[Charles Carmichael] His hands hurt, but that's not so bad - he knows that'll fade away in a day or less and just leave nasty discoloration. He'd been worried at first because goodness only knows what he'd do without his typing ability, but now that he's had time to think about it and test range of motion, he knows it'll be okay.
What bothers him more is the headache. He can't remember the last time his head hurt so bad, and he knows why it does, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. It doesn't make his face any less ashen, doesn't stop him from settling back into the passenger seat with relief. He's not feeling any need to assert his manhood, apparently, so there's that.
"I'll be alright," he says, and it's quiet in deference to the shooting pain in his head, though volume has nothing to do with it at all. "We can just drop Riley's car off at the store, and . . . you're okay, yeah?" He doesn't really think she is - that much is clear on his face, in his eyes. Despite pain, it's her discomfort and uncertainty with which he's concerned, at least primarily.
[Emily Littleton] ((As well as can be expected. -- Manip + Subter ))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Charles Carmichael] [Per + Sub!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] She's never done this before. No, that's not exactly true. Emily had never been on this side of the equation before. There's a deathly serious expression she wears, and cannot shake. Her hands do, shake that is, as she tests and tries to figure out if she can drive Riley's car without adjusting the seat or mirrors. They're close enough in height and build, so that's reasonable. She wouldn't leave any lasting changes to the V-dept's settings.
She's pale, for her own reasons, but they are not important right now. And she tamps it down well enough, hides it behind the calm she's clinging to like a lifeline. He can't quite see in, but he can tell how frayed around the edges Emily is. And that it goes deeper than the squabbling in Denny's.
"You should see a doctor," she says, quietly, but firmly. And Emily moves the car carefully out of the Denny's parking lot. She avoids the potholes and pits that carpet the streets in winter. Now and then her gaze flicks over, to rest on his features, to take in how pale and generally unwell he is. Chuck says he'll be alright, and the corners of Emily's mouth lift in a half-hearted smile but her eyes are sad.
[Charles Carmichael] He shakes his head, but it's not argumentative - just matter of fact. "No point. My hands will be better in a day or less, just ugly, and there's nothing a doctor can do for my head. It's . . . something else." His eyes narrow briefly, as he considers the younger girl settling into Riley's driver's seat; he knows she's Other, has felt that resonance. He knows . . . well. He doesn't know more than he does, but he takes a risk. "Someone's told you about Paradox, I hope?"
He says it in the way someone asks about a bitchy ex - someone who comes at you out of nowhere when you least expect it, and hits you with (or for) everything possible. It's a scourge. It's a pain in the ass (or the head and hands, as the case may be). And that question - it wasn't quite hesitant, but was almost reluctant. Given the obvious verbal capitalization of the word, he means more than the general concept of the thing, and sighs - he doesn't know how well established she is, though he'd guess at not very, given the way she glows.
"If not, you might want to swing by my place again, for a while. We can talk there."
[Emily Littleton] "If I take you home, and not to the doctor, then at least let me look at your hands," she says, but not with enough confidence to imply that she could do much for them. Emily had basic first aid, and she'd be able to tell if they were beyond bruised, but that was about it. Sheer intellectual might could only fill in so many gaps in knowledge.
She steered them back toward Best Buy. They could drop Riley's car at the store, and take Chuck's back to his place. Then Emily could figure out public transport for getting herself home. Her office hours (damn) would have to wait.
It was terribly illegal, but Emily pulled her phone out of her pocket and thumbed through her speed dial quickly. The conversation that followed was brutally short, and to the point.
"I need you to cover my office hours today?" A pause. "No, I'm fine." A thin scowl. "Look, something came up. I can't really talk, I'm driving a friend home." Another pause. "Cheers. I'll make it up to you." Again, narrowed eyes and a displeased expression. "Um, no. That definitely will not happen. But I might grade your Intro to Java exams." Her expression relaxed a little, then. "Thanks. Bye." And the phone went into the center console between them.
"Paradox? Not in the same words. But I assume it's the backlash thing, right?" Emily looked over at him again. She... seemed to get what he was talking about, but she obviously didn't have much experience with the topic. "When you push too far?" (Did you push too far, Chuck?) The light changed, and spared him too long with that quizzical expression pointed in his direction.
[Charles Carmichael] "I cheated, playing. Don't tell Riley, crazy girl'll deck me." He says it fondly, though, and with a laugh that jars through him, makes him wince. "Though she wouldn't get it, or how, I don't think. And then I added to it. You didn't think that she calmed down so fast on her own, did you?" That's answered first, taken as more important than mundane things like office hours and the damage done to his hands. The way she speaks of it makes him frown, even as the laugh dies down. "'That backlash thing'? Really? That's the first thing I got told about. 'Fuck up or stretch the limits too far, and the will smack the shit out of you to a point that no amount of documentation and troubleshooting will fix.' Who's teaching you, n00b?"
N00b, of course, being very different than newb. The former have potential - everyone is one at some point. It's they who press forward, who improve, who become more. Like Chuck has, and works towards, like the rest of the mages Emily knows, in their own ways.
"And yeah, you can look at my hands if you really think you need to. But you shouldn't call off of work on my account."
[Emily Littleton] "I'm not calling off work on your behalf," she said, and there was a tight note to her voice, but it faded. (Not everything is about you, Carmichael.) His inner voice would be able to fill in what she left unsaid there well enough on its own.
"I believe the first thing most people told me was that I was different." Beat. "Just like them." Emily looked away from him, because she needed to navigate a turn. She was taking it really easy, because he was hurt, and it required more concentration than usual. Her voice was a little flat, but she was coming down off the anxiety, forcibly holding back unpleasant memories, and driving in Chicago in the Winter. Nevermind this lovely chat they were suddenly having.
"Followed quickly by the recruiting pitches, and everyone's views on everyone else's views." She paraphrased, lightly, but Emily didn't give him too much of an idea of how long she'd been in the game. She was cagey, and had more reason to be wary than most. "I'm learning from a few people at the moment, when I can. Trying to figure out where I belong."
[Charles Carmichael] ".....oh, honey." He sighs, and the endearment comes easily. "Jesus. Bunch of cavemen, hedonists and nearly medieval pointy hats - no wonder you're confused. I'm not gonna pitch you, but I will say this: there are other options. You can stay as you are, learning what you can where you can, and that's a perfectly valid option. Not very sound politically, but if you don't care about that, you're good. I'm sure your Awakened friends will still be your friends, though what they'll teach you will have limits if you don't chose their Awesome Clubs of Win and Awesome. That's going to be the case with anyone, including me, though I'll put my hand in the pot too, if you'd like. I'm far from the most experienced, but I've been around a while."
That's with a shrug, and he doesn't expect her to be watching him - she's driving, after all, and they'd had to go to the south side to find a Denny's, while Best Buy and home are significantly further north. There are freeways involved, and yes - it's Chicago in winter, and there's been recent snow.
"Or you can hook up with whatever cave man or pointy hat or whatever is teaching you now, and join up. Or," he adds, and this gets a ghost of a grin, "You can come back to the geek side. I'm a Virtual Adept - another Tradition, another set of views. But I'll only give 'em if you want 'em - sounds like everyone else is being pushy enough."
[Emily Littleton] Emily considers this for a little while, and there is plenty time for thinking. She goes quiet after his soliloquy and not just because there's plenty to worry about on the road in the colder months. She chews on her lower lip and doesn't look over at him again for awhile.
"I don't think they'd like it much if you called them cave men or pointy hats," she said, at last, and with a little less tension in her voice. Emily was hopelessly confused on the whole Awakened front, and what little she'd managed to sort out felt like breadcrumbs in the wake of clearly paradigms. It wasn't that she wasn't trying, perhaps that she was trying too much.
"There's three, really, that I talk to. Another Orphan," which is where she groups herself, obviously, and Chuck might not be happy to hear it. "A Euthanatos," though she struggles over the word a little. "And a Verbena. Primarily the Verbena, though, has been teaching me about life patterns."
She's more open about it then perhaps she should be. Emily shrugs a little. "I haven't talked to anyone from your group before. Not knowingly, at least. I must admit that there's not been much time for helloes and proper introductions lately." She's talking, and it's turning to rambling. The girl has a lot on her mind, and some things she pointedly wants to steer the conversation away from. "People may be wary of newcomers for awhile."
It's ominous, the way her eyes cloud when she says that. And the sadness that touches her features. But Emily blinks it back, looks over to him with a guarded expression. "I'm learning from who I'm learning from because I trust them, and because they haven't made me choose."
[Charles Carmichael] "There's no reason to yet. They get status points for teaching you, and they keep it generic, yeah? Nothing about their Traditions other than a vague overview, and the general perception of the rest of us. Other than that, they keep it to the basics - a bit about 'dox, some general awareness - of Other, though regular stuff is good to pay attention too - some beginning Sphere work, yeah? Though." He whistles low, appreciative. "Life from a Dragon, nice. That's not one I could offer you, and maybe no one could as well, except for a more experienced Verbena. Just . . . ugh. Don't ask me to sit in on any crazy rituals, yeah? I'm not really down with the whole . . . ugh."
A general shudder, and hes very serious, for all the way he talks about it is amusing, almost flippant. He has issues with the Verbena methods, apparently, though he's certainly not discouraging her from learning what she can there - or anywhere.
"My general thought is, you learn as much as you can from as many sources as you can, and you have a better view for the angles, for what works where and why. If i only programmed with what I learned in school, I'd be a sad case indeed, and way obsolete. Like, by years. So It would be stupid and hypocritical to say don't pick up whatever you can, where ever you can, you know?"
[Emily Littleton] Chuck was beginning to make her head hurt, as Emily guided them into the Best Buy parking lot. It was time to swap cars, and he was in no real condition to drive his own back. "Gimme your keys," she said, holding out her hand and seeming decidedly less British in that moment. "I'll run Riley's inside to the Geek Team desk."
She hadn't meant it as a slight, she'd just mixed up the nomenclature a little. Emily parked the borrowed car under a light in the parking lot in case Riley came back for it later in the evening. That way, the other woman would be safe(r) collection her ride alone.
Once she got him settled in his car, she'd head in, drop off the keys and be back with a water bottle for him. The top was already loosened, but not loose enough to spill.
"I have no idea what you mean about Rituals," she says, when they're settled in his car and ready to go again. "I haven't learned anything like that at all." Emily couldn't imagine Jarod putting up with any arcanist crap, either. The very suggestion rubbed her wrong. Chuck had some very strange ideas about what Jarod & Emily had been up to, but perhaps that was better than knowing what it was they were usually up to.
"Alright, you get to navigate back to your place now... I hope you're up to it."
[Charles Carmichael] "I can drive, you know," he says, but it's meek protest at best - again, he settles into his seat. Doesn't bother to correct the slip - she's not American (or at least hasn't spent much time here, as he can figure it), and has no reason to know the name of his specific corner of Geektopia. She heads in, and Chuck rests his head on the headrest until she returns with water, which he takes with thanks.
What he assumes Jarod and Emily have been up to is learning Life at low levels, which will lead to Life at higher levels, which will lead to nasty rituals involving blood and spit and piss and goodness knows what else, and it squicks him right out, though that's the only thing he's said that's truly bad about any Tradition. He's named stereotypes, is all. She says it's time to navigate, and he laughs again, and this time, he doesn't wince with it. There's a series of voice commands that links the car to his phone, and his phone to googlemaps, and that will get them there - this is not built in functionality with either Ford's Sync technology or his aging Blackberry, that Emily knows. There's also no telltale tingle of magic - he's simply put the time into hacking both computers, and made them do this in addition to the other things they do.
"The car'll tell you. And I told you, I'll be fine. Just a bit sore and headache-y for a while."
[Emily Littleton] "Na-huh," she replies, apparently haven't mastered the lingo of an unimpressed teen. Whether that little dismissive sound, and the wrinkled nose that went with it, were as to his car's sense of direction or his physical well-being? Chuck would have to guess.
This drive was quieter than the last. Emily was a little more anxious about driving his car, with the talking dashboard (or listening dashboard) and its owner in the seat next to her. She was also worried about Chuck, and it was beginning to show again. She looked almost grateful when he drank some of the water, and protested again.
The car led her homeward, and Emily tried to catch the major intersections in her mind, lest she have to work out some complicated public transport calculus to get home. Her rudimentary understanding of correspondences only got her so far. Odd, that. Chuck was one of the only magi who hadn't asked her for her spheres of interest shortly after figuring out she was Awake. Perhaps he had some gift where he could just tell.
They got back to his building and Emily shoulders both of their bags and all the peripheral stuff so that Chuck can focus on just getting himself back to the flat. She's not far away, and that hawkish worriedness has not faded, but she's gone back to being quiet. Once he's settled, she does what she can (limited, certainly) for his hands.
Emily fusses, just enough to be endearing. Just enough to be effective. Just enough to barely cross over the line into caring and compassionate, but come quickly back to a more proper stance before he might have noticed.
((Med + Int, dif 7))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Charles Carmichael] He has no such gift, in fact - he'd said he wouldn't push her. Hasn't pushed her on anything, in fact, from their activities last night to her choices of what to do with her Awakened life. If she wants to tell him, she will. If she wants to ask what he can offer her (since she knows it isn't Life, but likely suspects it's Mind, given this afternoon's fiasco), she will. He's not offering much more than he's asking, right now; he was left to make his own decisions without being pushed (though it had always been obvious), and so he'll leave others to do the same.
Chuck hasn't even ever had a mentor - he is self taught, thus far, in lots of what he does.
Back in the building, Emily concludes that the best thing to do for Chuck's hands is apply ice often and liberally to keep the swelling down - also, given the general nature of bruising, she knows it will look worse and feel better tomorrow. So she gets to fuss towards an end, rather than just because, and he gets to smile, bemused but not displeased, at her fussing. Once she's decided, and stills near him long enough, he actually pulls his hands out of the ice and draws her close, into his lap, to place a kiss on her nose before letting her go. He is impulsive, and she is nearly irresistible.
"Hey, thanks. I can't remember the last time someone looked after me this way."
[Emily Littleton] If he doesn't seem to want or need her to go, Emily wouldn't be in any hurry to move away from him (even with those icy fingers [watch them, Mister]). Her smile was a little less guarded, her, but still mostly inscrutable. That he would get better, soon enough, had lightened the timbre of her voice a little, but not relaxed the pinched tautness in her frame. He felt it, that innate resistence, when he gathered her into his lap, but it dissipated.
"Sometimes it helps," she said, and her voice carried a note of experience in it. "And sometimes it just helps me calm down..." she admitted with a low, wry chuckle. Emily gingerly leaned back against him, if he'd let her. Rested her head on his shoulder. At long last, she exhaled more fully, leaving Chuck to wonder if she'd been partially holding her breath all of this time.
[Charles Carmichael] He felt the resistance, and slowed, hesitated, an eyebrow raised up at her Is this okay? before she indicated it was and he brought her the rest of the way. Her head came to lean on his shoulder and he brought one hand up to brush over her hair before adjusting so he could have both the bowl of ice and her in his lap. It takes some doing, but he manages - the headache will last for a few hours yet, but the ice is numbing the pain in his hands nicely.
"If I ask you again, will you tell me honestly if you're alright?" It's a simple question - he'd known something was up, that she was far more upset than she wanted to let on, but had been too distracted to put more attention to it than that. Now, they're sitting on his couch, in his living room, and rather cozy-intimate indeed. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he adds, easy, light. "But you can, and sometimes that helps too. Talking, I mean."
[Emily Littleton] ((This is a very familiar question... Manip + Subterfuge))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Charles Carmichael] [Just askin', just cos I care. Per + Sub]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] "Honestly?" He can almost feel the way her eyebrow quirks as her voice reaches upward with that questioning lilt. There's a little pause, because Emily is hardly ever honest with people she doesn't know (well) and rarely completely honest with those she does. But her voice is level, and that tension is abating, so he has no reason to disbelieve her (especially because what she says is a diversion, not an outright lie).
"I... don't really care for unnecessary violence." There was that word, unnecessary, drawing the difference between pragmatism and pacifism. She left it there, a breadcrumb along a trail he might choose to explore. A subtle misdirection from the question he'd asked. "I don't see much point it in. There's enough necessary awful in the world already," she she'd seen enough for that knowledge to echo in the voice that issued forth from her small frame. (No reverence in that.)
"Games are one thing. They're virtual. Not really real." She shrugged a little. "But Riley would have actually hit her..." It made Emily's head hurt. Over some unpleasant something said. "And I doubt that Mel appreciates that you're hurting instead of her, so, you know. What's the point, right?" She pulled a little angry face, but Chuck couldn't really see it from this angle.
[Charles Carmichael] "Okay," he says, accepting it - it makes sense, and he has no reason to think she'd lie or evade over something so little (to him). He just lets her rest against him, her back supported by his arm. He doesn't push to kiss her again, just lets her rest against him and gives what comfort he can, whether she needs it (she says she doesn't, really) or not.
"The more realistic games can be pretty awful, too. I tend to avoid them - it's one thing to shoot a bunch of guys who are obviously cartoons, and another entirely to shoot a guy who looks like the guy I sat next to in seventh grade Algebra, you know? And Riley has a bit of a temper," he adds, amused. "But she's a lot of fun. I haven't figured out what her triggers are, yet, but some of the blues and a couple of the cashiers are a bit afraid of her. Now, I'm starting to get an idea of why."
[Emily Littleton] Oh, but it wasn't little. And if Chuck knew, well, then, he'd understand that sidestep and how critical it was to keeping Emily as close to calm as she could be. Someday, maybe, he would figure it all out. Maybe she'd even tell him, plain-spoken, no evasion or lies. But Chuck was new to her life, and not yet on the level of a trusted few (precious few).
"Huh," she said, almost thoughtfully. She hadn't spent much time with the overly-realistic games, apparently. It was likely that Emily would not do well with them; it was equally likely that the mere fact they were pixel-based and not real people might ease her conscience. "I think you should let the Blues figure out her triggers," Emily said, with a hefty bit of warning in her tone. (Poor Blues.)
"You're sounding better," she says, noting the amused touch to his voice.
[Charles Carmichael] "I didn't push that hard. I'm lucky that the matrix didn't push that hard back. Could have been worse - has been worse a time or two, for that matter."
The matrix, the net, consensus, reality - whatever people choose to call it, there are rules about what's acceptable, and most of them are wrapped up in the perceptions of the mundane, average people around them. Chuck shouldn't have been able to calm Riley down without talking to her, without offering her some kind of comfort, and he had. She shouldn't have been able to anticipate where her avatar would be in the game, but he had. Reality doesn't like that sort of poking, and so, after a while, it had poked back.
"I told you, I'll be fine. It'll just take some time - I don't know how long this time. But if I call off of work tomorrow, I'll never hear the end of it," he finishes with a smirk. There's a quiet moment, then, just sitting there together - it seems maybe that'll be it, maybe like the victim of any sort of head trauma, he's edging towards sleep. But no, not quite.
"You're sounding better, too. I'm glad - I didn't like when you were upset." Or when Riley was, for that matter, but it's a completely different thing when a hot tempered, demonstrative young woman is acting out. He'd been worried about Emily.
[Emily Littleton] Something he said struck Emily as funny. It wasn't overtly so, or Chuck might know why she was laughing. But it welled up from within her, slowly at first, then building, building: this sound, shook up from her very center like something had finally, finally broken free. It was not a good laugh, but it was a necessary one. Like the ache in stretching for the first time after a long, slow healing process -- this hurt, but would ultimately help.
"I'm sorry," she said, between hastily taken breaths. "I... It's not even funny." She pressed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms across her middle. "Just that... you wouldn't have liked the last few months much, at all, if that's true."
She used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at her eyes. Really, though, there was no cause for laughter, beyond the release of all the crazy tension and the settling in of too many minor truths that she'd been avoiding for too long.
Laughter was better than tears, though, wasn't it? Emily pulled herself together, somewhat, and apologized again. She pulled one of the pigtails over her shoulder, and started to shift off of his lap. Wiped at her eyes again (tears [of laughter, right?])
"What a strange, strange day," she remarked quietly, once the giggles had passed.
[Charles Carmichael] "Oh, this was nothing, sweetheart," he says, wry. "Just wait. The weird gets weirder, and you know you're fully inducted when the normal is boring. Thankfully, I'm not there yet - but I've known people who were. I've known people who disappeared into the web and didn't come back."
It's meant as comfort, but once it's out of his mouth, he realizes it probably isn't so much - or he wouldn't have found it so when he was fresh and new. Maybe hadn't, but to recall exactly requires more musing and conscious remembering than he's comfortable with. Everyone has things that they keep out of the light, away from prying eyes - even their own. And the entire time she's laughing, then tearing up, Chuck is simply letting her sit, as comfortable as she can get in his arms. After a bit, the bowl gets set aside and he wraps his arms around her to hold her more actively, but nothing is pressed, or pushed. She talks, fills in some of the framework Ashley'd given him, and the only thing he does other than that kind, comforting holding is to press a kiss, light, to her temple.
"Things . . . have a way of working out," he says when her words peter out. "I firmly believe that. It may not seem like it when they're happening, but in the end, things are gonna be pretty alright." He's testimony of that, as is she even if he doesn't know how much so. Things could be better for both of them, sure, but they've walked through the fire, and continue to do so.
[Charles Carmichael] [Per + Aware!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] At the end there, something he said gave her pause. It quieted the Orphan beside him in ways he might not have expected, ways he likely didn't understand. (You have to have Faith [belief in something better]). It spoke to something slumbering within her, barely beginning to stir after a long time forgotten. He'd already noticed, by now, the thin thrum of Reverence around her. Building. Holding. The way it threaded through her very sense of being.
She'd not been calm around him, really, until just now. Until she closed her eyes and reached up to toy with the locket she wore around her neck. Long fingers teased out the small silver shape, wrapped around it instinctively. Emily exhaled (came Home) and let go, let go of the strange day and the horrible things that had happened that Winter. For a moment, she was still enough beside him that he might think her sleeping: warm and restful with a steady heartbeat of Home, home, home. He felt it too, the uncanny sense of belonging, of comfort and quiet. It was not of her, but it stemmed from Emily somehow. It rode along her skin, traveled from her temple to his lips, seeped into him just as much as the smell of her steeped his senses.
"Mmm," she said, breaking that quiet moment with the still of her voice. "You just have to have Faith," she said, and she voiced the word like someone who had held Faith, known it, owned it, and had somehow lost it. Chuck wasn't necessarily a spiritual person, he didn't necessarily have or want a relationship with God, but there was a gentleness to seeing that foundation within another person. Or there could be, depending on one's personal beliefs.
Emily let the locket go, let it ride atop her sweater and sing out clearly into the space between them. It took a moment for her to remember to put it back under her clothing, close to her skin (heart).
"I should let you rest," she said, starting to disentangle herself from him. From the odd juxtaposition of moments they'd shared that day. Gaming. Denny's. Concern. Fear. Hope. "Riley will have your ass if you don't show in the morning."
No comments:
Post a Comment