, sharply. As if something Kage has said has wounded her, or pressed hard against some half-healed hurt. Her expression tightens, then releases a little.
"I picked them up from the airport," she says. No pause. No time to think. "Enid was upset, but Austin was not well." Not well, the words are so unassuming. So understated. "I worry because he was hurt, perhaps deeply, and he left Ashley's soon there after."
Now a pause, a sip of juice (sweet [concentrated]) to wash the thoughts down. "Though you're right. It's presumptuous of me to think he doesn't have options." To worry. Though Kage had questioned, not stated, and Emily was internalizing (assuming). She cared; perhaps that was a flaw.
The worry fades into something brighter, warmer. "The same and yet different," she says; so helpful this doublespeak is. Down she sets the juice glass, up tilts her chin just so. (Proud [triumphant]). "I would like to show you, but I have never tried that before..."
[Kage] The sudden scrape of the other (for how much longer?) Orphan's breath causes Kage to raise both eyebrows, her hand to still on her mug of milk (warm [honey]). There's nothing so obvious as a headtilt, but she is watching Emily just a little more closely, just a little more carefully, why, ah, oh.
"Well. He could just be proud. Some people are too stubborn to accept help when it's offered just because of who it comes from." A beat. "It would be just as presumptuous to think he does have other options; especially if they called you to pick them up from the airport. Poor Austin," Kage adds, and if Austin were around, he probably would not appreciate the half-absent tone or the sentiment.
The same and yet different, Emily says, and Kage's mouth crooks. Easy. "Show, anyway, whatever it is; I'll use my own eyes to watch. Are these Jarod-taught tricks?"
[Emily Littleton] ((Oh say can you see..., Arete 1, extending to next round))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Emily Littleton] ((Extending ... Arete 1))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Emily Littleton] Poor Austin.
Emily nodded. There was not much to do beyond that, not now. And Kage is asking for her to share, for her to conjure up that gathering sense of Reverence and to spin it into soemthing shared. This is new, for Emily, extending her senses beyond herself. It is not quite defying gravity, not yet, but it is growth of an unplanned and organic sort.
She pushes the sleeve of her sweater up so that her fingertips can find purchase on the pulse point in her wrist. The younger Orphan stills her body, quiets her mind, and lets the rhymthm of her own life crowd out the other details that press in on her awareness. Slowly, she goes slowly, because this is all still new and because this is the first time she has tried without Jarod nearby.
It is imagined, perhaps, how the table falls into a hushed calm. How the half-dark around them deepens, thickens, only to shimmer faintly with something. Kage knows that something, and it burns brightly within Emily (in a place she cannot yet touch [cannot yet see]).
The ba-dump thump beat threads through everything, and broadens, slowly, spreading out to be an awareness of so many smaller sub-patterns. There is less here than in the garden, so Emily and Kage stand out like densely woven tapestries. There are other lives here to sense, but they are less patterned, less vibrant.
When she had this Sight tethered firmly to her own consciousness, then she reached out to welcome Kage into it. To touch the other Orphan the way Kage had opened her eyes to Grace (longing). Even though, in doing so, Emily opened herself up to scrutiny. Kage would see her pattern as Jarod had, with the scars and reminders of past hurts indelibly carved on the shape of her bones, the stretch of her sinews. They could also see in each other the vibrancy, dynamism of unbridled hope (Creation).
[Kage] [pause button!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 6 (Success x 2 at target 3)
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