Checkmate

[Wharil Choc] The cold could only keep away the weak. The fragile. These men weren't that. These were warriors. They came decked in their armor of goose down and wool, of cotton and leather gloves. They came as they always have, day in and day out, keeping their weapons and their skills honed to a deadly edge.

The chess warriors were in full effect in grant park. Every few benches sported a two seat table where these noble samurai did battle.

[Emily Littleton] She strolled through the park with the bare fingers of one hand wrapped around a take away coffee cup. Steam curled up out of the tiny orifice in the lid, leaving a scented ribbon, a streamer, than dissapated quickly in the chill. Emily had not come to play chess, to test her mettle against the seasoned warriors, but rather to walk mindfully through a space populated by likewise thinking people.

She did not have the proper armor for winter in Chicago, so her protection against the cold came in layers rather than a single, purposeful shell. Beneath those layers, close to her skin, she kept an argent sliver of Home. Its heartbeat pulsed steadily, though its presence was mostly hidden, obscured by layers of cloth.

[Wharil Choc] Two men shake hands, though one hesitently so. The older gentleman, a grey haired man with a sharp, avian nose rose from the table, and shook the hands of the younger victor before leaving. The other watched him go for a moment. Two, if such a thing could be quantified, before he starts setting up the pieces again.

He's young looking. Dark, in hair, skin and in eyes. His smile, on the other hand, is bright, and for some odd reason he's beaming it out toward Emily as she approaches. When she's close enough he calls out to her.

"Excuse me miss? Miss? Would you care to play?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily turned her attention to the young man when he offered her a game. A smile spread slowly across her features, brightening her eyes as it reached them. Wharil had only seen her in dark or moderately lit places before, but here in the bright of a winter day Emily's eyes were not merely dark. They were a dark blue-grey, stormy perhaps, or calm like the still waters that ran deep. At this moment, however, they twinkled (mischeviously?).

"I'm ... a little rusty," she admitted, even as Emily took the offered seat and set her coffee cup at one of the edges of the table. "If you don't mind that, I would love to play."

She doesn't recognize him. If they've met before, then she has forgotten. There is no flicker of recognition, no pause in which she grasps for his name. Only the odd, familiar and foreign lilt to her voice as she introduces herself, again. "I'm Emily. Nice to meet you."

[Wharil Choc] "That's okay." He responds cheerfully, and once the pieces are all set he extends a hand across the table to her.

"Call me Wharil." His real name. She may not have known it, but this was a step forward. "Pleasure to meet you Emily. Do you need me to go over the rules of the pieces, or are you not that rusty?"

[Emily Littleton] If she had remembered his name, she would not have recognized the one he offered now as the same. Wharil had been Will to her, most recently. And perhaps again before that. Emily smiled now, as if the name pleased her. It is a good name.

"I remember at least that much," she admitted, letting her mouth take on a wry smile. "I should be able to sort out the rest as we go." She said it lightly, as if her deeply perfectionistic tendencies were tamped down so far that even she could ignore them from time to time. After all, here, in the park, playing with strangers--this was neither the time nor the place to get competitive.

[Wharil Choc] "Alright." He says plainly enough, and his fingers peruse the board until he chooses a piece. "Lets try...knight's open." The piece is moved, the game starts. But Wharil does not stop. He continues chatting as if that were the purpose of having her sit with him.

"So how are you enjoying your day so far?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily considered her move, briefly, then moved her piece forward without flourish. Her eyes flicked back to him, back to that comfortable smile and amiable presence. Emily can't help but relax a little into the casual conversation.

"All things considered, quite well. Though I have finals this week, so this is pretty much my only break for the next few days." She was a student, she'd offered that up freely at least once before. "How about you? It's nice out today, at the very least, yes?"

[Wharil Choc] "Yeah, at least. For now. My day: Not so great. I've got a friend that's gone into hiding, another that's gone missing and a group of general non-cooperatives that I have no idea how to bring together. But..."

He moves another piece after quiet consideration and smiles, not at her, but at the chess board.

"At least I've got nice days in the park."

[Emily Littleton] "Mmm." Emily rolled the sound in the back of her throat, thoughtfully assessing both the board and Wharil's day. Her lips pursed a little, thoughtfully, and her eyes intently tracked three or four possible moves out to three or four possible decision points each. Her mind was nimble, but those lightning quick considerations are hidden behind a gently pensive moue.

At last she reaches up, moves a piece, and then rubs her cold (numb) fingers againt her jeans as she looks back to him. "I am sorry to hear about your friends," she said, sincerely. "I do hope that all works out."

[Wharil Choc] "Yeah. Me too. It happens though. You kinda learn to expect stuff like that."

Another circle of hesitation, another piece moved.

"When you're like us, that is."

[Emily Littleton] Emily quirked an eyebrow and reached for her coffee before she reached for a chess piece. "People who play games in the park?"

Something in Emily's expression was... off. As if she expected Wharil, whom she had never met (no recollection of meeting) before, to lead into another conversation all together. She set the cup down again, with a fainst rasp of paper against table, and reached for a piece. Her gaze only broke from his to verify that she had her hand on the right piece. Almost as if she hadn't thought about her move at all.

[Wharil Choc] "No. Not them. Us. People who...know a little more. See a little clearer. Awakened."

He sits back, looking at her hand over the piece curiously at first, and giving it an odd 'Are you sure you wanna do that' sort of expression.

[Emily Littleton] Emily is sure. When she had told him she was a little rusty, she had only somewhat meant it. The girl was bright, and very well practiced at looking down a long game-theory tree to determine possible routes to a preferred outcome. She'd learned to turn that same intelligence toward social pursuits, as well, but she wasn't using that manipulative skillset here. Much. She was simply playing the game, with the rules she knew so far.

She set the piece down on its new square and withdrew her hand. "I seem to hear that word everywhere these days," she said, idly, as if it were a throw-away comment about a new band, or a recent philosophical movement. Noncomittal. Emily tucked her hands back into her pockets and watched him. (Your move.)

Emily wasn't quite sure, after all, that she was an Us yet and not a Them.

[Wharil Choc] "Well, we kinda notice our own. Look out for them. As far as I can tell you don't have anyone to look out for you."

There's a circle over the table again, and he plucks down one of the pawns, seemingly at random, and moves it forward.

"Other than whoever made that Locket, that is."

[Emily Littleton] She counters, fairly quickly, as well. One hand comes out of her pocket, moves a piece, withdraws without lingering. It is perfunctory, perhaps, but still thoughtful.

"Ah...," a tinge of sadness or some other slow-moving sentiment. "My grandmother has long since crossed over." Emily looked away, and then back to the table. Back to Wharil. (So... alone?)

[Wharil Choc] "I'm sorry to hear that." He says, and makes an honest motion to look her in the eye as he says it. Then it's back down to study the chess board.

"But you do know what I mean, don't you? You've started noticing certain things. Maybe feeling things that other people don't seem to even have a sense for. Like you're seeing the world for the first time. You may think its just stress. Its not. You may think you're going crazy. You're not."

The next piece he moves is moved ever so carefully.

"You're...wondering why these funny little coincidences keep happening to you? Why you're meeting the same people over and over again. Why they keep saying...that word. You're one of us. This is why."

[Emily Littleton] This is the fourth time she's heard something akin to Wharil's message. This is the second it has been offered without apparent coercion or pendanticism. It is, perhaps, the first time that the words do not knot in her stomach and go down coldly. There are some similarities between what all of them have said -- Jarod, Ashley, Kage and now Wharil -- and what does not line up is not intrinsic to the message.

"All right," she says, having weighed the preposition carefully enough. "I'll bite." She carefully, curiously moved a chess piece, setting it down with a slight flourish. Just enough of a twist of her wrist to seem imagined in his mind. Playful, and yet deathly serious.

Emily's eyes did not twinkle, now. They were calmer, calculating, and piercingly intelligent. He had piqued some interest and now had the full weight of her attention resting on his expression, his words, him. For someone she could scarce remember, Wharil was fascinating.

[Wharil Choc] He was looking at the board, slightly perplexed, then a sudden look of realization. "Three more moves and you'll have me checkmated. Either you're not as rusty as you let on or I've been more distracted than I let on."

A warm smile gets shared with Emily before his hand moves to his king, and he gently tips it over, leaving it on its side.

"Good game, Emily. So. Would you like to learn more about this...awakened world you've stumbled into?"

[Emily Littleton] She glanced down at the board for a moment, then back to him. The fallen king stirred other thoughts for a moment, but she pushed them aside. (Wrong king [wrong court]). Emily could not help but think that this moment, like at least one before, had been as carefully orchestrated as her chess game.

"I think so," she said, and there was a but quick on the heels of those words. It stuck her teeth as she bit it back and regarded him curiously instead. Carefully. Something had taught her to be a little less open, even in the days between Thanksgiving and now.

"Though ... I might ask what the price of admission is." There is a misplaced solemnity under the warm smile she offers. (What do I give up this time?) Her tone is teasing, light, almost eager to learn more, but her reservations are close enough to the surface for him to see. Conflicted.

[Wharil Choc] He chuckles at that, as if hearing a joke, even if it was only mildly amusing. Wharil reached into his coat pocket and came out again with a pen and a business card. The front was for a Bed and Breakfast somewhere in Chicago. On the back, he wrote his number, handing it to her when he was finished.

"Maybe you don't quite get it yet. You've already paid admission. You're already in the club. My offer is to teach you what to do now, because keeping you safe means keeping me, and all the rest of us safe. Give me a call when you're absolutely ready."

[Emily Littleton] "I will." She was certain that, at some point in the future, she would be calling Wharil with questions. She didn't read too deeply into how she knew, or why it was a certainty, because Emily had come to take some things on faith (instinct).

Taking the card between two fingers, Emily drew it back to where she could read it, and then looked up at him again as she tucked it into a pocket.

"Here..." she gestured for his pen, reached over and tore away a section of the brown paper ring that kept her from burning her fingers on her take away cup when it was newly-poured and piping hot. Emily noted her mobile number down in careful, neat digits.

"Just in case you need to find me first." She offered the pen back to him, and her number.

[Wharil Choc] Wharil takes the scrap of brown paper with a smile, along with taking his pen back.

"Good talking to you again, Emily. I'll be in touch."

And with that the strange dark man with the bright smile stood up and made his own way past the chess warrirors, and out the park.