Tea and candor

[Emily Littleton] The apartment is taking shape, turning from a blank slate (and oh how literally she means it) to a place that one might imagine calling home. It is not yet Home, it may never be, but it masquerades as such far better than in previous weeks.

An invitation is extended to the Hermetic, who bore the brunt of most of the organizational headaches for the Awakened community, who was warmer than she thought, who was a better friend (even in passing) than most of the people who wandered in and out of Emily's life. Come on over, if you like -- it started. My place is only half together, but I can make tea -- it offered.

When Ashley arrives, the building is a mostly maintained brick walkup. The buzzer at the front gate is broken, and Emily told her to just come on up. There is no elevator, only a stairway that leads to the second story of flats. Emily's is 2F; the door is slightly ajar.

The Orphan's apartment is wood-floored and not terribly spacious, but the derth of furniture makes it seem far more open than it otherwise would. There are two bookshelves in the living room, and before them a couple carrier boxes still waiting (begging) to be unpacked. There is a beautiful wood rocking chair, with a throw blanket draped over one arm and a book (The Witch of Portabello) in its seat. There is no sofa, no television, no arm chairs. Clearly a work in progress. What is most impressive, though, is the unbroken line of dark-framed pictures that extends across one wall, wraps the corner and continues down the next. They are small, individually, and the frames are mounted so that they just touch edges -- each contains a single photograph or clipping, each annotated in Emily's careful hand with a city and country.

Ashley could spend hours studying that progression of pictures, but now her attention would be drawn on to the small dining space, where a suspiciously IKEA-looking table was surrounded by equally IKEA-esque chairs. The table was draped with a cheerful linen and topped with a mason jar of fresh flowers, which softened the Swede-modernity somewhat.

And Emily, herself would come readily when she knocked (there was no bell to ring), with a smile and a little wave. "Come in," she'll say, and pull the door open a little more.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley's heard from several other magi (mostly her father, the Akashic, and her Euthanatos compatriots) that things happen in cycles. And they do, sometimes. When she arrives at Emily's there's a bag tucked in against her hip, small and undecorated, and several months ago a different Orphan visited Ashley's apartment for the first time and brought the gift of tea.

They're Awakened. Perhaps she views it as a chiminage, of sorts, even subconsciously. You bring a gift when you visit the home of another.

When Emily answers the door and invites her inside, Ashley is shuffling about outside the door, gaze wandering up and down the hall. She invites other people to -her- home more often than not, and this is one of the only apartments she's been to. It's with the air of one unaccustomed, of someone mildly uncertain and running through potential topics, that she waits.

"Hi, Emily. Thanks," she says, stepping into the place once invited. And when inside, she embarks on a quiet study of the room's furniture (IKEA, Swedish, modern and severe and softened by the throw blanket) and how barren it looks. She's a little surprised, and it shows; it's not how she would have expected to find the abode of someone who gives off the sort of feel that Emily does.

After a few seconds she remembers to extend the bag. "I brought you tea. From a shop downtown. But I, uh, it occurred to me just now that you might not have stuff to prepare it" - properly - "so if you don't, sorry."

[Emily Littleton] The trappings of her flat (home? [not quite yet]) were at odds with Emily's personality, and Ashley wasn't the first to notice. Most of the defining pieces had been gifts, without any input or advice from the Orphan herself. One of the boys had done significantly better than the other in picking out substantial moveables for her place.

The surprise catches Emily's eye, and she sheepishly counters: "I know, I know. I'm still working on getting it put together. I've never had my own place before, so all I had was my futon when I moved in."

There's a little laugh, self-deprecating but easy, as she closes the door behind Ashley. Emily's shoes sit neatly beside the entryway, but she doesn't ask Ashley to take hers off.

The gift, chiminage or etiquette or well-wishes, whatever it was or represented, Emily accepted it gratefully and gracefully. "Thank you," she says, with genuine warmth. Not the thin-lipped but still smiling thank you the IKEA boxes had received.

"I can put the kettle on, if you like. Don't worry, I've a teapot, a strainer and glass or ceramic mugs, which ever you prefer," she added, quickly. The Orphan would not have survived long in the company of their mutual Verbena acquaintance had she been less finicky about things like tea.

"It's nice to have another tea-snob around," she admits. "Owen keeps making me Lipton from a tea bag, and I haven't the heart to tell him is tastes like steeped cardboard."

[Ashley McGowen] Emily doesn't bid her to take her shoes off, but Ashley does anyway, tugging the knots in the laces free and wiggling her feet out of the canvas and rubber shell. She leaves them near the door, near Emily's, as she steps further into the flat.

While Emily talks she's looking at the pictures, studying them, reading the story that they provide. A mage and her Will are the embodiment of a concept, of a Word. Of a story. Ashley often finds that it plays itself out in some way in their homes, in the way they impress themselves upon a space that is theirs alone.

"Sure, I'd like some," she says as she peers at a few of the images. Emily's mention of tea-snobs gets a grin, a quick fleeting thing. "And a ceramic mug, please. Morgan tends to bring me tea from coffee shops, and I feel the same way about it, but I don't really have the heart to tell her that. A couple of people here actually know how to make it properly, though."

There's another look back to the pictures, and investigation of the other objects within the flat, though she never actually goes so far as to touch anything. Curious (hungry) thing, Ashley is. "How've you been? Get things figured out with Owen?"

[Emily Littleton] There are very few pictures of Emily, but it does not take long for Ashley to surmise that the pictures are arranged on a timeline of sorts. The oldest are marked Manchester, England and then they range as far as ChengDu, China, Tokyo, Japan and San Francisco, United States. There are many other places represented, many times and people threaded through, but no place seems to stay prominent for very long. The last two pictures in the series are a picture of the Chicago skyline, and a broken frame (the glass has been pieced back together with strong tape) with a picture of two feathers: one white, one black.

The more carefully Ashley looked at any one image, the more deeply personal it seemed. These were the secrets that Emily didn't share, didn't even allude to, spread out across her wall so innocently. There's a newspaper photo, in a frame marked Prague, Czech Republic, of emergency vehicles parked on the banks of the river. It's followed by another picture from Manchester, England, a collection of high school age children in private school uniforms. Among them is Emily, looking faintly haunted, in a blazer that fits none too well.

But those are then, and this is now:

Emily finds her way to the kitchen, pausing only slightly to pull one of the chairs away from the table enough to be inviting. She fills the kettle, lights the burner, and sets the vessel down with practiced, easy movements.

"I've never quite gotten used to taking tea in paper cups," Emily admits with a softer smile. Tea seems like something they could discuss as almost equals. "And I've been well. Good, really."

There's a pause, but it's just a little hiccough. Ashley tends to push at things others would leave alone. Something in Emily can relate to that, too, and so she shrugs at it rather than bristling. "We're figuring it out. I'm meeting him later on in the week for some some prep-work toward joining the Chorus."

Emily does not yet know this means shooting hoops in the park. She doesn't know what will come afterwards, either. The Orphan does know where she's stowed her mugs, and she brings two down along with the teapot. Sets them on the counter. Measures out the tea with an unmarked spoon and a careful eye. Waits.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley does tend to push at things that others would leave alone. At times she doesn't even seem to be aware that she's doing it, much as she seems to be unaware of whether or not her close inspection of these photographs is invading Emily's privacy. They're out here in the open, after all, out for anyone who cares to look and put everything together. Ashley bothers to hide very little of who she is: she assumes that others do the same. She assumes that if there is a subject that is barred from discussion, they should be assertive enough to say so.

She's remembering, now, to pull off her coat, to shrug it off of her narrow shoulders and cast about for a place to put it. She settles for a place near the door, over one of the doorknobs. Her frame is still a little too small, a little too thin. Sinewy and hollow in a way that it wasn't when they first ran into each other last November. But a lot has changed since then.

Emily mentions, though, that she's joining the Chorus, and the Hermetic looks over at her with a twitch of the corner of her mouth. Something approaching a smirk. "Chorus, huh? I called it," she says, and it's not without some pride that she says it. "What did he say to convince you?"

Emily is taking down mugs, measuring out tea, and Ashley wanders away from the photographs so she can stand closer to the Orphan while they talk. Close enough that she can read lips if it's necessary (with some words it is), close enough that Emily's voice doesn't give off a faint but disconcerting echo in the empty flat.

[Emily Littleton] The accent likely doesn't help Ashley parse the Orphan(for now)'s words either. The mouth shapes are slightly different, too.

Ashley hides very little; Emily gives little away. It's possible (probable) that the Hermetic learns more about her from a cursory survey of the pictures on Emily's wall than she has in all of their conversations to date. At least about where she's been, who she's been, and a vague hint of where she's headed.

I called it.
Emily's hands still at whatever she's doing. She looks up and over at Ashley with a thinly-veiled smirk. It blossoms into a grin at the note of pride (approval).

"It's not so much what he said," Emily offered, tentatively at first. As if she was considering each word carefully. "I think it's just where I'm meant to be, and he let me figure that out on my own. It's what I kept coming back to, when I think about which group to join -- though some of the Chantry politics of late have made me wonder if I'm better off as an Orphan..."

This is lighter, almost jesting, but with just enough gravitas to hold (worrisome) weight.

"We get along well enough, and can talk about these things without too much distraction or drama. It's a beginning, at the very least." She looked over at the stove to check if the water was boiling yet, then removed the kettle from the burner before it started screaming.

[Ashley McGowen] "Chantry politics applies even to orphans," Ashley says, stepping over to just inside the kitchen. There she leans a hip into the counter, rests an elbow, would look casual and relaxed but for the perpetual tension that finds its way into the lines of her back, her shoulders. It's not nervousness. It's readiness, the sort of preparation to fight or flee that is ingrained after long years of training and Awakened life, the sort that becomes so natural that it's subconscious.

She's not a warrior or a soldier, but sometimes she carries herself a little like one. A Tytalan can do no less.

"I'm glad you have someone to teach you. I don't know Owen too well, but he seems like he's reliable. He isn't a coward," which, from Ashley, means something. "And you'll probably be caught up with him sooner than you think, if you've already been Seeking. It usually takes most apprentices a bit longer than what you've managed."

It's with some approval that she says it. An acknowledgment that Emily has managed something out of the ordinary.

[Emily Littleton] Emily is slowly becoming more alert, more ready. Give it another few more months and she'll start carrying a similiar readiness, a taut awareness to her frame. Give it enoguh time and she will likely be, like Owen, like Ashley: less startled by every thing that comes her way.

The Awakened world was not as safe or straightforward as the mundane one.

"He's... solid." The younger woman seems to consider that word for awhile. It's not what she wants to say, but it's close enough. She's not sure that there's a word in English for what she wants to say, or a word at all. "Steady. But I get the feeling he wouldn't hesitate to protect the people he cares for."

She's pouring the hot water (just below boiling) over the tea, letting it steep while they spoke.

"And thank you," Emily smiles. "I think. But I have a long way to go to catch up, I think. Even if things seem a bit more settled, now. I went to see Owen after, ah, Seeking and I quite stuck my foot in my mouth. He seems so much better adjusted to all of this," a little chuckle. Just a small one.

Emily pours the tea out into two mugs, straining the leaves from each as she pours. One is offered to Ashley, the other she keeps for herself.

"Any way, I've not told many people about joining, the Chorus that is. Owen says we'll go down to the Church soon... and make it official." There's a gently lifted eyebrow, and the shadow of a smirk to that. It had taken Emily a couple days to pick up on the joke (she'd had to come down after her Seeking first), but she passed on the quiet look at Owen's sense of humor with open amusement.

[Ashley McGowen] She quite stuck her foot in her mouth. Ashley had suspected that the Seeking had something to do with whatever happened between her and Owen. The way people interact is part of her environment; the way they relate to each other is, too, and so she is naturally curious about it. She wants to know, can't leave questions unasked or unanswered.

"Official?" she asks Emily, raising her eyebrows as she watches the Orphan pour the tea in to steep. "I'm surprised you guys would have to take vows in a church or something like that. Well, I mean, I guess I'm not that surprised, but I didn't think a lot of members of the Chorus necessarily were affiliated with the church anymore." She muses, over this.

"Anyway, of course Owen's better adjusted. You've only been at it for a couple of months, really. Just starting to wrap your head around the fact that the world isn't what you thought it was." She remembers having that confusion very well; she also remembers taking a while to adjust to the fact. Though she had some additional complications that Emily does not have.

Hermetics shed their old lives, their old selves, when they Awaken and begin their studies. For some people the manner of Awakening can't help but provide a solid divide, a clear schism in identity.

[Emily Littleton] "I met Owen at St. James," Emily explained. "Well, it was the first time we really got a chance to talk, so I"m not counting the night at the Chantry..."

The Orphan, for now, brought her mug toward her center, let the scent of the tea permeate her senses. This was comfortable, for all Ashley pushed. It didn't seem to knock Emily off-center today; it was an improvement.

"I'd gone to the Church to see if it still fit, in any way, in my life." She focused on the rim of her tea mug for a moment. Thinking. Reflecting. "I met Owen, and we talked a little. I asked about the Singers..."

Emily sipped at her tea, then offered Ashley an abrupt change of subject and a smile. "This is quite nice! Thank you!" Ahh, a fellow tea lover and a new tea to enjoy. The flat was feeling a bit more like home every day.

"After that we ran into each other a few times, like people seem to do in this city, and when I got back from Manchester we talked about it a bit more definitely. Maybe, soon, I'll stop being surprised by every new thing. I think that should be my next goal," she floated the idea past the more established mage with a smile.

[Ashley McGowen] "You're welcome. It's one of my favorites," she says, accepting her mug from Emily and listening while the Orphan talks. She doesn't sip from hers yet, just holds it by the handle and keeps it flat against the palm of the other hand.

The Hermetic can't be said to put people at ease. She's not a people person; she doesn't go out of her way to be friendly or acclimating or even to reassure them that she cares when she asks them questions (much of the time, she doesn't, and to say so would be disingenuous.) Yet most people are surprisingly open. Maybe they're aware that she'd offer the same, and as freely, were they to ask questions of her, or maybe the well-meaning and compassionate just feel inclined to feed the hungry. (Less inclined to threaten if you offer it those small bits.)

"That's going to take a while," she tells Emily. "Because there are some pretty strange things out there and we haven't even encountered that much of it in Chicago yet." There's a bit of a smile as she lifts the mug finally, tests it carefully before taking a longer swallow. "Besides. Once it all becomes commonplace you'll start missing the days where things used to surprise you."

[Emily Littleton] There's a sea-change, here. A turning point. Emily has offered up some things -- the pictures on the wall of her flat (Ashley is the first who's really looked at them, who's studied them at all), a small look at her friendship with Owen -- and now it's her turn to ask some questions.

"So how do things look from your side, then?" Hesitant. Emily isn't quite sure what the formalities and strictures are in this new society, but she hazards that even Ashley's rank might need to talk now and then. Or just to opine. "How's what you and Wharil laid out at the meeting working out? I don't really have much perspective on the things you're trying to get sorted, but it sounds like it could be frustrating work."

She doesn't say: Especially with arguments like this weekend's at the Chantry. She doesn't say: With how hesitant every seems to work together. She just asks, inexpertly, and hopes for the best.

[Ashley McGowen] "It seems like it's working out all right," Ashley says, and here there's another sidelong look toward Emily. Maybe she's noticed the way Emily and Riley and Chuck and Owen often seem to be found in one another's company. Maybe Chuck said something. Either way, it's almost a certainty that she's passed her thoughts on what's going on there along to the Euthanatos.

"I sort of figured when we tried to push people that they just needed to be given permission to go out and do things. I didn't think Willworkers would need a lot of direction," Ashley says, after a few moments. And there is indeed frustration in her tone. A little contempt, maybe, though not at Emily per se. It's not politic, what she says there, but Emily commented so she replied.

"But it seems like things are starting to come together, or at least Wharil thinks so." Ashley, the more skeptical of the two, the more cynical (only in some ways) is reserving judgment. "There are a lot of things that need attention but I was glad Israel called that meeting."

She was relieved, in fact, though she doesn't say so.

[Emily Littleton] There's a sidelong look, but not a question. So it gets answered with a glance of Emily's dark blue eyes, looking over the rim of her mug. (Who me? I'm not up to anything.)

"There's a lot of energy getting expended on one problem or another," Emily observes, with a little scrunch of her nose (disapproving) and a slight shrug. "But then everyone gets caught up on posturing, egos, or rehashing stupid shit that happened before..."

Oh, look, a candid opinion. The Orphan, Apprentice, bottom of the heap, had noticed a problem with the power structure, too. And it wasn't too far from Ashley's contempt.

"... momentum falls away, and then it seems like things stew forever. I'm glad we had a meeting about the Blue Horizon stuff, but I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner -- like while I was away.

"What do you think of Israel?" Emily asks, seemingly all curiosity and devoid of motive here. But that's not true. She was at the Chantry this weekend, witnessed the altercation between Basil and the elder Orphan. Emiliy was curious, too curious for someone merely inquiring after an emerging leader.

[Ashley McGowen] Posturing and egos, Emily says, and the Hermetic just shrugs. It's something she's used to, being a Hermetic - and yet somehow their Tradition manages to be incredibly organized, reputed to be the most organized of them. "It's only until people figure out where they stand in relation to each other," Ashley says. "It's going to happen. Until there's a hierarchy established in Chicago. And then after that, most people will know where they stand."

And hopefully the stupid and spineless ones will be put in their place, her tone says.

She takes another sip from her mug and looks thoughtfully around the kitchen, absorbing what there is to absorb in here too. Much less detail than the pictures outside, but she likes to notice things. Likes to put a picture of a place together in her mind. Then Emily is asking about Israel.

"She seems like she has a lot of experience, which is appreciated," Ashley says, after a moment. "And she's insightful." There's a thoughtful pause as Ashley orders her thoughts, notices Emily's curiosity but doesn't think much of it - she, after all, questions incessantly. She does wonder, though, how much she should say. In the end, it doesn't stop her. She's honest. "...Very convinced of her own righteousness, and too willing to martyr herself," she adds, after a moment. "I get suspicious of people who claim to altruism. They're never nearly as selfless as they want to imagine themselves. Tends to make them more dangerous, more often than not."

[Emily Littleton] Emily's kitchen is well put together, considering the relative incompleteness of her flat. There's a copper jug beside the stove, filled with wooden spoons, a narrow whisk, and a few spatulas. The counters are clear and uncluttered. The kettle perches on the stove, as if it's home were there. As if it never left. There's a neatly folded towel beside the sink. It's clean there, ordered, but it's the room she's most moved into.

"I was there," Emily says, letting on at last to what had motivated her to ask. "For the argument with Mr. Gillingson this weekend." This was the only mage Ashley had heard Emily describe as Mister this or Miss that outside of a meeting. It's possible that she doesn't remember Basil's name.

"I was curious as to what you thought, since you've likely heard what happened by now." Emily's tone seems to hold approval, for how Ashley had answered. It's not overt, but it's clear enough in her expression and easy-going tone that Ashley should have no trouble picking up on it. There's a pause, but it's not quite long enough for Ashley to get a thought in. "I don't think it was the best introduction to any of them; and I almost asked Owen if I'll have to learn some sort of God-fu when I join the Chorus."

There's a smirk, but it's half-hearted and not entirely warm. Emily didn't really like the idea of punching anyone (at this moment [there were some moments when it sounded like an excellent idea to her, but not now]).

[Ashley McGowen] Emily brings up the argument with 'Mr. Gillingson' and Ashley's eyes roll heavenward. Briefly, but they still do. Ashley, presumably, can't state her feelings on Mr. Gillingson, the Seventh Lightning Strike of Jorvika and whatever else, but to anyone who observes those first few seconds, she doesn't have to. "Yeah, Israel called me right after it happened. It could have been handled better," she says. "But it was bound to happen at the chantry sooner or later. It's even beneficial in its way."

It's particularly beneficial to Ashley, who would much rather have the Quaesitor occupied with a vendetta against a rival cabal than observing her too closely. Conflict happens. The flexible benefit.

"I'm not going to get involved. Basil's dealings are his own, as far as I'm concerned, until it becomes an issue of chantry safety," she says with a shrug. Another sip from her mug, which is rapidly draining; she uses it to fill up pauses in conversation, points where she needs a little time to mull over her words before she says them.

God-fu, says Emily, and the Hermetic grins. "I think they're pretty much like any other Tradition. You've got a couple of people with a martial bent, but most of us aren't action heroes."

[Emily Littleton] "Would you like some more tea?" Emily offers. It's a polite thing, easily observed. Whatever lessons or parenting had shaped Emily's etiquette, hospitality was clearly hammered into her on one level or another.

"I suppose when you have a handful of people who can shape the world around them, there's bound to be conflict and outbursts?" Emily ventures, seemingly content to let it lie for now. She'd had time to calm down, after what happened. She didn't show favoritism to either side, either. (My father works for the Embassy.) Another thing that had been all but beaten into her at an early age. Staying the hell out of it, when needed.

"In many ways, the Awakened world doesn't seem all that different. Just that everything's turned up to eleven, and every threat is that much more immanent." Oh, Emily. How little you know. Just the next evening, she and Owen would be closer to that truth than she'd ever hope to be.

"I wanted to thank you, again, for being patient with me. And pushing me. It's not always easy, but I feel like I coming away from our conversations with something new, or something to pursue -- it's been really helpful."

"I hope your cabalmates push you, too. Well, in helpful ways that is."

[Ashley McGowen] "Please," she says, when offered more tea, and sets the mug back down on the counter. While Emily goes about that she folds her arms, raising a hand to tug thoughtfully at her lower lip as she leans back against the counter.

"There's conflict anytime. Trying to avoid the fact is kind of pointless, and harmful besides. You don't come to any greater understanding of your Will if you don't allow other people to challenge you," she says. Mild amusement when Emily says that it's not that different, just turned up.

She might have something to say to that, but then Emily is thanking her for her patience, for pushing her, and the Hermetic almost seems surprised for a beat or two. The kind of surprise that says that she's more used to people getting irritated with her for such things. "You're welcome," she says, after a moment. "I didn't realize it was helping that much. And...yeah, Wharil and Gregor have been helpful. Now that we've sort of figured each other out. Putting a cabal together isn't really easy."

[Emily Littleton] Ashley seems surprised, but Emily's used to being pushed, prodded, picked up and taken out of her comfort zone over and over again. Usually by surreptious relocation, not usually by demons in the park or electrified Hermetics or strange winged imagery taking over her mind and seeming so damned real. There's part of her that thrives on that challenge, that is greatful for the break from the growing complacency of being in one place, pursuing one goal, for two and a half years. She's Dynamic, and that's manifesting in her magic now as something Unrelenting.

She pours them both more tea. Ashley first. There's a lightness to how she handles the teapot, to the single finger that weighs down its lid. She learned to take and pour tea in an Asian home first, and the mannerisms come forward at odd moments.

"No, I can't imagine it would be," she says, handing Ashley's mug back to her. "If finding a mentor has been this... complicated..." There's a little shrug. She sips at her tea. They're beyond her expertise now, and soon the quiet starts to build.

Before it can grow to sizeable, Emily catches herself with a little oh! and excuses herself for a moment. When she comes back, she's carrying a fabric-wrapped something with quiet a bit of heft to it. The fabric is a soft green color, with black and white lines that trace out interwoven and overlapping leaves. She hands this to Ashley, and it is immediately clear what's hidden within: a book.

A book with a curved corners, with a gently arched spine.

"You asked me once about the stories I'd grown up on. I found this in my room of the old house, back in Manchester. I thought you might like it. It's easier reading that you're used to, I'm sure..." She's rambling, and Emily takes up her tea again to quell the sudden social nervousness.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley wasn't much of a reader, before she Awoke. It would probably surprise the magi she knows now, because it's what she spends so much of her time doing, immersing herself in stories and Words, shuffling through the hundreds (thousands?) of books she keeps lining her walls at home. It's the closest she comes to touching something she's lost, rifling through pages and watching how words blend into a whole (like a symphony,) lying on a concrete balcony in Berlin recounting old tales because they had to leave their books at home and the showmanship involved.

So she isn't as familiar with a lot of the stories people know growing up as one might expect. She raises an eyebrow when Emily extends the gift forward, accepts it and pulls the fabric away. "I'll read just about anything," she tells Emily, slightly amused, when the Orphan worries that it might be too easy. "And I haven't read a lot of kids' and young adult books that a lot of people talk about."

And, once it's free of its wrappings, turns the cover over in her hands and flips through the pages, running a thumb over the curved corners, getting a sense for what's within.

[Emily Littleton] It's an old book. Old enough to be heavy-bound (leather, not oil cloth) with many of the letters rubbed off the binding. Old enough to be typeset in an unfamiliar font. Old enough to have pictures that look more like ingravings, woodcuts, art pieces in and of themselves, than just illustrations or figures.

It's a book of Celtic and British folklore, retold by local historians and members of the oral traditions. A people's mythic history, in their own words and tongues. It's not the mythos that Ashley follows, but it's from a place of similar depth in the Universal Unconscious.

"I grew up reading the stories of whatever country we were living in at the time. My father said it would help me better understand their cultures, be a better ambassador for our own." There's a little eyeroll, but it's mixed with a fondness as well. "But these are the kind of stories I came home to. I thought you might like it. It's hard to find things like this here."

[Ashley McGowen] "Thank you," she says, already flipping through the pages and reading the headers at the beginning of each story. "...This is probably fairly valuable, actually. I probably know some of these already, but they tend to change the more they get retold," and there's enthusiasm there, of the scholarly sort. "I did a section on the evolution of folklore as part of my thesis, actually."

She restrains herself from that particular tangent, though - she's at least aware that the vast majority of people do not find supermemes and social evolution nearly as interesting as she does - and glances back up at Emily. "Thanks. Are you sure you want to give it to me?" This, only because Emily did mention her father, that he gave it to her.

A beat. "Did you grow up in an embassy or something?"

[Emily Littleton] Ashley seems pleased and it brings a warmer smile to Emily's features. It touches her eyes this time, brightening them noticeably.

"I'm sure," the Orphan says, with certainty. "There are so many books in the house that no one even looks at, much less reads anymore. If you'll enjoy it -- and it even sounds pertinent to your studies -- then it'll find a better home with you than with me or locked up in the study."

She'd asked Gregory before taking the book. They'd agreed that it was time for some of the things in the house to find new homes. This was just one of them items that would be reshuffled. And it hadn't been her father's, but that was a question for another time.

"In Embassies, or Embassy housing, or just whatever hotel room was available in whatever city we were living in at the time." There's a pause, a natural hesitation at opening this avenue of her life up to another person. Emily's eyes strayed to the living room, then back to Ashley. "I saw you looking at the pictures earlier? They're all from places I've lived. All either photos I've taken, or my parents have, or were taken in the timeframe when we lived there."

She takes a swallow of tea. It hides the nervousness, somewhat.

"We always went home to Manchester. It's where my mother's from; where my godfather and brother lived. But I don't really have a hometown, or memories of going to school with children my age. I didn't have my own room, or play sport, or any of that. I've lived in Chicago, now, for almost as long as I've lived anywhere else. We were in China a little longer, but not in the same city."

[Ashley McGowen] "I'd wondered about your accent. I'm usually very good at placing them," Ashley says, closing the book and folding it in between her elbow and hip. Emily's gaze wanders over in the direction of the living room, back toward the photographs, and Ashley's follows. She doesn't really need to look again to recall the images, to recall all of the places Emily seems to have visited and lived in, imprinted on her consciousness with clarity.

Emily adds that this is almost the longest she's lived anywhere, that she seems to be settling, and Ashley takes this in with furrowed eyebrows as she looks over her shoulder at the mostly-empty apartment. Emily is freely offering all of this, and it doesn't go unrecognized - that she's sharing information she usually doesn't. Ashley doesn't quite understand why, but she soaks in the details regardless.

"I kind of find that surprising," she says. "I sort of expected...you struck me as having a place in mind that you wanted to go back to." Hesitant, because she isn't quite sure of how to describe the feel of Emily's resonance, the essence of her Will that she leaves behind; all she knows is that it makes her think of Boston.

[Emily Littleton] "I know it doesn't look like I'm putting down roots," she says, as if the Orphan could read beyond that furrowed brow and into Ashley's thoughts. "But I've not owned more than would fit in my car -- which isn't that big -- since I moved here. It was all in few carrier boxes, my suitcases, and my futon when I got here."

She glanced at the table, chairs, at the rocking chair (of of these things is not like the others) and the still mostly-bare bookshelves with a humoring smirk.

"All of this stuff is hard for me to take in, at times. It weighs you down. I couldn't walk out that door tomorrow, if a phone call came that said I needed to. I'd have to find something to do with these things, some way to get them too Good Will or just leave them behind for the landlady to sort out." The latter didn't seem to please Emily, who liked to leave without loose ends or unfinished business.

"And I do, have a place in mind that I think I'd like to go back to. But every time I go home, it's different. People pass, or leave, or change. The home you return to is never quite the one you left," is near enough to a quote, but Emily has jumbled to wording somehow.

Emily sets her mug down on the counter. There's a little rasp of ceramic mug against ceramic tile.

"You asked about Owen, earlier. About what he'd said that made me choose the Chorus?" Emily's mouth purses a bit, and her brow furrows. "He feels like Home. I'm not sure how to explain that in any logical way, or in less subjective adjectives. But he feels like someone I could trust and be comfortable with trusting." Like Family, of her choosing but not her birthright: Emily is not bold enough to say so just yet.

"But I made a horrible mess of trying to tell him that, so please don't go repeating it." She smiles, again with the lopsided smirk and the hint of self-deprecation behind it.

[Ashley McGowen] People pass, or leave, or change. Ashley raises the mug and takes a long draught from it at those words, blue eyes wandering away from Emily and toward some indeterminate point in the living room. They return again in a matter of seconds, listening, intent. If she is surprised that Emily is being so open it doesn't show.

Most people are, if you give them time. It doesn't require a particularly sympathetic demeanor - she certainly does not have one. But sometimes people talk because the words need to be said, because they were just waiting for someone to say them to who is receptive. She takes them for what they are. Often she forgets to give anything back.

"I don't usually repeat what people tell me," she assures Emily. She raises her mug again, thinking on the other words. There's some momentary amusement, wry, before she adds, "If it's hard for you to do, chances are that means that you're doing what you should be doing."

[Emily Littleton] "Well then, I am most certainly where I belong and doing what I ought to be doing," she says with no little amusement, though it is contained. It is so often contained, and whatever Emily is giving away so freely tonight there are volumes upon volumes that she is keeping away. (Some times the easiest way to deceive is to give someone exactly what they think they want.)

"Except offering you something more than tea." A slip, that was. And she's momentarily embarrassed by it. "Would you like something to eat, or to sit, or..."

This falls away, too. Perhaps the younger woman is nervous, now, after how much she's disclosed. Perhaps it is another segue, to move away from building up the quiet spaces that end so surreptiously in Good bye between these two. There's nothing overtly awkward, tonight, to pull her away from the conversation, save that Emily doesn't know what to ask, now, or where to steer things. And that leads then back to quiet.

[Ashley McGowen] Emily's been self-conscious, throughout this entire discourse. Has explained herself and part of where she's come from, and once Ashley has made that statement that verges on reassurance, there's a coming quiet. Truth be told, Ashley doesn't know where to steer conversation either: it's difficult, when it's not work, when other people aren't asking her questions.

"I'm fine," she tells Emily. "If I wanted something, I'd ask."

There's a pause, after those first few seconds tick away. Ashley drains the rest of the tea she has in her mug and reaches behind her to set it on the counter, and then there's a sidelong look to Emily out of her right eye. Perhaps she has other inquiries, other things she noticed in the photographs that she would ask about. But she doesn't tonight.

"One thing you might want to start doing now that you have a place here is set aside a room where you can do Willworking. Or a place you can concentrate in," she says. "It'll make it easier to get into the mindset. Let me know if I can help with that."

[Emily Littleton] "Like a sanctuary? Or a study?" Emily asks. "I will definitely have questions about that."

Clearly neither Owen nor Jarod had spoken to her of Sanctums, or their purpose in magic. Soon Ashley might be asking pointed questions, not unlike Nathan's, trying to get after just what mystical information they had imparted. The girl was growing, that much was certain, but not with overmuch guidance or any true oversight.

Their conversation continues, until it finds a natural breaking point. Perhaps they no longer want any more tea, and there is no place comfortable (yet) in Emily's for two people to sit and talk. Perhaps it just grows late, and they both have school schedules to respect. Or a phone call pulls one or the other aside -- these things happen, and there's no magic to them.

What will surprise Emily most about the evening, when she looks back at it, is how much easier it was to talk with Ashley. Maybe she'll pin the credit (blame) for that on her Seeking; having taken in both aspects of her Avatar, made peace with herself, she has less to hide. Maybe it will go to Riley, or Owen, or Chuck, new friends inspiring her to trust a little more deeply, clearly. Either which way, it's with genuine warmth (and a little surprise at that) that she bids the Hermetic adieu, with a "Thanks for coming by," and a "You're welcome, any time you like."

The flat, though it is Emily's own, is not for her alone. She can't imagine taking up so much space (all 650 square feet of it) on her own without extending it also to others. It is decadence, after one has lived in half of a subletted bedroom or out of a string of hotel rooms with three people crammed right in.