Talkin' 'bout the boys

[Emily] The meeting had gone as well as Emily expected: someone besmirched someone else's Traditional aims; someone said Technocrat and raised everyone's blood pressure; the boys had been silent, leaving the girls to do the heavy-lifting of interacting with the other Magi. Politics. She hated them. Awakened politics even more than the international politics that surrounded every waking day of her childhood and adolescent lives.

They stick around to chat with Israel about the medical data, and then Emily and Riley -- who entered together -- leave, together. Two tall, dark-haired, techologically apt, twenty-somethings with their messenger bags, sharp attention, and likely paired headaches.

Emily suggests Chinese for dinner and invites Riley over to unwind from the ever fun Chantry-visit. If the other geek girl approves, they swing through a market in Chinatown and fill the basket with odd greens, tofu, some neat sauce-fixings, and a block of tofu.

Back at Emily's, it's amazing how unIKEA her flat is looking now. Riley's influence has toned down the Swede-modern flair that Chuck's gift brought forward. And the pictures on the walls add splashes of color, structure, and personality to a space that had been empty just a few weeks before. Owen's gift, the rocker, has a throwblanket draped over one arm and a book resting in its seat. It's obviously used, obviously loved. It fits into the space so much better.

There are fresh tuplis in a glass mason jar in the middle of the table, a bright and cheerful Provance table cloth adds some old-world flair and distracts from the harsh lines of the fold-away table. It's beginning to look a little more like home, except the lack of certain expected furnishings (still no sofa).

"Make yourself at home," Emily says, flicking on the lamps at the switch by the door. She steps out of her shoes and carries the groceries toward the kitchen. "There's milk, juice or beer in the fridge. Wine's in the pantry. I can make tea or coffee--" It's perfunctory; by now the Vdept knows her way around Emily's kitchen as well as the Orphan does. And Emily is easy going about sharing the space with Riley.

[Riley] It was a difficult meeting for the VA towards the end, though perhaps not for the reason anyone would suspect. Aspersions were cast vaguely in the direction of her chose Tradition, questions were raised, and Riley.

Riley happened to glance back at one point to see a dark-skinned woman standing in the corner. She looked vaguely familiar, but that's not what had the Italian woman's dark eyes widening as she very quickly looked away and willed herself to stop thinking about the woman. And the eight-legged creatures desperately trying to reach her.

She's removed from that, now. They're not in the Chantry and they've gone to the market and they're in Emily's apartment. It's peaceful here, calming. There is furniture and personality and the stamp of Emily Littleton where a few weeks ago the apartment was a blank canvas.

Her black and white Converse high-tops are left behind at the door, her bag left atop it, her hoody bundled on top of that. It makes a nice little self-contained pile. Minus these details, Riley is dressed in a light blue peasant top with white flowers, the sleeves falling just past her elbows. Her jeans are the same bootcut she usually wears, but a darker, grey wash. Or maybe they were black once. Her socks are yellow and pink. Riley Poole loves color.

"Thanks," she says. The tension she'd shown towards the end of their visit to the Chantry has vanished, and she is once again the laid back, almost even tempered woman she very nearly always is. In the kitchen, she doesn't go for the booze, doesn't ask for coffee or tea. She finds a glass and pours herself some water from the tap. She doesn't linger in Emily's way as she goes about readying homemade Chinese food, but steps just outside the kitchen and leans against the nearest solid object.

"Man, if I never go to another one of those meetings, it'll be too soon."

[Emily] Emily's busy to one side of the sink, deftly wielding her Chef's knife toward some vegetables and far less agitated now that significant time had passed since they were stuck at the meeting.

"Ditto," she echoes, trying out the slang once again. It felt odd in her mouth, but it might help her assimilate better over time. "Every time I'm at that house there's either a meeting -- which rarely end well -- or some horrible act of violence."

She's not joking, however light her tone is and however stable her wry smirk seems. Em's being level and serious behind that affable exterior.

"I wonder if we can work something out so we can just send Chuck and Owen, and get them to take notes for us," she offered, looking up from her work with a conspiratorial smile. "Think it would work?"

[Riley] Riley takes a sip of her water. Locks of hair slip into her face, and she jerks her head rather than reaching up to tuck it back. It'll fall forward again, but at the moment she's content to watch Emily chop vegetables.

And laugh.

"Yeah right, after that scene today? Hardly any one spoke up. It was like being back in high school."

[Emily] She glanced up at the other girl for a moment, then back down at her work. The amusement faded, slightly, but it was nothing worrisome. Deft hands continued with well-practiced motions. Emily did not cook from a recipe, or with measures. Everything she was putting together now was from memory, from scratch (or nearly so), and comfort food of one form or another.

"I can only imagine," she said, when Riley mentioned high school.

Emily turns away to hand a few things on the stove. Many things go into her one big soup pot -- chicken broth, mushrooms, bamboo shoots, sliced chicken, red chili peppers, black peppercorns, some strange pickled something that Emily had explained as just don't ask. She stuck the lid on top and turned back to Riley.

"Hey," she asked, conversationally. "Have you heard of anyone grouping up? At the last meeting, Ashley wanted everyone to join cabals." The word was foreign, still, and neither Apprentice likely knew its full meaning.

[Riley] She shifts her weight, this time using her hand to push her wavy hair behind her ear. Her mouth quirks to the side, and she tilts her head. The mystery of the strange pickled thing will have to wait for another night.

Then she sort of gives another laugh. This time, it's not so infectious. Her smile is self-deprecating, the sound that makes its way out of her throat almost sardonic.

"Like I'd even know? The only people I hang out with are you and Chuck. Very very occasionally I run into Owen. Even more rarely I run into other mages. And I haven't talked to my Mentor outside of class since February." She doesn't mention that she doesn't speak up anymore, or that she's counting down the days to the end of the semester. "So unless any of you guys are caballing it up, I've got nothing."

[Emily] ((Something you're not saying, love? Per + Aware ))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Riley] [contesting? hahahaha]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Emily] Riley doesn't mention it, but whatever she's not saying is spoken clearly in the space between them. The Orphan looks up for a moment, calm and deeply blue eyes seeking her friends features for a moment. It can be unnerving, something Emily well knows after her extended association with one Mr. Page, but it doesn't last. It doesn't push too far, tonight.

"See, I figured they'd be in and out of your pockets, too," Emily says, not directly addressing whatever it was she'd seen in Riley's carriage or expression. "A couple weeks after I Woke Up, suddenly the whole city's crawling with mages. Pretty much everyone I met, for awhile, was Awake." She rolled her eyes, out of (mostly) feigned irritation.

"It's taken me a long time to settle in to a group of people I trust and would want to work with. You, Chuck, Owen, maybe Kage...."

Emily's voice dropped off here. She was slicing bell peppers and onions for another dish, focused on her work and not overly scrutinizing Riley.

"I had a Mentor, sort of," It's complicated, that tone of voice says. "It didn't really work out, and then he left," there's more the story, Em's expression gave a little away. A sadness at the corner of her eyes, quickly swept away with her forearm and easily blamed on the onion.
"I think I'm going to work with Owen now, though, actually." She said it as if it were still undecided, still a bit of a surprise to her. (After all, it wasn't "official" just yet.) Then the vegetables went into a hot pan with some garlic, and it was Riley's turn to opine for a bit.

[Riley] "Yeah," she says in a way that sounds like she completely understands. She doesn't, not completely, but she guesses. And she can relate. Riley feels much the same about Jon. Sort of Mentor, complicated relationship, except he's not gone. He was at the meeting today, and Riley stayed behind to speak with Israel without so much as a glance in his direction. Awkward, that. The way neither of them will go to the other and say the words. It's been two months since Riley has said a word to Jonathan Kincaide that didn't have something to do with databases and design.

"I feel the same way. I really like you guys. Haven't met Kage, but if you like her I have a feeling I probably will, too," she adds with a grin, turning to lean her back against the wall, or her backside against the counter, whichever is more convenient. Almost from the moment she met Emily, and even Chuck, she's felt close to them. They meshed well. Especially with Emily, Riley can tell this is one of those lightning-strike friendships that will last.

"I had a feeling you would, though. With Owen, I mean." Like how I thought you'd be with Chuck, she thinks, doesn't say. Sometimes what is gradual to some is abundantly obvious to those around them. "He suggested I ask Chuck to mentor me." She puts it out there gently, delicately, like she's sliding a smooth stone across the table for Emily to inspect and she's worried the Orphan might think it's just a rock.

[Emily] They could relate; really, that's all Emily was trying to say. That Riley is not alone in the confusion of Awakening. That she's not the only one trying to figure things out, moving in, rebuilding, rethinking, reworking. It's a constant process: redefining self, seeking center.

Regarding Kage: "I doubt she'd want to group up," Emily says, oddly thoughtful about that point. The knife stilled; Emily even set it aside for a moment. Laid her palms against the side of the counter. "She's an Orphan. Been one far, far longer than I have." Emily's teeth find her lower lip, then release. "She was there for me from almost the beginning; if she asked me for help, I'd go in a heartbeat.

"She's good people," Emily had said this before. Would say this again. Would hold to it whether or not she joined a Tradition herself; whether or not she got pulled into the politics of the Chantry. Orphaned was where she had begun; it was what she might one day return to. There was nothing wrong with it.

"You'd probably like her," a smile now. Warmer.

Riley slides something out into the conversation, carefully. Gently. Emily doesn't seem like she's going to respond to it for a moment, but her brow is furrowed in thought as if she's weighing it carefully, turning the idea over in her mind until its edges smooth and she can see it for what it might be (what it is).

"What do you think of that idea?" she asks, first. There's an opinion, of course, but it's withheld just now. Emily's eyes find Riley's, blue to brown, and wait on the Adept's reply. There might be a small smile behind the curiousity there, if she looked hard enough for a clue as to what Emily truly thought.

[Riley] [percept + aware: I'm lookin' I'm lookin'!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Riley] Whatever is in Emily's blue blue eyes, Riley misses. If there's a smile, or a thought, or an opinion, it's kept within the depths of those eyes. Not that it would color her judgment either way.

Riley sucks in a breath, lets it out on a sigh, her eyes going to the pot on the stove for a moment, as if the words she's looking for might be written there in the steam.

"Well, I think it could work. Maybe. I mean, I think I'd definitely want to see how it goes before I commit to anything. When I Awakened, I didn't realize how many others there were in Chicago. With Jon things got so complicated so fast. I'm pretty sure that wouldn't happen with Chuck. He can be arrogant sometimes, but mostly he's..." Simple? "Uncomplicated. And we get along really well, which is always a good thing."

[Emily] Set aside, for a moment, that they're talking about the man Emily is seeing. Her boyfriend, if it was really fair to assign a label to something so new and unformed. She dries her hands on kitchen towel, turns the heat under the aromatics down to low so she can talk with Riley without being distracted by dinner.

It takes a little effort to speak plainly, to strip away the small deceptions that comes so easily (thoughtlessly), that protect Emily in private moments, keep her from giving too much away. This is not a time for self-protection, she knows it, and so she pulls away those natural talents and leave herself bare.

"I think you're already good friends," she said, for starters. There was a note of encouragement underlying her tone, but no judgment to be found. "That you work with him; that you trust him -- and that's vital." Emily doesn't go into why, but there's a solemnity to it that both Apprentices would understand. The Awakened world was not as simple, as safe, as the one they'd left behind.

"Chuck's a good guy, and he will always have your back, and if you think you can learn from him, work with him on this level? Even better." Now there's a smile, soft and tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The Orphan looks down at the counter for a moment, shrugs a bit, and lets that uncomfortable honesty pull back to something more familiar. "I'm not too far down this path myself, but if there's anything I can do to help, just ask." This gets an easier smile; it's meant, but it's almost meant to not push Riley in any way.

[Riley] They could easily be talking about something so mundane as what courses by which professor they should take in the fall. In a way, it's exactly like that. Weighing the merits and flaws of changing a course mid-semester.

That's what it's like, discussing Chuck Carmichael, Emily's boyfriend, Riley's friend and partner in crime. It's that easy to move off the topic of Jon and onto the other Virtual Adept, the Cypherpunk. So Riley doesn't tell Emily how things got so complicated, and Emily doesn't tell her any more about her former Mentor.

"He really is," she says when Emily says Chuck is a good guy. He helped her after that mess in someone's basement. He bought her milkshakes for weeks after someone else slammed a door in her face, cutting her off from joining her friends. He really meant well when he bought IKEA for Emily. Good to a fault, is Chuck Carmichael, and at last no longer a card carrying member of the Friend Zone.

"I'll give it some more thought before I make a final decision. And thanks," there's that warm friendly smile. "I really appreciate it. I'm really glad I met you and Chuck. You've both been a big help for me to adjust to this new facet of the world."

[Emily] If Riley wanted to have a night where they barred the boys from coming over and laid bare their experiences with their first mentors, then Emily might tell her more about Jarod. Might tell her inviting a co-ed back to his place for tea turned into a one-night stand; how that one-night stand turned into a habit; how that habit started toward a friendship; how he left before they ever found a word for what it is that they were (becoming).

She never said I love you; she'd left him at New Year; she'd pulled back and watched him walk away, swept out with the tail end of Winter. Emily might tell Riley -- on the right night, after enough alcohol, with no other witnesses at all -- how she'd finally found someone to trust with the one secret she told to no one, and how they'd left not a week later.

If Jarod ever came back, it would be more than awkward. She was on the cusp of joining the one Tradition he could not abide. Taking a Mentor he would never accept, never understand. And Own had strong opinions about what little he knew, so a friendship wouldn't flourish in that acrid soil.

There's a lot they don't say, even if it's written in the subtle cues just beneath their skin. There's a lot they don't see in one another, but that's okay. What they do share is enough. This is something she'd re-learned with Jarod, practiced, honed; something she had to remember with Owen (patience); something she had to set aside completely with Chuck.

The Cypherpunk was a singular entity in Emily's life and, to be fair, he was likely better in tune with Riley's personality and past. There were reasons that Emily thought they'd work well together, encouraged it. He needed someone who was good to a fault, loyal and steadfast and quick to defend him. That might not turn out to be Emily.

"You two have been good for me, too," she says, turning the heat up under the vegetables and stirring in some chicken to stir fry. There's a pungent black bean sauce that goes (sparingly) in once the meat's set up a bit. "It's nice to have people around who understand, but who are friends first. Aside from an early-Chuck rant that started with Oh, sweetheart and proceeded to call the others-- what was it, pointy hats?-- I haven't gotten any pressure to choose one way or another. That's been nice."

[Riley] For the time being, Emily appears done with the prep portion of making dinner. Riley steps into the small space of her kitchen, sets her by now empty glass of water on the counter, and leans back against the sink. She doesn't cross her arms over herself, doesn't close herself off by posture or by expression or by action. In fact, Riley moves her hands to curl her fingers over the edge of the counter as she leans. A quick jerk of her head, and her hair is out of her face, back just enough so that it doesn't obscure.

Riley couldn't be more open in her posture right now if she tried, and she's not even trying. This is just who she is.

There are things left unsaid between the two brunette women. Both have barely scratched the surface of who the other is or what they've been through, but what they know only ever seems to draw them closer. Riley doesn't mention an attraction for Chuck. There isn't one. She's far, far more likely to put him in a headlock and forcibly ruffle that unruly hair of his than anything even remotely romantic. And right now he's Emily's boyfriend. Emily may not know it yet, but Riley values that connection, protects it in others, will bend over backwards to stay out of the way. And Owen isn't even a topic of discussion.

Riley respects and values the friendship she has found in the younger woman currently frying chicken in a pan. She doesn't push or pull or try to make her give up information she isn't willing to give. And she's the last person to try to push someone into a Tradition, whether they want to go to it or not.

"Heh, that doof. He really needs to be taken down a notch of twenty every now and again." It's spoken in jest, no hard feelings, no real annoyance. Between the two of them, it's likely Riley is the better to fit that role. Maybe that's Riley's role for all of them. Keeping them all grounded, reminding them they can be better without being arrogant, that they can be open without letting all the secrets out.

"You should go where you want to be, Em. Do what makes sense to you. If you do that, I won't make anymore snap decisions about who should teach me all this stuff."

[Emily] There's hot and sour soup, chicken with black bean sauce, and Emily will quickly prepare a greens and tofu dish just before they sit down to eat. For now, it's quieter in the kitchen. They can just talk without any small activity pulling her attention away.

Riley jests and Emily chuckles; the Adept brings an easier demeanor forward in her, with a more resonant laugh and a brighter smile. She's nicer when Riley's around, as if the older girl's charisma was infectious.

"I'd tell you we have a deal, but it's not fair to you," Emily says, lifting an eyebrow slightly. She'd already made up her mind.

"I've found my way home," she says, and it's resonant (reverent) and wonderous. This is no small miracle, however plain it seems or sounds. The smile spreading across her features speaks to that.

"It's your turn now," she adds, reigning in the joy behind her smile just so. She was still processing her seeking (Rapture. Raven-heart. Reverent. Relentless. Rekindled.) but whatever had happened had left her stronger, more sure and stable. Even in the wake of the argument with Owen, who was not a topic of discussion at the moment.

[Riley] Emily says she's found her way home, and she practically glows with the admission. Revelation. Riley can't help but smile for her, be happy for her. She's not envious, though. Emily has found where she wants to be, the direction she wants to go in.

Riley has known where she wanted to go since she was six and her father put an Atari joystick in her hands and left her alone for an afternoon. There have been changes, alterations, slight deviations of the course, but for the most part she's gone in a straight line toward her goal. Working for Best Buy may not be the end of that road. Working in tech support, hacking, none of that may be where Riley eventually stops, if she ever does stop going forward.

"Oh," she says, stepping past Emily and finding plates. She's smiling in a way that is diminished compared to Emily's, who has recently come into her own understanding. Riley smiles like a woman who knows who she is, is more or less settled and aware, grounded. "I know exactly where home is. It's just a matter of finding the right teacher. Maybe that's Chuck. It's probably Chuck. We'll see. Do you have chopsticks?" She asks, helping to get things ready for them to eat.

[Emily] Of course she has chopsticks, pretty wooden ones with designs on the thick end and neatly tapered points. They set out dinner without much delay. Soup, vegetables, chicken dish -- Emily hasn't made rice. Maybe Riley would ask after it, and maybe Emily would share a six-year-old's insight (Rice is the stuff your parents make you eat, so you're too full to eat the good stuff.). Maybe she just hadn't wanted to dirty another pot -- or, given the state of Em's apartment when Riley first saw it, it was reasonable to conclude that Emily might not even own another pot.

Regardless, they had food that felt like Home to Emily. And a friendship that was anchoring her ever more to this city in ways that didn't frighten her, didn't keep her up at night.

"You've got plenty of time to sort it out," she says, sliding into her chair once they're both settled at the table. "Chuck doesn't really push, much. So you can take whatever time you need."

There's a slip, there, faint but still present. Emily's well-practiced at hiding such things. Their talk moves away from mentors and magic and meetings (oh my!) and on to the sort of simple, mundane things that cement a friendship. Life was, after all, about far more than merely Awakening or any particular spiritual struggle. They couldn't know that it would be the last, easy-going and amiable dinner for awhile. Or what was coming to test their friends and friendships, as soon as the next night.

For now it was a tasty dinner, in a nicely decorated corner of her flat (thanks to Ms. Riley Poole), with good company and absent boys to gently torment (ears should be burning!).

"To figuring things out," she offers, lifting her water glass in a toast. And if Riley agreed, she'd let the glasses clink and drink deeply.