Suffice to say that if you were searching out a place for some recreation, whatever your tastes tended toward, Lincoln Park was your go to ground.
It's early afternoon and the sun is modest as it attempts to loosen the stronghold of cloud-cover strewn over the skies. Spring it may have been in theory, but in the city of Chicago proper it was still freezing, still below zero out and enough to keep most out of the parks; streets; cafe's and restaurants in the still-wintery temperatures. Enough to keep most closeted indoors, that being said, not all. In one of the empty basketball courts, the distinctive sound of a ball thunking against concrete can be heard, reverberating around the surrounding pathways; through the trees, startling the occasional bird, digging in the thawing patches of grass pushing against the last dying days of the cold.
The Chorister, Owen Page, was dribbling a ball up the length of a court and aiming it for the ring; he missed as often as he sank the ball into the hoop, and despite the cruel temperature was wearing only a gray tank top and slacks; his outer garments neatly stacked on a bench. Judging by the perspiration dotting the young man's brow and chest, he'd been at this for some time.
At least long enough not to feel the chill.
[Ashley McGowen] Last week, it -was- spring, but the Chicago clouds and its winds are dark and full of lies and broken promises. It's dreary again, drizzling and cold, threatening snow. There are few places in the world where the weather is as volatile as it is around the Great Lakes.
To Ashley, spring was supposed to be there, so she's living in stubborn defiance of the fact that a cold front has come through. She and Owen are two of the few people outside today, when most people are in cafes sipping hot tea and coffee or retiring away to their offices and living rooms to read and work. But Owen has basketball to play, and Ashley has a dog to walk.
The Hermetic is accompanied today by a shepherd, a young rangy creature with ears the size of satellite dishes, bouncing around on his leash a few feet ahead of her. Walking is thinking time for Ashley, time when she mulls over current problems or her studies or new things to write about, so she's quiet, with little thought except for the path ahead as they meander through the park. She has a tendency to take different routes to keep herself interested, and this is the first time she's been through Lincoln Park in a while. She's dressed in the same black peacoat she was wearing when she came to the church, beneath it a pair of jeans, with a slate gray scarf stopping up the throat.
The rhythmic thud of the basketball draws her attention, and she spares a glance in Owen's direction. A second one, as she realizes that the young man looked familiar, and then she stops in front of the fence. "Hey, Owen," she says, to be polite.
[Owen Page] [Don't ask me why this roll is necessary in life, but it is. I like chance! Dex + Ath, he shoots! he... could score?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Owen Page] It's not out of the ordinary to see people and their dogs, jogging through the park. Since he arrived to practice, he'd seen a handful of them already, some harried mothers with prams and dogs, mobile phones under their ears as they attempted to roll seven tasks into one, some lone joggers with ipods plugged into their ears; breathing strong and even.
Some ran in groups, some simply meandered with the leisurely step of someone enjoying the afternoon's exercise. Ashley McGowen and her shepherd seemed to fit this latter descriptor as the Hermetic stopped by the chain-link fence separating the courts from the rest of the park and called a greeting to Owen. The Chorister, lining up a shot in front of the nearest hoop; caught the woman's eye as he lobed the ball upward in a steady arc; it swung out neatly, but caught the edge of the hoop rather than sinking through it and rebounded off the side, bouncing toward the fence where Ashley waited.
Wiping off his face with the edge of his shirt; the dark-haired Singer jogged toward her; breathing rough with exertion. "Hey," he smiled, and bent to collect his ball, tucking it beneath one arm. "Who's your friend?" Owen nodded at the Shepherd, and came around the side of the fence; lowering himself to his haunches and extending a hand out for the animal to sniff experimentally.
[Isaak Pabst] It was a cold day, not as cold as during the winter but nonetheless still quite cold, not the type of day most people went for a leisurely stroll around the town. Most people weren't Isaak however, they hadn't been cooped up in a lab plotting and theorizing and creating for the better part of entire decades. They hadn't seen the things he had, or could even begin to imagine them. They also weren't in as good a mood as he seemed to be. The old man, tall, gangly and frail looking as he was, seemed to be enjoying the day quite a bit as he strolled along the park humming what seemed to be an oddly out of tune 'My Way', wooden cane in the right hand. Life was good for him, or at least the change in weather seemed to bring new inspiration to him, it had been so long since he had enjoyed the changes in weather.
[Ashley McGowen] The dog seems the friendly sort, well trained and, for the most part, well behaved. He wags his tail as he sniffs at Owen's hand, and Ashley watches, the leash loose around her wrist, evidently not worried that he'll pull or try to jump. He knows better. "His name is Zane," she says. The dog is almost as well known among her Awakened colleagues as she is at this point.
She leans a shoulder into the fence while Owen pets the dog, who seems quite happy to receive the attention. For a few seconds she doesn't seem to be sure of what to say; she called him over here to say hi, but they don't really have a common history or work that she knows of, so it leaves her a bit lost for what to say. She's often a bit lost in social situations when it comes to anything that is not Awakened life and politics.
But she can't just turn around and leave. That would be rude. "Did you end up finding an apartment close to here?" she asks him finally, taking a look around at the buildings. It's a nice part of town - near Kage's, in fact.
[Emily] It's cold enough to keep most people inside, but the handful of magi moving throughout the park are of a stronger will and far more driven than most mortals. Emily, for her part, is trying out a new place to go running. Of late Grant Park has seemed a bit excitable. Her path brings her close to the basketball courts, where she is surprised to find Zane and Ashley.
Emily slows her pace as she comes up on the courts. Her skin is flushed and her breathing a little harder than usual. It takes the last few minutes of walking toward them for her to get collected, calmer. She waves as she gets closer, recognizing the Singer from the church near Kage's as well.
[Owen Page] "Hey Zane," the typically-reserved Owen greets the enthusiastic canine with quietly; and is rewarded with a tongue lick to the hand and excessive levels of tail wagging. People who own animals, or have at least the familiarity of having had one as a child are typically more prone to feel at ease around a fellow dog owner. The animals will as well, and certainly Zane appears to find nothing not to trust in Owen's capable hands, scratching around his ears and glancing up as Ashley asks about his apartment.
"Yeah," he says after a moment's thought, glancing in passing at an older gentleman marking his way along one of the nearby pathways; humming something vaguely familiar but not quite placed. He rises back to his feet after the appropriate length of time spend lavishing new-found affection on the leashed shepherd. "It's only a block or so away."
Owen is flushed also, his bicep and the v of his gray sweatshirt dark with sweat. There's a certain musk to being near him; that of exercise and cologne, and when he nods past Ashley at the approaching Orphan the tattoo on his right shoulder is apparent. Dark lines forming together into the shape of an oriental lily; it was an impressive piece of body work, and perhaps a little surprising to discover on the Singer's torso.
"It's Emily." He notes to the Hermetic, not sounding in the least surprised that the Orphan should have appeared exactly then.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley has known more Singers than one would expect, given her lack of exposure to many of the Traditions and her general irreverence. Europe, particularly rural Eastern Europe, is a breeding ground for them; they still have a foothold there, and one of her ex-cabalmates is engaged to one, after all. So she doesn't seem altogether surprised to see the tattoo there - the image she has of Choristers in her mind is not that of a bearded Bible-thumping fundie.
She notes it with momentary interest, then glances up when he calls her attention to the approaching Emily. The Hermetic raises a hand in greeting, thankful to be rescued from the monumental task of coming up with a topic for smalltalk.
"Hey, Em," she says, when the girl draws close enough to be heard. "How've you been?" Leading, because she talks with Wharil a lot. She already knows, or has some idea, of what Emily has been up to.
[Isaak Pabst] The area didn't seem to have that many people, for the size anyway, sure there were some here and there, but not nearly enough to give the illusion of an active day. Isaak noted the position of everyone as he strolled along, sure that they were far enough that he wouldn't risk accidentally smashing into anyone. Then he started twirling the cane around, alternating hands to the tune of his humming, it was a strange sight to say the least. And yet the few people that did spare him a glance went ignored, he was too absorbed in his own little world, enjoying himself. The one thing he did seem to do about the twirling was angle it so he wouldn't hit the black messenger bag slung on across his shoulders.
To add to the weird factor was the fact that the old man was wearing a thick white labcoat which was covered in black marks and soot here and there, and odd looking substances seemed to have dried on it.
[Emily] Leading questions, already? She was already smiling a hello to them both when Ashley opened up that line of inquiry, so the smile turned into a chuckle and a shake of her head (You do know about everything, don't you Ms. McGowen?).
"Oh, you know," there's a wry twist to the words, lilting as they were in that foreign sounding tongue. "Looking into a few things and earning my way onto Henri's blacklist." A beat. "She didn't sound crazy about you, any reason why?"
Emily watches Ashley for a moment. The question she'd just asked was off the cuff, but also serious. Then the Orphan looked over to Owen and her smile brightened a bit. "Hi, Owen."
There were few surprises, now, in the way they all seemed to congregate by chance. By accident. Emily had stopped ascribing it to Fate, and instead written it off to a more nebulous sort of intention. These were the people at the foundation of her new life, who were paving the way home.
Back to Ashley: "Also... Chuck said he's going to talk with you, and that I would be in trouble soon. Just a heads up." The Orphan didn't seem worried about this, or particularly sheepish. Perhaps the security guy was being a little paranoid.
[Owen Page] One of the problems with exercising when it was cold out was, well, the cold. It was fine as long as your body was still pumping blood around, informing your muscles and skin that you were warm but the moment you stopped; the chill began to creep in, and the tiny hairs on your arms and legs began to stand upright. This was happening to one Owen Page as we speak -- he was losing the healthy flush to his cheeks and crossing his arms -- or one, anyway, the other held the basketball secured to his side -- over his chest.
Emily's greeting garners her a half-smile, crooked and briefly warm. "Hey," he says and then as was the Chorister's tendency, he fell silent and allowed the two women to exchange greetings, and, he noted with a slightly sharper glance the Orphan's way, rather pointed questions. While Ashley forms a response, Owen moved over to his pile of clothing, seating himself and setting his ball down at his feet; a black hoodie was pulled over his bare arms and half-zipped against the chill.
The stranger with the swinging cane was given a second, longer look this time; the Initiate's dark brows knitting together in brief curiosity. The lab coat was one thing, but the stains on it were another entirely. He reached out, tentatively, with his senses and probed at the air surrounding the stranger -- it was probably nothing, but these days, it was becoming harder than ever to tell the Awakened from the Sleepers in a crowd.
[Awareness tiem]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] Emily brings up Henri, and the fact that the scrawny little Etherite is not very happy with Ashley. It doesn't appear to be news, to judge by the flat expression she gets in return. But there isn't any avoidance of the girl's eyes, no shifting from foot to foot or tapping of the hands, nothing to suggest that she might not tell Emily (or nothing to suggest a guilty conscience.)
"When I told Henri what happened to Dylan, she wouldn't believe me. She tried to run out and go and look for him, so I tried to Will her to stay," Ashley says. "I figured it was better to do that than risk letting her become like he was. She didn't see it that way."
She says Chuck would like to talk to Ashley, and she gets a nod in response, just an acknowledgment and perhaps permission to send the V-dept her way. There's a sidelong look toward Owen, whose attention appears to have drifted from them, toward a man dancing with a cane, a man with dried substances on his jacket. Ashley assumes he's a hobo, which is a little odd in Lakeview, but not unheard of.
[Emily] "Sounds like you did her a favor," Emily opined, unrequested. The Orphan shoved her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. The cold was already getting to her, biting in through the layers she wore (fewer, because activity usually kept her warm enough). Hadn't it just been Spring? Curse the fickle Midwestern weather patterns!
"Did you talk to Wharil?" she asks, assuming Ashley had. She looked from the Hermetic to the Chorustor and back, lifted an eyebrow quizzically. Does Owen know?
But Owen was looking elsewhere, and gradually Emily's attention was drawn off in that direction as well.
[Isaak Pabst] Meanwhile, unaware of the strange glances and stares in his direction, Isaak continued his walk. He was oddly agile and flexible for his old age, he was playing with the cane, yes. But the precision of it was quite something to behold, no wasted movements or actions, he was keeping it contained as to not lose control and accidentally send it flying or hit anyone in the way.
[Owen Page] He's not gone far, only to the bench where his gear rests to pull something slightly warmer on, and to focus his attention on Isaak for a measure of seconds, azure eyes narrowed. He watches the older man with the concentrated effort that suggests perhaps he's attempting to put a face and a name together. Certainly it looked that way from an outsider's perspective; or hell -- maybe Owen was just suspicious by nature.
Neither Ashley or Emily knew him well enough to know, truly, what he was thinking about while he stared at an [apparent] stranger. He contains his curiosity enough to move back across to the two women, and re-join the flow of conversation. "Talk to Wharil? Does this have anything to do with the burnt to a crisp individual you were discussing the other night?" The young man's interest is steady, and he raises his shoulder in a light shrug that says hey, I lurk.
[Israel Cohen] Born and raised in Chicago there were certain things Israel had missed in the years traveling... anywhere. Everywhere. Places and names tend to blur [without certain perks, quirks and 'cheats'] together after a while. Either way she is 'home' now; in so much as she still considers this city with any such childhood and college-day fondness. They say you can never go back: They are wrong. They are right.
Today, though, was a day of amusement [relatively rare for these two]: She isn't the sort to wield girlish - let alone womanly - charms and the attempt would be rather wasted [flat out ignored] on Solomon anyway. So she'd been straight forward instead: Take me out to the baaaall game. Wonders of wonders, he'd agreed and taken her he did indeed, no matter how much it had made him cringe to endure less-than-spotless seats, the crowd, the roar, the bad beer and worse snacks.
She'd been thrilled. And perhaps seeing the oft [always. somehow. always] sorrowful-seeming woman smile and laugh and cheer had been a reward all its own.
Right now they make as off as pair as ever: She dressed in dark jeans tucked into tan boots; a navy-blue fitted pea-coat and nearly waist-length hair swept back into a ponytail strung through the back of a Cubs cap. She is.. tiny. In her boots she barely reaches 5'1" and her build, while shapely, is delicate in everywhere, to the point of seeming almost fragile. Next to her, Solomon appears tall, though his height is average for a man.
She with the long, thin white guide-cane.
He with his priests collar, despite the otherwise casual dress of dark slacks and a button-down shirt.
An odd pair, indeed.
[Ashley McGowen] "We talked, yeah," Ashley says, but Emily's quizzical look is getting one in return, mingled with confusion. She doesn't know why Emily is asking about Wharil, if there are new developments, and she doesn't know why Emily is glancing toward Owen. The Hermetic is possessed of a sharp intelligence and is often more observant than most people give her credit for, but such open-ended glances often leave her grasping at straws.
Owen brings up the burnt to a crisp individual and it's Ashley's turn to raise her eyebrows and look back over at Emily. "-I- haven't burnt anyone to a crisp in the past month, so I take it something else has happened?"
[Solomon Ward] Sticky seats. Sticky floors. Sticky snacks served on sticks... it didn't get much worse in some ways. From the Cubs down to minors, they all shared that single unifying feature. Stickiness. Its hard to drink two cups of beer and avoid the sticky.... it always feels like the hose the rest rooms in it prior to the game, just for your personal benefit... .
Solomon is looks as if...well, he's Solomon. Slacks, shirt, coat,..you guessed it, black. The man's expression is as intense as always, though at least there is a hint of a grin tugging one corner of his mouth as they walk along, bantering back and forth quietly. The whole thing could have been relatively normal, except for what the man carried in his free hand. Corn dogs. Two of them. By the look of how they're gingerly held, lest he actually touch the food with his hand (hes running out of stick!), it looks as if he's confused about wether to go ahead and eat them or quietly dispose of them in a bush or trash can.
[Emily] Emily's eyes narrow a bit at Owen, but then she remembers that he was at the hobbit-themed pizzaria with the rest of them. She ducks her head, under the weight of the piercing stares of the two more powerful magi and reaches one, cold hand up to press against the back of her neck.
"Oh...," she says. "That." An unpleasant look. "Actually, I may have forgotten to mention that to Wharil," Emily says to Owen, then looks over at Ashley. "As a rule, I try not to keep things Nathan tells me too close in mind. They're always... disturbing." To say the Apprentice looked a little wan would be accurate, but it was significantly better than the shade of green Owen had seen at Bilbo's.
"I haven't followed up on that one, personally. But I did see Henri and her Goop, which I might have annoyed? Injured? By accident!" Oh, Emily. She looked positively horrified for a moment that she might have injured Goopy, which was sentient(?) toxic waste at best.
She took a deeper breath and tried to collect her scattered thoughts, will them into some semblance of pattern and order. "Owen? Has anyone talked to you about the spill, yet, besides what you over heard at the pizza place? And Ash, did Nathan talk to you about the dead Virtual Adept?"
Emily was beginning to feel like the switchboard operator and, really, that was a terrible position to be in when one had had a week such as hers.
[Owen Page] Unlike the Priest and the diminutive Orphan at his side [it could have been the start of a terrible in-joke, right there] the trio that are standing just beside the chain-link fence that separated the basketball courts from the rest of Lincoln park are relatively normal looking.
Two of them at least appear to be there for recreational purposes; the tall man standing beside two shorter women dressed in black slacks and a navy hoodie; sneakers on his feet and a pile of what appeared to be sports equipment laying on a nearby bench. One of the two females had a dog on a leash; the animal snuffling at scents in the air, and sitting, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth in abandon.
It is, if anything, the expressions on their faces that tells the most, depending on the angle of approach. Owen's features are shaped into their inscrutable mask as normal, when he spoke, it was in level, mild tones and when Emily's eyes narrow on his face after he notes there was discussion of someone being burnt alive the glance she gets in response is contained; the merest suggestion of humor ghosting the edge of his lips before it fades.
The Orphan asks him if anyone has spoken to him about a spill; and the boy's brows draw together. "No, but then," a look spared for Ashley. "I'm not really a people person."
[Israel Cohen] "Really, Sol," her voice light, a touch airy, an ethereal compliment to her diminutive frame. There is fondness deep ingrained in her tone to counter the teasing exasperation as she shakes her head. "It won't kill you to eat it..."
How she knows he's debating over it, wondering, musing... at-odds and dubious. Perhaps it is nothing more than the strength of experience. Either way, she stops - putting an end to the faint syncopated rhythm of her guide cane - and turns towards his voice, her chin tilted slightly downward, her face turned slightly away because it doesn't matter where her unseeing eyes might drift and with him she needn't pretend at the simulation of eye contact. Reaching out she finds the appropriate arm, slides down its length and takes up one of the corn dogs, "See? Like this," - bites into it with eagerness...
...and immediately starts to make a gargled sound, half-choked, half-squeak. For a usually quite woman it is quite a display. "Trash bin..." She mews around a mouthful of corn dog that she seems to be trying to somehow keep off contact of most of her mouth while refraining from spitting it out. "Pork.. it's pork!" Her free hand flutters slightly, further adding to the general impression of a distressed sparrow.
[Solomon Ward] Solomon stares. This could almost be amusing. It should be down right hilarious. The OCD priest instead sees A: A woman eating a greasy corn dog. B: A Jew with a mouthful of pork. C: A lady talking with a mouthful of cornmeal. Oddly enough he doesn't know whether to cup his hand for her to spit into like one might do a child, or laugh, or...or.... so Solomon stares.
"How can you tell, you've never eaten it?".... way to go. Nope, no trash can in mercy and no attempt to help. Dead pan, almost confused. They, you know...uh...her people.., they always seem to know when its pork..its uncanny. Maybe because they're well acquainted with beef and chicken and lamb. Or maybe they learn to identify it all its forms in Jew School. How the hell should he know. Thats what you get for eating greasy food off a stick, especially when it comes from a questionable origin and a questionable vendor.... wait...
She's still doing the hanbd flutter thing and making noises around a mouthful of pork....
...Shit...
"Spit it out ?"
[Ashley McGowen] Emily asks Ashley if she's heard about the dead Virtual Adept, and there's a marked exhalation of air. A little sharp, accompanied by the Hermetic reaching down to pat her dog between his overly large ears.
"No. He didn't," she says, after a reluctant moment. Somehow, work manages to follow her everywhere, and it doesn't even seem to find her via the Blackberry. It manages to ambush her when she's playing with the dog in the park, having fun drinking in the bar or trying to relax while she's out walking, which is worse, really.
So if she's terse, perhaps it could be forgiven. There's a glance to Owen, touched with a wry tilt of her eyebrows. "Neither am I, but this shit seems to find me anyway," she tells him. It would, of course, probably be more accurate to say that she goes looking, but sometimes self-awareness is difficult. "Is this tied to the other stuff, Em, or does it look like it's something else?"
Her attention is drawn, seconds later, to distressed noises, to a woman with a cane flapping her hands toward her mouth. It's a sight that might provoke amusement, except that Ashley recognizes those two. Her expression becomes something unsettled as she cranes her head as though to look around for any -other- magi that they might be surprised by.
[Emily] That look, the one Ashley is making right now, presages awful things to come. Awkward meetings on the lawn of Grant Park, insinuations of Technocrats, hell the Hermetic was probably making that face when they all walked up to the Chantry that night (in her quickly receding memory).
The Orphan, who is the taller of the two women standing beside the Choristor near the baksetball courts, looks over her shoulder. Looks around, suddenly a bit more cautious and a bit more Aware. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. It is an unsettled thing (spooked [someone walking over your grave]).
"Nathan was looking into some of the Blue corporations. I think the Adept was his contact or source," she says, her voice lower than before. Perhaps because of the invective and shift in Ashley's demeanor. "I... didn't mean to -- I didn't even think about dropping this on you when you were out like that. I'm sorry, Ashley. Sometimes I think I wake up with my foot already in my mouth."
Emily apologizes, and she means it.
[Isaak Pabst] It was hard for Isaak not to notice the distressed woman, and while most people would probably keep away. He decided to go and try to lend a hand, he didn't even find it particularly funny, just awful. Still, he mumbled something as he went, looking slightly disgusted for a moment and then reverting back to his usual cheery demeanor. For a man who walked around with a cane, he moved fast, mostly because the cane as just for show, he only used it when he was tired from walking long distances.
[Israel Cohen] Were she the sort of person given to sudden flares of temper, she might, at that instant, begin to beat the Priest about his person with the guide-cane still in her hand. She might glares at him and curse. Were she given to sullenness, she might harrumph and pout at his utter lack of helpfulness. Alas, she is none of those things. She is also not about to spit out a hunk of corn dog onto the path where it might hit someone and she certainly cannot - without the risk of drawing attention [is it paranoia if you're right and there are people after you?] - accurately locate the grass or a trash bin at the moment. Solomon proves unhelpful to the extreme. So, at last, she swallows down the mouthful rapidly, slapping one sprite-hand over her mouth as if unconsciously trying to hide it; not even chewing it much as if that might somehow negate the consumption of the unclean item.
She looks a little queasy.
A lot sheepish.
When she speaks again it's quiet as she smooths down her coat - adjusts the hold of her cane. "Seriously? You couldn't tell me where the nearest trash can was?" It isn't angry; it's barely agitated; though certainly softly wry.
[Owen Page] If he overhears Israel spluttering about pork and trash-cans, or notes the black-clad Priest beside her; Owen Page keeps a remarkably cool countenance in light of it; around his neck, beneath two layers of clothing is a silver pendent cross; the foci for all the Chorister's Prime magicks and a reminder of his own re-awakened faith. Instead, Owen is returning Ashley's wry glance with some milder version of his own; that too fades as Emily explains; apologizes.
Owen frowns.
"It was a mistake, we all make them, Emily," he assures her, setting his hands into the pockets of his hoodie for the warmth. "What's this about," he hesitates over the word, apparently uncertain how correct either she, or he could could be at naming something as, "Goop? Something left over from this spill?"
[Solomon Ward] "No... I wanted you to swallow it. Now that your Unclean, I have the solution to save your mortal soul...." not quite dead pan. The small grin twisting on his lips would go unnoticed by the blind girl. It seems he's making a joke of her situation, though coming from him it would have been hard to tell except for the extensiveness of their time spent together. He almost cracks up as he says "Come to Jesus"
He's still chuckiling slightly when he turns to Isaak and gives the man a polite nod "Good evening, sir" followed by a glance around. Israel attracted attention, and though harmless as it was it garnered one souls concern. Then he notices others. Tall fellow, younger girl, the Tyta-something.... wait. Back up. Yes, Ms. McGowen. "My friend had a bad moment with a deep fried meat snack on a stick. I think she's ok now."
Then to Israel "Ms. McGowan is here.... oh, so's a trash can. Its about 50 feet ahead, to the right"
[Israel Cohen] [WP - for shits and giggles]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is dour by nature, and so Emily has seen that expression a lot of times. Usually in unpleasant situations, yes, but they always seem to be dealing with so many.
"It's all right, Em," Ashley says, though her voice doesn't carry the same reassurance her words do. She could add that she is just tired, but she doesn't; she recognizes that she's approached as a responsible figure, as a strong one, because she comes off as one. And that is an impression she has no interest in attempting to correct.
"The goop...yeah, it's from the spill. Henri Bean got a hold of some of it and she's been trying to feed it. It's...an odd sort of substance. Sort of the manifestation of Creation and Stasis, and Gregor says they're caught in a loop that keeps growing. It's a field test, I guess," she says to Owen. There's a frown on her face now. She's managed to get quite a bit of information on it, apparently. "The more we find out about this the deeper it seems to go, so we've been trying to get the substance away from Henri."
[Israel Cohen] She is still in the process of gathering her wits about her once more; regaining her sense of space and location, jostled in the midst of the gut reaction to an innocent bit of battered and fried up meat product. When he begins speaking she is only half listening, still rather mortified at her actions, missing the inflection of barely contained laughter in his voice. Come to Jesus, he says, half grinning, trying not to laugh outright.
It is a rare moment of vexed reaction, really. Quite out of her control. Everyone slips and, just then, so to does she, proving her very real, very present human fallibility.
*Smack*
Where he farther away she would likely have swung and missed - but he's right next to her and that guide-cane has some long reach on it. It strikes out smartly, more or less at the level of her core, so likely around Solomon's upper thigh. "Jesus didn't stop that, now did he!" It isn't anger really... it's the projection of her frustration outward and there's even something like a grin when she speaks right as she smacks [not so hard, you see]... and then she gapes and blinks, realizing what she's just done. Looking horrified anew. "Oh gosh.. shoot, Sol, are you al--"
Someone else steps up [the sound of a cane, caught in periphery] and for a moment it looks like she might start fluttering her free hand again. He speaks of Ashley and her blind eyes shift and move, settling on nothing, quite out of sorts at the moment, quite without a sense of location. What is fragile-seeming about her seems more so.. just now. "What...where? No.. no, I'm fine sir... yes... Sol, I didn't hit you hard, did I?"
[Emily] When Ashely finished, Emily lent her own voice to the reporting of unpleasant things.
"When I was finally able to scan it, it showed no Life pattern -- though it's capable of limited locomotion. And dissolves, or eats as Henri would say, inorganic compounds. She seems to think it's sentient, but I really saw nothing to indicate that." Emily is still skeptical on Goopy's englightenment. "It does seem to have anti-magic properties though."
The Orphan winced, rubbed at the inside of her left wrist slightly.
"It matches a description of the spill hazard that Kate gave me. She's my student from section," a glance here to Ashley, because of a conversation they'd shared at Chuck's place. "The chemical company, the cleanup crews, a medical research group that offered advanced treatment to the injured -- they're all subsidiaries of a larger parent corporation. Chuck was trying to track that down, probably with Nathan that night." This look is for Owen. Emily, for all she knows, is peripheral to most of the important details.
"I'll try to get in touch with Henri again. Maybe talk to her some more -- about Goopy, about the spill if she'll listen." Emily's mouth pursed, a little. She was worried about Bean.
Whack.
Emily looks over to the priest and his... companion? A little of the worry in her expression is replaced by honest confusion, but the Orphan keeps her thoughts to herself on this matter. (Who would hit a priest?)
[Isaak Pabst] [WP!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Owen Page] "I think that would be wise," in regards to Henri Bean, apparently yet another Awakened he was unaware of in the city and her special new pet. Privately, he didn't exactly understand why anyone would want to adopt the contents of a potentially toxic spill when they could just as easily buy a dog and feed it to observe the various states of being in the Universe. But, different strokes.
"From what you're telling me, it sounds unstable to say the least." Owen was a taciturn individual; but he was quiet, not insensible. He erred on the side of caution as a general rule and so far it hadn't steered him wrong -- well, not in a few years at any rate. He was also capable of incredible attention to detail, such as the slight wince Emily gives as she speaks about the substance she'd scanned and the manner she rubs the inside of her wrist.
His eyes follow the motion, a hand emerges from a pocket and gestures. "It retaliated?" He takes her wrist, unless prevented, to examine it, the Chorister's fingertips cool, and gentle for all that they were workman's hands. "Do you think she might listen to someone else? I could come with you, try and reason her into--" Whack.
Owen lets go of Emily's wrist, his attention captured like the others by the apparent domestic spat between -- huh -- Priest and companion[?].
[Isaak Pabst] Isaak had a front row seat to the spectacle, too bad he didn't really have the type of personality to appreciate it. Meanwhile, someone else did, he felt the racket now. He tried to resist, and he succeeded. The yelling didn't quite subside but it was more or less controlled. Isaak kept grip on things as he moved closer to the woman, glancing over at the man from time to time. Usually, he wouldn't interfere in the bickering but he was in such a good mood that he didn't want to see others fighting. He was the cheery sort, never down, and he stayed as such even after seeing the exchange.
"No problem, miss, and young man. Are you quite sure you're fine, miss?" First the women, then the man who'd just been attacked. "Do you need any help? Though I think you shouldn't provoke a woman in distress like that." Yes, he wasn't above lecturing a guy who'd just gotten smacked with a cane, though he maintained a happy and calm demeanor nonetheless.
[Solomon Ward] Solomon might have seen worse things coming. Guns are scarey. Evil spirits forcing the walls to bleed are bad. Ginger children disturb him. Some times the night coughs up boogey men and you have to put down your book and get the shot gun and the ammo box marked 'special' that you keep in the kitchen cabinet, next to the rosemary, the salt, the Ramen noodles, pasta sauce, and the switch blade.
But getting wacked across the thigh by a cane (its like a bad flashback to seminary school no less..) by your blind, fragile companion. SURPRISE!
Now he's cracking up. Losing it. Children don't laugh this hard at cartoons and bad jokes involving the consumption of solidified nasal mucus. Its bad enough the man ignores his thigh to clutch his sides, fingers digging into his own ribs as he attempts to breath. Getting called young man only makes it worse. If one where to know Solomon well he might be losing his mind. It was out of character in the extreme.
He can barely get the words out to Isaak "No, sir... it isn't...like that. She's jewish..and ate a piece of....corn dog.... and is mad cause Jesus didn't save her on the spot... I told her we shouldn't have bought the things"
Rule number One to laying low. Dont make a scene.
[Emily] Owen motions for her wrist and Emily offers it, pulling the sleeve of her sweatshirt back a bit. There is nothing to find, no abraisions, bruises or cuts. If anything, there's a little tremor from her body registering the cold that she doesn't quite think is sufficient to force her indoors, not just yet.
When he lets it go, Emily tucks her hand back into her sweater.
"Not really? I can't explain it very well," was all she could offer Owen. Emily hadn't experienced Paradox, before Goopy, or countermagic, before Goopy, so she was at a loss for information and language.
The priest was laughing, almost doubled over, so she wasn't so worried about him after all. Wary, sure, but not worried.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley listens to the exchange, quiet, and just gives Emily a nod when she offers up the additional information. This, she presumably already has from the Euthanatos.
She's watching Israel and Solomon - Solomon, who is laughing so hard she might think he were under the influence of either drugs or the Ars Mentis - and suspecting that they will approach her soon. Ms. McGowen is getting used to being randomly spotted in public.
"Those two are Awakened," she tells Emily and Owen, quietly. "Just got back into town. The priest is a Chorister, Owen. You might want to make his acquaintance sometime."
[Owen Page] She can't explain it very well; he just gives her a tiny smile, there and gone and nods minutely. She's an Apprentice, she's Newly Awakened -- nothing makes sense yet, he remembers how it feels all too well. There's no push for information forthcoming from the blue-eyed Chorister who is then informed that the cackling Priest is one of his own Tradition.
The shift in demeanor is instantaneous.
The boy's spine stiffens; his jaw clenching tight; cool afternoon air misting before his face when he presses a breath out; outwardly just more aware of those around him, inwardly; there's a fission of unease. "Oh," he manages in verbal response, watching Solomon with great intent, now. "I'll do that, sometime."
But not right now, seems the unspoken.
[Israel Cohen] Isaak [his voice: affable, cheery - apparently not easily put off - and older sounding, yes, a bit of a scratch to it, the marking of times passage over long used vocal chords] is asking if she is well: In truth she looks a little lost. Uncomfortable with her sudden response, her sense of dislocation. Either way her immediate response is lost when Solomon doubles over laughing: It is, indeed, so very out of character that she actually jumps slightly, dark eyebrows sweeping upward, hazel eyes widening, heart rate briefly spiking... all around surprise. Then her features relax slightly as do her shoulders: Relief. And in an on-going wave of shifting feeling, surprise becomes relief becomes something like muted joy. Such robust laughter is not something she hears often in her companion. To hear it now, even under these circumstance4s, pleases her and her expression softens into a slightly lopsided half-grin that is underscored by the affectionate contentment in her eyes [one way mirrors, now - no good for looking out but sometimes there is plenty to see within]. Reaching up a hand she rubs a knuckle along the slender slip of her nose and shakes her head. "Oh, hush... it's plain un-American to never have tried a corn dog." Then she turns her attention to Isaak - not with a look, of course, but she turns her face towards him and her blind eyes settle somewhere.. around.. where he'd spoken last. The smile lingers on her lips, but some of that sense of being out of sorts resurfaces. "I'm fine.. really. Sorry to disturb you with such a display... ah... would you like a corn dog? I don't think we'll be eating these..."
------
[Per + Awareness, now that she's actively paying attention.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily] This pair of Awakened, the new ones she does not know, have made Ashley's expression shift. Now Owen's spine straightens. Emily's brow furrows and her shoulders round a bit against the cold, which is sticking its fingers through all of the knitting-holes in her sweatshirt, needling her ribcage and squeezing her muscles taught and tight.
Conversation falls away between the three of them and she wraps her arms a bit more tightly against herself. A few more moments pass and Emily reaches down to run her hand over Zane's head, mumble something quietly to the shepard. She is not particularly a pet person, but Zane is a welcome distraction, a good way to diffuse the tension.
Then its a furtive look to gauge Owen's mood, and a skeptical look across the way at the others.
[Isaak Pabst] Isaak nods contently at the offer, he wasn't one to refuse gifts. Especially those of free food. "Yes, yes! If you don't mind. As for that, don't worry, happens to the best of us!" With that, he extends his hand to take the corn dog, careful about the fact she was blind but not patronizingly so. Disabilities weren't something to feel sorry about, people made do, he knew as much. In fact, he sort of enjoyed his own. Still, he looked at Solomon with a mixture of glee and worry, happy to see he wasn't in a bad mood or anything of the like. "Is the young man okay, though?"
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley notices the tension from Owen, and it earns the young Chorister a puzzled glance to the side. More often than not, Ashley fights with the other Hermetics she meets: her parting with Basil was hardly a warm, fuzzy thing marked by feelings of comraderie. But she usually -is- cheered to hear about other Tradition-mates in the city.
"Something wrong?" she asks him, with another look in Solomon and Israel's direction. Finally, she remembers to raise her hand and wave, instead of just standing there staring.
[Israel Cohen] She pays more attention to the old man among them and it pays off: The reaction is subtle but there for any who are decently perceptive - a brief narrowing of her eyes, not in displeasure but as if scrutinizing something. A bird-like motion as she her had cants slightly to one side: Curious.
"Oh the.. ah.. 'young man' is fine. Quite fine." She dimples slightly to hear Solomon referred to as a young man, and while she speaks she is turning to face Solomon again, reaching out with one hand to step forward slightly and find him again. Her hand comes into contact with a cloth covered elbow and she again moves from there, apparently repeating earlier actions to find the last corn dog still in his hand [and something else, briefly, flicker-flash, just at the inside of his wrist. tap-tap-press.]. Then taking the corn dog she turns in the direction of Issak's voice again and holds it out with a polite, small smile - not at all cold but subdued. As if there had never been a scene at all. "Here you are... buen provecho, yes?"
[Owen Page] He makes a concentrated effort to relax his stance, and stop his jaw from clenching together hard enough that a tiny facial muscle ticks sporadically in it. He likely doesn't get much further in terms of convincing others than bringing his reaction down from clear unease to mild agitation. "No," he lies; lowering his gaze from any so that it touches the ground at his feet instead.
"Nothing. Just been a while." Since what, he doesn't further explain, but he does not the manner in which the Orphan hunkers down against the chill in the air. "I think I might head off, warm up." He does manage a tight-lipped smile the Hermetic's way.
"Find somewhere less busy." Emily is offered unverbalized invitation in the brief manner he catches her gaze before he turns to reclaim his belongings.
[Isaak Pabst] Isaak nodded for a moment before realizing she'd probably miss that anyway and he was being insensitive. "Yes, thank you very much for the food." With that, he starts on the corndog without a second thought. Food was food, he wasn't picky. In a matter of moment, the corndog, greasy as it was, no longer existed. "Well, I'm sorry for forcing my company upon you two. Take care." And he moved to leave, he wasn't going to overstay his welcome, though maybe he already had for accepting the food. Ah well.
[Solomon Ward] "I'm fine, thank you. Just found it strangely humorous is all", he said to Isaak. He's managed to straighten by now, and gain back most of his bearing. Some of his dignity might be a tad lass, but such is life. His hand was offered to Israel in her such, and to the subtle gesture she placed against his wrist he stopped.
Solomon isn't very good at hiding things. The dead pan expression and often stern look is the natural expression of a man that is quit difficult to shock, the rigid demeanor a combination of upbringing and natural personality. Its never an actual attempt at deception, to hide what he's thinking . The priest is as easy to read as a book.
Right now he's judging. Eerie, almost dangerous but with out any reason to look so. Some thing hidden just beneath the skin, a single piece of recognition filtering through the eyes. Its the expression one might have seen zealot wear, some time ago in days gone by and years of lore, when Christians stared down strangers in far away places and considered converting them. Occasionally by the sword. "Yes, well, good evening to you"
He returned a small wave to Ashley, but didn't seem likely to intrude given her present company and the young mans expression.
"To the car now, or you care to walk some more ?"
[Ashley McGowen] The look Ashley is giving him is a little knowing, perhaps. Sharp, as her eyes watch him, note his tight lips: perhaps she's remembering what he told her when she visited him at the church, and is connecting the dots.
Solomon waves back to her, but he and Israel don't approach (she's perhaps a little relieved; the Hermetic is a bit easy to overwhelm when it comes to company.) And Emily and Owen appear to be moving off together, which earns them a sidelong look from Ashley. Wondering. Popular girl, Emily seems to be, but she doesn't really spare it more thought than that.
"I'll see you guys around, then," she says, scratching Zane between his ears.
[Israel Cohen] "No.. you didn't force anything." There is a certain hyper-awareness of the older man now, but her tone is genial in its placid, low-pitched manner. A lingering temperate smile, though just as Solomon seems intense now; unapologetic in its silent zeal, so too is there a core of something bittersweet and sorrowful in the tiny woman, hushed beneath the surface affability though the surface expressions are by no means a lie. "Thank you for being kind enough to check."
Not many, these days, would do that, after all.
Her hand lingers at Solomon's wrist, perhaps taking calming comfort in the tactile connection, perhaps using it to center her sense of space once more. Isaak moves off and she listens to the sound of his gait, accented by his cane, then nods to the Priest. "The car? I'm good to go now..."
And so... they go.
[Emily] Emily catches the look Owen throws her way, and nods a little. It is a quiet thing, but does not escape the sharp-eyed Hermetic's notice. Little does, Emily expects. She says her goodbyes to Ashley, and Zane (who is still a bit of an afterthought [a pet person Emily isn't]), and moves over to where Owen is picking up his things.
There's a small smile and a little cant to her head (where to?). As they wander away, she does cast a look back at Ashley, at the others, but Emily isn't saying much (already following Owen's lead, there) for a few moments more.
[Isaak Pabst] Isaak smiled at the woman's words before she parted and set on his way again. This time he was headed in the general direction of the magi, though not on a collision course by far. He wasn't twirling the cane around again though, simply humming a tune which sounded like 'Crazy He Calls Me'.
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