[Solomon Ward] One way or another he'd contacted the apprentice. Mundane or other wise, the man knew how to locate people, she wasn't actively hiding, and their rather small community of mystically adept people could typically be counted in ones head. The conversation would have been brief, ambiguous, and to the point. Some thing the lines of 'We need to speak, when you can. About what happened. The House ? Good'.
Straight and to the point; Much like the priest.
He'd parked his car in its usual spot, which was to say several houses down along the side of the road or where ever was appropriate in said neighborhood. He never parked in front of the house or in its drive. The Big Black Bag was slid out of his back seat and shouldered, his pocket watched checked to ensure he was punctual, and head way made for the Chantry.
One day, I'm going to put locks on this damn house and issue keys. Security system. Hungry spirits... some thing... , passed through his mind as he entered the front door and took a look around. Being as one entered in the sitting room he moved to one of the chars, sat his bag beside it, and sat down to wait.
[Emily Littleton] It's a hot and humid night. The city seems to have gone straight from cold and dreary to mid-summer with no thought of lingering in the middle ground of Spring. Emily had not lived here long enough to know if it was always this way or if this year was, as Riley called it, a year of extremes. What she did know was that Father Ward had requested her presence for an audience, and when a Priest that truly weilds the power of the One True God beckons one ought answer.
Wearing a light pink flush to her skin, Emily finds her way to the Chantry by automobile. It is not her preferred method of transport, but she can drive and often does in the colder months. Growing up in places with far better public transport options has poisoned her against the idea of individual transportation. It seems selfish, inefficient, unweildy. Usually she takes the El, walks several blocks to the station on each end of her journey -- it gives her time to think, and time to be outside in whatever the city presents. Tonight she arrives and only has the short walk from her curbside parking space to the Chantry door to decompress.
Her hair is down, framing her face with dark curls, curls which have already fallen into waves due to the heavy humidity. It is not raining at present, but the air is thick with it. A girl could drown in nights like these, swallow up her soul and never surface again.
There's a knock, and then a second one. Just two. And Emily tests the door to see if it's unlocked tonight. It's always a surprise to find the house unsecured, but she's since learned that mundane threats are the least of the Magi's worries. If it opens, she steps into the foyer and says, like last time, "Good evening," into the likely-empty space.
This time it isn't empty. The priest has arrived before her, just before from the looks of things.
"Father Ward," she says, hands clasped before her like a well-mannered school child who has come for recitation. There is respect in these small courtesies, though the other Magi may not see or name them. "I hope you are well."
[Solomon Ward] Some things about the sorcerer-priest are ever unchanging. Black shirt, black slacks, black shoes, black belt. White collar. The heat and humidity had an obvious physical toll on the man in the effect of a slightly damp shirt and a sheen along on his forehead, not yet worn off by the house's air conditioning, but he other wise didn't seem to affected by it. This was a man that typically didn't use such conveniences as AC, hot water heaters, television, and many and varied other products that day to say people took for granted.
Humility and poverty. He lived it to a degree that modern clergy often didn't consider, and it insured him to the lesser hardships of life. It shows by how comtorable he is despite the climate.
"Good evening, Ms. Littleton" he responds, standing as she enters the room. Old courtesies, oft forgotten in this day and age. The man regards her casual, but there's some thing searching in his eyes. A look that starts with her eyes and travels down, then back up again. Not leering or unacceptable by any means, and its brief. Flicker of the eyes, a quick appraisal. The sort of look that has less to do with the fact she is a young woman and more to do with he being a man used to passing judgment on others.
"I had, originally, wish to speak to you about the incident that occurred in the park. The one with the woman and man. I believe you had a companion with you... forgive my familiarity .. Owen is all I know him as ? Given the events that occurred the other night and their relation, it seemed we should finally meet up and speak. If you are agreeable that is ?"
[Emily Littleton] His eyes flick over her, and there is much to pass judgment on here. But it is hidden away, beneath a careful composure and the Old World propriety that was as much a part of her heredity as eye color or last name. Not that she always lived up to it, no, but that she could draw on it as needed to bolster and support.
She is a young woman, in her early twenties, newly Awakened and almost ready to complete University. She bears no outward signs of trauma, no grandiose personality flaws or flairs. She wears her Faith silently, keeps it close to breast and threaded through her resonance like a whisper. When Solomon and Israel had first arrived, the girl had shined like a beacon of quintessence, but she is dimmer now. Depleted. And new enough to not recognize the sacrifice that represents.
He will pass judgment as he sees fit, though the priest will likely have to ammend it many times over as he learns more about the quiet Orphan (for now). She does not readily give up anything.
"Owen Page," she supplies, filling in the gap in the priest's knowledge handily. "I believe he is affiliated with St. James' in some capacity." This is what she says, but she also know more. That much will not show in her features just yet.
"And yes, I am agreeable." There is a pause here, an unvoiced request to see if she might take a seat on the sofa. Her eyes flick from there back to him, and if he gestures with a hand or nods his agreement, she will relieve them both of the duty of standing politely in the living room.
[Solomon Ward] "Ah, my manners. Please, please, have a seat. I can also gather you some refreshment, if you require ?", though there is a sort of awkwardness in the offer. The man is, himself, not overtly familiar with the Chantry proper. He knows the library, the basement, this room, and the upper room where he recovered for several days before leaving. That about sums it up. Whether the kitchen is stocked, and with what, is up in the air. He is not a man for simple social calls, and so has never sat around the kitchen sipping cocktails and swapping lies with the young and the hip and socially fortunate.
It's always business. One has business with Solomon, or they do not.
"Yes, Mr. Page...that's it. St. James you say ?" followed by a 'hmmm; sound as he thought things over in his head. "Has he been around lately, and in good health I hope ?"
It's an honest question, though the man can't disguise the fact that he cares just as much to find and interrogate this person as he does genuinely hope that her acquittance, who suffered a horrible experience by what he has heard and gathered, is physically and mentally well. He is also absolutely unabashed that his dual natured question is obvious.
He takes a seat across from her, literally. He'll even move a chair if need be, but the man seems to have a peeve about making discussions with others in situations where the speakers are left at angles. Its..strange, but then again so much of their lives are, aren't they ?
"Please understand that as much as I've thought about speaking with you, I never actually laid out a detailed list or plan or such. Such things always strike me as overtly clinical, and human nature takes things beyond planning any way. So...
Please tell me about yourself, if you don't mind. I understand you are religious, but what exact faith ? How long have you been awakened ? What have you learned thus far ?"
[Emily Littleton] "I haven't seen much of him of late," she says, keeping her reasoning for this to herself. They'd met less than a handful of times this month, and their interactions had ranged from near indifference to an obviously intimate friendship. Now Solomon has an obvious desire to speak with Owen, and it gives Emily an opportunity to say, helpfully, "When I do see him next, should I let him know you'd like to speak with him?"
Oddly, these questions about Owen are easier than the ones that follow. The priest takes up a seat directly opposed from her and Emily folds her hands into her lap politely. They keep things pleasant, because that's what reasonable people do, but the track of questions he immediately starts down leaves her a little guarded.
Not that she's openly anxious. There's calm in those deep blue eyes as they find his. It's a calm that seems even more sure and certain in the press of adversity. There's a pride and comportment to the tip of her chin, the line of her jaw. She is unafraid, even after the recent events, to look him in the eye or sit immediately across from him.
And so it begins. Telling without telling. She is careful and yet complete-sounding in how she answers his questions. It doesn't appear to be evasion, however selectively her replies are crafted.
"I was not raised in the Church, not traditionally so. My mother's family is Catholic; so was my godfather. He has passed." A pause. It is only proper. "He was not of the Cloth, though I believe you may have had particular callings in common."
She reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear. It draws her eyes away from the Father for a moment. The gesture evidences no worry or other hesitation, though.
"My Epiphany came last fall. Shortly thereafter, I met a handful of the city's Awakened. I learned to read life patterns from a Verbena who has since left the city. Beyond that, I can read the spatial connections between things, sense the physics at play in a given situation, and find weaknesses in some patterns." Life, Correspondence, Forces and Entropy.
[Solomon Ward] "Yes, please do" he'd answered before pausing in order to allow her to continue. Solomon watches her intently the entire time the young woman speaks. His stare alone typically isn't enough to induce discomfort in the average purpose (guilty consciousness aside...), and there seems no intent to do so in his questions. The man is merely bold and forthright, straight to the point. It nearly rivals his ability at politeness, though he maintains the sense of it out of strictest tradition and upbringing.
He also understands the need for privacy, in all its varied details and reasons. Just as he seems unconcerned at the directness of his questions, the man is also either totally ignorant of or completely understanding to her carefully constructed (but essentially honest) answers.
"I see" pausing, mulling it over for a moment. He could understand his own involvement in the situation. Israel's as well, given her particular talents. Ashley was a late inclusion... but Emily and Owen where the first to encounter the Fallen, and the man is attempting to tie it together. They tend to say, amongst themselves, that there is no such thing as coincidence.
Its a universal concept amongst mysticism. Manifest destiny, fate, skins, the Wyrd, what ever you may wish to call it. Regardless of ones religion (or utter lack of it amongst the heathens....), it all tends to draw out to the same prospect....
... Convergence. Power draws unto power. Yes, there are few things as coincidence, but the trick is finding the ties that bind.
"Are you practicing Catholic now or claim membership to a specific faith ? And you have limited, little, or no understanding of the manipulation of the Fifth Essence or matters involving the insubstantial and spiritual ?"
He'll do more than ask questions shortly. For now he needs answers to the little things.
[cricket] [LOL I could probably pull myself together to throw Owen at you if you really want him. :) ]
to Emily Littleton, Solomon Ward
[Emily Littleton] ((The Priest is asking me if I'm a practicing Catholic. ... Why is this familiar?))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] It takes a moment before the young woman responds, and in that moment she looks down to her hands and then back up the Priest. She does not seemed ashamed, or strive to let her gaze fall anywhere but on his features. It's just a contemplative pause, a little hiccough in the rhythmn of their conversation.
"No," she says, plainly. "I am not a practicing Catholic, nor do I claim membership to any particular parish or fellowship. I believe in the One True God, though it has been quite some time since His home was my own." Another Choristor had been told something similar, when he asked these questions of the Orphan.
She stops herself there, for it is enough to answer his questions. And it is time to move on.
"I am not quite sure to what you're referring on the latter, so I guess that's enough to say: No." She smiles, gently. Almost self-effacingly. There is still so much she has yet to learn, and a lot of the language varies by tradition and individual mage.
[cricket] (*dies* I actually enjoy watching people write together, is why I often lurk. But sure, if I can think up a reasonable excuse for his being there, I'll put the little Chorister in for a spin.)
to Emily Littleton, Solomon Ward
[Solomon Ward] The priest nods to her answer, though his hand is moving. Subtly. He's ticking off fingers against his thumb, as though habitually counting something when she answers about her religion. Never mind the new age and modernizing of the Choir, its open doors, and its influx of pagans, muslims, wax witches, hedge wizards, shamans, gays, new agers, and every other yokel who wants to scream out 'my god is your God too!'...
..ok, so alot of them have -always- been there. recently some one gave them hte idea that they mattered... .
There is such a thing as the old gaurd in existence. For being a relatively new member of the Chorus, it isn't hard to tell where Solomon Ward fits into the status qua of the Tradition whole. It also isn't made any easier that the priest does not have a classic 'Tradition' upbringing in regards to magic, and so his lexicon is varied and does not always incorporate terms the standard mage uses in commonly accepted parlance.
She's faithful, but follows no standard church that she admits to - Check.
She has no understanding of the Prime, which means the root of Creation for most Chorusters - Check.
She neither dabbles with, knows of, or understands much about spirits and spiritual dimensions - Check.
So far the only tie in is faith itself, initially, and even that isn't an inclusive.
Wonderful.
"Thank you for tolerating my rather blunt line of questioning. These questions may be painful for you to answer.. and personal. They will be the last I ask of you, Ms. Littleton, but I do require you answer them as honestly and accurately as your memory allows. After the incidences have you suffered from nightmares, deja vu, random fears, malicious thoughts, or other similar activities out side the scope of normal day to day life ?"
A pause, again, before he gives up on the wording of the question in polite context and just says it out loud "Did either entity attempt to gain entrance into your physical form, and if so how did you avoid or reject them ?"
[Owen Page] [Dex + Stealth, we're creeping up and overhearing tonight.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6) Re-rolls: 2
[Emily Littleton] ((Nightmares? Check. Outside of normal operating procedures? Not... really.))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Solomon Ward] [And..countering...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily Littleton] He requested that she answer honestly and accurately. One would naturally assume, he'd meant completely as well. But he didn't say completely, so this is the loophole that makes Emily's answer truthful enough.
Not that lying to a priest is ever acceptable, or withholding information on a serious investigation due to personal circumstances. Lives and souls were at stake, and Emily was still protecting her old hurts. She was young, and this was not the way to exorcise her (figurative) demons.
"Outside of the scope of normal life, for me, no," she replies, and those caveats will likely be the only tell he gets from her. The girl is calm and centered, gives off no clues that she's withholding or selectively steering her responses.
"And, if you are referring to what happened to Nathan, then no. No entity has ever attempted to enter my physical body in that fashion." Again, worded carefully, but this is not where the evasion shows. There are walls here, secrets that Solomon dances painfully close to. They are not of this matter, and they are not for him. Not even for his ears under the sanctity of the Confessional.
[Owen Page] There was reason behind his appearance here tonight. A Tupperware container held the answers, along with a note penned in Emily Littleton's neat script: Owen, missed you at the cook-out. Here are some leftovers from the grill. We should catch up soon. I've a meeting tonight at the House, but am otherwise free. Hope your holiday weekend was restful and quiet, Emily.
Honestly, it's hard to imagine where a man like Owen vanishes to when he does, and he does it often enough for it to have built some sort of mystique into his demeanor when he does appear, such as this evening. The boy's adolescence had taught him skills of survival and subterfuge that most Awakened would struggle to ever possess in the extremity that the twenty-three year old seemed to. He was, quite honestly, a ghost in the night when he approached the house. There was no creaking step on boards, no footsteps or hesitation at the sound of voices.
There was, simply put, no sign of incoming until Owen deigned that there should be.
"...after the incidences..."
"...either entity attempt to gain entrance..."
"...referring to what happened to Nathan..."
His hand grasped the doorhandle, and turned it. It was a deliberate interference into their conversation, his intervention at precisely this point in time. And what, then, of the tall figure that sets foot inside the Chantry? He's broad-shouldered, yet in possession of a lean frame, his clothing fashionable but scruffy, worn out at the edges, much like the soul within. The eyes were dark, almost black without light to show them for their blue origins and the jaw was strong yet shadowed presently with the lack of a razor to it.
Hoodlum had been pinned to him before, when he appeared, features set beneath a hood. The likeness was apt, presently.
[Solomon Ward] He continues to watch the girl, though now its dragging out slightly. The man is obviously going through some thing in his head. Putting details together, jigsaw puzzles, rubix cubes, what ever. Some thing is lining up as it should; On the same note some thing is not. Some thing in her voice, the syntax of how she answers, its timing. It is apparent to the priest that her answer is very literal, and very carefully worded.
He can't prove its an outright lie or one of omission, however.
"You have nigh--- I'm sorry, as I said, that was the last of my questions. Thank you for meeting with me and tolerating the bluntness of which I asked. It is very appreciated, Ms. Littleton."
The priest looks up as the door opens and a new comer steps in. Some where between the door handle turning and his inability to identify the man, the priest's hand has made its way into the left side of his coat. It holds there for a moment as his eyes flicker between the new comer and Emily, and it isn't until some form of recognition on her part that he removes his hand in a near casual manner.
[Emily Littleton] Speak of the -- No, Emily, that is entirely an inappropriate way to lead off this introduction. Solomon reaches for something under his coat and Emily's attention turns sharply toward the door. There's a tightness to her features, for a moment, a readiness that hadn't been there before. Then they relax, soften to a warmer smile.
To say she recognizes the tall man in the doorway is an understatement. The smile is not the same politically polite one she's worn so far. There's a genuine warmth underlaying it, something reserved for a few and not entirely eclipsed by her self-protective senses just now.
Emily stands, perhaps because of the resident tension, or just to keep both men in her peripheral vision at the same time. "Owen," she says, his name coming out clearly but with a resident note of surprise. "Father Ward was just asking after you."
And there, cursory introductions are made in the sweep of a greeting. The two are known to each other by the barest of indices. The girls hands are still clasped before her, and now there is an edge of nervousness that shows. Perhaps because of the conversation they have just been having, or maybe because of how this house escalates tension to a flashpoint without warning.
The apprentice looks between the Choristors, waits on whatever may come of this intrusion and introduction, and then finds her seat once more when any sign of coming calamity has passed.
[Owen Page] Devil.
Well, perhaps in another time and place it might not have been so very inappropriate. He knows, Owen, he knows that slipping this way into the Chantry is setting himself up for a disaster. The twitchier of Magi might have fired first, asked questions later. Perhaps some Devil-may-care part of himself enjoyed that prospect, maybe it stirred his blood with that lingering desire to crash and burn.
Owen pushes back his hood and there both Solomon and Emily alike can see he is no man's Devil, but perhaps someone who has been very recently tormented by his own inner version. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion, skin paler than normal and for a beat, were she quick enough, the Orphan may have glimpsed a passing flicker of something near to shame skipping through those dark eyes that made their study of her, then of the Disciple.
"Owen, Father Ward was just--"
"I heard." He attests, his voice surprisingly gentle for all that there seemed an aura of quasi-hostility about him, an ebb and flow of intensity like surging power lay nearby. The Initiate studies the Priest for a moment, features unreadable, before a hand emerges from a pocket and is extended.
"Father." The grip that grasps his hand is firm, rough; strong.
[Emily Littleton] ((Per + Aware: j00 okay?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Owen Page
[Solomon Ward] Solomon stands as well, again in his archaic manners. Emily stood, therefore he stands. It's rather simple, rather outdated. She makes a form of round about introduction, and until that point Solomon has said nothing. He's too busy appraising the new comer. Eyes travel over the man. Features, style of dress, the placement of feet and its measured potential towards violence or evasion. Trained eyes search for probable locations to hide weapons, and in light of who and what they are things that may or may not be useful in the arts occult.
Its practice, habit, instinctive, and very, very quick. The only tale tell is the rapidly flickering eyes, which lead back to Owen's own and stare for a long moment. The priest has the look of the crusader about him. Faithful, pious, and not above tearing down those things which may stand in the way of his chosen causes. Not intimidating. Judging.
The priest himself is average, save for that mien of violence that lays under his skin like hidden armor. Average height, average weight, average build. He's pushing the wrong side of forty-five and looks slightly older for it. Crows feet about the eyes, the beginnings of said lines around the corners of his lips. Clean shaved, close cropped hair not quite shaven, classical drab black attire suitable for his profession. By his feet lay a large black gym bag.
Solomon takes the mans hand in his own, giving it the required and polite three shakes up and down. His own grip is similar. Old school enough to be slightly forced in its firmness, but with out strain or the potential of a dick waving contest between men.
"You are Owen Page ? Practicing Catholic, Initiate of the Choir Celestial and recognized official as such by parties within Chicago and by at least Adytum or Presbyter at another location ?"
Straight, and to the point.
[Solomon Ward] (One Adytum or Presbyter, sorry)
to Emily Littleton, Owen Page
[Owen Page] If Emily is trying to read into her friend's current mental state she doesn't have to fight him on it -- which may, in and of itself be enough to warrant concern -- rather, his misery and self-loathing are all but beaconed from his shoulders. Emily may recall the manner he'd fled the scene of the nightclub, leaving his charge, the drunken female, all of them behind as if the Devil were riding his heels.
She hasn't seen him since, and from the looks of things, he's been alone, tormenting himself with his woes, whatever they may be, though he's putting on his best game face in front of the Priest.
to Emily Littleton
[Emily Littleton] Inwardly, Emily is very sure she ought to have left Owen out of this. Perhaps she should not have mentioned his affiliation to St. James so easily. Or given his last name so readily. She was not used to the exchange of titles in this setting, and last time it had come to magical blows.
Her back stiffens, and the lines around her mouth and eyes sharpen. There's a little pull of breath that sets her breathing on a shallower and quieter pattern. Her very frame is tense, now, ready. As if she knows that any moment now, any heartbeat, any split second things will come to violence either magical or mundane.
It's happened before. In this room of this house, and the Priest was there, too.
There's concern in the way she looks to the Initiate, in the subtle tells of how she separates her hands and rubs them on her jeans as if they were somehow damp or tingling. The Apprentice is silent, both because she has not been called upon and also because there's the faintest hope in her head that if she held still enough, if she were only quiet enough, whatever was coming would slide right over her and just keep moving.
[Owen Page] Owen's hands return to his pockets, but he doesn't slouch or glare indiscriminately between the pair of them like a cornered teenager. No, he straightens rather, and looks back at Solomon Ward with a steady, stoic expression, one that quite matched the demeanor he'd had when first appearing. It's something like swearing with a hand atop the Bible, a likeness that does not escape the Initiate -- there, is that a hint of humor edging one corner of his lip for a moment before he answers -- without hesitation.
You are Owen Page, practicing Catholic, Initiate of the Choir Celestial and recognized official as such by parties within Chicago and by at least one Adytum or Presbyter at another location?
"I am, yes. Pierre, South Dakota. Church of the Almighty, Father Peterson. Though you won't be able to check with him directly, I'm afraid. A Dark Singer took out my Praecept." It's the first time Emily has heard him use the old words, those of the Congregation. It's also about as much information about his past as anyone has heard, period.
But he says this much the way a witness might under duress, not defensively, but with quiet hope. That it will be enough, that the dredges of the past won't be stirred further.
[Solomon Ward] Emily's fears are understandable, but incorrect.
Owen's answer is, apparently, sufficient.
The priest does the oddest thing. He kneels, on one knee, head bowed just slightly though his eyes are cast upwards in order to watch Owen as he does so. One hand rests on his bent knee. The other on the ground, fingers spread, for both balance and a symbolism that it holds no weapon.
The act of difference is most contrary. He is a priest, older, and what some phrase as 'more enlightened', at least by such as formal recognition of rank ties to magical accomplishment. All the same, the man is kneeling in front of Owen.
"My name is Father Solomon Josiah Mathias Ward. Ordained priest of Roman Catholic Church. Ordained Knight, of a recognized Guardian Order. Disciple of the Choir Celestial and once archivist of the Undefeated Cabal. My acceptance to the Tradition is probationary. I hereby submit myself to you, as the ranking and recognized member of the Choir within this city. "
A slight pause... He does not sound bitter or distressed by what follows, but he does make himself very, very clear.
"I have been Awakened by for twenty-five years. I am a recognized exorcist by the Church. My submitting to your authority is in regards solely and singularly to matters pertaining the Choir and its attendant laws and traditions.
I can not differ to you in such things as may regard the Church in itself. I can not differ to you in such things as arcane, occult, or spiritual expertise. I will not defer to you in such things as may pertain in my methods of handling the supernatural, preternatural, demonic, or the Judas Conventions. "
"Is this acceptable to you ?"
[Emily Littleton] ((Surprised? Who me? Not at all...))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Something important is happening in the living room of the Chantry, some exchange of titles that presages a surprising show of deference. The fear of reprisal, of sudden violence, has passed and now she is left at the ready, taut and alert for an entirely different reason.
The apprentice, whose past is not known to either elder in any great capacity, has been present for diplomatic exchanges between conflicting countries before. she's been an unwitting ambassador, sitting next to another foreign girl at tea. She's watched countless Embassy dinners, with their nearly nonsensical rituals and traditions. What is happening here she understands, on a base level, but she cannot place the underlying meaning of just yet.
This is the brokering of some delicate balance or treaty, one that does not yet concern her but someday might. The girl's hands again clasp politely in her lap. She keeps whatever surprise or confusion she harbors to herself. Her duty here, it seems, is the same she carries always: to Witness, not necessarily to Understand.
[Owen Page] Emily may well be startled by what happens next, though she may conceal her surprise well.
Owen doesn't. He removes his hands from his pockets and stays them by his sides as the Knight takes to one knee before him and recites words the Initiate is most sure he's had to do a hundred times before. Were Owen of another faction, were he as strict a follower as some of their brethren no doubt were, this deference, this admittance of his former titles and alliances might have invoked an angry, or mistrustful rebuke in the young man looking down on the older's face.
But, he's not.
"It's acceptable."
He extends his hand to help him to his feet, there's some hint of humor again in Owen's countenance, as if he were grimly bemused by these strange formalities. But then, the boy was a Monist, it should have gone without saying that he'd find this utter need to abide by old forms and standards odd, or even on his worst day, depressing. When Solomon is back on his feet, Owen's eyes shift to Emily.
"Emily is going to be joining the Chorus. She'll be my Catechumen."
[Solomon Ward] Solomon nods to Owen's acceptance and stands, with the aid of his hand, before standing with his hand clasped before himself. Once Emily has seated and made herself comfortable, Solomon follows.
There's a moment of regard to Owen's words, and his eyes move to Emily. Again, the potential for judgment is in his gaze, though it goes unspoken. "She will be, or she is ?"
Solomon is not totally surprised, though the girl never thought it may have been important to add. It does add another corollary fact to his earlier investigation of her. Choir... the first three people to encounter this thing, or its handy work, belonged to the Choir. Dr. Atlas and the others broke that tenuous connection as a solid variable, but it was a start...
He makes no further comment about the girl's apprenticeship. He doesn't know either of them well enough to judge, and as they seem to already have an established relationship of some sort it isn't his place to add his thoughts to such in ignorance.
"The local Chantry's member's require a cabal for full access to this house", he doesn't refer to it as an Adytum. It isn't, in the strictest sense of the word, "Have you such ? I ask for purposes of understanding what our rather limited numbers are up to, and the strength of influence or resources you have".
[Emily Littleton] Uneasy, Emily is aware of their attention on her. And now there is no cleverness to hide behind in her half-answers or literalisms. It is harder to hide from Owen, on any given day, and these questions have no indirect answer.
"Will be," Emily answers, then looks over to Owen for confirmation. As far as she remembered, there had been no formal agreement made between the two of them, just yet. There was some agitation to her now, as this was not the forum for forcing what felt like personal not simply political decisions.
She reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear again, and now it registered for the hesitant gesture that it was earlier. Her mouth pursed momentarily as she considered how to phrase something, and then she appeared to speak plainly.
"I have agreed to join a cabal with two others," she said, watching Solomon first and then Owen. There was apology in her eyes when she looked to Owen. "It has been -- is currently -- our intent to ask Owen if he'd like to join. But as I said earlier, we've not seen each other in awhile..."
Her voice faded away, then, and there is something akin to regret in her expression for a fleeting moment.
"Ashley McGowen knows of this arrangement already," she says, regaining her social footing. It wasn't that she was remiss in her admissions to the Priest, no. Emily had informed a member of the Society, which was the original deal when the Chantry ruling had come down at that meeting so long ago.
[Owen Page] Owen doesn't appear flustered when he's asked about the Orphan's actual status, on the contrary, he seems more than willing to allow Emily to field both the questions that come at him, or them, in general. If he's surprised by her admittance about the Cabal, he is quite masterful at disguising it. However, so much of what passes through Owen Page's head remains a mystery, it is no wonder that other Awakened find him frustrating, or worse still, some enigma requiring rooting out, penetrating with the use of their own Mind magics.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, one of the Initiate's talents lay within that particular Sphere.
His taciturn expression, the lack of outright reaction to Emily might strike Solomon as strange, but there was no rebuke in Owen's voice when he raised it again; merely a dose of consideration. "I had meant to join one sooner, but time and circumstance got in the way." A beat, his eyes flit between them.
"That seems to be sorted, now."
[Solomon Ward] Solomon nearly chokes, though whether he's choking back laughter, surprise, shock, or some thing else is hard to tell. There's merely a boggled expression on his features for a quick moment, followed by the clearing of his throat out of some imagined necessity.
She is going to be his Catechumen, but isn't. He is to be her Praecept, but wasn't aware of her joining an outside cabal. Never mind Owen's masterful control of nuisance and expression, Emily had said it aloud. Old fashioned and archaic, it obviously has some form of affect on the priest.
Now, a little less ignorant (not much, but a little...) of their relation, he decides to speak up about it. "What places the condition of time as to wether you are or will be, Ms. Littleton ? This is not the dark ages, and we are neither the Order nor the Euthantoi. Apprenticeship isn't menial drudgery and years of study of tidbits. On the complete opposite side of the situation, it is very, very intimate for most parties. There is a strong degree of trust involved on both parties.
Yours will to be to accept his teachings. Not to a dogmatic fault, but in that he can at least guide you to your understanding of Creation and your spark of divinity in altering it as may be required as a member of the Faithful. Very few mages see Creation the same way... the cloest link you will ever find is master and student.
Mr. Page will be placing great faith in you as well, Ms. Littleton. That you are of suitable moral fiber. That you have the strength to act with compassion and faith under the most extreme potential of persecution, and that you will take all that you learn from him and use it in the name of the One True God as He finds suitable in your calling to Him.
You both appear to be off to a bad start when it comes to that level of communication and trust. Please, don't take this the wrong way... I'm not judging either of you or condemning you for what little I know. I say this out of experience...
.... sort yourselves out"
[Emily Littleton] ((Some dice.))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 8, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Oh no. Some more dice.))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] There's a question, in all of that, and it's aimed at the girl sitting across from the Priest. The one who, up until this moment, has been so very calm and collected, who has more or less answered his questions and entertained this inquisition of sorts. No longer. No. Something he has said or inferred or implied has had a disasterous effect on that attempted openness.
Her jaw clenches. It takes a moment before Emily can work it free to some less frustrated expression. It takes a long moment before she can pull her gaze from where it is burning a hole in the floorboards beside Solomon's feet. Had he been aiming for a rise from the Apprentice? If so, he'd hit square on some sort of sore point between them.
Only by stilling her tongue completely can she keep from giving voice to the flash of anger or hurt or indignation that shows so readily in her balled fists and taut demeanor. All this talk of trust and faith, these questions after their pasts. Of intimacy. The girl's mouth works, silently, for a time.
"Thank you for your advice, Father," is what she says, when at last she speaks. She does not answer that question, buried as it was at the beginning of his opinions.
The sad thing is that their opinions are not far afield from one another. In a different venue, or phrased another way, they might not have sparked this powder keg within her. Or, if the Priest were not dancing too near truths she'd kept from the Initiate, perhaps it would have gone over more smoothly.
She doesn't look up to either of them now. Not now. As much as she would like to be a closed book, Emily knows that stronger emotions are so very easy to read from without. She will not risk meeting their eyes and telling even more than she has already. And, at the first opportunity, she will be making her polite -- one hopes -- goodbyes.
[Owen Page] (sorry about that guys, I had a phone call!)
[Solomon Ward] [No worries!]
[Owen Page] "It's not her doing."
Owen says, after a measure of silence during which he has not been looking at the Disciple but at his soon to be Pupil. He's watched with vested interest the changing color in her cheeks, the display of [somehow still polite] frustration and perhaps indignation in her eyes, hidden as best she can keep them. "It's my own lack of forethought that caused this." A brief, bitter smile stretches thin his lips, before he forces it into a gentler version.
"Emily and I are fine, we will be fine," now he meets the other man's eye, and for all his youth and perhaps, relative inexperience in comparison to this man, this Knight, there is a firmness to Owen's voice that doesn't brook argument, that is, in its own way, zealous. "She's not the only one who has things to learn."
[Solomon Ward] "None are above reproach" he responds to Owen, in quiet agreement. Solomon has a bevy of flaws that are almost ponderous, and he knows it. Then to Emily, who is upset. Never mind her politeness and social niceties or the fact that the priest isn't entirely sure about what upset her (specifically, that is... obvious it was his words. Heh), but he can tell that she is upset. One doesn't have to be a socialite to figure that out.
"You have my apologies, Ms. Littleton", he leaves it at that. She will either take them at value, or she won't. The choice is hers in its entirety. "There is some thing I'd like to show you, when you have a chance and are willing", which may or may not be.. ever.. he doesn't know the girl, what upset her, or how long she holds grudges. The tone of his voice isn't quite as stern however. A shade softer, almost patriarchal. It holds the hint of a reconciliation, should and when she choose to accept it.
[Emily Littleton] It's Owen's voice that draws her eyes away from the floorboards, his assurances that they are, that they would be, fine. The certainty of the Singer is one of the things that has anchored her in trying times before, and that will pull her back from the edge of self-doubt and recrimination now. She is looking to him, and he is looking to the Priest. It is enough to still her.
Father Ward offers his apologies, and Emily nods silent assent to them. Her expression is softer, by degrees, but not as collected or calm as it had been when she arrived.
"I will find you, then," she says, to the Priest. It is an agreement, carefully offered. She stumbles over the quiet that follows her own words, remembering belatedly to add a: Thank you.
[Owen Page] It is, perhaps, one of his better qualities, the Singer. That quiet surety that he eludes so [apparently] effortlessly. It has not come without cost, however, and whatever else he excels at keeping close to his chest this Owen cannot completely disguise -- that he has a history, that he carries deep within a shame that he will never in his own estimation, finish paying for.
He has more in common with Solomon Ward than he knows.
Or perhaps he does glimpse it, and it colors the way he interacts with the Priest, the way he is careful to adhere to words he knows Solomon will comprehend. He speaks of the Congregation with confidence, he knows of the Ages, of the ways that came before and led them to the now they were in. Whomever and however his teacher had died, by which hand that had once sung with them all, he had evidently left his Apprentice well educated enough to survive on his own.
He extends his hand to the Disciple again, noting as he does: "I work at St James, if you have need of me."
[Solomon Ward] "Of course" he says to Emily, acknowledging that it will be in the time and place of her choosing. Which means either his Basilica or this chantry. She doesn't know where he lives, and more...esoteric means of locating him can tend to be both difficult and unpleasant, if not already beyond her.
To Owen he accepts the hand and shakes it once more, adding in is own vocational location for both their benefit. "Thank you. I'm the night keeper and caretaker of the Basilica of Our Lady of Sorrows, in East Garfield"
He retrieves his Big Black Bag and holds it at thigh level by its carry handles. The weight is long practiced and the average looking man is beyond used to it. "And now I must take my leave. In the near future, those involved with the Defiant one we've encountered will be called on. Until then, good eve to both of you".
Exit the priest, stage left.
To the point, per usual.
[Thanks ladies, I appreciate it and good night.]
[Emily Littleton] When Father Ward rises to take his leave, Emily stands out of politeness. She tucks her hands behind her, clasps them there. Her expression is, once again, canted toward the inscrutable yet polite. Her eyes follow him until he has slipped past the threshhold, and only then does the tightness in Emily's frame begin to abate.
Finally released from the priest's scrutiny, her habitual pattern of pacing returns. It's gently expressed today, in a small arc of travel that only helps her burn off a modicum of frustration. It's possible that the Singer notes the slight stiffness in one of her legs, that she faintly favors her right ankle. It's more likely that he will be distracted by seeking out other cues.
She does not yell at the now-closed door, or heave any great words of annoyance after the disappearing Disciple. Just that movement, incessant, insistent, unrelenting -- it's been like this for weeks, not that he'd know. They'd not seen much of each other of late.
There's a play of emotion on her features, not quite as tightly kept as she might have wanted, but its winding down to something more manageable. More contained. Less volatile and violent.
One of Emily's hands comes to rest on the back of her neck, just below the base of her skull, where the headache resides whenever she is unable to keep her temper in check. Her feet still, until she's only standing, half turned from Owen to stare unseeingly out of a window.
[Owen Page] There's a tightness in Emily's frame that only abates once Solomon has left the Chantry. She begins to move, to pace, to expression her feelings about the man and what had taken place the only way she could, the way that felt right to her. In direct opposition, Owen goes quite still; like stone when the Disciple leaves. He levers himself down onto the seat that the pair had recently vacated and puts his head between his hands, elbows to his knees.
He remains like this, a silent stone fixture for some moments as if he too required some time to process what had just occurred.
"So," he eventually says, not lifting his head but rather leaning his entire body back against the sofa, framing his brow with fingers set against it, his features masked by the shadow cast by elbow and palm. "Cabal, then."
[Emily Littleton] "Mmmm." She rolls the affirmative sound across her vocal chords without turning to face him. Without willing it into words just yet. It's lazy, and Owen deserves better, but Emily is still deeply perturbed by some of the things Solomon has said. Her hand falls away from the back of her neck. Her arms wrap across her middle, now, as the agitation fades to something deeper.
"Riley and Chuck," she elaborates, mirroring his usually taciturn mode of speech. Now, she turns to face him. Now, she does not bother as keenly with keeping things back or hidden. She doesn't wear them on her sleeve, by any means, but the openness she affords Owen is still greater than that which she would show the Priest.
At least that much has not changed.
[Owen Page] "Riley and Chuck," he confirms, with just that touch of dry amusement in his voice. It says much of what his thoughts are, and yet really says nothing at all. That was Owen Page, ambiguous to a fault. His hand falls away and he leans forward with a deep exhale, his eyes ringed with exhaustion, his skin waxy. His misery did not chip away at his beauty, quite the contrary, solemn suffering had always suited him to uncanny degree as his former best friend would attest to.
It gave him a certain intensity, a scruffy, unshaven earnest quality that reached his eyes and filled them with the unspoken plea, the unvoiced demand. Trust me, forgive me -- because both were interchangeable, and all that he desired.
"Emily," he begins, and breathes out, and stalls. He does not know how to bridge the distance between them, but to offer some branch of friendship, some gesture that proved the Disciple's words null and void. The boy's jaw clenches, a sure sign of his discomfort, his frustration. He clasps his hands together and makes a great study of them as he speaks. Hitchingly at first, but then growing in strength, and surety.
"Did you know that the first time my Mentor came to me I threw the Bible at him?" He looks up, a strained ghost of a smile riding a corner of his mouth. "Maybe that's what you wanted to do to Solomon. I really did hit him though, square in the head." He gestures at his face, and leans back.
"The first thing he taught me was that the Celestial Chorus have fucked up, a lot." A beat, he shakes his head, letting a breath of unvoiced laughter. "This from a Priest, you can imagine my shock." Something softens in the boy's face, lends itself to a title of vulnerability, of long held grief. "He saved my life, more than once. I wish you could have known him."
[Emily Littleton] She watches him, through the whole oration, through the insurmountable heap of words he triumphs over and shares. Unrecantingly, those blue eyes seek his features, study them. They take him in, but still push to keep him out. It isn't fair, and she knows it. It aches that she does not, cannot, open up to him as readily.
She can't stay angry with Owen, though, especially when she was never angry with Owen to begin with. The anger crumbles, and only the hurt and self-recrimination remains. It's not the Singer she finds fault with, but his apprentice to be. She had never held him accountable for the recent distance, or for whatever it is that has upset her tonight.
"Owen, I..." Unsteady. Her brow creases and her fingers tighten at her sides. She frowns and looks away, then back to him. "I've made a lot of mistakes. Even in the last month. I've kept things from you, when I should have sought you out. Maybe Father Ward is right," her pitch rises slightly at the suggestion, nervous and unsettled.
"Maybe my moral fibre isn't strong enough for this. My Faith has been tested before and it faultered. I failed. You can't know that you'll be able to count on me -- and it's not that I was a child then, that's hardly an excuse."
There's a moment of silence, where she looked to the arm of the sofa. To anywhere but Owen. They are both laid bare and vulnerable. He entreats her to trust him, to forgive him; she seeks acceptance despite her wrong doings.
"You threw a Bible at a Priest?" At last, her voice breaks a bit in its incredulity. It's such an awkward segue, but they are neither one adept in this manner of disclosure. They are both struggling to trust, to forgive, but perhaps not struggling so hard to accept what they find in the other.
[Emily Littleton] (( Must. Needs. Sleep. Paused for now? ))
31 May 2010
Memorial Day, Riley's flat
[Emily] It's a thundering Monday when Emily makes her way to Riley's to return the Adept's things. She tried the downstairs door, hoping to drag it all into the stairwell before calling Riley for help, but after pulling a cooler and an armload of stuff around to the side entry, she found it had finally been fixed.
Security: 1. Emily: 0.
She's standing there, then, in the scant shelter offered by a paltry overhand, juggling her phone to call up the other girl's apartment. It's likely she'll lose control of the American football, or be squarely in someone's way should they open that side entrance while she's on the phone.
[Riley] Most people would think today was an ugly day. Rain is pouring from the sky and thunder cracks loud enough to rattle windows. But, the lightning. The lightning makes interesting arcs across the clouds, or pillars of jagged light to the ground. To Riley Poole, today is not an ugly day.
It is, however, a day to stay inside. And that's where Riley is. Her condo is as colorful as ever, but the windows and the patio door are opened to the elements. What she can see of them, anyway. Her balcony overlooks a small courtyard, and looks directly at her coworker's place. It's not a very good view. The rain makes a faint shush sound, though, and she likes that. That and the smell of the rain on concrete and brick.
She's just sitting on her couch, Dr. O curled up near her hip, her laptop resting on her knees when suddenly the theme from Doctor Who blares into the living room.
"Hello, Emily," she greets cheerfully despite the dreary day.
[Emily] "Hi, Riley?" she says, as if there were any question of who might answer the other girl's phone. Or maybe she was just surprised (abashed) to be calling.
"Did you know the downstairs door got fixed?" Ah yes, leading question. Emily's hair is already going from damp to wet, soon to be sodden. Chicago took its rain seriously!
[Riley] "Girl," she says, drawling it out even as she sets her laptop on the coffee table and rises. "What the hell are you doing downstairs?"
She heads down to meet her at the formerly broken side entrance, dressed only in a black t-shirt (I Logged Out for THIS?) and a pair of black jersey shorts. Her hair is down today, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The moisture in the air is trying to make it frizz, make it twist and curl, but she doesn't have any plans so she doesn't care.
Hell. People are lucky she's already showered this morning.
[Emily] "Bringing back your things," she says, and the clipped consonants of her accent might have made it sound a bit irritated or taken-aback. It was just that the rain was starting to drip down her back, under the hoodie sweater she'd thrown on to hold back the falling wet. Across the slightly sunburnt expanse of her shoulder blades or -- worse! -- between them.
"Could you let me in," she pleads. "I think I'm melting."
[Riley] "Aw," by now Riley is headed down the stairs. "You're not a witch. At least, last I checked you didn't have green skin. Although I guess I don't really know. Do you have a sister who was crushed by a house? Do you have a gaggle of flying monkeys to do your bidding? Do you secretly have a red shoe fetish?"
She makes it down to the first floor and heads for the side entrance.
[Atlas Mason] *The rumble is distant at first, one might almost think its the rumble of a distant storm, or more appropriately the storm that is just overhead ready to dump its cargo on the heads of all those out and about.
But as it gets closer, the rumble becomes a motorcycle a vintage WW2 allied motorcycle with a side car, who would be foolish enough to drive one of those with a storm overhead? Well...that would be Atlas. Driving as if to outrun the oncoming storm Atlas only barely catches sight of Emily standing there beneath the overhang, and he remembers he has something to deliver to her.
Tires squeal and the ancient machine rocks and shudders as it protests against this this woeful miss use of its form, physics demanding he not stop. But Atlas knows how to drive...and he brings it to a screeching, skidding halt not fifteen feet down the street, in a parking spot no less.
[Atlas Mason] [Rolling that...just incase. Dex+Drive WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily] Emily laughs a little, and answers the rapid fire questions in kind: Ahh, no. Maybe. And red shoes are amazing. Everyone should have at least one pair."
This, from the Orphan with a half empty closet and a penchant for shopping at second hand stores. Clearly the fashionista of the group. The answers are followed by a screeching, shuddering sound from the street beyond.
Emily mutters something to herself, that the phone undoubtedly catches. It's not in English, but it probably translates loosely to some faith-based epithet. If Riley chooses now to open the door, then Emily's staring at the vintage bike and its strangely familiar pilot: Atlas.
[Riley] Emily's answers make Riley laugh. "Okay, I'm at the door," she says before she ends the call. She hears the squealing before she opens it, and steps out barefoot into the cool afternoon with her Are you kidding me? face on.
Then she recognizes the driver of the antique vehicle, and she smiles broadly. To Emily she says, "Let me take some of that." The Orphan is relieved of a good number of containers and the football. The frisbee is slid over her arm up to her elbow.
[Atlas Mason] The rumbling engine dies as Atlas dismounts, stepping up and over the back railing of the side car so he didnt have to dismount into the street, the man is dressed in a pair of old leather riding boots, with his pants tucked safetly inside to avoid catching, his usual white collar button up shirt is hidden today, as he now wears a vintage barnstormer's jacket, almost as if he took it right off one of those yesteryear daredevil's himself.
He steps down onto the sidewalk and turns to the sidecar, his attention off the women briefly as they seemed to be watching him, and he pulls away a leather tarp that had been covering the interior of the sidecar and protecting it from rain. It was open only briefly, and when it was closed once more, in the man's hands was Emily's prized football. Tucked away safetly after last nights cookout disaster.
His machine secure, Atlas turns his attention back towards the two women who were staring at him. He looked around himself briefly, ensuring nothing was on fire or out of place, and then shrugged as he moved towards them, the ball under one arm as he raised the other in greeting. "Copious units of surprise and elation Riley and Emily, it is most fortuitous and seemingly scientifically implausible that we would meet at such a juncture. How are your actualized personality spheres?"
[Emily] "I thought you'd never ask." The wry little smirk turned quickly into a grin.
Gratefully offloading some of the things to Riley's arms, Emily was able to reposition the remaining burden in a less precarious arrangement. Most importantly, Riley had taken the American football, with its odd shape and habit of slipping out of the Orphan's arms at the slightest pressure.
There is confusion and curiosity in her expression as Atlas went digging around in the sidecar, but it clears to a small smile of epiphany when he finds her football -- which had not been among the assembled odds and ends when she gathered up the remnants of the holiday cookout to return them to Riley.
"You found it!" she said, gleefully and with marked appreciation. Surprise and elation -- just like he'd said. His mode of speech brought a pleased (if occasionally perplexed) smile to the younger woman's features. "It's good to see you, too. And I'm fine; a little rained upon, but I've otherwise no complaints. Yourself?"
[Riley] "Yeah, that's pretty crazy," says Riley, just a touch suspiciously. That he would show up outside the condominium she and at least two other mages live in. Strange coincidences indeed.
"I'm doing good," she adds, proper English grammar be damned. By now she's getting the hang of his speech pattern. At least, it doesn't take as much effort for her to translate what he says into something she understands. She's still standing in the doorway, one foot braced against the door to keep it open and keep them all from getting locked out of the building. Her dad isn't home, and she doesn't know if any of her friendly neighbors are around to let her back in again. And she certainly wouldn't want to wait out salvation in a nearby coffee in a t-shirt and shorts and nothing else.
"We should get all this upstairs. Atlas, do you want to come in?"
[Nico] Somehow, the temperature is only managing to drop as the afternoon crawls away from morning. There is no sign of sun, no hint of warmth, and anyone who steps outside today finds him- or herself being instantly soaked by a mist that seems almost pernicious.
It isn't a long walk from the building's parking lot to the side door, but when the weather has taken a turn for the worse, fifty feet seems more like five hundred. A green fifteen-year-old Audi pulls off the main drag to seek out its parking space within the lot, the wet brakes squealing miserably as they are called into action. The execution is nowhere near as fearless or as daring as that pulled off by the Etherite, but given the heaviness of the hangover riding on the shoulders of the driver, it's impressive enough in its own right.
When Riley's upstairs neighbor gets out of his car, he's wearing the same thing he'd had on last night, and it looks like it's the same thing he had on last night: he's wearing loafers, khakis and a light blue button-up shirt, untucked and the top two buttons free as the day they were born. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up around his elbows, and not one but two paper club bracelets--one with yellow smiley faces and the other bright pink--are secured around his left wrist. His curly hair is a mess, he has a vicious five o'clock shadow growing on his face, and he's squinting in the wan light of the day as he gets out of the driver's side and slams the door shut behind him.
Keys remain looped around his finger as he moves as quickly as his hungover body can possibly manage. He's holding onto them like a weapon as he notes the strange man talking to Emily and Riley, the individual keys wedged between his knuckles in case he has to jam them into someone's eye socket. There is no attempt at stealth on his part, though; though he uses his free elbow to muffle it, the sound of his smoker's cough could be heard down the block.
[Atlas Mason] "My personage as well as my physical biological chemical structure is functioning within nominally anticipated parameters for this time frame, however." He pats his stomach. "I am currently being alerted to a nutrient deficiency within the upper gastric intestinal sack. However that is relatively inconsequential given the situation." He says with a smile as he offers Emily her football back, returning it to its rightful owner.
"I had secured it during the aggitated intersection of social convergences in the previous twenty four unit cycle."
Then Riley had offered the man to come up with them, he seemed to think about it for the moment, he had just planned on leaving the ball and going, but the offer seemed like a good idea given the weather.
"I accept your offer Riley, the structure of your domicle appears to be adequate shelter from the current atmospheric conditions."
[Emily] She accepts her football back, juggling it with the rest of the things in her arms. It's a happy reminder of the earlier half of the cookout the day before, and Emily is momentarily pleased that Riley got called away before the agitation began.
It takes her a moment, today, to translate between Atlas and English. It's not as easy as yesterday, for whatever reason. But she gathers he's hungry.
"I hear they took the leftovers to the Ch -- House," she says, stopping herself from using the newer vocabulary word as Lady Gaga himself approaches the gathering, looking a little worse for wear. Emily recognized him, rather quickly, as That Guy From The Club, and pinked slightly.
Thank goodness it was difficult to tell an embarrassed flush from the light sunburn she'd acquired. At least that's what she told herself, in the moment.
[Riley] [I haven't gotten to roll anything yet, this is unacceptable: Blush? What blush?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily] ((Stop percepting me, yo. It's a holiday!))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Nico] [Awareness+Perception: I Wanna Roll Dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley] [me, too! one roll is not enough!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily] ((Seriously, now, all these intense stares are making me curious... Per + Aware))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Nico] [Lady Gaga has been a magic-casting fool lately. As he draws closer, Emily can pick up not only his resonance, which manifests as something attention-grabbing, something flashy, but the fact that within the last several hours he has cast magic relating to place and mind.]
to Emily
[Riley] "Agitation?" she asks. Now that her arms are full of glass and tupperware containers, when Riley steps backward toward the building she has to use her hip to push the door the rest of the way. She looks from Atlas to Emily, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Granted, whatever happened only happened last night, but she can't help but feel she was left out of some important loop.
"What kind of agitation? Hey, Nico," she calls when she sees her neighbor looking very much like he's been to at least the fourth circle of hell and back. She catches where his gaze goes, to the stranger among them and Riley looks, too. Looks to see if there are any signs of interest, anything that would tell her if Atlas bats for Nico's team or hers and Emily's.
What she notices about Atlas doesn't surprise her. It just makes her smile in a way that's usually reserved for small baby animals.
"Well, it looks like there's still a pretty good feast left over from yesterday. You're more than welcome to help lighten the load. I think whatever's left after lunch I'm going to take over to a shelter around the corner. the corner. What a wonderful neighborhood these supposedly hip, cool twenty-something mages live in.
[Nico] As the returning weekend warrior approaches the door, he picks up on certain traces of drifting conversation that alerts him to the fact that the man talking to the two young women isn't trying to relieve them of their possessions or their decency--the fact that he knows Riley's name, for starters, or the fact that he talks like some indigenous life form on an episode of Star Trek.
Nico's grip on his keys relaxes as he steps up onto the sidewalk to join them, and his eyes, the sclerae vaguely red from too little sleep, make a none-too-subtle sweep up and down the other man's form. It could just be an assessment of danger, an attempt to determine whether or not he needs to be wary of the man's presence, but given the fact that Riley and Emily have taken to referring to the VA's upstairs neighbor as Lady Gaga, it's a safe bet that neither of them would accuse his partaking of the other man's form of being anything other than unsavory.
Hey, Nico.
"Rileyyy," he counters, pocketing his keys so as not to look like some sort of maniac walking around with metal claws attached to his hand. He reaches out to hold the door for the three of them, and after she's spoken about the fate of the leftover food, he says, "Sorry I couldn't make it yesterday, I had to cover for one of the weekend counselors."
That at least explains why he's wearing his work clothes when he looks as though he's just dragged himself out of the fourth level of Hell.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas hands over the football, but of course he offers to take some of the other stuff that Emily was juggling in her arms. He takes a fair share of it too, ensuring that both of them won't have to hard a time getting up and into the apartment.
When both Riley and Nico look Atlas over as if he were wearing some kind of sign the man seems completely oblivious to it, he actually is paying more attention to the sky overhead then anything else. He does however look over at Riley when she offers food, and he is quick to nods.
"Indeed, the allowance for commestibles to decay beyond the recommended safety levels for internal usage as a fuel source would be a copious misuse of resources, I will endevor to aid you in ensuring its utilization."
He says as he moves to hold the door in place of Riley, allowing her to continue up the stairs, she did have the keys afterall. "He nods to Nico with a amiable smile. "Social obligatory welcome to your personage sir. I would actuate my left cantilevering appendage in your direction for an appropriate social welcome, however both appendages are currently occupied with ten kilo's of mass per appendage."
[Emily] Wearing jeans and a hoodie sweater, Emily looks quite different than she had at that night in the club. Her ankle, which none of them can see just now, is still wrapped in a neoprene brace. Just for another day or so, until she's sure it's steady. Rolling it twice in one week lessened her faith in the appendage, and she's not looking for a three-peat performance.
"Hi, Nico," she says, spacing the words just enough to intimate that she remembers him. There's a pleasant warmth to her voice today, less cheeky and wry than before. As if that unrelenting not has taken a backseat for a moment; quelled, sated. "Rough night?" she asked, with a note of genuine concern.
Emily was, inwardly, trying to reconcile the flair of resonance and double banded wrist with the word counselor and casual dress. A few connections came to mind, ones that inwardly made her quail and start hunting for exist -- but that was irrational, and unfounded. It got stamped down, reined in tightly.
"And nothing much, Ri'," she says, belatedly addressing the other girl's query. "Nathan was having an off-day, that's all." Nathan's off days were infamous, and required very little elaboration to incite migraine-level headaches. "Ashley demanded a rematch on your behalf, at least twice more..."
Her voice echoes in the stairwell as they head up to Riley's apartment, and the damp soles of her shoes squeak on the hard floor.
[Riley] "That's cool, man. You just missed the world's most awesome game of soccer," she emphasizes the word again, with a grin to Emily and Atlas, who for some reason keep insisting on calling the game by its hoity toity Britsh name. "Maybe we can do it again next weekend, or something."
She grins at Atlas, but she's talking to Nico when she adds, "And you're more than welcome to hang out and have some reheated grillin's. There was a pretty good spread."
Then the tall brunette is leading the way up the stairs, easily hefting the load she took from Emily. The condo she shares with her dad is not the same as Chuck's, and it's not the same as Nico's. One is still freshly acquired, may even still have boxes packed away here and there that still need to be unloaded. The other is rented by a bachelor, and it looks like it's being rented by a bachelor.
When the small group reaches Riley's door, it opens into a room that is colorful and spacious. To the left is her bedroom, the door still opened to reveal its relatively small size, the fact that it's actually pretty neat and orderly. To the right is the bathroom, and then there's the living room, which is comfortable and cozy, colorful and feminine yet with masculine touches. A blending of both Riley's and her father's styles. A streak of grey and white bolts past them and into Riley's room, Dr. O making his escape. The balcony door is still open to let in a breeze and the cool outside air.
"Guys, take off your shoes, please," she says over her shoulder as she heads for the kitchen to begin reheating the food.
[Nico] Emily greets him, asks him if he had a rough night, and an almost sheepish grin splits his lips, showing teeth for a brief moment as they all start to file inside.
"Two-dollar drink night," is all he has to say about what happened last night.
When the thirty-something with the scientific lexicon addresses him, Nico turns toward him, eyebrows lifted either in interest or out of some hungover need to help the rest of him absorb what's being said. It takes a degree of focus he hadn't managed to devote to the morning after whatever debauchery he got into last night, and he looks as though he's gone lightheaded about halfway through the Etherite's explanation.
He does manage a friendly-enough smile, though, and a, "Don't worry about it, man. I understand."
He thinks.
Up two flights of stairs, and the lot of them filter into the condo Riley shares with her dad. For a moment it seems as though Nico is going to keep on trucking, as though he's going to haul his happy ass to the third floor and the promise of a shower and bed contained within, but he doesn't. He slips into 2R after Atlas and Emily, and steps out of his loafers.
"Riley," he says, "you're gonna have to help me decorate. Your place looks so much nicer than mine does."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps into the apartment behind Emily and Riley and after he sets his share of the load down he takes a moment to look around the apartment. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in all of the colors, all of the open air and the light that filled the apartment even during a dark and miserable day such as this.
"My hypothesis..." He says in a moment of wonder, pulling himself from the riding boots and stepping into the apartment to look around more. "The light wave fold factors within this structural locality are uniquely convergent, their wave forms multiplied by the micro applications of hue tinted polymers to the structural planes."
He says gesturing to the walls as he stepped into the living room. He pulls out a small prism, and puts it between his fingers before spinning it with his other hand, as if to catch more light. He takes a few more seconds of acting strangely before turning to Riley and nods.
"Your domicile displays unique characteristics uncommon in such structures or this time frame and composite materials, utilize its particulars of wave form distribution effectively." He says quite specifically, almost like she might be wasting a valuable resource.
[Emily] Two-dollar drink night, well, then, that's different. Emily's smile mirrors Nico's own and the concern flees her features. Hungover and a long night of partying can explain almost everything she's picked up from Riley's neighbor, and she doesn't need to pry about the rest.
She waits for the others to take off their shoes first, since she'll have to set down everything she's carrying and actually untie her shoes this time. Usually Emily just toes them off easily -- and she can for her left foot, but her right requires more attention, and she eases the shoe off a bit more carefully than usual. Now it's easier to see the difference in shape of her two feet, and the slight stiffness in her gait. It hadn't been severe enough to keep her from playing football the day before.
No one will notice, though, because Atlas is wandering around acting oddly in Riley's flat. He's taking out a whirlygig and talking about spectra. Emily pushes herself back up to standing and gathers up the remaining food containers to bring to Riley's kitchen, casting Nico and Riley sidelong glances as she goes.
It's the first time, really, that Atlas has done or said something that truly makes the geek girl think: WTF. "I think he likes you place," she says, softly, to Riley in a confused and vaguely amused tone.
[Riley] [wits + enigmas: okay, that was more confusing than normal]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley] "I'd be happy to, Nico, but just so you know, my services don't come cheap. But I can work on a barter system."
Riley's things are set in the kitchen, including the sports equipment. She'll put them in a hall closet soon enough. For now, she sets the oven to preheat and starts setting out the platters of meats and fruits and salads. Burger patties and brats and fish steaks are arranged in metal baking dishes. Then it's time to wait.
Riley and Emily can look out into the living room from the kitchen, over the counter and beneath the cabinets. Riley leans down, resting her elbows on the Formica, and smiles when Atlas pulls out a prism and looks around. He acts very strangely, indeed. For the first time today she has to concentrate on what he's saying to work out the meaning. When she's got it, her smile broadens and to something decidedly girlish.
"Thanks, guys. I think that's actually one of the reasons my dad got this place. It really lets in a lot of light, despite the fact it faces more building. It used to look more like Chuck's," she says, looking at Emily of course, who she knows is familiar with the other VA's place. "All dark and dungeony, with orange shag carpet."
[Nico] If Nico has never encountered someone like Atlas before, if he has never before in his life stumbled across a member of the Tradition known for their strange devices and near-crazed devotion to inspiration, he's doing a damned good job of not staring at the Son of Ether as though he has just stepped out of a flying saucer. He's looking at him, sure, but the man has enough social grace and self-awareness left in his exhausted body to not outright stare, even if it's questionable whether he understands half of what comes out of the other man's mouth.
Riley busies herself in the kitchen, and Nico plunks himself down on the couch, reaching up to scrub at his face with his ringless left hand.
"Uch," is his appraisal of the state of this Chuck fellow's living arrangement.
[Atlas Mason] [Am i perceptive?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] "The hue and tonal derivative nominally referred to as 'orange' by the laymen offers many unique qualities for spectral compositions, but if the structure itself does not propegate appropriate wave lengths than it can be detrimental."
Atlas says with a nod of agreement as he tosses the prism in the air and catches it, before tucking it into his pocket. He looks about at the others, from Nico on the couch, to Riley and then at last to Emily and his eyes catch on her, a slight down turn of his lips almost slipping into a frown when he does so.
"Emily, the natural structure of the Osseus Talus and its accompanying cartilage, dozen musculature connectivity lines and supporting epidermical tissue should not be positioned or exaggerated so far beyond the nominal range. Have you ascertained the professional obligative discretion of a bio-medical expert?"
[Emily] (( Avoiding that question with a Pause! ))
Security: 1. Emily: 0.
She's standing there, then, in the scant shelter offered by a paltry overhand, juggling her phone to call up the other girl's apartment. It's likely she'll lose control of the American football, or be squarely in someone's way should they open that side entrance while she's on the phone.
[Riley] Most people would think today was an ugly day. Rain is pouring from the sky and thunder cracks loud enough to rattle windows. But, the lightning. The lightning makes interesting arcs across the clouds, or pillars of jagged light to the ground. To Riley Poole, today is not an ugly day.
It is, however, a day to stay inside. And that's where Riley is. Her condo is as colorful as ever, but the windows and the patio door are opened to the elements. What she can see of them, anyway. Her balcony overlooks a small courtyard, and looks directly at her coworker's place. It's not a very good view. The rain makes a faint shush sound, though, and she likes that. That and the smell of the rain on concrete and brick.
She's just sitting on her couch, Dr. O curled up near her hip, her laptop resting on her knees when suddenly the theme from Doctor Who blares into the living room.
"Hello, Emily," she greets cheerfully despite the dreary day.
[Emily] "Hi, Riley?" she says, as if there were any question of who might answer the other girl's phone. Or maybe she was just surprised (abashed) to be calling.
"Did you know the downstairs door got fixed?" Ah yes, leading question. Emily's hair is already going from damp to wet, soon to be sodden. Chicago took its rain seriously!
[Riley] "Girl," she says, drawling it out even as she sets her laptop on the coffee table and rises. "What the hell are you doing downstairs?"
She heads down to meet her at the formerly broken side entrance, dressed only in a black t-shirt (I Logged Out for THIS?) and a pair of black jersey shorts. Her hair is down today, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. The moisture in the air is trying to make it frizz, make it twist and curl, but she doesn't have any plans so she doesn't care.
Hell. People are lucky she's already showered this morning.
[Emily] "Bringing back your things," she says, and the clipped consonants of her accent might have made it sound a bit irritated or taken-aback. It was just that the rain was starting to drip down her back, under the hoodie sweater she'd thrown on to hold back the falling wet. Across the slightly sunburnt expanse of her shoulder blades or -- worse! -- between them.
"Could you let me in," she pleads. "I think I'm melting."
[Riley] "Aw," by now Riley is headed down the stairs. "You're not a witch. At least, last I checked you didn't have green skin. Although I guess I don't really know. Do you have a sister who was crushed by a house? Do you have a gaggle of flying monkeys to do your bidding? Do you secretly have a red shoe fetish?"
She makes it down to the first floor and heads for the side entrance.
[Atlas Mason] *The rumble is distant at first, one might almost think its the rumble of a distant storm, or more appropriately the storm that is just overhead ready to dump its cargo on the heads of all those out and about.
But as it gets closer, the rumble becomes a motorcycle a vintage WW2 allied motorcycle with a side car, who would be foolish enough to drive one of those with a storm overhead? Well...that would be Atlas. Driving as if to outrun the oncoming storm Atlas only barely catches sight of Emily standing there beneath the overhang, and he remembers he has something to deliver to her.
Tires squeal and the ancient machine rocks and shudders as it protests against this this woeful miss use of its form, physics demanding he not stop. But Atlas knows how to drive...and he brings it to a screeching, skidding halt not fifteen feet down the street, in a parking spot no less.
[Atlas Mason] [Rolling that...just incase. Dex+Drive WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]
[Emily] Emily laughs a little, and answers the rapid fire questions in kind: Ahh, no. Maybe. And red shoes are amazing. Everyone should have at least one pair."
This, from the Orphan with a half empty closet and a penchant for shopping at second hand stores. Clearly the fashionista of the group. The answers are followed by a screeching, shuddering sound from the street beyond.
Emily mutters something to herself, that the phone undoubtedly catches. It's not in English, but it probably translates loosely to some faith-based epithet. If Riley chooses now to open the door, then Emily's staring at the vintage bike and its strangely familiar pilot: Atlas.
[Riley] Emily's answers make Riley laugh. "Okay, I'm at the door," she says before she ends the call. She hears the squealing before she opens it, and steps out barefoot into the cool afternoon with her Are you kidding me? face on.
Then she recognizes the driver of the antique vehicle, and she smiles broadly. To Emily she says, "Let me take some of that." The Orphan is relieved of a good number of containers and the football. The frisbee is slid over her arm up to her elbow.
[Atlas Mason] The rumbling engine dies as Atlas dismounts, stepping up and over the back railing of the side car so he didnt have to dismount into the street, the man is dressed in a pair of old leather riding boots, with his pants tucked safetly inside to avoid catching, his usual white collar button up shirt is hidden today, as he now wears a vintage barnstormer's jacket, almost as if he took it right off one of those yesteryear daredevil's himself.
He steps down onto the sidewalk and turns to the sidecar, his attention off the women briefly as they seemed to be watching him, and he pulls away a leather tarp that had been covering the interior of the sidecar and protecting it from rain. It was open only briefly, and when it was closed once more, in the man's hands was Emily's prized football. Tucked away safetly after last nights cookout disaster.
His machine secure, Atlas turns his attention back towards the two women who were staring at him. He looked around himself briefly, ensuring nothing was on fire or out of place, and then shrugged as he moved towards them, the ball under one arm as he raised the other in greeting. "Copious units of surprise and elation Riley and Emily, it is most fortuitous and seemingly scientifically implausible that we would meet at such a juncture. How are your actualized personality spheres?"
[Emily] "I thought you'd never ask." The wry little smirk turned quickly into a grin.
Gratefully offloading some of the things to Riley's arms, Emily was able to reposition the remaining burden in a less precarious arrangement. Most importantly, Riley had taken the American football, with its odd shape and habit of slipping out of the Orphan's arms at the slightest pressure.
There is confusion and curiosity in her expression as Atlas went digging around in the sidecar, but it clears to a small smile of epiphany when he finds her football -- which had not been among the assembled odds and ends when she gathered up the remnants of the holiday cookout to return them to Riley.
"You found it!" she said, gleefully and with marked appreciation. Surprise and elation -- just like he'd said. His mode of speech brought a pleased (if occasionally perplexed) smile to the younger woman's features. "It's good to see you, too. And I'm fine; a little rained upon, but I've otherwise no complaints. Yourself?"
[Riley] "Yeah, that's pretty crazy," says Riley, just a touch suspiciously. That he would show up outside the condominium she and at least two other mages live in. Strange coincidences indeed.
"I'm doing good," she adds, proper English grammar be damned. By now she's getting the hang of his speech pattern. At least, it doesn't take as much effort for her to translate what he says into something she understands. She's still standing in the doorway, one foot braced against the door to keep it open and keep them all from getting locked out of the building. Her dad isn't home, and she doesn't know if any of her friendly neighbors are around to let her back in again. And she certainly wouldn't want to wait out salvation in a nearby coffee in a t-shirt and shorts and nothing else.
"We should get all this upstairs. Atlas, do you want to come in?"
[Nico] Somehow, the temperature is only managing to drop as the afternoon crawls away from morning. There is no sign of sun, no hint of warmth, and anyone who steps outside today finds him- or herself being instantly soaked by a mist that seems almost pernicious.
It isn't a long walk from the building's parking lot to the side door, but when the weather has taken a turn for the worse, fifty feet seems more like five hundred. A green fifteen-year-old Audi pulls off the main drag to seek out its parking space within the lot, the wet brakes squealing miserably as they are called into action. The execution is nowhere near as fearless or as daring as that pulled off by the Etherite, but given the heaviness of the hangover riding on the shoulders of the driver, it's impressive enough in its own right.
When Riley's upstairs neighbor gets out of his car, he's wearing the same thing he'd had on last night, and it looks like it's the same thing he had on last night: he's wearing loafers, khakis and a light blue button-up shirt, untucked and the top two buttons free as the day they were born. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up around his elbows, and not one but two paper club bracelets--one with yellow smiley faces and the other bright pink--are secured around his left wrist. His curly hair is a mess, he has a vicious five o'clock shadow growing on his face, and he's squinting in the wan light of the day as he gets out of the driver's side and slams the door shut behind him.
Keys remain looped around his finger as he moves as quickly as his hungover body can possibly manage. He's holding onto them like a weapon as he notes the strange man talking to Emily and Riley, the individual keys wedged between his knuckles in case he has to jam them into someone's eye socket. There is no attempt at stealth on his part, though; though he uses his free elbow to muffle it, the sound of his smoker's cough could be heard down the block.
[Atlas Mason] "My personage as well as my physical biological chemical structure is functioning within nominally anticipated parameters for this time frame, however." He pats his stomach. "I am currently being alerted to a nutrient deficiency within the upper gastric intestinal sack. However that is relatively inconsequential given the situation." He says with a smile as he offers Emily her football back, returning it to its rightful owner.
"I had secured it during the aggitated intersection of social convergences in the previous twenty four unit cycle."
Then Riley had offered the man to come up with them, he seemed to think about it for the moment, he had just planned on leaving the ball and going, but the offer seemed like a good idea given the weather.
"I accept your offer Riley, the structure of your domicle appears to be adequate shelter from the current atmospheric conditions."
[Emily] She accepts her football back, juggling it with the rest of the things in her arms. It's a happy reminder of the earlier half of the cookout the day before, and Emily is momentarily pleased that Riley got called away before the agitation began.
It takes her a moment, today, to translate between Atlas and English. It's not as easy as yesterday, for whatever reason. But she gathers he's hungry.
"I hear they took the leftovers to the Ch -- House," she says, stopping herself from using the newer vocabulary word as Lady Gaga himself approaches the gathering, looking a little worse for wear. Emily recognized him, rather quickly, as That Guy From The Club, and pinked slightly.
Thank goodness it was difficult to tell an embarrassed flush from the light sunburn she'd acquired. At least that's what she told herself, in the moment.
[Riley] [I haven't gotten to roll anything yet, this is unacceptable: Blush? What blush?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily] ((Stop percepting me, yo. It's a holiday!))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 6, 6, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Nico] [Awareness+Perception: I Wanna Roll Dice!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley] [me, too! one roll is not enough!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily] ((Seriously, now, all these intense stares are making me curious... Per + Aware))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Nico] [Lady Gaga has been a magic-casting fool lately. As he draws closer, Emily can pick up not only his resonance, which manifests as something attention-grabbing, something flashy, but the fact that within the last several hours he has cast magic relating to place and mind.]
to Emily
[Riley] "Agitation?" she asks. Now that her arms are full of glass and tupperware containers, when Riley steps backward toward the building she has to use her hip to push the door the rest of the way. She looks from Atlas to Emily, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Granted, whatever happened only happened last night, but she can't help but feel she was left out of some important loop.
"What kind of agitation? Hey, Nico," she calls when she sees her neighbor looking very much like he's been to at least the fourth circle of hell and back. She catches where his gaze goes, to the stranger among them and Riley looks, too. Looks to see if there are any signs of interest, anything that would tell her if Atlas bats for Nico's team or hers and Emily's.
What she notices about Atlas doesn't surprise her. It just makes her smile in a way that's usually reserved for small baby animals.
"Well, it looks like there's still a pretty good feast left over from yesterday. You're more than welcome to help lighten the load. I think whatever's left after lunch I'm going to take over to a shelter around the corner. the corner. What a wonderful neighborhood these supposedly hip, cool twenty-something mages live in.
[Nico] As the returning weekend warrior approaches the door, he picks up on certain traces of drifting conversation that alerts him to the fact that the man talking to the two young women isn't trying to relieve them of their possessions or their decency--the fact that he knows Riley's name, for starters, or the fact that he talks like some indigenous life form on an episode of Star Trek.
Nico's grip on his keys relaxes as he steps up onto the sidewalk to join them, and his eyes, the sclerae vaguely red from too little sleep, make a none-too-subtle sweep up and down the other man's form. It could just be an assessment of danger, an attempt to determine whether or not he needs to be wary of the man's presence, but given the fact that Riley and Emily have taken to referring to the VA's upstairs neighbor as Lady Gaga, it's a safe bet that neither of them would accuse his partaking of the other man's form of being anything other than unsavory.
Hey, Nico.
"Rileyyy," he counters, pocketing his keys so as not to look like some sort of maniac walking around with metal claws attached to his hand. He reaches out to hold the door for the three of them, and after she's spoken about the fate of the leftover food, he says, "Sorry I couldn't make it yesterday, I had to cover for one of the weekend counselors."
That at least explains why he's wearing his work clothes when he looks as though he's just dragged himself out of the fourth level of Hell.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas hands over the football, but of course he offers to take some of the other stuff that Emily was juggling in her arms. He takes a fair share of it too, ensuring that both of them won't have to hard a time getting up and into the apartment.
When both Riley and Nico look Atlas over as if he were wearing some kind of sign the man seems completely oblivious to it, he actually is paying more attention to the sky overhead then anything else. He does however look over at Riley when she offers food, and he is quick to nods.
"Indeed, the allowance for commestibles to decay beyond the recommended safety levels for internal usage as a fuel source would be a copious misuse of resources, I will endevor to aid you in ensuring its utilization."
He says as he moves to hold the door in place of Riley, allowing her to continue up the stairs, she did have the keys afterall. "He nods to Nico with a amiable smile. "Social obligatory welcome to your personage sir. I would actuate my left cantilevering appendage in your direction for an appropriate social welcome, however both appendages are currently occupied with ten kilo's of mass per appendage."
[Emily] Wearing jeans and a hoodie sweater, Emily looks quite different than she had at that night in the club. Her ankle, which none of them can see just now, is still wrapped in a neoprene brace. Just for another day or so, until she's sure it's steady. Rolling it twice in one week lessened her faith in the appendage, and she's not looking for a three-peat performance.
"Hi, Nico," she says, spacing the words just enough to intimate that she remembers him. There's a pleasant warmth to her voice today, less cheeky and wry than before. As if that unrelenting not has taken a backseat for a moment; quelled, sated. "Rough night?" she asked, with a note of genuine concern.
Emily was, inwardly, trying to reconcile the flair of resonance and double banded wrist with the word counselor and casual dress. A few connections came to mind, ones that inwardly made her quail and start hunting for exist -- but that was irrational, and unfounded. It got stamped down, reined in tightly.
"And nothing much, Ri'," she says, belatedly addressing the other girl's query. "Nathan was having an off-day, that's all." Nathan's off days were infamous, and required very little elaboration to incite migraine-level headaches. "Ashley demanded a rematch on your behalf, at least twice more..."
Her voice echoes in the stairwell as they head up to Riley's apartment, and the damp soles of her shoes squeak on the hard floor.
[Riley] "That's cool, man. You just missed the world's most awesome game of soccer," she emphasizes the word again, with a grin to Emily and Atlas, who for some reason keep insisting on calling the game by its hoity toity Britsh name. "Maybe we can do it again next weekend, or something."
She grins at Atlas, but she's talking to Nico when she adds, "And you're more than welcome to hang out and have some reheated grillin's. There was a pretty good spread."
Then the tall brunette is leading the way up the stairs, easily hefting the load she took from Emily. The condo she shares with her dad is not the same as Chuck's, and it's not the same as Nico's. One is still freshly acquired, may even still have boxes packed away here and there that still need to be unloaded. The other is rented by a bachelor, and it looks like it's being rented by a bachelor.
When the small group reaches Riley's door, it opens into a room that is colorful and spacious. To the left is her bedroom, the door still opened to reveal its relatively small size, the fact that it's actually pretty neat and orderly. To the right is the bathroom, and then there's the living room, which is comfortable and cozy, colorful and feminine yet with masculine touches. A blending of both Riley's and her father's styles. A streak of grey and white bolts past them and into Riley's room, Dr. O making his escape. The balcony door is still open to let in a breeze and the cool outside air.
"Guys, take off your shoes, please," she says over her shoulder as she heads for the kitchen to begin reheating the food.
[Nico] Emily greets him, asks him if he had a rough night, and an almost sheepish grin splits his lips, showing teeth for a brief moment as they all start to file inside.
"Two-dollar drink night," is all he has to say about what happened last night.
When the thirty-something with the scientific lexicon addresses him, Nico turns toward him, eyebrows lifted either in interest or out of some hungover need to help the rest of him absorb what's being said. It takes a degree of focus he hadn't managed to devote to the morning after whatever debauchery he got into last night, and he looks as though he's gone lightheaded about halfway through the Etherite's explanation.
He does manage a friendly-enough smile, though, and a, "Don't worry about it, man. I understand."
He thinks.
Up two flights of stairs, and the lot of them filter into the condo Riley shares with her dad. For a moment it seems as though Nico is going to keep on trucking, as though he's going to haul his happy ass to the third floor and the promise of a shower and bed contained within, but he doesn't. He slips into 2R after Atlas and Emily, and steps out of his loafers.
"Riley," he says, "you're gonna have to help me decorate. Your place looks so much nicer than mine does."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps into the apartment behind Emily and Riley and after he sets his share of the load down he takes a moment to look around the apartment. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in all of the colors, all of the open air and the light that filled the apartment even during a dark and miserable day such as this.
"My hypothesis..." He says in a moment of wonder, pulling himself from the riding boots and stepping into the apartment to look around more. "The light wave fold factors within this structural locality are uniquely convergent, their wave forms multiplied by the micro applications of hue tinted polymers to the structural planes."
He says gesturing to the walls as he stepped into the living room. He pulls out a small prism, and puts it between his fingers before spinning it with his other hand, as if to catch more light. He takes a few more seconds of acting strangely before turning to Riley and nods.
"Your domicile displays unique characteristics uncommon in such structures or this time frame and composite materials, utilize its particulars of wave form distribution effectively." He says quite specifically, almost like she might be wasting a valuable resource.
[Emily] Two-dollar drink night, well, then, that's different. Emily's smile mirrors Nico's own and the concern flees her features. Hungover and a long night of partying can explain almost everything she's picked up from Riley's neighbor, and she doesn't need to pry about the rest.
She waits for the others to take off their shoes first, since she'll have to set down everything she's carrying and actually untie her shoes this time. Usually Emily just toes them off easily -- and she can for her left foot, but her right requires more attention, and she eases the shoe off a bit more carefully than usual. Now it's easier to see the difference in shape of her two feet, and the slight stiffness in her gait. It hadn't been severe enough to keep her from playing football the day before.
No one will notice, though, because Atlas is wandering around acting oddly in Riley's flat. He's taking out a whirlygig and talking about spectra. Emily pushes herself back up to standing and gathers up the remaining food containers to bring to Riley's kitchen, casting Nico and Riley sidelong glances as she goes.
It's the first time, really, that Atlas has done or said something that truly makes the geek girl think: WTF. "I think he likes you place," she says, softly, to Riley in a confused and vaguely amused tone.
[Riley] [wits + enigmas: okay, that was more confusing than normal]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley] "I'd be happy to, Nico, but just so you know, my services don't come cheap. But I can work on a barter system."
Riley's things are set in the kitchen, including the sports equipment. She'll put them in a hall closet soon enough. For now, she sets the oven to preheat and starts setting out the platters of meats and fruits and salads. Burger patties and brats and fish steaks are arranged in metal baking dishes. Then it's time to wait.
Riley and Emily can look out into the living room from the kitchen, over the counter and beneath the cabinets. Riley leans down, resting her elbows on the Formica, and smiles when Atlas pulls out a prism and looks around. He acts very strangely, indeed. For the first time today she has to concentrate on what he's saying to work out the meaning. When she's got it, her smile broadens and to something decidedly girlish.
"Thanks, guys. I think that's actually one of the reasons my dad got this place. It really lets in a lot of light, despite the fact it faces more building. It used to look more like Chuck's," she says, looking at Emily of course, who she knows is familiar with the other VA's place. "All dark and dungeony, with orange shag carpet."
[Nico] If Nico has never encountered someone like Atlas before, if he has never before in his life stumbled across a member of the Tradition known for their strange devices and near-crazed devotion to inspiration, he's doing a damned good job of not staring at the Son of Ether as though he has just stepped out of a flying saucer. He's looking at him, sure, but the man has enough social grace and self-awareness left in his exhausted body to not outright stare, even if it's questionable whether he understands half of what comes out of the other man's mouth.
Riley busies herself in the kitchen, and Nico plunks himself down on the couch, reaching up to scrub at his face with his ringless left hand.
"Uch," is his appraisal of the state of this Chuck fellow's living arrangement.
[Atlas Mason] [Am i perceptive?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] "The hue and tonal derivative nominally referred to as 'orange' by the laymen offers many unique qualities for spectral compositions, but if the structure itself does not propegate appropriate wave lengths than it can be detrimental."
Atlas says with a nod of agreement as he tosses the prism in the air and catches it, before tucking it into his pocket. He looks about at the others, from Nico on the couch, to Riley and then at last to Emily and his eyes catch on her, a slight down turn of his lips almost slipping into a frown when he does so.
"Emily, the natural structure of the Osseus Talus and its accompanying cartilage, dozen musculature connectivity lines and supporting epidermical tissue should not be positioned or exaggerated so far beyond the nominal range. Have you ascertained the professional obligative discretion of a bio-medical expert?"
[Emily] (( Avoiding that question with a Pause! ))
30 May 2010
Football and friends
[Riley Poole] It's hot in Chicago. This Memorial Weekend, the heat keeps most out of Lincoln park today, keeps them to their homes and their air conditioning.
Not Riley Poole. And not a number of the cities Awakened. The Virtual Adept is there already, awnings set up to create shade, a number of coolers set around a few of the park's outdoor grills. The smell of cooking meat hangs in the air, and there are picnic tables nearby with plates and plasticware and whatnot on them, just waiting for people to come and get food. Sit around and chat a bit.
As the first of the mages arrive, Riley, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, dressed in shorts and a tank top and her Converse high tops, is flipping burgers.
[Ashley] Ashley shows up not too long after Riley. Given the Hermetic's general social awkwardness and dislike of parties, it may be something of a surprise to see her here. Or perhaps not. It's necessary to be comfortable with such things for the sake of politics, after all.
She has the look of someone who is very tired, not necessarily physically but certainly emotionally, like she recently poured as much of herself as she could into some task. So she's a little wan, probably could have used a bit more sleep, but seems as cheery as she generally gets. She's dressed in a red T-shirt (an icon of a piece of paper thrown away into a wastebasket, ala a Mac recycle bin, only the file looks distinctly sad-faced about this) and a pair of longer brown plaid shorts of the variety the collegiate currently seem to favor.
Zane is trotting alongside her, leashed, bouncing and happy. Ashley raises a hand in greeting as she draws near the awnings. "Hey, Riley."
[Atlas Mason] One of the great things about a motorcycle with a sidecar is that it can carry so much more then a normal one. Today is no exception of course, as the size of the sidecar did not shrink overnight, or somehow become unusable in recent days.
And so the Son of Ether arrives on this hot, carrying his own cooler along from the parking lot. Unlike Riley, Atlas is not properly dressed for the weather as it would seem the man has only one style of clothing corduroy pants, a button up shirt, and suspenders. He either had no other sort of clothing...or he just didnt care.
As he approached the proposed gathering site he took in the view, of two women beneath the awning and the various grills and picnic tables scattered about the area. He also took time to take in the sights, the sky about him, the way the light played off the tree and the grass, all of these things slowed him down and brought his walk to almost a leisurely amble, if one could do such a thing in this heat.
"Ashley, Riley, appreciable social acquaintences!" He calls as he too comes into the speaking distance. "I have acquired several specimens of variety and size catagorically represented by the family Salmonidae." He says amiably as he steps into the shade, a thin layer of sweat already upon his brow
[Riley Poole] Riley turns her head when she hears her name. Smiling, she lifts the spatula in salute to the Hermetic.
"Hey, Ashley. Atlas. Glad you guys could make it! Uh." She stares blankly at Atlas as she tries to decide if Salmonidae is a word that she should have stored in her vocabulary somewhere. "You can just, uh, set it down over here? And I'll add it to the, uh," her smile broadens a little, "just set your cooler here, okay?"
There are other little things here and there. A folded blanket setting on one of the benches, a football, a frisbee. The spot Riley's chosen is near the baseball fields and the basketball courts, but either she doesn't own any equipment for those sports, or she decided not to bring them.
[Ashley] Ashley secures the dog's leash around one of the poles under the awning. The bowl she'd had under her other arm is set down, a water bottle from her pocket emptied into it, and she leaves the dog there for now.
Ashley perches on one of the picnic tables near the grill Riley is cooking at, seated on the edge of the table with her feet on the seat. "I probably should've brought something, huh," she says, a touch rueful, as she eyes Atlas' approach and then the clothes he is wearing with suppressed amusement.
"Are you a townie?" she asks Riley. "I figured most people would be traveling this weekend."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps over to Riley with a smile, and then sets the cooler down with a rather heavy thunk as if its was quite full and not half empty like most. In another moment the man pulls open the lid and within, are a variety of fish steaks, most of them look like salmon, but there is also trout and a few others, for those who know their fish.
Atlas then looks about at the two women as he wipes his brow with his forearm, clearing the sweat from his face in an attempt not to become drenched in his own bodily fluids.
"Would the percentiles of a relativistically algid liquid or semi liquid within this viscinity be favorable or otherwise?" He asks as he looks around.
[Riley Poole] [wazzat?: wits + enigmas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] The Orphan is running a little late, which is unusual but not unheard of. Emily doesn't remember how long it takes to find parking at the parks on holiday weekends, because she rarely drives anywhere in any city at any time of year. She has patently impolite things to say about the young man driving a pickup who nearly ran over her mid-nineties compact "beater" to take the space she had been waiting on with her indicator flashing, like a sane and reasonable human being. She might have shouted something akin to Wanker! at him, from behind her rolled up driver side window.
Maybe.
Most likely it was an overtly sarcastic Thank you!, though, because Emily Littleton did not use such foul language. In English. In an English-speaking nation.
Once she's settled the car somewhere remotely safe, she makes her way to the gathering with her messenger bag slung across her body, and two large bowls stacked and balanced in her arms. She kicks along a black and white ball as she goes, sometimes relying on the kindness and aim of nearby youngsters to help get it where she's going.
The Orphan's wearing a navy halter top and khaki shorts. She's got on sneakers, and her right ankle is shrouded by one of those neoprene braces that barely shows above her sock. She's brought a fruit salad, and a german potato salad -- because those are good sides for a cookout, and don't require much fussing with once the festivities have begun. She's also got four markers in her bag for marking off goals, and the football she's been kicking along.
Someone likes their sport. Someone is also tired of shooting hoops.
"Hey, lovelies," she calls, as she nears the gathering. It's a surprisingly pleasant thing to hear, the little endearment on the British girl's voice sounds effortless and easy. "Can I get a pair of hands?" And if someone offers, she'll pass one of the salads off to them, or kick them the ball if they're less willing to get up and carry anything over.
It is hot.
[Riley Poole] "Pff," she says, waving her free hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure there'll be more than enough to go around. Oh, fish," she exclaims when she sees what the good doctor has brought to the party. Like the tumblers of a lock sliding into place, Riley understands what he means. Just like she usually does if she actually focuses her attention.
"There's beer and stuff in that cooler, and water and sodas in that one. And I hope you brought a change of clothes, man, because you are gonna die dressed like that."
It's about time for another turn of meat, this time brats (no hot dogs here). A pair of tongs, previously hanging from the handle of the grill, is retrieved for this. Only when she's satisfied that everything is cooking nicely does she turn back to Ashley.
"You could say that. Every couple years or so I visit my dad's family in Ohio. This is not one of those years."
[Ashley] Ashley remembers driving -through- Ohio and the vast emptiness that blurred into Indiana's vast emptiness, and the mention of the state earns Riley a wrinkle of the Hermetic's nose. "I don't blame you."
"Yeah, Atlas, I don't know what made you think corduroy pants were a good idea," she says, with a look toward the Etherite as she rises, hops off the seat of the table so that she can go and help Emily and take one of the salads from her. It's set to the side on one of the tables. One of the ones that isn't near Zane.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods his thanks to Riley as she indicates the coolers, and he moves swiftly over to them pulling open the lid to the water, a bottle is quickly plucked from the icey depths and the lib mercilessly cracked open. It might be quite the sight seeing Atlas down the bottle in one fell swoop, the plastic container held verticle to his mouth as the water is quickly chugged, and then the bottle placed in the waste bin.
He then claims a beer for himself as well, feeling the cool glass against his skin makes him smile before looking up at the three women around him. "My external environmentally protective layers of woven fabric was intended for use in an atmospheric climate based several degree's centigrade lower then the current atmospheric situation. I have no other situationally appropriate fabric available to me at this juncture."
He says with a sigh as he looks over to Emily and smiles in welcome. He notes the football she's brought with her, and seems delighted by its presence.
[Emily Littleton] "Cheers," she says to Ashley, when the Hermetic takes one of the over-sized salads off her hands. They're covered with cellophane, so nothing will bounce out unexpectedly. Emily sets the second salad down next to the one Ashley's just dropped off.
Digging her toe under the ball, she hefts it up a bit to where she can catch it in her hands. Then it gets tucked under one arm as she uses the other to pull her messenger bag over her head and free of her frame.
"That smells great, Ri'," she says to the Adept, and Atlas gets a smile and a little wave of her hand after she's set the bag and the ball aside. Even Zane gets a hello, in the form of some pets and head-scritches. It's a well-needed counterpoint to the night before, to possessions and the unrecanting presence of Umbrood at the Chantry.
Atlas says something, and Emily looks over as she's straightening up from saying hi to Zane. "The Midwest summers got to me too, when I first moved here," she says to Atlas, in a commiserating tone. "I'm still learning to acclimate." A brighter smile; as if he mode of speech was not at all disruptive or disorienting.
[Riley Poole] "Thanks," she says, beaming at Emily. "Oh, awesome!" she says when she notices the soccer (foot) ball, and she nods her head in the direction of the other sports related thing. "You can set that over there for now, Em, and maybe we can get something started when more people show." Though this might be it, just these four of them. Still, even that would make for a fun game of whatever they tried their hands at.
"Atlas, you and me, we're going shopping this week, and see if we can't get you dressing in this decade." She's teasing gently. There's nothing wrong with the way Atlas dresses himself, if one put aside the fact that it's almost ninety degrees out and he's dressed for temperatures under fifty. "If you get too hot, though, I'm pretty sure you won't offend anyone's delicate sensibilities if you want to take your shirt off."
Closing the lid over the grill, Riley sets her cooking utensils aside and heads over to the table to look at the salads. She looks delighted by the salads. "This is going to be so great, you guys. If anyone's hungry, by all means, dig in. The burgers should be done in a couple minutes, then the sausages. Then I'll get started on the fish."
[Ashley] Ashley looks toward the soccer ball, resigned to being stuck sitting at the tables should people play later. Then again, among mages, she can compensate without much worry about it drawing the wrong sort of notice, and the thought makes her brighten ever so slightly.
The Hermetic has a sense that this is the sort of gathering in which she should not be ambushing people or trying to teach them, and as a result is a little quiet, though it's not the brooding sort of quiet of someone who is unhappy. A little tired - she, like Emily, was affected by what she saw last night (moreover what she felt at the end, it's shaken her up again) - but making the effort to be friendly and cheerful. She retrieves a beer after Atlas does, cracking it open.
"Thanks for setting up something like this, Riley. I wouldn't have thought of it."
[Emily Littleton] It's shaken them all up, what they saw the night before. Emily's tucked that down deep, nestled it in beside all of the other things she will not let affect Riley's party today. It's the best she can offer, after letting her own issues ruin at least two gatherings in the last month. So it doesn't show around the edges of her smile, the worry and the weariness. And it won't touch her eyes, which are laughingly bright and an unencumbered blue.
Emily finds a water bottle in one of the coolers. She uses and extra piece of ice to wipe down her hands, then tosses it on to Zane who probably appreciates the cooldown.
Sausages, Riley says. Not Hot Dogs. This piques the foreign girl's interest and she sidles over to the grill to verify her hopes -- vindicated. Riley knows the difference between acceptable grilling meats and sad little American sausages.
"I haven't had Brats in forever," Emily says, coupling the hyperbole with a decidedly German-canted accented (for a moment). She can't help but wend and wind her way through accents; it's something most of them have gotten accustomed to by now. "And yes, thank you. And thank the Americans for their ineffable and understandable affection for all things grilled and outdoors!" She raises her uncapped water in a mock toast, but really, it was one of the few things she actively appreciated about American culture.
The Grill Parties. Cook-outs. Bar-be-ques. It was decidedly Continental and definitely summery.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas cracks his beer at almost the same time as Ashley and raises his bottle to the woman in silent toast. If the ageless doctor had been affected at all by last nights events, it did not show, his demeanor pleasant and happy, as if last night was nothing but the slightest hiccup in his long, long life.
Atlas listens as the woman chat amongst themselves, and gives Riley a grin as she speaks of Atlas removing his shirt, however he shakes his head to that. "It would be socially awkward and impolite for my physical structure to be so exposed." He waves a hand as if to dismiss the idea, even as his the sweat begins to bead upon his brow once more.
The man moves over to where the sausages were located, and gingerly snapped one up into a bun, before picking it up. "My internalized synaptic processes relating to curiosity and inquisitive inflection direct me to inquire as to the internal and originating origin of these meat tubes."
[Ashley] "It's not really inappropriate or impolite these days," Ashley tells Atlas, serious and apparently with the desire to be helpful. "A lot of guys do it."
Meat tubes, says Atlas, and the phrase provokes an amused snort before she suppresses it, lowering the bottle she'd been sipping from. "Sausages have been around forever," she tells Atlas. "I'm sure you've seen them before."
She hasn't yet moved to get any of the food. Trying to hold off, perhaps; it takes quite a bit of restraint for her to get herself to eat slowly to begin with.
[Riley Poole] Riley is oblivious to the trials and tribulations of last night. She doesn't know what shared secret lies between these three, kept on some unspoken agreement so that the general mood (of the cookout or its hostess) is not brought down. If Riley knew, her smile would be dimmer, and she'd want information, and whatever happened last night has no place at a festive social gathering.
Ashley, Atlas, and Emily are doing a fantastic job keeping what they've been through to themselves. Riley has no idea, and it doesn't occur to her to think Emily or Atlas are acting any differently than normal, or that Ashley's fatigue isn't school-related.
Riley grins at Emily's toast, her eyes darting to Atlas, no doubt finding a similarity in their speech patterns for a moment. "Oh, Atlas," she says, heaving a breathy sigh. She even manages to shake her head in something like disapproval or disappointment. Ashley tells him a lot of guys do it, and Riley says, "Yeah. 'sides, it'll be more socially awkward watching you pass out from heat exhaustion. Which reminds me, did anyone bring sunblock?"
[Emily Littleton] And that's the reason they keep mum: Riley's smile would be dimmer, and she'd demand information. There was time for that, later, when the focus wasn't supposed to be on Reverence (for the departed) and Revelry (for those left behind). Another day, and one fairly soon, they could sit down and discuss the visitation. Today there were hamburgers, brats, beers and salads, friends and football.
Today is a good day.
"I've got sublock in my bag, if anyone needs to share," she says, adding her helpful voice to the choir. And the girl was pale enough that it would likely be an SPF high enough to protect Atlas's virgin skin. "Besides, if you're roasting just sitting around here, how will I ever get you on the field to play football?"
Batted eyelashes, that sweetly cajoling smile. Emily wasn't trying to be manipulative -- yet -- but it was easy to see why it came so easily to her. There was a natural coquettishness to her light-hearted demeanor today.
But teasing only goes so far before she's making herself a plate, which should give Ashley the go ahead to dig in as well. For all her thinness, Emily can eat and she's curious enough to try one (or some) of everything offered ... over the course of the afternoon. It starts with a Brat, dressed with mustard and onions (no ketchup [Blasphemy!] or relish) and some of the side salads.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas shakes his head, his meaning obviously misinterpreted by Ashley and he gestures to the meat that sat upon the bun and tried to make himself clearer as the sweat began to run down his face.
"The particulars Ashley, my inquiry is about the particulars of this source of protein based edible. Is it a derivative of Bos primigenius, Gallus gallus domesticus or perhaps in some percentage from Sus domestica?"
His question restated, Atlas can't help but put down his beer and hot dog as he tries to fan himself from within the shirt, beating it against himself before realizing the futility of the matter.
He takes a moment to think about it, a long moment as he looks about at those gathered around him before he shrugs. "I will adjust my external fabrics to relegate my own epidermus exposed to the environment. My social renumerations are given preemptively to abate any undue social dynamic mis alignment." They are all joking, about it Atlas on the other hand seems slightly worried, or perhaps, even shy.
He starts to undo his shirt, one button at a time, careful not to pull at the fabric or damage one of the few clean shirts the man owns. The fabric loosens and once it reaches the line of his belt the man pulls his shirt from his pants, and removes the suspenders from his shoulders, letting the straps fall down around his waist. He takes one more apprehensive look around at the woman gathered there before at last removing the shirt in its entirety.
The why, as to Atlas' desire to not remove his shirt becomes painfully obvious at that point, the man's face and hands may not reveal much as to his life age, with the exception of his calloused hand, but his upper arms and torso tell a long tale. Scars, many of them adorn his body, for those who know what to look for, their are a minimum of five bullet wound scars, several burn scars on his shoulders and back, as well as what would appear to be claw, and bite scars across his torso and upper arms.
[Riley Poole] [manip + subt (don't laugh at the dice pool)]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Ashley] "It's -probably- Sus domestica, but you never really know with sausage," Ashley says, with a dubious glance toward the meat. The look apparently doesn't suggest any hesitance to -eat- it, though, since as soon as the three of them have helped themselves she does too.
A look toward Emily's sunblock while she takes a bite from it - Irish and Czech heritage is unfriendly to the sun, but she appears to be intent on trying to weather it, sun poisoning and all - before Atlas' scars catch her attention. A moment later she understands the man's hesitance; the mapping of her own skin is similar, though not quite as severe, and it's embarrassed her for some time.
She doesn't know what to say to reassure him, though, if anything would, so Ashley ignores it, doesn't look in his direction- which probably makes the man even more self-conscious, but at least it's well-intended.
[Emily Littleton] Atlas is unbuttoning his shirt while Emily is settling down at the table and getting ready to eat. They're discussing the finer points of sausage composition, and he's baring a lifetime of scars.
The youngest woman at the gathering sees them. They capture her attention for a moment, but she does not look away ashamed. Instead, she looks up to catch his eyes for a moment, to offer the steadiness in hers and a small smile. We all have our scars, it says, that look. There's a depth and compassion to it beyond her years.
And then she looks right back to what she's been doing all along. Fixing her plate. She says, as if there was nothing unusual with the way he looks, "Most Brats are usually veal or pork. Veal is less common here, so I assume they'll be mostly pork."
[Riley Poole] "Whichever of those means 'pork,'" Riley says with a laugh, his words but not his meaning lost on her. The tech geek is not used to calling things by their scientific names. "Or should be. There's a butcher's shop about a block away from my, uh," she stops mid-sentence. She had been pointedly ignoring Atlas as he unbuttoned his shirt, trying to be polite when everything in her practically screamed at her to tease jokingly. When he finally removed his shirt, Riley's head gave a shake. She frowns, and then forcibly drags her gaze away. She's lost her train of thought, doesn't even try to find it again. Instead she just grabs a plate and holds it out to the Etherite. She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on his face, and her smile is back to being just as charming as usual.
"So yeah. Pork. And totally safe for human consumption."
[Travis Grace] Some how, some way, Travis found out about the party in the park. It's to be a cook out, and while he wasn't a cook of any real repute - he does bring something to the swaray. It's a rather large Tupperware container of something - oblong like what a cake might be carried in.
He approaches from a side street, his car alarm chirping in his wake. There are sunglasses covering his eyes, his dark t shirt and tan cargo shorts very simple.
When he approaches the gathering it's on sneaker clad feet that tread quietly until he hits the grassy area, where twigs and rocks and other discarded items are crunched beneath his feet.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas watches the women around him and he frowns only for a moment, until relief cross his face as he feels a light breeze drawn across his back, the heat wasn't anywhere near so bad now that he was free of that shirt.
He cants his head to the left as Riley attempted to not stare, and he played along, accepting the plate, and her endorsement of the food. "I will verify your postulated hypothesis in mere cycles." He says with a smile and a nod, before he goes to take a bite of the hot dog chewing carefully, thoroughly before nodding once again, his mind made up.
"This cylindrical protein commestable is indeed one hundred percent homo sapien compatible." And then he returns to eating, one last look caste in Riley's direction.
[What are you synapses saying Riley? Per+Emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] She does look away, though, when Riley and Atlas have their somewhat awkward exchange. Emily turns her head and scans the park for any approaching familiar faces -- Awakened or not -- and lo, and behold, who does she see headed their way but Mr. Jet-set Lifestyle himself.
Emily cast a covert glance across the table to see if anyone else recognized the trim and rather good-looking young man. You see, it would just figure that her late night Horse instructor would be Awakened, and heading this way.
Now all they needed was Declan and Nico to complete the set of people she'd embarrassed herself in front of, this week. Either way, Emily waved across the park to the approaching Orphan. She's smiling, too, as if that spill never happened. Her hairs bound up in a ponytail that swings as she moves or looks about, and her shoulders and upper back are bare to the welcoming warm weather.
The magi are gathered at a picnic bench, the smell of cooking meats is heavy in the area, and there are various coolers and sports-related things scattered around them. And Zane.
[Ashley] "Sus domestica is pork," Ashley says, with a half-smile in Riley's direction. It's probably not much of a surprise that the Hermetic knows Latin; many older texts, after all, are written in it, and many members of the Order don't feel that they should have to translate such works for the benefit of young apprentices. Learn it or pay someone, is the attitude amongst many.
Her dog, a rather gangly, awkward young shepherd, is leashed to one of the poles holding up the pavilions with a water dish sitting in front of him. He's taken interest in the new figure, though it seems to be of the friendly variety, and is watching Travis' approach bright-eyed. The dog's excitement draws Ashley's notice, in turn, toward Travis. She raises a hand to the young man in a wave.
The look on Riley's face, and that Atlas noticed it, didn't go unnoticed by Ashley, so she says, "I think most of us who have been around a while have been shot a few times." Which is probably meant to reassure. And probably fails.
[Riley Poole] It's too nice or too hot, or the sun is angling down at them at just the right angle to keep Atlas from reading too much into Riley's reaction. Whatever she may have thought or felt when she saw those scars, it's been suppressed as 'rude' and pushed aside. He'll find out for himself if the brats are edible or not in just a bit. Riley just grins and issues a teasing challenge. "You do that."
When Emily glances at the gathered to see if anyone else recognizes Travis, she'll see that Riley very obviously does. She smiles when she sees him, lifts her hand in a wave. As one of the few mages in the city Riley has contact info for, she had called him up herself to invite the Orphan to the shindig. She's wearing a simple tank top and shorts against the heat, and her darker complexion makes her slightly less prone to sunburn than the people around her.
"Travis, hey, glad you could make it!" She spies the container, but rather than asking, she simply points out where Emily's German potato salad and fruit salad, the packages of buns, and the platters of hamburgers and brats.
"Oh god," she says, with a noticeable shudder, "I hope I don't get shot. Zombie hugs are enough, thanks."
[Travis Grace] Emily's wave is duly noted and the wealthy Orphan continues on his path toward their picnic area. When he approaches there's a nod for each person present, his gaze and how long it just so happens to linger on any one person is hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
"Here you go." It's said as he's settling his dish next to the Potato Salad. "I can't stay long but I thought I'd stop by ....those are fruit kabobs." He says, nodding toward the container. A hand is outstretched toward Zane, allowing the animal to sniff his fingers before he reaches in to pet him.
"Nice day to be outside." He says, offering the group a 1,000 watt smile. "...for once." He adds.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas chews away, apparently enjoying the sausage for all the mystery meat it may contain, and after every few mouthfuls he takes a drink from the beer he had opened. When Travis at last drew closer Atlas raised a hand in welcome as well, a friendly smile on his face, distracting somewhat from his shirtless, and scarred torso.
"The atmospheric conditions are favorable, however they are more realistically suited to a geographical locality some thousand miles south."
He looks about at the small group of awakened individuals who surrounded him, and for a brief moment, Atlas smiled to himself, as if something was just right.
[Emily Littleton] I can't stay long, he says, and Emily casts him a playfully mournful look. "Can't stay long?" she asks, mock-wounded. "Does that mean you're not up for a friendly game of football?"
By which, she does not mean American football. Travis has already helped her to the sidelines of the basketball court. He knows she wouldn't hold up well to tackle or even touch games. It's undoubtedly soccer she means, though good luck getting her to stammer through that silly Americanism more than once.
He's got the 1,000 watt smile. She's batting her eyelashes playfully. Given their histories, and what they already know of one another, the Orphans should be immune to one anothers' native charms. She looks away, though, before the pull of that personality can start to get to her. Besides, she has lunch to finish before they could all play.
They were all playing, right?
[Ashley] "Where are you rushing off to?" Ashley asks Travis, before popping the last of sausage and bun into her mouth. There's a sidelong glance toward the dog, who has given up begging long enough to happily sniff at the new orphan's hands. He's a friendly creature; it might be hard to believe he's hers, if he weren't sitting next to her feet.
The Hermetic is by far the smallest person here - the smallest by nearly a foot, in fact, even compared to the other women. Decidedly unathletic: what muscle is visible on her arms and lower legs is sinewy and stringy, clinging to the bone. It might be safe to assume she's sitting out.
She lifts the bottle once more, sipping from it and watching the apprentices (plus initiate) interact.
[Travis Grace] Travis is so fresh - so new even at his age - that he does not bear any of the war wounds so apparent on Atlas' body. Were he to remove his shirt it would be flawless, marked only by the purposeful ink from a tattoo gun and the scars of Mother Nature's wrath on one arm. When the Terminator like man speaks, lifts a hand in a wave, Travis does the same.
"Yeah...I wouldn't mind being booked at the Riviera Maya right now..." And for a moment there's a thoughtful air about him....as if he were considering getting out his cell phone, booking a flight and a room right then.
Hidden eyes shift to Emily and he smiles nicely, shrugging helplessly. "I know...I'm such a bastard." And something about the way he says hints that that might just be laced with a shred of the truth. "I have to meet someone about a piece of property or I'd love nothing more but to stay and get in on that game..." His tone carries nothing in it but honesty as he speaks to Ashley.
[Riley Poole] "It is pretty hot for this early in June," she agrees. "But, I think we're doomed to a year of extreme temperatures, my friend. All the more reason to get you some shorts, right?" She'd meant what she said earlier. Sometime soon, willingly or (more than likely) not, Atlas is going to find he has a personal shopper in Riley Poole.
Focus shifts from the shirtless older male to the younger one with the thousand watt smile. "So it's a hit and run fruit kabobbing, eh? Ah, such is life," she sighs dramatically. "Maybe some other time, then." She grins at that. It's no secret she finds Travis attractive. It's in her eyes when she looks him over, and the shift of her posture. It only lasts a moment before her attention shifts to Emily. "D'you mean football or football?" she asks, indicating the small collection of sporting equipment, Emily's soccer ball alongside Riley's American football, a frisbee beside them.
"I'm a little out of practice with both, unfortunately."
[Emily Littleton] "I mean football," she says plainly, as if there can be no confusion about it. It's a bit like when Atlas spoke plainly, in a sentence comprised entirely of scientific SAT words. She hazards a glance to her football, and then back at Riley.
She'd never really understood why the Yanks were so obstinate about this. Foot + ball = football. Hands + ball != football. There's a tiny culture clash at the table, then, but ultimately Emily recants with a shrug.
"Though really, whatever people want to play is fine by me." A smile. A look of mock-disappointment for Travis. "Even if it's basketball, again."
This? Is lighthearted teasing, and it elevates the Orphan above whatever troubles came home to roost last night. It pulls her away from the worries and the fear. It's good, even if no one will want to play later. Even if they'll have so many leftovers they could feed a small shelter. Her smile is warmer today than it's been in a long time.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas looks at his pants and squints, as if he were attempting to imagine himself wearing shorts, and from the perplexed look on his face, it was a safe bet to believe he just couldn't see it. He looked back up at Riley and grinned.
"If it is your desire to attempt a radical restructuring of my environmental layering system, you are willingly engaged to do so. So long as your personage is appropriately prepared to ineffect, argue against the gravitational forces of a singularity horizon disk."
He says it with that grin, and she could swear the man was joking around. Before he put down his beer and moved over towards the football, the english football and picked it up examining its surface, running his hands along the stitching, feeling the leather. "Ahhh it has been a considerable lapse in solar traversal cycles since I have last utilized and allocated superfluous time units towards this social physical activity."
[Ashley] They're debating over what to play. Ashley is finally tilting a sympathetic look toward the begging dog, and gives him one of the sausages. Zane retreats below the table, not to be seen again for a while.
Travis gets a quizzical look as he mentions both the Riviera Maya and seeing someone about a piece of property. It's hard to interpret the Hermetic's expression just then: maybe she's recalling when she first ran into him, when he'd passed out on the grass from, she assumes, drinking too much to get himself home. Maybe he has just found himself a place in her mind as Spoiled Trust Fund Baby.
'Maybe,' in this case, is just another word for 'certainly.'
She drains the rest of the bottle of beer, looking first for a recycling can - and if she doesn't find one, throws it away.
[Riley Poole] "The majority has it." Riley snatches the ball right out of Atlas' hands and jogs away a few steps before turning back. She's grinning ear to ear in that way that has earned her the trust of a number of different mages and broken a few hearts in her day. "Soccer it is."
She looks at Ashley and Travis then. "We'll need a fourth to make it even. Do you either of you want to join in?" Tossing the ball from hand to hand, she waits for an answer.
[Travis Grace] Travis pushes his glasses to the top of his head and smiles at Riley and then Emily. "Hey ...it doesn't have to always be basketball. Believe it or not - despite everything - I'm really a team player." Grey eyes shift toward Atlas and the discussion of his pants and the Orphan laughs and shakes his head.
"Whatever, Atlas. Don't let these ladies try to change how you roll. If pants are your thing then right on." A solid, firm nod is given to the man with the odd manner of speech.
The idea of Travis that Ashley has formed is solid. It isn't hard to to figure out that Travis is a child of wealth. He wears watches that cost upward of six figures. His clothes are quality and very costly, his glasses are a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers and as white as his shoes it's possible he has a pair for everyday of the month. He does not carry with him the burden of responsibility most men his age bear. There's no worry lines or wrinkles ...nothing that says he's ever had a concern bigger than where do I want to spend my next thousand dollars.
"Can't..." he says, frowning. "Hey....when I 'm done I'll drive by and see if you guys are still here..." A hand lifts in a wave then, "I gotta run guys...have fun!" And with that he's turning to go unless stopped.
[Emily Littleton] She's clearing her plate to the rubbish bin, while Riley's rustling up a game. It brings her past Travis who gets a bit of a playful nudge-shove before he leaves. It's a continuation of a theme from their game at the courts the other night, and might be noticeable to some of the other mages -- if only that Emily often seems quite reserved, and that familiarity had been reserved for the Geek Squadders so far, to date.
"Team player?" Her eyebrows lift a bit in surprise. They say, we'll see about that. "Well, good luck with your acquisition," she says, as if the word were a more comfortable way to describe a potential property deal than anything else.
Then it's back to the four of them.
"If we want a smaller game, we could play three on a keeper. It'd be more friendly, I guess. I don't mind starting in the goalbox, either," she offers. Maybe that would take the edge off of it for Ashley.
[Ashley] Riley is tossing the ball back and forth, and the Hermetic looks toward her for a few seconds. Considering. She doesn't mention her eye or her ear; some people here already know, and she doesn't want to be encouraged to play just to have them take things easy with her. That would be patronizing, unbearable.
"Sure," she says, after a moment. "Just give me a second."
She apparently wears her chain out even to a casual party in the park (experience has taught her that this is a good idea). Her hand finds it, fingers find two of the links. She can't Will herself to see, but she can get a sense for what's around her that she would otherwise be painfully lacking.
[Corr 1, Forces 1. -1 for using a focus, -1 for applicable resonance Static: Determined.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Ashley] And, once done, she hops off the bench.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas smiles as everyone seems ready to play, and he blinks as the ball disappears from his hand he gazes at them more a moment before looking over at Riley with a raised brow. "Your direct, social confrontation initiation has been noted and logged." He says with a smile. "Prepare your personage."
And he moves after her, he's not particularly sprightly, any athletic merit he might have had before is gone, but thats not going to stop Atlas from playing.
[Riley Poole] Riley laughs. She tucks the ball under an arm, quirks a brow, and waggles a finger at the Etherite. And she quotes, "'Oh, it's already been broughten.'"
[Jonathan Kincade] There had been noise on the wire about a picnic held this weekend. It seemed with the weather dramatically warming in recent weeks, that it was inspiring people to get out out and about and become less housebound. So he thrown some food together, filled a chest with ice and beer and loaded it into the car.
It hadn't taken him long to drive to the location , the voice from his GPS warbling as it read out instructions too him. Weaving through sunday traffic and trying to avoid Grandpa Joe out for his sunday jaunt. Eventually pulling into a car park as he unpacks his belongings and begins heading in the direction of the park bench.
Arriving just in time to see them move from the benches and heading towards a grass area, apparently some activity was underway. Being a late arrival however , he just heads towards the table for now. Putting down his belongings as he retrieves a beer from the chest and pops the cap. Taking a swig from the beer as he watches the Magi. most of which he knew.
[Emily Littleton] Emily laughs, just a little, as if she couldn't help herself in the moment. She doesn't have any magical preparations to do, but she does pull the stack of brightly colored disks out of her messenger bag. They're familiar to anyone who had sports practice in their youth, used to mark off boundaries and goals -- it's safer than putting extra balls there, because you can't trip over them, yet they stand out brightly against the green, green grass.
"Two on two?" she asks, and if confirmed she adds: "I'll mark out goals." The Apprentice jogs out to the field to pace off dimensions and drop the bright disks where appropriate. She's thin, and doesn't have the tone muscle that Riley carries, but she's active enough to be considered Athletic. And this? This task lets her test her ankle a bit more thoroughly; it's deemed game worthy.
When she's jogged back to the group, she looks around to see if anyone's divvied up teams. If not, she'll suggest some suitably arbitrary system.
[Ashley] Ashley was athletic, once - or, at the very least, the soccer ball isn't foreign to her. Her movements are those of someone who is trying to jog muscle memory, to remember how to play a game she'd been good at, at one time.
She looks between the other three mages, settles on Riley, who looks the most athletic of the lot. "Riley's with me," she says, almost chipper.
[Atlas Mason] "Excellent application of logical reasoning Ashley. Emily shall side with my personage, and functioning in parallel tandem dynamic, we shall suitably enforce and effect your concrete rebuttal from the plane of operation." He says it with a smile on his face and looks specifically at Riley at that, competition something he hadn't taken part in in a long, long time.
He then looked to Emily and inclined his head in question. "Will your chosen participation infleunce and role be to keep, or deliver?" He asks her. "I would postulate that your skills and capabilities would incline your personage towards the offensive delivery of our payload."
[Emily Littleton] With a mostly straight face, and nothing more malicious than merriment dancing in her eyes, she replies to Atlas in kind: "Affirmative, my arbitrarially assigned teammate. I find it preferable to mount the offensive."
She offered him a fist bump, but expected it to be a little lost on the walking anachronism. Who made football sound a bit like thermonuclear war. Which wasn't that off, considering how seriously many nations took the sport.
"Shall we commence kicking butts and taking names?" she asked him, dropping mostly back to her own generation's vernacular. This was as close as Emily got to trash talk, and it was followed by a broad grin tossed across the team-divide to Ashley & Riley.
[Riley Poole] Riley apparently has no problem with the team-ups forming, just so long as Atlas is her opponent. She looks at Ashley. "Do you mind being keeper?" She'd said it's been a while since she played, but she's obviously athletic. There's tone to the muscle of her arms and legs, lean and almost wiry. It shouldn't take long for her body to remember the rules of this game. Or so she thinks.
Listening to Atlas and Emily assign their positions, she laughs. "Nerds," she says affectionately. "Ready?"
[Ashley] "I don't mind," says Ashley, stepping over so she's near the goal. She tries to keep the three of them in view of her right eye when she can, though it isn't likely to be possible; still, she has a sense of where bodies are, where heat is, has a sense of space and how far away they are.
In fact, all told, she might be slightly better equipped than the others.
[Dex + Athletics! -1 to diff from magic.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Atlas Mason] Atlas does indeed look somewhat confused by the offer of a fist bump, but he mirrors her action, and brings his fist up, and moves to put it against hers, looking up at her as he does so. "What is the practicality of this functional physical contact?"
He asks curiously before looking over at Riley as she calls them nerds, he smiles at that, and nods, like he agree's before speaking. "Affirmative." He calls before moving to the goal.
[Emily Littleton] "It's a functional show of solidarity with no other pragmatic motivation," she says, to her teammate, who seems confused by the social gesture. "It can also be used in lieu of a 'high-five' as a sign of congratulations."
Emily Littleton, urban dictionary.
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Dex+Ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Riley gets the ball at the beginning of the game, and while the girls are more or less evenly matched out there, she also gets the first shot on goal. However, the Etherite Keeper denies it, and the score remains zero all in the first minutes of the game...
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex+ Ath, round 2))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath: Round 2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath: I'm comin' fer yew, Mason!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Dex+Ath, bring it Poole!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [Short fuse]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] Riley Poole is such a liar. This is what the others might think when she swoops in to snatch the ball away from Emily's feet. Or they might, if most of them didn't know by now that the VA can't lie her way out of a paper bag. However good she may be, however naturally athletic, she's not quite up to par with Atlas, who keeps blocking her goals.
If she knew how old he really was, she'd really be pissed. As it is, she's still relatively level headed. For now.
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath, round 3: Any time now, Little...))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Ack! Again!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Alert alert, incoming ballistic football]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [So we meet again, Dr. Atlas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] "Come on, Atlas!" Emily cheers from midfield, as the Adept breaks away yet again and makes for the goal.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas actually dives as the ball is sent hurtling at his goal, his body flung into the air as he attempts to stop Riley's offensive yet again....but there was no catching that football, and it zinged by him into the net.
[Ashley] There aren't any fist bumps from the direction of her team mate, who thus far has not had much to do, but Riley gets a huge, congratulatory grin flashed in her direction.
[Emily Littleton] "Nice play," she says, when she meets Riley mid-field again. Good sportsmanship, it's crucial to a friendship between vaguely competitive people.
((Dex + Ath: This is getting embarrassing.))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 9, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] Vaguely competitive people. She offers Emily a high five, still in good spirits and feeling the high of a well-earned goal. But, Emily knows how competitive Riley can be. She's seen the dance. "Thanks!" Then it's on.
[dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [oh come on!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Again! An opening!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [I am the soccer queen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [I've got you now Ms. Poole.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [Nuh uh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Uh huh!...err...or not]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jonathan Kincade] Placing the empty beer bottle on the picnic table , Jon decides to get a better view of the soccer match. Standing from the table as he heads towards the sidelines. Eyes following the movement of the ball, in this 2v2 match.
[Ashley] It's not so much two versus two as one versus two; Ashley, who is milling around Atlas like a tiny satellite, has thus far not had much to guard. Riley and Emily attempt to get the ball from each other, only to have one errant foot kick it off to the side. Riley recovers it, though, and manages to get the ball around Atlas' second attempt to block, sending it sailing through the goal.
[Emily Littleton] Emily jogged back to closer to where Atlas was. "Okay, it's time to stop being generous, yeah?" she says, with a wink. She's not doing swimmingly either, but she seems to be having a great time. All smiles and the light flush of sun and exercise on her face and bare shoulders. "You're doing great!" she calls to him as she jogs back to midfield.
Again, a five for Riley, and another nice shot.
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Round I've Lost Count.))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] She's starting to look smug. That charming smile of hers is starting to twist up at the corners, gleefully. This is supposed to just be for fun, but Riley is too competitive for it to stay that way for long. She returns the five, then turns to Ashley, fist thrusting into the sky. Woo hoo we're winning! That sort of gesture.
[dex + ath: Gettin' cocky, Poole]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: To score?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ashley] Ashley, too, is competitive - but even if she weren't, she's getting a chance to do something she hasn't done in a very. long. time. She'd be beaming anyway. Riley gets a return fist pump.
[Ashley] [Dex + Ath, blocking!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] Poole's getting cocky, Little's starting to get frustrated, and finally team Nerd breaks away with the ball. While the shot on goal clears, something doesn't look quite right with the Keeper's defense. Rather than cheering, Emily picks up the pace and heads over to see if the Hermetic's alright.
[Ashley] [Don't hurt yourself!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Ashley] Ashley manages to land on her wrist, and it's pretty hard. Enough to bruise, possibly to sprain, so for a second the Hermetic lies face down in the grass. By the time Emily approaches, there's a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle before she pushes herself back up, winces, and brushes grass off of her shirt with the uninjured hand.
"I'm good. Let's keep going."
[Emily Littleton] She offers Ashley a hand up -- it's not help, it's sportsmanship. "I've got my ankle wrapped right now, but I don't really need to. If it hurts, let me know and you can use the Ace wrap."
And that's that. She already knows the Hermetic doesn't want handouts.
"Down-side, it will smell like feet."
So you had to make them sound unpalatable.
[Ashley] She accepts the hand up when it's offered, pulling out the front of her shirt and looking down at it and her shorts to make sure there aren't any grass stains. Ashley wrinkles her nose at the mention of a wrap that smells like feet, and gives a shake of her head. "...I'm good, but thanks."
And, giving her wrist a shake, she heads back to where she'd been standing slightly apart from Atlas.
[Emily Littleton] [Score so far...]
Riley + Ashley = 2
Emily + Atlas = 1
[Riley Poole] Ashley goes down, and Riley at least is not a total asshole. She starts in that direction, long legs taking her well into their 'side' of the field, but she stops when she hears, I'm good. Let's keep going. Well, at least she'd made the show of being helpful.
That's all she needs to know to get back to the start, so they can continue the game. That they're winning. That they could win. That they're so close to winning. She grins at Ashley, lifts her brows questioningly and gives a thumbs up. When they're good to continue, she readies for that kick.
[It's the final countdown!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Let's do this!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [ouch?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Nooo! Defend!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Atlas Mason] Atlas is working up a sweat diving for all these shots Riley has been taking, and it has put a light sheen of sweat over his body. But he's not giving up, he's not ready to quit. He seems all the more energized by it all.
So much so he calls out encouragement to Emily. "Utilize your maximum capability, show them what you are compositely constructed from!"
[Emily Littleton] ((Shoot! Score?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] She shoots... but the Hermetic defends. There's simultaneous disappointment in Emily's face, and congratulations for Ashley there too. "Nice save," she calls toward the goal.
Then it's back to midfield to check on Riley.
[Riley Poole] Riley goes for the kick, but she misses. Her feet slide out from under her, and she lands with a squeak in the grass. She's laughing as she gets to her feet, looking back to see that Ashley, despite injury, has successfully defended their goal. Riley lifts her arms over her head. "Woo! Go Ashley!"
[Ashley] Two very competitive people. Ashley glances in Riley's direction to make sure she hasn't been taken out of the game, sees her laughing and is reassured. There's a laugh and a brief victory raise of arms in return.
[Riley Poole] [I'll give her a hah! And a hai-yah! And I'll kick her, sir]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Go, team, go!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Huh-uh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 8 (Failure at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex+Ath: Ready for a rematch, McGowen?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Alright. Truth be told? Ashley & Riley are not the only competitive people on the field. The Orphans arms go up in a victorious gesture and she runs over to Atlas to fistbump -- remember this? we just talked about it -- in congratulations.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas does indeed remember the fist bump, and this time he wraps knuckles with her quickly, a wide grin upon his face. "Preparations for our victory have been successful, now, we must complete our task and deny them theirs!"
[Riley Poole] [My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Tie breaker round!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: We meet again, Ashley!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Blocking that anyway!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] And that's game. Coming from behind, Team Nerd managed a three-goal run and escaped without injury. Emily first congratulated her teammate -- more or less politely, and within the acceptable decibel ranges for cheering oneself -- and then exchanged Good Games with the early front-runners. Given that it's Ashley & Riley, she fully expects to hear the word "Rematch" come up in the next five to ten minutes...
[Atlas Mason] The final goal is made, and it is Atlas and Emily who emerge triumphant, Atlas raises his hands to the sky and yells happily in celebration, a wide, friendly smile upon his face as he stepped out of the goal and headed for center field at a trot
"Our strategically formulated hypothesis is correct!" He calls out, and when he reaches his team mate he repeats the fist bumping thing, and then shakes the hand of Ashley and Riley in turn, both of them enthusastic hand pumps, the man obviously had fun.
"Most memorable, my adrenal levels have not reached this peek in sometime." He says happily, and when he reaches Riley his smile turns a little sly. "Next time, your personage will be more appropriately aclimatized I am certain within a five percent deviational error." He says with a wink.
[Riley Poole] They didn't win, but that's alright. They had a good run of it, anyway. That's what Riley tells herself so she doesn't feel the sting of defeat too acutely. She has a friendly smile for both of her opponents, though, even Atlas. She's old school, offers Ashley, Emilya, and him all a high five rather than fist bump. "I demand--!"
Then her phone is chirping at her. That particular chirp makes her look over at her belongings sharply, frowning. Then she turns back to Atlas. "A rematch! But first let me get that."
She mutters something to herself about idiots and KNOW not to call. She has to fish her phone from the depths of her bag. By the time she finds it the call has gone to voicemail, and whatever she hears makes her frown all the more.
"Guys, I'm sorry but I have to run to the store real quick." The store. Emily at least should know she means the Best Buy. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but in case I can't make it, Em, do you mind cleaning up here?" There is an immense amount of apology in her dark eyes.
[Ashley] Normally, Ashley doesn't take losing very well. Normally Ashley doesn't have a lot of fun with other people either, so the losing is almost forgotten. They had a good run of it and she blocked a goal, in spite of injury and being totally insensate on one side of her head. The Hermetic grins, sensing that Riley is going to ask for a rematch and quite ready for it, before Riley's phone chirps.
There's vague disappointment, but a nod toward the V-Dept. "Sure. See you later," she tells Riley, before she tucks her hands in her pockets and starts back toward the tables. There are fruit skewers, after all.
[Riley Poole] [Exit Riley, stage left! Keep havin' fun, guys!]
[Emily Littleton] Emily brought the ball and the markers back in when they cleared the field. She's grinning, ear to ear, easily the happiest she's been in weeks. Or maybe even months. There's a light sheen of sweat on her back and shoulders, and her skin where it is exposed is pink from the sun exposure. Riley's calling for a rematch, and Emily's expression says: Bring it!
Then the Adept has to go, and Emily's doubly glad her car is sitting in the parking lot now. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," she says, and the apology in Riley's eyes is waved off. She owes the Adept far more than a clean up by now.
The Orphan moves through the gathering to drop the ball back with the other sport equipment. She tucks the brightly colored discs into her bag. Then it's time to fish a water out of the cooler -- or three -- one gets offered to each of the sports participants.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods to Riley as she has to run off to work, and he does look disappointed that he won't get that chance for a rematch, at least not yet. Now that they've stopped however, he feels the heat wash over him again, suddenly realizing just how warm he was having been running around like that.
Where before their was a thin sheen of sweat, Atlas is now wiping himself down with his poor shirt, toweling off with a smile on his face. When Emily offers him the water, he upends it and downs the bottle in one go, before going back for another one.
"Quite enjoyable, we must attempt to recreate those environmental particulars, as well as the social dynamic in future time units." He says between gulps of water as he takes a seat on one of the benches in the shade.
[Ashley] Ashley takes the water from Emily when it's offered and retrieves one of the skewers that Travis brought as well. The Hermetic pulls a chunk of pineapple off the skewer with her teeth, eyes flicking toward Jon. She'd only vaguely been aware of his presence.
"Hey, Jon," she says to the older mage, tossing her head to flick some of her hair out of her eyes, since her hands are occupied. "Sorry, I didn't really see you get here."
"I think it would be a good idea, too," she says, with a look toward Atlas. She's a little ginger with her wrist, careful not to twist it or do much more than hold the bottle of water, but it's largely been forgotten in the wake of the fact that she was actually having fun.
[Nathan Spriggs] It was supposed to be a nice evening. No bloodbaths or monsters to fight off. He'd gotten a voice mail from Israel on it. A little gathering between magi, nothing like planning or plotting... just fun. And right about now, the Cultist is in major need of some fun. There was bags under his eyes, his skin a sickly pale tinge, and his general appearance reflects the personal hell he was in right now.
No sleep since the moment down in that basement, no relaxation. He was twitchy, jumping and looking around at the slightest provocation, slightest sound. When he arrives at the place, his footsteps come to a halt, he simply looks around. Waiting, watching. Hands in coat pocket, ready for the minions of hell to show up at their doorstep.
Then he feels it. A chill that runs down his spine like electricity, makes him shudder. A mixture of resonance in the air, some familiar, some even well known. Yet behind it all, a malice and evil presence he remembers full well. Spirits. Wraiths. Something. It was evil.
Nathan crouched behind a bush, watching still, hands finding the gun he carried now (Atlas had ruined his last), grasping it silently and watching. His entire body shook with fear and a cold sweat soaked his shirt, something had gone horribly wrong.
After a moment of hesitation, of gathering his nerves, the man slowly advanced crouching still. An attempt at some kind of silent approach, mostly to get some recon. See how many survivors were left. The gun itself wasn't drawn yet but it was at the ready if it had to be.
[Emily Littleton] ((Per + Alert: Whazzat?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Nathan Spriggs] [I'm Snake! Unless I botch again]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Emily Littleton
[Jonathan Kincade] It seemed the game was over for now, the combatants heading back towards the table. Victors taking their spoils, but it seemed the losers weren't overly disappointed.
They had started back towards the tables, to which Jon turned now. Heading back with food on his mind, which he hears a familiar voice "Hey Ash, nah that's okay... You all seemed rather preoccupied with the match. Looks like you had fun, been out here long ?"
[Emily Littleton] She's riding high and not really openly worried about anything. The Orphan is, for the moment, keeping to the edge of the group and looking out for others who might have found their way to the park during the soccer game and somehow missed the nexus of resonances and athletic prowess.
Which does explain why she suddenly stops with whatever small movement she was making. The Apprentice is stock-still, now, and staring off in the direction of a bush line not far away.
She steals a small look back at the gathering, frowns a bit, and calls on the one person she knows will stand sentintel against all intruders -- even if it's just high school pranksters come to raid the grill goodies.
"Um, Ashley," she says, her voice suspiciously level and calm. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"
[Atlas Mason] Atlas rests his bones on the bench for a few moments, looking around at the others, and waving a welcome to Jonathan, but not speaking for the moment as he catches himself, he might have been fairly athletic on the field, but he's pretty tired now.
He stands and moves to acquire one of those delicious hamburgers, and begins to wolf it down, when he realizes there was no one left to tend the grill with Riley gone, so the man takes it upon himself to do so, stepping up to the hot grill and throwing some fish on the metal and starting to cook up that fresh salmon.
[Ashley] "A few hours now," she tells Jon, plucking another few pieces of fruit from the skewer. She's flushed, a few dry blades of grass still sticking to her shirt and one of her knees from when she fell, sweating a little. The residual grin hasn't left.
Well, until Emily becomes more serious, asks if she can take Ashley aside. Then it fades, and she steps off to the side with the orphan, brow furrowed. Zane busies himself with begging Atlas and Jon for a hamburger, going so far as to lay his muzzle on knees whenever they come close by.
Ashley frowns at Emily, taking a long drink from the bottle once they're out from underneath the awning. "Is something wrong?"
[S. Ashton Winters] True to form, she shows up late to these sorts of things.
It makes sense, because when she shows up she is some semblance of normally dressed and has a sleeping child draped over one shoulder. Marcelle has a grip on Ashton's hair. It's firm, and moreover it is unrelenting. She isn't going to let go of this any time soon.
But? She is there. She is there and has come to eat food. Real food. Barbecued food.
[Israel Cohen] Attention is turned elsewhere for now: On food. On others. On paranoia's of potential intruders caused by the paranoia's of a Cultist having a bad, bad weekend. She's approaching from roughly behind and to the side of Nathan, still a couple yards off, making her way with something of a burden: Two fair sized canvas grocery bags and a pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade. The petite woman has a surprising stamina for her size, but her capacity for brute strength is just as it would seem - negligible at best. So it is that she teeters slightly with the bulk of it, making her way in low-top canvas sneakers, khaki coloured capris and a turquoise blue tank top, the length and mass of her dark hair swept back with a fabric head band.
She doesn't have her guide cane - or, at least, she isn't using one at the moment - and that is an oddity, indeed.
Her perceptions are different from most people, that's a norm. Today they are 'tweaked', providing not sight - not the way the Seeing think of it - but an uncanny sense of things nonetheless. Coupled by her considerable awareness - more necessity than mere habit - she is quick not notice something rather amiss as she approaches. Enough so that she pauses, head canting in one of those bird-like motions of hers. A beat. She calls out.
"Nathan, what on earth are you doing?" Her voice is not built for volume in the best of times, but she is not so very far away and she manages, though the mezzo-soprano of it ends up more airy than usual. Her tone is... perplexed? Concerned? Curious.
[Emily Littleton] "Yeah," she says, and again that informality presages an uncomfortable moment. Emily points out the something in the bushes not far from here, describes what she saw to the Disciple in low tones. If she was just a little jumpy, it would be best to keep this between her and Ashley, but she was certain she'd seen something over there. Something large enough to be trouble.
And then there's Israel. Calling out Nathan, of all people. The Apprentice mutters something in Chinese that cannot be particularly charitable, and then an apology to the Hermetic, who she has called away from the party because of a wayward Cultist.
Emily reaches up and runs her fingers through her hair. "Sorry. I thought it was trouble. I guess it's just Nathan."
[Nathan Spriggs] People watching the bushes would see them shake suddenly, something had hit them. Israel on the other hand, positioned as she was, saw (or sensed rather) something different. Crouched as he was, the twitchy man jumped back at her call, losing his balanced and falling against the bush.
It was only by chance that he recognized the voice and stopped himself from unloading a magazine's worth of rounds down in the blind Orphan's direction. Instead, he just saw them, back against the bush, watching the woman. A hint of fear in his face as he watched her, wondering if she was possessed again.
A moment, deciding what to do. "Uh... oh, I'm fine." Whatever the man was, he was obviously not fine, even he couldn't fully hide the fear and panic in his tone, the weariness at some unknown threat stalking them.
[Ashley] "That's all right," Ashley tells Emily, her voice a little more understanding than it might be under normal circumstances. She's in a good mood, and they had a rough night last night besides. Ashley is, at least, well cognizant of how on edge Emily must be after what happened.
"Nathan, you want to get out of the fucking bushes? I might've hurt you if Israel hadn't noticed you," Ashley calls toward him as she starts back toward the pavilion. No understanding for him.
Ashton, though, gets a bright grin when she notices her and the baby on the way back in. "Hey, Ashton," she says, finishing the last of the fruit that's on the skewers. Marcelle gets a wave. "D'you know everyone here?"
[Atlas Mason] Ahhh grilling on a summers day after a victorious game of european football their were fewer things better when shared with friends, and for Atlas it had been decades since he had enjoyed such company.
He was in such high spirits that he secretly snuck Zane a sausage or two, sharing in the wealth and good times that were available to all that were present, he listened to the conversations about him, up until he hears Israel call out to Nathan, who apparently was hunkered down in the bushes watching the proceedings, the man raises a quizzical brow at that particular dynamic, but simply shook his head with a good humored smile and continued to grill, ceddar plank cooked salmon filling the air with its aroma.
The man seems to have even gotten over the fact that he was shirtless.
[Israel Cohen] "Mmph." The sound rather eloquently sums up just what she thinks of his [false. poorly executed] reassurances. She'd startled slightly when he'd jumped and fallen back, lips twitching between an inappropriate urge to laugh and general wariness of the situation as a whole. Of the gun he might have pulled she is unaware, though the fear and panic in his voice is obvious.
Turning her head towards the others gathered some small distance off - half an inclination of the ear, half seeming to 'look' in their direction - she then faces the prone man again and shakes her head, moving closer, speaking normally now. Gentle but firm. "We know those people, Nathan. They aren't going to hurt you. There's no danger at the moment. It's just a cook out." Shifting her assorted burdens with an unconscious discomfort of its weight as Ashley calls over their way. She snorts slightly at the Hermetic's bluntness, a bemused sound more than anything else. "C'mon, then. You're fine." As if willing it will make it so.
Among their sort such is often the case.
[Nathan Spriggs] "I felt something off, something evil." A conviction there, he was certain of it, no doubts present. He'd felt it and that was no lie. Placing his palms against the grass, Nathan slowly got back on his feet, shaky at first. A quick glance around then eyes back on the Orphan's own sightless ones. Watching, observing, cautious of her. How could he know she wasn't possessed again?
Her approach got a half-step back before he steeled himself and let her, eyes darting to her hands to make sure no strange motions occurred. Reassurances from her that felt like lies, 'no danger' she said. Nathan's head turned just slightly towards the direction of the annoyed Hermetic's shout but no response before turning back to the Orphan, another unconscious step back in caution. "Anything happen?" What he meant with that question was obvious.
[Ashley] "Something evil?" Ashley asks the Cultist, with a skeptical glance in his direction. Now that he's come out of the bushes she can see that drawn appearance, that the man is frightened out of his mind. He was possessed last night, after all (he shouldn't have been.)
Atlas has been feeding Zane sausages, which the dog has been happy to have. Ashley glances down at him, amused, as he tries to dart back under the table before she can see him eating one, and then there's a look toward Atlas, the culprit. No reprimands, though. They might as well share.
Ashley seats herself on the picnic table once more, feet resting on the bench as she reaches for another of the fruit skewers. "Just...sit down and try to have fun, okay? The rest of us are," she tells Nathan. Which might be the closest he'll get to some compassion, from her at least.
[Israel Cohen] "Nathan." Giving it up as a bad job, she puts down the two canvas bags and flexes her aching hand, grimacing slightly before facing his direction [more accurately than she normally would and that's saying something] and continuing to speak softly, calmly, firmly. "You are in a panic. Given what I understand happened last night I can understand wariness and weariness, but jumping at shadows and acting like a rabbit simply will not do. Pull yourself together, man." Someone else might be saying this with disdain or derision: She says it with honesty and directness, but without ill-temper, disgust or anger. "Remember who and what you are. If and when you get to that point and need some help, let me know. Until then? I'm starving. The food smells good so.." Ashley speaks about him sitting down and trying to have fun. Israel nods. "What she said. C'mon." The second time she says that. She says it with kindness that softness the frank words previously spoken, without negating them. A beckoning gesture of her hand, a cant of her head... "Please."
And then she's moving to take up her bags again - a little grunt of effort - and move towards the others. "Hi, Ashley... Atlas, is that you grilling salmon? It smells devine..."
[Emily Littleton] Surprised, somewhat, that Nathan has chosen to join them all after last night's events, Emily offers him a small smile, guarded but concerned, as he finds his way into the gathering. Gone is the ineffable broad smile from post-soccer bliss, but the energy in her body was still riding higher than usual. The weather had held out and the cook-out was largely a success. She tucked her empty water bottle into the recyclables bag, and grabbed another out of the cooler.
"Hi, Israel," she said, once the other Orphan had settled herself into the gathering. Meanwhile, Emily was fixing herself a bit more of her picnic favorites, and wandering over to see what magic her teammate was working at the grill. A bit of that boundless grin came back when she saw the cedar planks and salmon. It was enough to make a foodie salivate.
[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan had been busying himself with the attentions of Zane , watching as Atlas fed the dog sausages. It was going to be hard to beat that sort of bribery, so he isn't surprised when the dog starts paying the Etherite more attention.
It's then that Jonathan becomes more attuned to the commotion happening around him. Looking up as everyone seems to be talking about Nathan. Apparently the mage had been having a bad trot.. Jonathan to be honest wasn't that surprised. Both men although now in a Cabal had their own special projects that they didn't share. "Hey Nathan, been awhile... still alive it seems ?"
He notices Israel behind him, "Afternoon Israel, nice to see you again. Eat and have your fill... fancy a beer at all ?"
[Atlas Mason] The first batch of salmon was off the grill and onto a serving tray, still sitting on the cedar planks to keep it warm and ready, Atlas knew how to cook fish, if nothing else. He had begun piling up some more onto the grill, more cedar, more salmon, that aroma never abating as he works away.
When Ashley looked in Atlas' direction, catching him feeding her dog sausage, he simply shrugs and chuckles, before returning to his chosen work, apparently happy to cook.
Israel approached and Atlas smiled to the woman, even though it was effectively lost on the woman. "Israel, it most compatible with myself to visually recognize your personage once more, and I am gregariously filled with positively aligned neuro chemicals at witnessing your swift recovery from last night cycle's event."
He turned his gaze to Emily, and his eyes twinkled just a little bit more for his team mate, and held up a plate with salmon on it, fork included. "Satiate your personage Emily."
[Israel Cohen] Jon catches her before she moves away, so she turns slightly, trotting backwards a little awkwardly; less because of her burdens and more because she's not used to such actions anymore. Offering up a smile, she shakes her head. "I'm good with my Mike's, thanks. Good to see," ah, such small ironies in such common phrases, "you, too, Jonathan." Something flickers over her features, her ear inclining slightly towards Nathan again, a moments indecision... but then she decides better and merely says. "I'll let you catch up with Nathan."
Then she's again making her way to the grill, "Hullo, Emily. Doing well?" There is a touch of concern there as well, something of protectiveness for a fellow Orphan and an Apprentice at that, but she keeps her tone light, not wishing to impede on any festivities. At Atlas' greeting her smile becomes broader. "I'm well and recovered, thank you." Inhaling the scents of the cedar-planked Salmon her expression becomes somewhat wistful, something that has a habit of making her look younger than her years when coupled with the look of her. There are mature curves there, yes, but when they come in such a small, soft and almost fragile-seeming frame its hard for some to see her as pushing 30. "The cedar hasn't come in contact with any other meat or dairy has it?"
Oh please let it be so!
[Ashley] There's a hopeful glance from the Hermetic toward the salmon Atlas is bringing over for Emily. She's content to let the first plate go to Emily, though, and leans down to hug the dog and rumple his ears, with a gruff mutter or two about how he's going to get sick before she straightens back up.
"That's the first the cedar's been used, Israel," Ashley tells the orphan, twisting around so she can look at her before grabbing one of the plates and taking a serving (or two) of the salmon.
"No Solomon?"
[Nathan Spriggs] For a moment, just an instant, the Cultist is back to his usual self in the look he gives Ashley when she mentions people having fun. A doubtful look, maybe at the fact of what had happened the night before, maybe just the fact she even knew what that was. In any case, it was gone as fast as it came and he turned back to the group, seeing who was present.
Israel's motivational speech heard but not commented on, or immediately applied. Though some of the tension seemed to disappear from his body as he took a breath. "Thanks. I'll try."
Jonathan's greeting was received with some level of apprehension, something about everything happening made him ill at ease to respond or think on it. "Hey, everything okay...?" It was all he got in response, hands going back into their pockets as he got in another look around.
[Emily Littleton] She accepts the plate from Atlas with a warm Cheers. From the smell of things, the Etherite definitely knows fish. How to catch them, how to cook them. It's the perfect compliment to the brats and burgers from earlier in the day.
Israel asks how she's doing, and the Apprentice's voice is richer and happier that it has sounded in recent nights. That it has ever sounded to Israel, because Emily had to go back quite far in her memory (or travel far afield from Chicago in her memories) to remember when she was as now.
"Actually, yes. I'm doing quite well, thank you. You just missed our football match," she adds, sounding vaguely triumphant. At this point, it's happiness that they'd played at all, and gotten out of the moment and it's possessions and demons and angels long enough to laugh and cheer with one another. Winning hadn't hurt her spirits either.
She casts a look over at Nathan and Jon, and the lines at the corners of her mouth tighten momentarily. But that passes. "We have potato salad and fruit salad too, and Travis brought by some fruit skewers -- they've all been kept separately, so they should still be kosher."
[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan winces a little as he realises what he says , but the worst thing he could do was draw attention to it. "Okay, let me know if you want something after your done with your Mike's. Yeah okay... talk to you later." as his attention turns towards Nathan, an eyebrow raised as he studies the man.
"Yeah everything's okay with me...keeping my nose out of trouble for the most part. Been doing some studying with Ashley.. that's about it really."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods to Israels question about the plank's and the salmon being kosher, even as Ashley answers the question, pulling up a plate with two nice portions on it and handing it to Israel. "These specimen's all adhere to the archaic ritual and scripture designated within the religious scripture dictated and labelled as the Tanakh."
He says it with a smile and hands over the plate before looking over at Nathan, who obviously looks much worse for wear then the rest of the cookout goers. "Nathan, would your digestive tract benefit from the nutrients provided within a specimen of family Salmonidae?"
He asks as he holds up another plate, offering to the man in a friendly gesture, obviously he doesn't think hes done anything bad to the man recently.
[Ashley McGowen] "We're rematching, the next time you and me and Riley are in the same place," Ashley tells the Chorister-to-be, transferring a large chunk of the salmon to her mouth. She, too, is still full of adrenaline and good spirits, it would seem.
One of the Mike's Israel brought is picked up and opened, though she's careful of her wrist, which doesn't seem to bend very well at the moment. She isn't complaining, though; it's one of those things that heals after a day or two. Ashley has certainly had worse.
[Israel Cohen] "I'm sorry I missed that. Perhaps there will be something else? I'd happily burn off some energy, though, mind you, for obvious reasons I haven't played in... well..." She shrugs by way of completion, though a calm half-smile remains. As for the mention of food - and the assurances from Atlas that the Salmon is Kosher - she brightens, her pleasure genuine but her mannerisms generally subdued. "Lovely. I've brought some deli stuff in case anyone's interested. And also some baklava," an Israel staple, "and brownies. Fudge and Blondies. One moment," to Atlas directly this time as he holds out a plate. She sets down her bags and finds a place for its items on the table [even with her senses tweaked beyond their normal capacity she still feels for the edges of plates and packages, what has now become a habit in her life] and crabs herself one of the Mikes before taking the offered plate. "Thanks."
[Nathan Spriggs] "Sounds... interesting," he says, a questioning look that asks what kind of studying. It has been a while since the two men met, and as worse for wear over everything that's happened as he is, the Cultist is curious about what he's been up to.
"Anything explode lately? Or have cat scratches on it?" The meaning behind the words would be obvious enough to the man as suddenly a familiar Etherite comes by, offering a plate of... salmon. Nathan hesitates for a split second, watching the food, gauging it for some kind of poison before he gave a barely visible nod. "Yes, thank you," a pause there, remembering something he'd forgotten, "By the way Atlas, you owe me a gun."
A weary smile spread across his face, no ill intentions or attempts to start a fight in his tone, though maybe some hints of anger at the fact he'd turned his Glock into scraps. It had been unavoidable but it still irked.
[Emily Littleton] There's a rematch coming, Ashley says, and that tugs Emily's smile just a bit wider. It stills her fork from bringing the salmon to her mouth just yet.
"I'll keep my football with me at all times, then," she responds, like a good Apprentice. Ever vigilant and ready for an unsuspected rematch. They've been like this since the game began, lighter-hearted and downright jovial. It's a sharp contrast to the night before, and to Nathan who is still feeling its aftereffects so sharply.
Not that Ashley & Emily are immune, just that they have found a way, for now, to repress or compartmentalize. It had started, for Emily, as deference to Riley's party. Now it was an ardent defense of the one truly good day she's had in quite some time.
"Maybe next time you can play too," she says, to Israel. It would be insensitive, but the perceptive Choristor-to-be has noticed how adept the Disciple is in moving through uncharted space. There is something more at play here than what immediately meets the (pardon the pun) eyes.
Nathan's telling Atlas that he owes the Cultist a gun. Emily turns to the recently possessed, and says, quite helpfully. "Hey, Nathan. We still have some leftover Brats and burgers if you'd rather. Would you like me to heat you up one?"
No, no, of course it has nothing to do with full mouths having a hard time dredging up bad memories. Emily's just downright friendly these days.
[Ashley McGowen] "Nathan, I'm not above using the Ars Mentis to make sure you have fun," Ashley says. It's probably supposed to be a joke; her tone implies such. She looks over her shoulder at the Cultist and smiles. It's not a sweet smile, though. There's an edge to it, of course, as though to remind him that she is indeed capable of doing so. Ashley almost can't help such things.
That air fades just as quickly, though (as much as such things can) - or, more, it's redirected as she cranes her neck to look toward the bags that Israel brought. "You really brought baklava?"
[Israel Cohen] "Mmmf," the muffled sound of affirmation as she finishes up a mouthful of salmon, nodding her head and turning towards Ashley, indicating the large Tupperware container of homemade baklava on the table with the hand holding the Mikes. Swallowing she licks her lips which then curve with appreciation, "Of course, I did. Everything is better with baklava."
Inclining her ear towards Emily she arches an eyebrow, the quietness of her smile now holding a bit of feigned surprise. "What, one game of soccer and all of you are all tuckered out? Bah." The tone remains light. Conversational. They are supposed to be having a good time... some of the others have the after affects of healthy adrenaline to help them out. She's waiting for some of the spiked lemonade to take effect, though it would take a lot more than one to get her to actually tipsy. Surprisingly for her size her tolerance is better than most.
[Jonathan Kincade] "Yeah it is interesting actually, just been learning some stuff from Ashley. " and then the Hermetic starts talking about how she could make the Cultist have fun "Hmm she's not wrong Nathan... I was lucky to hold out during our lessons."
"But other than that been experimenting with primal energy on my own. Think I've finally come to have a firmer grip on that sphere. Been exhaustive work, but I'm glad I'm seeing the results I've been getting."
Searching the table for some more food as he piles it up on a paper plate.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas raises a brow at Nathan's effective demand for a new gun, and he almost looks like he isn't going to oblige the man, but his good feelings from earlier in the cookout seem to swing his opinion back over and he smiles. "I will investigate an appropriate facsimile or replacement accelerator. I am certain I have appropriate diagrams and schematics archived within my vessel."
He says casually, like its nothing as he turns back to the grill, his face to those with brighter dispositions at the moment. He nods to Ashley at the mention of a rematch, obviously enticed by the suggestion as well.
[Emily Littleton] Israel besmirches her athletic stamina, and Emily quirks an eyebrow at the fiesty, smaller Orphan.
"I'm sure another match could be arranged, if you're that interested," she says, oh-so-accomodatingly. After all, Emily isn't nursing any injuries. Even her pride recovered after the first few rounds when Riley was trouncing them.
She stops just short of goading Israel on. She's not sure about the social etiquette there, but she's relatively certain that it's not acceptable to trash talk to a blind lady about sport. Another mouthful of salmon. Another wary glance at Jon & Nathan.
[Nathan Spriggs] A look over to Ashley at her comment (threat?), eyes narrowing for a moment. A few minutes ago, he'd already be half-way to drawing his gun by now. Instead, his hands simply close into fists inside the coat, the weary visage covering any outward signs of anger he might have at being threatened.
Jonathan's comment however, instead of being helpful and insightful, was the final stroke in acknowledging the threat. For a moment, the coat pulled back just slightly, might have been the wind that did it. But Ashley might catch a glimpse of the holstered gun, no directly threatening gestures involved in it.
"I'm sure you can, I'll keep it in mind," he responded with a strained smile, not from anger, simply that he didn't imagine how he could have fun right now. In any case, for now he'd trust in the presence of other magi (Israel) to keep Ashley from acting. Otherwise it would fall on him to self-defense, and it wouldn't be pretty. Question was, who was quicker.
He turned to Atlas, noticing his acknowledgment of the demand, it was only natural he repay the damage as far as the Cultist was concerned. "So, how about that salmon?"
[Ashley McGowen] [Did you just...almost pull a gun on me? Perception + Alertness.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Emily Littleton] ((Per + Alert: Did you pack heat to a picnic? It's already 80+ outside today...))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Israel Cohen] There are things she misses, of course. Rote or not, she does not 'see' now with fine clarity and detail. But she can hear the joking comment from Ashley, hear the strain in Nathan's response; she has a sense of his motion because it alters just so how he feels in her mind's eye, his positioning. She cane zone in on items on his person. So whatever banter she was about to respond to Emily with fades away as she frowns, "...it might be a good idea. Apparently we don't all do so well just standing around." The words are hushed, more a thought spoken aloud. She turns towards Nathan and Ashley, her small form not tense or rigid at all but with a sense of readiness there.
"Nathan. Ashley. We're out right smack in the open." The words low-spoken but each is patently stressed.
[Emily Littleton] It's a tense moment, one that only gets pulled more tightly between them all when Nathan snaps at the Hermetic. When his jacket flips back to reveal -- Emily's eyes widen, then narrow immediately. What good mood? What jovial attitude?
The threatening posture, coupled with the presence of a firearm at their gathering -- and not in a law & order service weapon setting either, no -- upset the younger Orphan. Her eyes tracked him relentlessly now, as she went to demand a plate of food from Atlas. As he took up whatever sitting place he might at the table. There's a press behind them, as Unrelenting as her resonance. Watchful. Alert.
He'd snuck up on them in the bushes, and now he made sure they knew he was armed. Her spine pulls perfectly erect in her frustration. It's impossible to miss the change in body posture. She's done nothing to hide it.
[Emily Littleton] ((edit: ...as *he went to demand a plate of food ...))
[Ashley McGowen] It's probably lucky for Nathan that the last thing Ashley wants right now is a fight. The Hermetic is weary from what happened last night in the chantry and from the months (many) that have marched along before it, and this is the first day where she's really had fun, really enjoyed herself among people, in a while.
So, when he pulls back his coat, enough to glimpse the holstered gun, Ashley's eyes narrow. Israel's warning doesn't go unheeded, though: who knows. If she hadn't spoken up Ashley might very well feel obliged to escalate this. The conflict she has is actually rather clear, to anyone who knows Ashley moderately well - Nathan might as well have challenged her directly, and backing down would indicate that she's been cowed.
The Hermetic's jaw works for a second before she leans down to unwrap her dog's leash. "Good night. Emily, thank Riley for the party, when you see her again."
Nathan gets a parting stare. She didn't even finish what was on the plate.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas slams the lid down on the BBQ and shakes his head at Nathan, finding his actions unacceptable now. He looks at the man like a reproachful father figure and his face seems older now, much older as he watches the man.
"What possible outcome could you be postulating with social activity directed along such a plan of action? Directing force and negatively charged actions towards your own allies? If your synaptic storage functions have failed you Nathan, you comprehend and assimilate the fact that we are involved in several junctures requiring our co-efficient functionality, not negative neuro chemical responses or directed aggression."
He then looks to Ashley as she goes to leave, and from the look of it, he considers leaving as well.
[Nathan Spriggs] For a second, time seemed to stop for the Cultist, hesitant or maybe just waiting for a response. Suddenly, Israel cut in, a sense of relief spreading across him. After the events of last night, he was twitchy, prone to rash and paranoid actions, even he realized he'd overreacted in a way. Still, his mind was his alone. No one else's.
As Ashley seems to back down, walk away from the place, a last stare to him. Then Atlas seems to join in, like Ashley was in the right all along, because apparently threats of mind-infiltration were not hostile actions in and of themselves. A last look to him, and a shrug. Then he turns to Israel, unhooking the holster and gun, understanding something.
"My. Mind. Is. Mine." Then he extended his hand, holstered gun and all, towards Israel. Not in any threatening gesture, he was literally handing it to her. Understanding it was a bad idea to carry it for now, "I don't trust myself right now."
[Emily Littleton] Something in Emily's bag starts to ring. Not a delicate digital ring, no, or a ringtone, but an echo of something older. Her cellphone actually sounds like a, wait for it, phone. How ungeekly. But opportune, as things often were for magi. She needed out of the conflict, if she planned on salvaging what's left of her good mood.
"Hey, loves," she said, distracted by the number on her phone once she'd reclaimed it. "Ring me when you're breaking up here and I'll come tear down. I need to take this, and it'll be awhile."
There's a smile, for mostly all of them, and it's polite enough. The tenor of her voice has shifted slightly. And it's an entirely foreign tongue that she answers the phone in, saying, in faultering but functional Chinese: Good morning. The Orphan left her prized football, but nabbed her messenger bag on the way out.
Not Riley Poole. And not a number of the cities Awakened. The Virtual Adept is there already, awnings set up to create shade, a number of coolers set around a few of the park's outdoor grills. The smell of cooking meat hangs in the air, and there are picnic tables nearby with plates and plasticware and whatnot on them, just waiting for people to come and get food. Sit around and chat a bit.
As the first of the mages arrive, Riley, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, dressed in shorts and a tank top and her Converse high tops, is flipping burgers.
[Ashley] Ashley shows up not too long after Riley. Given the Hermetic's general social awkwardness and dislike of parties, it may be something of a surprise to see her here. Or perhaps not. It's necessary to be comfortable with such things for the sake of politics, after all.
She has the look of someone who is very tired, not necessarily physically but certainly emotionally, like she recently poured as much of herself as she could into some task. So she's a little wan, probably could have used a bit more sleep, but seems as cheery as she generally gets. She's dressed in a red T-shirt (an icon of a piece of paper thrown away into a wastebasket, ala a Mac recycle bin, only the file looks distinctly sad-faced about this) and a pair of longer brown plaid shorts of the variety the collegiate currently seem to favor.
Zane is trotting alongside her, leashed, bouncing and happy. Ashley raises a hand in greeting as she draws near the awnings. "Hey, Riley."
[Atlas Mason] One of the great things about a motorcycle with a sidecar is that it can carry so much more then a normal one. Today is no exception of course, as the size of the sidecar did not shrink overnight, or somehow become unusable in recent days.
And so the Son of Ether arrives on this hot, carrying his own cooler along from the parking lot. Unlike Riley, Atlas is not properly dressed for the weather as it would seem the man has only one style of clothing corduroy pants, a button up shirt, and suspenders. He either had no other sort of clothing...or he just didnt care.
As he approached the proposed gathering site he took in the view, of two women beneath the awning and the various grills and picnic tables scattered about the area. He also took time to take in the sights, the sky about him, the way the light played off the tree and the grass, all of these things slowed him down and brought his walk to almost a leisurely amble, if one could do such a thing in this heat.
"Ashley, Riley, appreciable social acquaintences!" He calls as he too comes into the speaking distance. "I have acquired several specimens of variety and size catagorically represented by the family Salmonidae." He says amiably as he steps into the shade, a thin layer of sweat already upon his brow
[Riley Poole] Riley turns her head when she hears her name. Smiling, she lifts the spatula in salute to the Hermetic.
"Hey, Ashley. Atlas. Glad you guys could make it! Uh." She stares blankly at Atlas as she tries to decide if Salmonidae is a word that she should have stored in her vocabulary somewhere. "You can just, uh, set it down over here? And I'll add it to the, uh," her smile broadens a little, "just set your cooler here, okay?"
There are other little things here and there. A folded blanket setting on one of the benches, a football, a frisbee. The spot Riley's chosen is near the baseball fields and the basketball courts, but either she doesn't own any equipment for those sports, or she decided not to bring them.
[Ashley] Ashley secures the dog's leash around one of the poles under the awning. The bowl she'd had under her other arm is set down, a water bottle from her pocket emptied into it, and she leaves the dog there for now.
Ashley perches on one of the picnic tables near the grill Riley is cooking at, seated on the edge of the table with her feet on the seat. "I probably should've brought something, huh," she says, a touch rueful, as she eyes Atlas' approach and then the clothes he is wearing with suppressed amusement.
"Are you a townie?" she asks Riley. "I figured most people would be traveling this weekend."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas steps over to Riley with a smile, and then sets the cooler down with a rather heavy thunk as if its was quite full and not half empty like most. In another moment the man pulls open the lid and within, are a variety of fish steaks, most of them look like salmon, but there is also trout and a few others, for those who know their fish.
Atlas then looks about at the two women as he wipes his brow with his forearm, clearing the sweat from his face in an attempt not to become drenched in his own bodily fluids.
"Would the percentiles of a relativistically algid liquid or semi liquid within this viscinity be favorable or otherwise?" He asks as he looks around.
[Riley Poole] [wazzat?: wits + enigmas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] The Orphan is running a little late, which is unusual but not unheard of. Emily doesn't remember how long it takes to find parking at the parks on holiday weekends, because she rarely drives anywhere in any city at any time of year. She has patently impolite things to say about the young man driving a pickup who nearly ran over her mid-nineties compact "beater" to take the space she had been waiting on with her indicator flashing, like a sane and reasonable human being. She might have shouted something akin to Wanker! at him, from behind her rolled up driver side window.
Maybe.
Most likely it was an overtly sarcastic Thank you!, though, because Emily Littleton did not use such foul language. In English. In an English-speaking nation.
Once she's settled the car somewhere remotely safe, she makes her way to the gathering with her messenger bag slung across her body, and two large bowls stacked and balanced in her arms. She kicks along a black and white ball as she goes, sometimes relying on the kindness and aim of nearby youngsters to help get it where she's going.
The Orphan's wearing a navy halter top and khaki shorts. She's got on sneakers, and her right ankle is shrouded by one of those neoprene braces that barely shows above her sock. She's brought a fruit salad, and a german potato salad -- because those are good sides for a cookout, and don't require much fussing with once the festivities have begun. She's also got four markers in her bag for marking off goals, and the football she's been kicking along.
Someone likes their sport. Someone is also tired of shooting hoops.
"Hey, lovelies," she calls, as she nears the gathering. It's a surprisingly pleasant thing to hear, the little endearment on the British girl's voice sounds effortless and easy. "Can I get a pair of hands?" And if someone offers, she'll pass one of the salads off to them, or kick them the ball if they're less willing to get up and carry anything over.
It is hot.
[Riley Poole] "Pff," she says, waving her free hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure there'll be more than enough to go around. Oh, fish," she exclaims when she sees what the good doctor has brought to the party. Like the tumblers of a lock sliding into place, Riley understands what he means. Just like she usually does if she actually focuses her attention.
"There's beer and stuff in that cooler, and water and sodas in that one. And I hope you brought a change of clothes, man, because you are gonna die dressed like that."
It's about time for another turn of meat, this time brats (no hot dogs here). A pair of tongs, previously hanging from the handle of the grill, is retrieved for this. Only when she's satisfied that everything is cooking nicely does she turn back to Ashley.
"You could say that. Every couple years or so I visit my dad's family in Ohio. This is not one of those years."
[Ashley] Ashley remembers driving -through- Ohio and the vast emptiness that blurred into Indiana's vast emptiness, and the mention of the state earns Riley a wrinkle of the Hermetic's nose. "I don't blame you."
"Yeah, Atlas, I don't know what made you think corduroy pants were a good idea," she says, with a look toward the Etherite as she rises, hops off the seat of the table so that she can go and help Emily and take one of the salads from her. It's set to the side on one of the tables. One of the ones that isn't near Zane.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods his thanks to Riley as she indicates the coolers, and he moves swiftly over to them pulling open the lid to the water, a bottle is quickly plucked from the icey depths and the lib mercilessly cracked open. It might be quite the sight seeing Atlas down the bottle in one fell swoop, the plastic container held verticle to his mouth as the water is quickly chugged, and then the bottle placed in the waste bin.
He then claims a beer for himself as well, feeling the cool glass against his skin makes him smile before looking up at the three women around him. "My external environmentally protective layers of woven fabric was intended for use in an atmospheric climate based several degree's centigrade lower then the current atmospheric situation. I have no other situationally appropriate fabric available to me at this juncture."
He says with a sigh as he looks over to Emily and smiles in welcome. He notes the football she's brought with her, and seems delighted by its presence.
[Emily Littleton] "Cheers," she says to Ashley, when the Hermetic takes one of the over-sized salads off her hands. They're covered with cellophane, so nothing will bounce out unexpectedly. Emily sets the second salad down next to the one Ashley's just dropped off.
Digging her toe under the ball, she hefts it up a bit to where she can catch it in her hands. Then it gets tucked under one arm as she uses the other to pull her messenger bag over her head and free of her frame.
"That smells great, Ri'," she says to the Adept, and Atlas gets a smile and a little wave of her hand after she's set the bag and the ball aside. Even Zane gets a hello, in the form of some pets and head-scritches. It's a well-needed counterpoint to the night before, to possessions and the unrecanting presence of Umbrood at the Chantry.
Atlas says something, and Emily looks over as she's straightening up from saying hi to Zane. "The Midwest summers got to me too, when I first moved here," she says to Atlas, in a commiserating tone. "I'm still learning to acclimate." A brighter smile; as if he mode of speech was not at all disruptive or disorienting.
[Riley Poole] "Thanks," she says, beaming at Emily. "Oh, awesome!" she says when she notices the soccer (foot) ball, and she nods her head in the direction of the other sports related thing. "You can set that over there for now, Em, and maybe we can get something started when more people show." Though this might be it, just these four of them. Still, even that would make for a fun game of whatever they tried their hands at.
"Atlas, you and me, we're going shopping this week, and see if we can't get you dressing in this decade." She's teasing gently. There's nothing wrong with the way Atlas dresses himself, if one put aside the fact that it's almost ninety degrees out and he's dressed for temperatures under fifty. "If you get too hot, though, I'm pretty sure you won't offend anyone's delicate sensibilities if you want to take your shirt off."
Closing the lid over the grill, Riley sets her cooking utensils aside and heads over to the table to look at the salads. She looks delighted by the salads. "This is going to be so great, you guys. If anyone's hungry, by all means, dig in. The burgers should be done in a couple minutes, then the sausages. Then I'll get started on the fish."
[Ashley] Ashley looks toward the soccer ball, resigned to being stuck sitting at the tables should people play later. Then again, among mages, she can compensate without much worry about it drawing the wrong sort of notice, and the thought makes her brighten ever so slightly.
The Hermetic has a sense that this is the sort of gathering in which she should not be ambushing people or trying to teach them, and as a result is a little quiet, though it's not the brooding sort of quiet of someone who is unhappy. A little tired - she, like Emily, was affected by what she saw last night (moreover what she felt at the end, it's shaken her up again) - but making the effort to be friendly and cheerful. She retrieves a beer after Atlas does, cracking it open.
"Thanks for setting up something like this, Riley. I wouldn't have thought of it."
[Emily Littleton] It's shaken them all up, what they saw the night before. Emily's tucked that down deep, nestled it in beside all of the other things she will not let affect Riley's party today. It's the best she can offer, after letting her own issues ruin at least two gatherings in the last month. So it doesn't show around the edges of her smile, the worry and the weariness. And it won't touch her eyes, which are laughingly bright and an unencumbered blue.
Emily finds a water bottle in one of the coolers. She uses and extra piece of ice to wipe down her hands, then tosses it on to Zane who probably appreciates the cooldown.
Sausages, Riley says. Not Hot Dogs. This piques the foreign girl's interest and she sidles over to the grill to verify her hopes -- vindicated. Riley knows the difference between acceptable grilling meats and sad little American sausages.
"I haven't had Brats in forever," Emily says, coupling the hyperbole with a decidedly German-canted accented (for a moment). She can't help but wend and wind her way through accents; it's something most of them have gotten accustomed to by now. "And yes, thank you. And thank the Americans for their ineffable and understandable affection for all things grilled and outdoors!" She raises her uncapped water in a mock toast, but really, it was one of the few things she actively appreciated about American culture.
The Grill Parties. Cook-outs. Bar-be-ques. It was decidedly Continental and definitely summery.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas cracks his beer at almost the same time as Ashley and raises his bottle to the woman in silent toast. If the ageless doctor had been affected at all by last nights events, it did not show, his demeanor pleasant and happy, as if last night was nothing but the slightest hiccup in his long, long life.
Atlas listens as the woman chat amongst themselves, and gives Riley a grin as she speaks of Atlas removing his shirt, however he shakes his head to that. "It would be socially awkward and impolite for my physical structure to be so exposed." He waves a hand as if to dismiss the idea, even as his the sweat begins to bead upon his brow once more.
The man moves over to where the sausages were located, and gingerly snapped one up into a bun, before picking it up. "My internalized synaptic processes relating to curiosity and inquisitive inflection direct me to inquire as to the internal and originating origin of these meat tubes."
[Ashley] "It's not really inappropriate or impolite these days," Ashley tells Atlas, serious and apparently with the desire to be helpful. "A lot of guys do it."
Meat tubes, says Atlas, and the phrase provokes an amused snort before she suppresses it, lowering the bottle she'd been sipping from. "Sausages have been around forever," she tells Atlas. "I'm sure you've seen them before."
She hasn't yet moved to get any of the food. Trying to hold off, perhaps; it takes quite a bit of restraint for her to get herself to eat slowly to begin with.
[Riley Poole] Riley is oblivious to the trials and tribulations of last night. She doesn't know what shared secret lies between these three, kept on some unspoken agreement so that the general mood (of the cookout or its hostess) is not brought down. If Riley knew, her smile would be dimmer, and she'd want information, and whatever happened last night has no place at a festive social gathering.
Ashley, Atlas, and Emily are doing a fantastic job keeping what they've been through to themselves. Riley has no idea, and it doesn't occur to her to think Emily or Atlas are acting any differently than normal, or that Ashley's fatigue isn't school-related.
Riley grins at Emily's toast, her eyes darting to Atlas, no doubt finding a similarity in their speech patterns for a moment. "Oh, Atlas," she says, heaving a breathy sigh. She even manages to shake her head in something like disapproval or disappointment. Ashley tells him a lot of guys do it, and Riley says, "Yeah. 'sides, it'll be more socially awkward watching you pass out from heat exhaustion. Which reminds me, did anyone bring sunblock?"
[Emily Littleton] And that's the reason they keep mum: Riley's smile would be dimmer, and she'd demand information. There was time for that, later, when the focus wasn't supposed to be on Reverence (for the departed) and Revelry (for those left behind). Another day, and one fairly soon, they could sit down and discuss the visitation. Today there were hamburgers, brats, beers and salads, friends and football.
Today is a good day.
"I've got sublock in my bag, if anyone needs to share," she says, adding her helpful voice to the choir. And the girl was pale enough that it would likely be an SPF high enough to protect Atlas's virgin skin. "Besides, if you're roasting just sitting around here, how will I ever get you on the field to play football?"
Batted eyelashes, that sweetly cajoling smile. Emily wasn't trying to be manipulative -- yet -- but it was easy to see why it came so easily to her. There was a natural coquettishness to her light-hearted demeanor today.
But teasing only goes so far before she's making herself a plate, which should give Ashley the go ahead to dig in as well. For all her thinness, Emily can eat and she's curious enough to try one (or some) of everything offered ... over the course of the afternoon. It starts with a Brat, dressed with mustard and onions (no ketchup [Blasphemy!] or relish) and some of the side salads.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas shakes his head, his meaning obviously misinterpreted by Ashley and he gestures to the meat that sat upon the bun and tried to make himself clearer as the sweat began to run down his face.
"The particulars Ashley, my inquiry is about the particulars of this source of protein based edible. Is it a derivative of Bos primigenius, Gallus gallus domesticus or perhaps in some percentage from Sus domestica?"
His question restated, Atlas can't help but put down his beer and hot dog as he tries to fan himself from within the shirt, beating it against himself before realizing the futility of the matter.
He takes a moment to think about it, a long moment as he looks about at those gathered around him before he shrugs. "I will adjust my external fabrics to relegate my own epidermus exposed to the environment. My social renumerations are given preemptively to abate any undue social dynamic mis alignment." They are all joking, about it Atlas on the other hand seems slightly worried, or perhaps, even shy.
He starts to undo his shirt, one button at a time, careful not to pull at the fabric or damage one of the few clean shirts the man owns. The fabric loosens and once it reaches the line of his belt the man pulls his shirt from his pants, and removes the suspenders from his shoulders, letting the straps fall down around his waist. He takes one more apprehensive look around at the woman gathered there before at last removing the shirt in its entirety.
The why, as to Atlas' desire to not remove his shirt becomes painfully obvious at that point, the man's face and hands may not reveal much as to his life age, with the exception of his calloused hand, but his upper arms and torso tell a long tale. Scars, many of them adorn his body, for those who know what to look for, their are a minimum of five bullet wound scars, several burn scars on his shoulders and back, as well as what would appear to be claw, and bite scars across his torso and upper arms.
[Riley Poole] [manip + subt (don't laugh at the dice pool)]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Ashley] "It's -probably- Sus domestica, but you never really know with sausage," Ashley says, with a dubious glance toward the meat. The look apparently doesn't suggest any hesitance to -eat- it, though, since as soon as the three of them have helped themselves she does too.
A look toward Emily's sunblock while she takes a bite from it - Irish and Czech heritage is unfriendly to the sun, but she appears to be intent on trying to weather it, sun poisoning and all - before Atlas' scars catch her attention. A moment later she understands the man's hesitance; the mapping of her own skin is similar, though not quite as severe, and it's embarrassed her for some time.
She doesn't know what to say to reassure him, though, if anything would, so Ashley ignores it, doesn't look in his direction- which probably makes the man even more self-conscious, but at least it's well-intended.
[Emily Littleton] Atlas is unbuttoning his shirt while Emily is settling down at the table and getting ready to eat. They're discussing the finer points of sausage composition, and he's baring a lifetime of scars.
The youngest woman at the gathering sees them. They capture her attention for a moment, but she does not look away ashamed. Instead, she looks up to catch his eyes for a moment, to offer the steadiness in hers and a small smile. We all have our scars, it says, that look. There's a depth and compassion to it beyond her years.
And then she looks right back to what she's been doing all along. Fixing her plate. She says, as if there was nothing unusual with the way he looks, "Most Brats are usually veal or pork. Veal is less common here, so I assume they'll be mostly pork."
[Riley Poole] "Whichever of those means 'pork,'" Riley says with a laugh, his words but not his meaning lost on her. The tech geek is not used to calling things by their scientific names. "Or should be. There's a butcher's shop about a block away from my, uh," she stops mid-sentence. She had been pointedly ignoring Atlas as he unbuttoned his shirt, trying to be polite when everything in her practically screamed at her to tease jokingly. When he finally removed his shirt, Riley's head gave a shake. She frowns, and then forcibly drags her gaze away. She's lost her train of thought, doesn't even try to find it again. Instead she just grabs a plate and holds it out to the Etherite. She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on his face, and her smile is back to being just as charming as usual.
"So yeah. Pork. And totally safe for human consumption."
[Travis Grace] Some how, some way, Travis found out about the party in the park. It's to be a cook out, and while he wasn't a cook of any real repute - he does bring something to the swaray. It's a rather large Tupperware container of something - oblong like what a cake might be carried in.
He approaches from a side street, his car alarm chirping in his wake. There are sunglasses covering his eyes, his dark t shirt and tan cargo shorts very simple.
When he approaches the gathering it's on sneaker clad feet that tread quietly until he hits the grassy area, where twigs and rocks and other discarded items are crunched beneath his feet.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas watches the women around him and he frowns only for a moment, until relief cross his face as he feels a light breeze drawn across his back, the heat wasn't anywhere near so bad now that he was free of that shirt.
He cants his head to the left as Riley attempted to not stare, and he played along, accepting the plate, and her endorsement of the food. "I will verify your postulated hypothesis in mere cycles." He says with a smile and a nod, before he goes to take a bite of the hot dog chewing carefully, thoroughly before nodding once again, his mind made up.
"This cylindrical protein commestable is indeed one hundred percent homo sapien compatible." And then he returns to eating, one last look caste in Riley's direction.
[What are you synapses saying Riley? Per+Emp]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] She does look away, though, when Riley and Atlas have their somewhat awkward exchange. Emily turns her head and scans the park for any approaching familiar faces -- Awakened or not -- and lo, and behold, who does she see headed their way but Mr. Jet-set Lifestyle himself.
Emily cast a covert glance across the table to see if anyone else recognized the trim and rather good-looking young man. You see, it would just figure that her late night Horse instructor would be Awakened, and heading this way.
Now all they needed was Declan and Nico to complete the set of people she'd embarrassed herself in front of, this week. Either way, Emily waved across the park to the approaching Orphan. She's smiling, too, as if that spill never happened. Her hairs bound up in a ponytail that swings as she moves or looks about, and her shoulders and upper back are bare to the welcoming warm weather.
The magi are gathered at a picnic bench, the smell of cooking meats is heavy in the area, and there are various coolers and sports-related things scattered around them. And Zane.
[Ashley] "Sus domestica is pork," Ashley says, with a half-smile in Riley's direction. It's probably not much of a surprise that the Hermetic knows Latin; many older texts, after all, are written in it, and many members of the Order don't feel that they should have to translate such works for the benefit of young apprentices. Learn it or pay someone, is the attitude amongst many.
Her dog, a rather gangly, awkward young shepherd, is leashed to one of the poles holding up the pavilions with a water dish sitting in front of him. He's taken interest in the new figure, though it seems to be of the friendly variety, and is watching Travis' approach bright-eyed. The dog's excitement draws Ashley's notice, in turn, toward Travis. She raises a hand to the young man in a wave.
The look on Riley's face, and that Atlas noticed it, didn't go unnoticed by Ashley, so she says, "I think most of us who have been around a while have been shot a few times." Which is probably meant to reassure. And probably fails.
[Riley Poole] It's too nice or too hot, or the sun is angling down at them at just the right angle to keep Atlas from reading too much into Riley's reaction. Whatever she may have thought or felt when she saw those scars, it's been suppressed as 'rude' and pushed aside. He'll find out for himself if the brats are edible or not in just a bit. Riley just grins and issues a teasing challenge. "You do that."
When Emily glances at the gathered to see if anyone else recognizes Travis, she'll see that Riley very obviously does. She smiles when she sees him, lifts her hand in a wave. As one of the few mages in the city Riley has contact info for, she had called him up herself to invite the Orphan to the shindig. She's wearing a simple tank top and shorts against the heat, and her darker complexion makes her slightly less prone to sunburn than the people around her.
"Travis, hey, glad you could make it!" She spies the container, but rather than asking, she simply points out where Emily's German potato salad and fruit salad, the packages of buns, and the platters of hamburgers and brats.
"Oh god," she says, with a noticeable shudder, "I hope I don't get shot. Zombie hugs are enough, thanks."
[Travis Grace] Emily's wave is duly noted and the wealthy Orphan continues on his path toward their picnic area. When he approaches there's a nod for each person present, his gaze and how long it just so happens to linger on any one person is hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
"Here you go." It's said as he's settling his dish next to the Potato Salad. "I can't stay long but I thought I'd stop by ....those are fruit kabobs." He says, nodding toward the container. A hand is outstretched toward Zane, allowing the animal to sniff his fingers before he reaches in to pet him.
"Nice day to be outside." He says, offering the group a 1,000 watt smile. "...for once." He adds.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas chews away, apparently enjoying the sausage for all the mystery meat it may contain, and after every few mouthfuls he takes a drink from the beer he had opened. When Travis at last drew closer Atlas raised a hand in welcome as well, a friendly smile on his face, distracting somewhat from his shirtless, and scarred torso.
"The atmospheric conditions are favorable, however they are more realistically suited to a geographical locality some thousand miles south."
He looks about at the small group of awakened individuals who surrounded him, and for a brief moment, Atlas smiled to himself, as if something was just right.
[Emily Littleton] I can't stay long, he says, and Emily casts him a playfully mournful look. "Can't stay long?" she asks, mock-wounded. "Does that mean you're not up for a friendly game of football?"
By which, she does not mean American football. Travis has already helped her to the sidelines of the basketball court. He knows she wouldn't hold up well to tackle or even touch games. It's undoubtedly soccer she means, though good luck getting her to stammer through that silly Americanism more than once.
He's got the 1,000 watt smile. She's batting her eyelashes playfully. Given their histories, and what they already know of one another, the Orphans should be immune to one anothers' native charms. She looks away, though, before the pull of that personality can start to get to her. Besides, she has lunch to finish before they could all play.
They were all playing, right?
[Ashley] "Where are you rushing off to?" Ashley asks Travis, before popping the last of sausage and bun into her mouth. There's a sidelong glance toward the dog, who has given up begging long enough to happily sniff at the new orphan's hands. He's a friendly creature; it might be hard to believe he's hers, if he weren't sitting next to her feet.
The Hermetic is by far the smallest person here - the smallest by nearly a foot, in fact, even compared to the other women. Decidedly unathletic: what muscle is visible on her arms and lower legs is sinewy and stringy, clinging to the bone. It might be safe to assume she's sitting out.
She lifts the bottle once more, sipping from it and watching the apprentices (plus initiate) interact.
[Travis Grace] Travis is so fresh - so new even at his age - that he does not bear any of the war wounds so apparent on Atlas' body. Were he to remove his shirt it would be flawless, marked only by the purposeful ink from a tattoo gun and the scars of Mother Nature's wrath on one arm. When the Terminator like man speaks, lifts a hand in a wave, Travis does the same.
"Yeah...I wouldn't mind being booked at the Riviera Maya right now..." And for a moment there's a thoughtful air about him....as if he were considering getting out his cell phone, booking a flight and a room right then.
Hidden eyes shift to Emily and he smiles nicely, shrugging helplessly. "I know...I'm such a bastard." And something about the way he says hints that that might just be laced with a shred of the truth. "I have to meet someone about a piece of property or I'd love nothing more but to stay and get in on that game..." His tone carries nothing in it but honesty as he speaks to Ashley.
[Riley Poole] "It is pretty hot for this early in June," she agrees. "But, I think we're doomed to a year of extreme temperatures, my friend. All the more reason to get you some shorts, right?" She'd meant what she said earlier. Sometime soon, willingly or (more than likely) not, Atlas is going to find he has a personal shopper in Riley Poole.
Focus shifts from the shirtless older male to the younger one with the thousand watt smile. "So it's a hit and run fruit kabobbing, eh? Ah, such is life," she sighs dramatically. "Maybe some other time, then." She grins at that. It's no secret she finds Travis attractive. It's in her eyes when she looks him over, and the shift of her posture. It only lasts a moment before her attention shifts to Emily. "D'you mean football or football?" she asks, indicating the small collection of sporting equipment, Emily's soccer ball alongside Riley's American football, a frisbee beside them.
"I'm a little out of practice with both, unfortunately."
[Emily Littleton] "I mean football," she says plainly, as if there can be no confusion about it. It's a bit like when Atlas spoke plainly, in a sentence comprised entirely of scientific SAT words. She hazards a glance to her football, and then back at Riley.
She'd never really understood why the Yanks were so obstinate about this. Foot + ball = football. Hands + ball != football. There's a tiny culture clash at the table, then, but ultimately Emily recants with a shrug.
"Though really, whatever people want to play is fine by me." A smile. A look of mock-disappointment for Travis. "Even if it's basketball, again."
This? Is lighthearted teasing, and it elevates the Orphan above whatever troubles came home to roost last night. It pulls her away from the worries and the fear. It's good, even if no one will want to play later. Even if they'll have so many leftovers they could feed a small shelter. Her smile is warmer today than it's been in a long time.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas looks at his pants and squints, as if he were attempting to imagine himself wearing shorts, and from the perplexed look on his face, it was a safe bet to believe he just couldn't see it. He looked back up at Riley and grinned.
"If it is your desire to attempt a radical restructuring of my environmental layering system, you are willingly engaged to do so. So long as your personage is appropriately prepared to ineffect, argue against the gravitational forces of a singularity horizon disk."
He says it with that grin, and she could swear the man was joking around. Before he put down his beer and moved over towards the football, the english football and picked it up examining its surface, running his hands along the stitching, feeling the leather. "Ahhh it has been a considerable lapse in solar traversal cycles since I have last utilized and allocated superfluous time units towards this social physical activity."
[Ashley] They're debating over what to play. Ashley is finally tilting a sympathetic look toward the begging dog, and gives him one of the sausages. Zane retreats below the table, not to be seen again for a while.
Travis gets a quizzical look as he mentions both the Riviera Maya and seeing someone about a piece of property. It's hard to interpret the Hermetic's expression just then: maybe she's recalling when she first ran into him, when he'd passed out on the grass from, she assumes, drinking too much to get himself home. Maybe he has just found himself a place in her mind as Spoiled Trust Fund Baby.
'Maybe,' in this case, is just another word for 'certainly.'
She drains the rest of the bottle of beer, looking first for a recycling can - and if she doesn't find one, throws it away.
[Riley Poole] "The majority has it." Riley snatches the ball right out of Atlas' hands and jogs away a few steps before turning back. She's grinning ear to ear in that way that has earned her the trust of a number of different mages and broken a few hearts in her day. "Soccer it is."
She looks at Ashley and Travis then. "We'll need a fourth to make it even. Do you either of you want to join in?" Tossing the ball from hand to hand, she waits for an answer.
[Travis Grace] Travis pushes his glasses to the top of his head and smiles at Riley and then Emily. "Hey ...it doesn't have to always be basketball. Believe it or not - despite everything - I'm really a team player." Grey eyes shift toward Atlas and the discussion of his pants and the Orphan laughs and shakes his head.
"Whatever, Atlas. Don't let these ladies try to change how you roll. If pants are your thing then right on." A solid, firm nod is given to the man with the odd manner of speech.
The idea of Travis that Ashley has formed is solid. It isn't hard to to figure out that Travis is a child of wealth. He wears watches that cost upward of six figures. His clothes are quality and very costly, his glasses are a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers and as white as his shoes it's possible he has a pair for everyday of the month. He does not carry with him the burden of responsibility most men his age bear. There's no worry lines or wrinkles ...nothing that says he's ever had a concern bigger than where do I want to spend my next thousand dollars.
"Can't..." he says, frowning. "Hey....when I 'm done I'll drive by and see if you guys are still here..." A hand lifts in a wave then, "I gotta run guys...have fun!" And with that he's turning to go unless stopped.
[Emily Littleton] She's clearing her plate to the rubbish bin, while Riley's rustling up a game. It brings her past Travis who gets a bit of a playful nudge-shove before he leaves. It's a continuation of a theme from their game at the courts the other night, and might be noticeable to some of the other mages -- if only that Emily often seems quite reserved, and that familiarity had been reserved for the Geek Squadders so far, to date.
"Team player?" Her eyebrows lift a bit in surprise. They say, we'll see about that. "Well, good luck with your acquisition," she says, as if the word were a more comfortable way to describe a potential property deal than anything else.
Then it's back to the four of them.
"If we want a smaller game, we could play three on a keeper. It'd be more friendly, I guess. I don't mind starting in the goalbox, either," she offers. Maybe that would take the edge off of it for Ashley.
[Ashley] Riley is tossing the ball back and forth, and the Hermetic looks toward her for a few seconds. Considering. She doesn't mention her eye or her ear; some people here already know, and she doesn't want to be encouraged to play just to have them take things easy with her. That would be patronizing, unbearable.
"Sure," she says, after a moment. "Just give me a second."
She apparently wears her chain out even to a casual party in the park (experience has taught her that this is a good idea). Her hand finds it, fingers find two of the links. She can't Will herself to see, but she can get a sense for what's around her that she would otherwise be painfully lacking.
[Corr 1, Forces 1. -1 for using a focus, -1 for applicable resonance Static: Determined.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Ashley] And, once done, she hops off the bench.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas smiles as everyone seems ready to play, and he blinks as the ball disappears from his hand he gazes at them more a moment before looking over at Riley with a raised brow. "Your direct, social confrontation initiation has been noted and logged." He says with a smile. "Prepare your personage."
And he moves after her, he's not particularly sprightly, any athletic merit he might have had before is gone, but thats not going to stop Atlas from playing.
[Riley Poole] Riley laughs. She tucks the ball under an arm, quirks a brow, and waggles a finger at the Etherite. And she quotes, "'Oh, it's already been broughten.'"
[Jonathan Kincade] There had been noise on the wire about a picnic held this weekend. It seemed with the weather dramatically warming in recent weeks, that it was inspiring people to get out out and about and become less housebound. So he thrown some food together, filled a chest with ice and beer and loaded it into the car.
It hadn't taken him long to drive to the location , the voice from his GPS warbling as it read out instructions too him. Weaving through sunday traffic and trying to avoid Grandpa Joe out for his sunday jaunt. Eventually pulling into a car park as he unpacks his belongings and begins heading in the direction of the park bench.
Arriving just in time to see them move from the benches and heading towards a grass area, apparently some activity was underway. Being a late arrival however , he just heads towards the table for now. Putting down his belongings as he retrieves a beer from the chest and pops the cap. Taking a swig from the beer as he watches the Magi. most of which he knew.
[Emily Littleton] Emily laughs, just a little, as if she couldn't help herself in the moment. She doesn't have any magical preparations to do, but she does pull the stack of brightly colored disks out of her messenger bag. They're familiar to anyone who had sports practice in their youth, used to mark off boundaries and goals -- it's safer than putting extra balls there, because you can't trip over them, yet they stand out brightly against the green, green grass.
"Two on two?" she asks, and if confirmed she adds: "I'll mark out goals." The Apprentice jogs out to the field to pace off dimensions and drop the bright disks where appropriate. She's thin, and doesn't have the tone muscle that Riley carries, but she's active enough to be considered Athletic. And this? This task lets her test her ankle a bit more thoroughly; it's deemed game worthy.
When she's jogged back to the group, she looks around to see if anyone's divvied up teams. If not, she'll suggest some suitably arbitrary system.
[Ashley] Ashley was athletic, once - or, at the very least, the soccer ball isn't foreign to her. Her movements are those of someone who is trying to jog muscle memory, to remember how to play a game she'd been good at, at one time.
She looks between the other three mages, settles on Riley, who looks the most athletic of the lot. "Riley's with me," she says, almost chipper.
[Atlas Mason] "Excellent application of logical reasoning Ashley. Emily shall side with my personage, and functioning in parallel tandem dynamic, we shall suitably enforce and effect your concrete rebuttal from the plane of operation." He says it with a smile on his face and looks specifically at Riley at that, competition something he hadn't taken part in in a long, long time.
He then looked to Emily and inclined his head in question. "Will your chosen participation infleunce and role be to keep, or deliver?" He asks her. "I would postulate that your skills and capabilities would incline your personage towards the offensive delivery of our payload."
[Emily Littleton] With a mostly straight face, and nothing more malicious than merriment dancing in her eyes, she replies to Atlas in kind: "Affirmative, my arbitrarially assigned teammate. I find it preferable to mount the offensive."
She offered him a fist bump, but expected it to be a little lost on the walking anachronism. Who made football sound a bit like thermonuclear war. Which wasn't that off, considering how seriously many nations took the sport.
"Shall we commence kicking butts and taking names?" she asked him, dropping mostly back to her own generation's vernacular. This was as close as Emily got to trash talk, and it was followed by a broad grin tossed across the team-divide to Ashley & Riley.
[Riley Poole] Riley apparently has no problem with the team-ups forming, just so long as Atlas is her opponent. She looks at Ashley. "Do you mind being keeper?" She'd said it's been a while since she played, but she's obviously athletic. There's tone to the muscle of her arms and legs, lean and almost wiry. It shouldn't take long for her body to remember the rules of this game. Or so she thinks.
Listening to Atlas and Emily assign their positions, she laughs. "Nerds," she says affectionately. "Ready?"
[Ashley] "I don't mind," says Ashley, stepping over so she's near the goal. She tries to keep the three of them in view of her right eye when she can, though it isn't likely to be possible; still, she has a sense of where bodies are, where heat is, has a sense of space and how far away they are.
In fact, all told, she might be slightly better equipped than the others.
[Dex + Athletics! -1 to diff from magic.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Atlas Mason] Atlas does indeed look somewhat confused by the offer of a fist bump, but he mirrors her action, and brings his fist up, and moves to put it against hers, looking up at her as he does so. "What is the practicality of this functional physical contact?"
He asks curiously before looking over at Riley as she calls them nerds, he smiles at that, and nods, like he agree's before speaking. "Affirmative." He calls before moving to the goal.
[Emily Littleton] "It's a functional show of solidarity with no other pragmatic motivation," she says, to her teammate, who seems confused by the social gesture. "It can also be used in lieu of a 'high-five' as a sign of congratulations."
Emily Littleton, urban dictionary.
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Dex+Ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Riley gets the ball at the beginning of the game, and while the girls are more or less evenly matched out there, she also gets the first shot on goal. However, the Etherite Keeper denies it, and the score remains zero all in the first minutes of the game...
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex+ Ath, round 2))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath: Round 2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath: I'm comin' fer yew, Mason!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Dex+Ath, bring it Poole!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [Short fuse]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] Riley Poole is such a liar. This is what the others might think when she swoops in to snatch the ball away from Emily's feet. Or they might, if most of them didn't know by now that the VA can't lie her way out of a paper bag. However good she may be, however naturally athletic, she's not quite up to par with Atlas, who keeps blocking her goals.
If she knew how old he really was, she'd really be pissed. As it is, she's still relatively level headed. For now.
[Riley Poole] [dex + ath!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath, round 3: Any time now, Little...))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Ack! Again!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Alert alert, incoming ballistic football]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [So we meet again, Dr. Atlas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] "Come on, Atlas!" Emily cheers from midfield, as the Adept breaks away yet again and makes for the goal.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas actually dives as the ball is sent hurtling at his goal, his body flung into the air as he attempts to stop Riley's offensive yet again....but there was no catching that football, and it zinged by him into the net.
[Ashley] There aren't any fist bumps from the direction of her team mate, who thus far has not had much to do, but Riley gets a huge, congratulatory grin flashed in her direction.
[Emily Littleton] "Nice play," she says, when she meets Riley mid-field again. Good sportsmanship, it's crucial to a friendship between vaguely competitive people.
((Dex + Ath: This is getting embarrassing.))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 9, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] Vaguely competitive people. She offers Emily a high five, still in good spirits and feeling the high of a well-earned goal. But, Emily knows how competitive Riley can be. She's seen the dance. "Thanks!" Then it's on.
[dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 7, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [oh come on!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Again! An opening!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [I am the soccer queen!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [I've got you now Ms. Poole.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [Nuh uh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Atlas Mason] [Uh huh!...err...or not]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Jonathan Kincade] Placing the empty beer bottle on the picnic table , Jon decides to get a better view of the soccer match. Standing from the table as he heads towards the sidelines. Eyes following the movement of the ball, in this 2v2 match.
[Ashley] It's not so much two versus two as one versus two; Ashley, who is milling around Atlas like a tiny satellite, has thus far not had much to guard. Riley and Emily attempt to get the ball from each other, only to have one errant foot kick it off to the side. Riley recovers it, though, and manages to get the ball around Atlas' second attempt to block, sending it sailing through the goal.
[Emily Littleton] Emily jogged back to closer to where Atlas was. "Okay, it's time to stop being generous, yeah?" she says, with a wink. She's not doing swimmingly either, but she seems to be having a great time. All smiles and the light flush of sun and exercise on her face and bare shoulders. "You're doing great!" she calls to him as she jogs back to midfield.
Again, a five for Riley, and another nice shot.
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Round I've Lost Count.))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] She's starting to look smug. That charming smile of hers is starting to twist up at the corners, gleefully. This is supposed to just be for fun, but Riley is too competitive for it to stay that way for long. She returns the five, then turns to Ashley, fist thrusting into the sky. Woo hoo we're winning! That sort of gesture.
[dex + ath: Gettin' cocky, Poole]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: To score?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ashley] Ashley, too, is competitive - but even if she weren't, she's getting a chance to do something she hasn't done in a very. long. time. She'd be beaming anyway. Riley gets a return fist pump.
[Ashley] [Dex + Ath, blocking!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 4 (Botch x 1 at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] Poole's getting cocky, Little's starting to get frustrated, and finally team Nerd breaks away with the ball. While the shot on goal clears, something doesn't look quite right with the Keeper's defense. Rather than cheering, Emily picks up the pace and heads over to see if the Hermetic's alright.
[Ashley] [Don't hurt yourself!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)
[Ashley] Ashley manages to land on her wrist, and it's pretty hard. Enough to bruise, possibly to sprain, so for a second the Hermetic lies face down in the grass. By the time Emily approaches, there's a noise that sounds suspiciously like a giggle before she pushes herself back up, winces, and brushes grass off of her shirt with the uninjured hand.
"I'm good. Let's keep going."
[Emily Littleton] She offers Ashley a hand up -- it's not help, it's sportsmanship. "I've got my ankle wrapped right now, but I don't really need to. If it hurts, let me know and you can use the Ace wrap."
And that's that. She already knows the Hermetic doesn't want handouts.
"Down-side, it will smell like feet."
So you had to make them sound unpalatable.
[Ashley] She accepts the hand up when it's offered, pulling out the front of her shirt and looking down at it and her shorts to make sure there aren't any grass stains. Ashley wrinkles her nose at the mention of a wrap that smells like feet, and gives a shake of her head. "...I'm good, but thanks."
And, giving her wrist a shake, she heads back to where she'd been standing slightly apart from Atlas.
[Emily Littleton] [Score so far...]
Riley + Ashley = 2
Emily + Atlas = 1
[Riley Poole] Ashley goes down, and Riley at least is not a total asshole. She starts in that direction, long legs taking her well into their 'side' of the field, but she stops when she hears, I'm good. Let's keep going. Well, at least she'd made the show of being helpful.
That's all she needs to know to get back to the start, so they can continue the game. That they're winning. That they could win. That they're so close to winning. She grins at Ashley, lifts her brows questioningly and gives a thumbs up. When they're good to continue, she readies for that kick.
[It's the final countdown!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 5, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Let's do this!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [ouch?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Nooo! Defend!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Atlas Mason] Atlas is working up a sweat diving for all these shots Riley has been taking, and it has put a light sheen of sweat over his body. But he's not giving up, he's not ready to quit. He seems all the more energized by it all.
So much so he calls out encouragement to Emily. "Utilize your maximum capability, show them what you are compositely constructed from!"
[Emily Littleton] ((Shoot! Score?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] She shoots... but the Hermetic defends. There's simultaneous disappointment in Emily's face, and congratulations for Ashley there too. "Nice save," she calls toward the goal.
Then it's back to midfield to check on Riley.
[Riley Poole] Riley goes for the kick, but she misses. Her feet slide out from under her, and she lands with a squeak in the grass. She's laughing as she gets to her feet, looking back to see that Ashley, despite injury, has successfully defended their goal. Riley lifts her arms over her head. "Woo! Go Ashley!"
[Ashley] Two very competitive people. Ashley glances in Riley's direction to make sure she hasn't been taken out of the game, sees her laughing and is reassured. There's a laugh and a brief victory raise of arms in return.
[Riley Poole] [I'll give her a hah! And a hai-yah! And I'll kick her, sir]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 6 (Failure at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Go, team, go!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Huh-uh!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 8 (Failure at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex+Ath: Ready for a rematch, McGowen?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Alright. Truth be told? Ashley & Riley are not the only competitive people on the field. The Orphans arms go up in a victorious gesture and she runs over to Atlas to fistbump -- remember this? we just talked about it -- in congratulations.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas does indeed remember the fist bump, and this time he wraps knuckles with her quickly, a wide grin upon his face. "Preparations for our victory have been successful, now, we must complete our task and deny them theirs!"
[Riley Poole] [My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: Tie breaker round!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] ((Dex + Ath: We meet again, Ashley!))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Ashley] [Blocking that anyway!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 4, 4 (Failure at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] And that's game. Coming from behind, Team Nerd managed a three-goal run and escaped without injury. Emily first congratulated her teammate -- more or less politely, and within the acceptable decibel ranges for cheering oneself -- and then exchanged Good Games with the early front-runners. Given that it's Ashley & Riley, she fully expects to hear the word "Rematch" come up in the next five to ten minutes...
[Atlas Mason] The final goal is made, and it is Atlas and Emily who emerge triumphant, Atlas raises his hands to the sky and yells happily in celebration, a wide, friendly smile upon his face as he stepped out of the goal and headed for center field at a trot
"Our strategically formulated hypothesis is correct!" He calls out, and when he reaches his team mate he repeats the fist bumping thing, and then shakes the hand of Ashley and Riley in turn, both of them enthusastic hand pumps, the man obviously had fun.
"Most memorable, my adrenal levels have not reached this peek in sometime." He says happily, and when he reaches Riley his smile turns a little sly. "Next time, your personage will be more appropriately aclimatized I am certain within a five percent deviational error." He says with a wink.
[Riley Poole] They didn't win, but that's alright. They had a good run of it, anyway. That's what Riley tells herself so she doesn't feel the sting of defeat too acutely. She has a friendly smile for both of her opponents, though, even Atlas. She's old school, offers Ashley, Emilya, and him all a high five rather than fist bump. "I demand--!"
Then her phone is chirping at her. That particular chirp makes her look over at her belongings sharply, frowning. Then she turns back to Atlas. "A rematch! But first let me get that."
She mutters something to herself about idiots and KNOW not to call. She has to fish her phone from the depths of her bag. By the time she finds it the call has gone to voicemail, and whatever she hears makes her frown all the more.
"Guys, I'm sorry but I have to run to the store real quick." The store. Emily at least should know she means the Best Buy. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but in case I can't make it, Em, do you mind cleaning up here?" There is an immense amount of apology in her dark eyes.
[Ashley] Normally, Ashley doesn't take losing very well. Normally Ashley doesn't have a lot of fun with other people either, so the losing is almost forgotten. They had a good run of it and she blocked a goal, in spite of injury and being totally insensate on one side of her head. The Hermetic grins, sensing that Riley is going to ask for a rematch and quite ready for it, before Riley's phone chirps.
There's vague disappointment, but a nod toward the V-Dept. "Sure. See you later," she tells Riley, before she tucks her hands in her pockets and starts back toward the tables. There are fruit skewers, after all.
[Riley Poole] [Exit Riley, stage left! Keep havin' fun, guys!]
[Emily Littleton] Emily brought the ball and the markers back in when they cleared the field. She's grinning, ear to ear, easily the happiest she's been in weeks. Or maybe even months. There's a light sheen of sweat on her back and shoulders, and her skin where it is exposed is pink from the sun exposure. Riley's calling for a rematch, and Emily's expression says: Bring it!
Then the Adept has to go, and Emily's doubly glad her car is sitting in the parking lot now. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," she says, and the apology in Riley's eyes is waved off. She owes the Adept far more than a clean up by now.
The Orphan moves through the gathering to drop the ball back with the other sport equipment. She tucks the brightly colored discs into her bag. Then it's time to fish a water out of the cooler -- or three -- one gets offered to each of the sports participants.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods to Riley as she has to run off to work, and he does look disappointed that he won't get that chance for a rematch, at least not yet. Now that they've stopped however, he feels the heat wash over him again, suddenly realizing just how warm he was having been running around like that.
Where before their was a thin sheen of sweat, Atlas is now wiping himself down with his poor shirt, toweling off with a smile on his face. When Emily offers him the water, he upends it and downs the bottle in one go, before going back for another one.
"Quite enjoyable, we must attempt to recreate those environmental particulars, as well as the social dynamic in future time units." He says between gulps of water as he takes a seat on one of the benches in the shade.
[Ashley] Ashley takes the water from Emily when it's offered and retrieves one of the skewers that Travis brought as well. The Hermetic pulls a chunk of pineapple off the skewer with her teeth, eyes flicking toward Jon. She'd only vaguely been aware of his presence.
"Hey, Jon," she says to the older mage, tossing her head to flick some of her hair out of her eyes, since her hands are occupied. "Sorry, I didn't really see you get here."
"I think it would be a good idea, too," she says, with a look toward Atlas. She's a little ginger with her wrist, careful not to twist it or do much more than hold the bottle of water, but it's largely been forgotten in the wake of the fact that she was actually having fun.
[Nathan Spriggs] It was supposed to be a nice evening. No bloodbaths or monsters to fight off. He'd gotten a voice mail from Israel on it. A little gathering between magi, nothing like planning or plotting... just fun. And right about now, the Cultist is in major need of some fun. There was bags under his eyes, his skin a sickly pale tinge, and his general appearance reflects the personal hell he was in right now.
No sleep since the moment down in that basement, no relaxation. He was twitchy, jumping and looking around at the slightest provocation, slightest sound. When he arrives at the place, his footsteps come to a halt, he simply looks around. Waiting, watching. Hands in coat pocket, ready for the minions of hell to show up at their doorstep.
Then he feels it. A chill that runs down his spine like electricity, makes him shudder. A mixture of resonance in the air, some familiar, some even well known. Yet behind it all, a malice and evil presence he remembers full well. Spirits. Wraiths. Something. It was evil.
Nathan crouched behind a bush, watching still, hands finding the gun he carried now (Atlas had ruined his last), grasping it silently and watching. His entire body shook with fear and a cold sweat soaked his shirt, something had gone horribly wrong.
After a moment of hesitation, of gathering his nerves, the man slowly advanced crouching still. An attempt at some kind of silent approach, mostly to get some recon. See how many survivors were left. The gun itself wasn't drawn yet but it was at the ready if it had to be.
[Emily Littleton] ((Per + Alert: Whazzat?))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Nathan Spriggs] [I'm Snake! Unless I botch again]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 3, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Emily Littleton
[Jonathan Kincade] It seemed the game was over for now, the combatants heading back towards the table. Victors taking their spoils, but it seemed the losers weren't overly disappointed.
They had started back towards the tables, to which Jon turned now. Heading back with food on his mind, which he hears a familiar voice "Hey Ash, nah that's okay... You all seemed rather preoccupied with the match. Looks like you had fun, been out here long ?"
[Emily Littleton] She's riding high and not really openly worried about anything. The Orphan is, for the moment, keeping to the edge of the group and looking out for others who might have found their way to the park during the soccer game and somehow missed the nexus of resonances and athletic prowess.
Which does explain why she suddenly stops with whatever small movement she was making. The Apprentice is stock-still, now, and staring off in the direction of a bush line not far away.
She steals a small look back at the gathering, frowns a bit, and calls on the one person she knows will stand sentintel against all intruders -- even if it's just high school pranksters come to raid the grill goodies.
"Um, Ashley," she says, her voice suspiciously level and calm. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"
[Atlas Mason] Atlas rests his bones on the bench for a few moments, looking around at the others, and waving a welcome to Jonathan, but not speaking for the moment as he catches himself, he might have been fairly athletic on the field, but he's pretty tired now.
He stands and moves to acquire one of those delicious hamburgers, and begins to wolf it down, when he realizes there was no one left to tend the grill with Riley gone, so the man takes it upon himself to do so, stepping up to the hot grill and throwing some fish on the metal and starting to cook up that fresh salmon.
[Ashley] "A few hours now," she tells Jon, plucking another few pieces of fruit from the skewer. She's flushed, a few dry blades of grass still sticking to her shirt and one of her knees from when she fell, sweating a little. The residual grin hasn't left.
Well, until Emily becomes more serious, asks if she can take Ashley aside. Then it fades, and she steps off to the side with the orphan, brow furrowed. Zane busies himself with begging Atlas and Jon for a hamburger, going so far as to lay his muzzle on knees whenever they come close by.
Ashley frowns at Emily, taking a long drink from the bottle once they're out from underneath the awning. "Is something wrong?"
[S. Ashton Winters] True to form, she shows up late to these sorts of things.
It makes sense, because when she shows up she is some semblance of normally dressed and has a sleeping child draped over one shoulder. Marcelle has a grip on Ashton's hair. It's firm, and moreover it is unrelenting. She isn't going to let go of this any time soon.
But? She is there. She is there and has come to eat food. Real food. Barbecued food.
[Israel Cohen] Attention is turned elsewhere for now: On food. On others. On paranoia's of potential intruders caused by the paranoia's of a Cultist having a bad, bad weekend. She's approaching from roughly behind and to the side of Nathan, still a couple yards off, making her way with something of a burden: Two fair sized canvas grocery bags and a pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade. The petite woman has a surprising stamina for her size, but her capacity for brute strength is just as it would seem - negligible at best. So it is that she teeters slightly with the bulk of it, making her way in low-top canvas sneakers, khaki coloured capris and a turquoise blue tank top, the length and mass of her dark hair swept back with a fabric head band.
She doesn't have her guide cane - or, at least, she isn't using one at the moment - and that is an oddity, indeed.
Her perceptions are different from most people, that's a norm. Today they are 'tweaked', providing not sight - not the way the Seeing think of it - but an uncanny sense of things nonetheless. Coupled by her considerable awareness - more necessity than mere habit - she is quick not notice something rather amiss as she approaches. Enough so that she pauses, head canting in one of those bird-like motions of hers. A beat. She calls out.
"Nathan, what on earth are you doing?" Her voice is not built for volume in the best of times, but she is not so very far away and she manages, though the mezzo-soprano of it ends up more airy than usual. Her tone is... perplexed? Concerned? Curious.
[Emily Littleton] "Yeah," she says, and again that informality presages an uncomfortable moment. Emily points out the something in the bushes not far from here, describes what she saw to the Disciple in low tones. If she was just a little jumpy, it would be best to keep this between her and Ashley, but she was certain she'd seen something over there. Something large enough to be trouble.
And then there's Israel. Calling out Nathan, of all people. The Apprentice mutters something in Chinese that cannot be particularly charitable, and then an apology to the Hermetic, who she has called away from the party because of a wayward Cultist.
Emily reaches up and runs her fingers through her hair. "Sorry. I thought it was trouble. I guess it's just Nathan."
[Nathan Spriggs] People watching the bushes would see them shake suddenly, something had hit them. Israel on the other hand, positioned as she was, saw (or sensed rather) something different. Crouched as he was, the twitchy man jumped back at her call, losing his balanced and falling against the bush.
It was only by chance that he recognized the voice and stopped himself from unloading a magazine's worth of rounds down in the blind Orphan's direction. Instead, he just saw them, back against the bush, watching the woman. A hint of fear in his face as he watched her, wondering if she was possessed again.
A moment, deciding what to do. "Uh... oh, I'm fine." Whatever the man was, he was obviously not fine, even he couldn't fully hide the fear and panic in his tone, the weariness at some unknown threat stalking them.
[Ashley] "That's all right," Ashley tells Emily, her voice a little more understanding than it might be under normal circumstances. She's in a good mood, and they had a rough night last night besides. Ashley is, at least, well cognizant of how on edge Emily must be after what happened.
"Nathan, you want to get out of the fucking bushes? I might've hurt you if Israel hadn't noticed you," Ashley calls toward him as she starts back toward the pavilion. No understanding for him.
Ashton, though, gets a bright grin when she notices her and the baby on the way back in. "Hey, Ashton," she says, finishing the last of the fruit that's on the skewers. Marcelle gets a wave. "D'you know everyone here?"
[Atlas Mason] Ahhh grilling on a summers day after a victorious game of european football their were fewer things better when shared with friends, and for Atlas it had been decades since he had enjoyed such company.
He was in such high spirits that he secretly snuck Zane a sausage or two, sharing in the wealth and good times that were available to all that were present, he listened to the conversations about him, up until he hears Israel call out to Nathan, who apparently was hunkered down in the bushes watching the proceedings, the man raises a quizzical brow at that particular dynamic, but simply shook his head with a good humored smile and continued to grill, ceddar plank cooked salmon filling the air with its aroma.
The man seems to have even gotten over the fact that he was shirtless.
[Israel Cohen] "Mmph." The sound rather eloquently sums up just what she thinks of his [false. poorly executed] reassurances. She'd startled slightly when he'd jumped and fallen back, lips twitching between an inappropriate urge to laugh and general wariness of the situation as a whole. Of the gun he might have pulled she is unaware, though the fear and panic in his voice is obvious.
Turning her head towards the others gathered some small distance off - half an inclination of the ear, half seeming to 'look' in their direction - she then faces the prone man again and shakes her head, moving closer, speaking normally now. Gentle but firm. "We know those people, Nathan. They aren't going to hurt you. There's no danger at the moment. It's just a cook out." Shifting her assorted burdens with an unconscious discomfort of its weight as Ashley calls over their way. She snorts slightly at the Hermetic's bluntness, a bemused sound more than anything else. "C'mon, then. You're fine." As if willing it will make it so.
Among their sort such is often the case.
[Nathan Spriggs] "I felt something off, something evil." A conviction there, he was certain of it, no doubts present. He'd felt it and that was no lie. Placing his palms against the grass, Nathan slowly got back on his feet, shaky at first. A quick glance around then eyes back on the Orphan's own sightless ones. Watching, observing, cautious of her. How could he know she wasn't possessed again?
Her approach got a half-step back before he steeled himself and let her, eyes darting to her hands to make sure no strange motions occurred. Reassurances from her that felt like lies, 'no danger' she said. Nathan's head turned just slightly towards the direction of the annoyed Hermetic's shout but no response before turning back to the Orphan, another unconscious step back in caution. "Anything happen?" What he meant with that question was obvious.
[Ashley] "Something evil?" Ashley asks the Cultist, with a skeptical glance in his direction. Now that he's come out of the bushes she can see that drawn appearance, that the man is frightened out of his mind. He was possessed last night, after all (he shouldn't have been.)
Atlas has been feeding Zane sausages, which the dog has been happy to have. Ashley glances down at him, amused, as he tries to dart back under the table before she can see him eating one, and then there's a look toward Atlas, the culprit. No reprimands, though. They might as well share.
Ashley seats herself on the picnic table once more, feet resting on the bench as she reaches for another of the fruit skewers. "Just...sit down and try to have fun, okay? The rest of us are," she tells Nathan. Which might be the closest he'll get to some compassion, from her at least.
[Israel Cohen] "Nathan." Giving it up as a bad job, she puts down the two canvas bags and flexes her aching hand, grimacing slightly before facing his direction [more accurately than she normally would and that's saying something] and continuing to speak softly, calmly, firmly. "You are in a panic. Given what I understand happened last night I can understand wariness and weariness, but jumping at shadows and acting like a rabbit simply will not do. Pull yourself together, man." Someone else might be saying this with disdain or derision: She says it with honesty and directness, but without ill-temper, disgust or anger. "Remember who and what you are. If and when you get to that point and need some help, let me know. Until then? I'm starving. The food smells good so.." Ashley speaks about him sitting down and trying to have fun. Israel nods. "What she said. C'mon." The second time she says that. She says it with kindness that softness the frank words previously spoken, without negating them. A beckoning gesture of her hand, a cant of her head... "Please."
And then she's moving to take up her bags again - a little grunt of effort - and move towards the others. "Hi, Ashley... Atlas, is that you grilling salmon? It smells devine..."
[Emily Littleton] Surprised, somewhat, that Nathan has chosen to join them all after last night's events, Emily offers him a small smile, guarded but concerned, as he finds his way into the gathering. Gone is the ineffable broad smile from post-soccer bliss, but the energy in her body was still riding higher than usual. The weather had held out and the cook-out was largely a success. She tucked her empty water bottle into the recyclables bag, and grabbed another out of the cooler.
"Hi, Israel," she said, once the other Orphan had settled herself into the gathering. Meanwhile, Emily was fixing herself a bit more of her picnic favorites, and wandering over to see what magic her teammate was working at the grill. A bit of that boundless grin came back when she saw the cedar planks and salmon. It was enough to make a foodie salivate.
[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan had been busying himself with the attentions of Zane , watching as Atlas fed the dog sausages. It was going to be hard to beat that sort of bribery, so he isn't surprised when the dog starts paying the Etherite more attention.
It's then that Jonathan becomes more attuned to the commotion happening around him. Looking up as everyone seems to be talking about Nathan. Apparently the mage had been having a bad trot.. Jonathan to be honest wasn't that surprised. Both men although now in a Cabal had their own special projects that they didn't share. "Hey Nathan, been awhile... still alive it seems ?"
He notices Israel behind him, "Afternoon Israel, nice to see you again. Eat and have your fill... fancy a beer at all ?"
[Atlas Mason] The first batch of salmon was off the grill and onto a serving tray, still sitting on the cedar planks to keep it warm and ready, Atlas knew how to cook fish, if nothing else. He had begun piling up some more onto the grill, more cedar, more salmon, that aroma never abating as he works away.
When Ashley looked in Atlas' direction, catching him feeding her dog sausage, he simply shrugs and chuckles, before returning to his chosen work, apparently happy to cook.
Israel approached and Atlas smiled to the woman, even though it was effectively lost on the woman. "Israel, it most compatible with myself to visually recognize your personage once more, and I am gregariously filled with positively aligned neuro chemicals at witnessing your swift recovery from last night cycle's event."
He turned his gaze to Emily, and his eyes twinkled just a little bit more for his team mate, and held up a plate with salmon on it, fork included. "Satiate your personage Emily."
[Israel Cohen] Jon catches her before she moves away, so she turns slightly, trotting backwards a little awkwardly; less because of her burdens and more because she's not used to such actions anymore. Offering up a smile, she shakes her head. "I'm good with my Mike's, thanks. Good to see," ah, such small ironies in such common phrases, "you, too, Jonathan." Something flickers over her features, her ear inclining slightly towards Nathan again, a moments indecision... but then she decides better and merely says. "I'll let you catch up with Nathan."
Then she's again making her way to the grill, "Hullo, Emily. Doing well?" There is a touch of concern there as well, something of protectiveness for a fellow Orphan and an Apprentice at that, but she keeps her tone light, not wishing to impede on any festivities. At Atlas' greeting her smile becomes broader. "I'm well and recovered, thank you." Inhaling the scents of the cedar-planked Salmon her expression becomes somewhat wistful, something that has a habit of making her look younger than her years when coupled with the look of her. There are mature curves there, yes, but when they come in such a small, soft and almost fragile-seeming frame its hard for some to see her as pushing 30. "The cedar hasn't come in contact with any other meat or dairy has it?"
Oh please let it be so!
[Ashley] There's a hopeful glance from the Hermetic toward the salmon Atlas is bringing over for Emily. She's content to let the first plate go to Emily, though, and leans down to hug the dog and rumple his ears, with a gruff mutter or two about how he's going to get sick before she straightens back up.
"That's the first the cedar's been used, Israel," Ashley tells the orphan, twisting around so she can look at her before grabbing one of the plates and taking a serving (or two) of the salmon.
"No Solomon?"
[Nathan Spriggs] For a moment, just an instant, the Cultist is back to his usual self in the look he gives Ashley when she mentions people having fun. A doubtful look, maybe at the fact of what had happened the night before, maybe just the fact she even knew what that was. In any case, it was gone as fast as it came and he turned back to the group, seeing who was present.
Israel's motivational speech heard but not commented on, or immediately applied. Though some of the tension seemed to disappear from his body as he took a breath. "Thanks. I'll try."
Jonathan's greeting was received with some level of apprehension, something about everything happening made him ill at ease to respond or think on it. "Hey, everything okay...?" It was all he got in response, hands going back into their pockets as he got in another look around.
[Emily Littleton] She accepts the plate from Atlas with a warm Cheers. From the smell of things, the Etherite definitely knows fish. How to catch them, how to cook them. It's the perfect compliment to the brats and burgers from earlier in the day.
Israel asks how she's doing, and the Apprentice's voice is richer and happier that it has sounded in recent nights. That it has ever sounded to Israel, because Emily had to go back quite far in her memory (or travel far afield from Chicago in her memories) to remember when she was as now.
"Actually, yes. I'm doing quite well, thank you. You just missed our football match," she adds, sounding vaguely triumphant. At this point, it's happiness that they'd played at all, and gotten out of the moment and it's possessions and demons and angels long enough to laugh and cheer with one another. Winning hadn't hurt her spirits either.
She casts a look over at Nathan and Jon, and the lines at the corners of her mouth tighten momentarily. But that passes. "We have potato salad and fruit salad too, and Travis brought by some fruit skewers -- they've all been kept separately, so they should still be kosher."
[Jonathan Kincade] Jonathan winces a little as he realises what he says , but the worst thing he could do was draw attention to it. "Okay, let me know if you want something after your done with your Mike's. Yeah okay... talk to you later." as his attention turns towards Nathan, an eyebrow raised as he studies the man.
"Yeah everything's okay with me...keeping my nose out of trouble for the most part. Been doing some studying with Ashley.. that's about it really."
[Atlas Mason] Atlas nods to Israels question about the plank's and the salmon being kosher, even as Ashley answers the question, pulling up a plate with two nice portions on it and handing it to Israel. "These specimen's all adhere to the archaic ritual and scripture designated within the religious scripture dictated and labelled as the Tanakh."
He says it with a smile and hands over the plate before looking over at Nathan, who obviously looks much worse for wear then the rest of the cookout goers. "Nathan, would your digestive tract benefit from the nutrients provided within a specimen of family Salmonidae?"
He asks as he holds up another plate, offering to the man in a friendly gesture, obviously he doesn't think hes done anything bad to the man recently.
[Ashley McGowen] "We're rematching, the next time you and me and Riley are in the same place," Ashley tells the Chorister-to-be, transferring a large chunk of the salmon to her mouth. She, too, is still full of adrenaline and good spirits, it would seem.
One of the Mike's Israel brought is picked up and opened, though she's careful of her wrist, which doesn't seem to bend very well at the moment. She isn't complaining, though; it's one of those things that heals after a day or two. Ashley has certainly had worse.
[Israel Cohen] "I'm sorry I missed that. Perhaps there will be something else? I'd happily burn off some energy, though, mind you, for obvious reasons I haven't played in... well..." She shrugs by way of completion, though a calm half-smile remains. As for the mention of food - and the assurances from Atlas that the Salmon is Kosher - she brightens, her pleasure genuine but her mannerisms generally subdued. "Lovely. I've brought some deli stuff in case anyone's interested. And also some baklava," an Israel staple, "and brownies. Fudge and Blondies. One moment," to Atlas directly this time as he holds out a plate. She sets down her bags and finds a place for its items on the table [even with her senses tweaked beyond their normal capacity she still feels for the edges of plates and packages, what has now become a habit in her life] and crabs herself one of the Mikes before taking the offered plate. "Thanks."
[Nathan Spriggs] "Sounds... interesting," he says, a questioning look that asks what kind of studying. It has been a while since the two men met, and as worse for wear over everything that's happened as he is, the Cultist is curious about what he's been up to.
"Anything explode lately? Or have cat scratches on it?" The meaning behind the words would be obvious enough to the man as suddenly a familiar Etherite comes by, offering a plate of... salmon. Nathan hesitates for a split second, watching the food, gauging it for some kind of poison before he gave a barely visible nod. "Yes, thank you," a pause there, remembering something he'd forgotten, "By the way Atlas, you owe me a gun."
A weary smile spread across his face, no ill intentions or attempts to start a fight in his tone, though maybe some hints of anger at the fact he'd turned his Glock into scraps. It had been unavoidable but it still irked.
[Emily Littleton] There's a rematch coming, Ashley says, and that tugs Emily's smile just a bit wider. It stills her fork from bringing the salmon to her mouth just yet.
"I'll keep my football with me at all times, then," she responds, like a good Apprentice. Ever vigilant and ready for an unsuspected rematch. They've been like this since the game began, lighter-hearted and downright jovial. It's a sharp contrast to the night before, and to Nathan who is still feeling its aftereffects so sharply.
Not that Ashley & Emily are immune, just that they have found a way, for now, to repress or compartmentalize. It had started, for Emily, as deference to Riley's party. Now it was an ardent defense of the one truly good day she's had in quite some time.
"Maybe next time you can play too," she says, to Israel. It would be insensitive, but the perceptive Choristor-to-be has noticed how adept the Disciple is in moving through uncharted space. There is something more at play here than what immediately meets the (pardon the pun) eyes.
Nathan's telling Atlas that he owes the Cultist a gun. Emily turns to the recently possessed, and says, quite helpfully. "Hey, Nathan. We still have some leftover Brats and burgers if you'd rather. Would you like me to heat you up one?"
No, no, of course it has nothing to do with full mouths having a hard time dredging up bad memories. Emily's just downright friendly these days.
[Ashley McGowen] "Nathan, I'm not above using the Ars Mentis to make sure you have fun," Ashley says. It's probably supposed to be a joke; her tone implies such. She looks over her shoulder at the Cultist and smiles. It's not a sweet smile, though. There's an edge to it, of course, as though to remind him that she is indeed capable of doing so. Ashley almost can't help such things.
That air fades just as quickly, though (as much as such things can) - or, more, it's redirected as she cranes her neck to look toward the bags that Israel brought. "You really brought baklava?"
[Israel Cohen] "Mmmf," the muffled sound of affirmation as she finishes up a mouthful of salmon, nodding her head and turning towards Ashley, indicating the large Tupperware container of homemade baklava on the table with the hand holding the Mikes. Swallowing she licks her lips which then curve with appreciation, "Of course, I did. Everything is better with baklava."
Inclining her ear towards Emily she arches an eyebrow, the quietness of her smile now holding a bit of feigned surprise. "What, one game of soccer and all of you are all tuckered out? Bah." The tone remains light. Conversational. They are supposed to be having a good time... some of the others have the after affects of healthy adrenaline to help them out. She's waiting for some of the spiked lemonade to take effect, though it would take a lot more than one to get her to actually tipsy. Surprisingly for her size her tolerance is better than most.
[Jonathan Kincade] "Yeah it is interesting actually, just been learning some stuff from Ashley. " and then the Hermetic starts talking about how she could make the Cultist have fun "Hmm she's not wrong Nathan... I was lucky to hold out during our lessons."
"But other than that been experimenting with primal energy on my own. Think I've finally come to have a firmer grip on that sphere. Been exhaustive work, but I'm glad I'm seeing the results I've been getting."
Searching the table for some more food as he piles it up on a paper plate.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas raises a brow at Nathan's effective demand for a new gun, and he almost looks like he isn't going to oblige the man, but his good feelings from earlier in the cookout seem to swing his opinion back over and he smiles. "I will investigate an appropriate facsimile or replacement accelerator. I am certain I have appropriate diagrams and schematics archived within my vessel."
He says casually, like its nothing as he turns back to the grill, his face to those with brighter dispositions at the moment. He nods to Ashley at the mention of a rematch, obviously enticed by the suggestion as well.
[Emily Littleton] Israel besmirches her athletic stamina, and Emily quirks an eyebrow at the fiesty, smaller Orphan.
"I'm sure another match could be arranged, if you're that interested," she says, oh-so-accomodatingly. After all, Emily isn't nursing any injuries. Even her pride recovered after the first few rounds when Riley was trouncing them.
She stops just short of goading Israel on. She's not sure about the social etiquette there, but she's relatively certain that it's not acceptable to trash talk to a blind lady about sport. Another mouthful of salmon. Another wary glance at Jon & Nathan.
[Nathan Spriggs] A look over to Ashley at her comment (threat?), eyes narrowing for a moment. A few minutes ago, he'd already be half-way to drawing his gun by now. Instead, his hands simply close into fists inside the coat, the weary visage covering any outward signs of anger he might have at being threatened.
Jonathan's comment however, instead of being helpful and insightful, was the final stroke in acknowledging the threat. For a moment, the coat pulled back just slightly, might have been the wind that did it. But Ashley might catch a glimpse of the holstered gun, no directly threatening gestures involved in it.
"I'm sure you can, I'll keep it in mind," he responded with a strained smile, not from anger, simply that he didn't imagine how he could have fun right now. In any case, for now he'd trust in the presence of other magi (Israel) to keep Ashley from acting. Otherwise it would fall on him to self-defense, and it wouldn't be pretty. Question was, who was quicker.
He turned to Atlas, noticing his acknowledgment of the demand, it was only natural he repay the damage as far as the Cultist was concerned. "So, how about that salmon?"
[Ashley McGowen] [Did you just...almost pull a gun on me? Perception + Alertness.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Emily Littleton] ((Per + Alert: Did you pack heat to a picnic? It's already 80+ outside today...))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Israel Cohen] There are things she misses, of course. Rote or not, she does not 'see' now with fine clarity and detail. But she can hear the joking comment from Ashley, hear the strain in Nathan's response; she has a sense of his motion because it alters just so how he feels in her mind's eye, his positioning. She cane zone in on items on his person. So whatever banter she was about to respond to Emily with fades away as she frowns, "...it might be a good idea. Apparently we don't all do so well just standing around." The words are hushed, more a thought spoken aloud. She turns towards Nathan and Ashley, her small form not tense or rigid at all but with a sense of readiness there.
"Nathan. Ashley. We're out right smack in the open." The words low-spoken but each is patently stressed.
[Emily Littleton] It's a tense moment, one that only gets pulled more tightly between them all when Nathan snaps at the Hermetic. When his jacket flips back to reveal -- Emily's eyes widen, then narrow immediately. What good mood? What jovial attitude?
The threatening posture, coupled with the presence of a firearm at their gathering -- and not in a law & order service weapon setting either, no -- upset the younger Orphan. Her eyes tracked him relentlessly now, as she went to demand a plate of food from Atlas. As he took up whatever sitting place he might at the table. There's a press behind them, as Unrelenting as her resonance. Watchful. Alert.
He'd snuck up on them in the bushes, and now he made sure they knew he was armed. Her spine pulls perfectly erect in her frustration. It's impossible to miss the change in body posture. She's done nothing to hide it.
[Emily Littleton] ((edit: ...as *he went to demand a plate of food ...))
[Ashley McGowen] It's probably lucky for Nathan that the last thing Ashley wants right now is a fight. The Hermetic is weary from what happened last night in the chantry and from the months (many) that have marched along before it, and this is the first day where she's really had fun, really enjoyed herself among people, in a while.
So, when he pulls back his coat, enough to glimpse the holstered gun, Ashley's eyes narrow. Israel's warning doesn't go unheeded, though: who knows. If she hadn't spoken up Ashley might very well feel obliged to escalate this. The conflict she has is actually rather clear, to anyone who knows Ashley moderately well - Nathan might as well have challenged her directly, and backing down would indicate that she's been cowed.
The Hermetic's jaw works for a second before she leans down to unwrap her dog's leash. "Good night. Emily, thank Riley for the party, when you see her again."
Nathan gets a parting stare. She didn't even finish what was on the plate.
[Atlas Mason] Atlas slams the lid down on the BBQ and shakes his head at Nathan, finding his actions unacceptable now. He looks at the man like a reproachful father figure and his face seems older now, much older as he watches the man.
"What possible outcome could you be postulating with social activity directed along such a plan of action? Directing force and negatively charged actions towards your own allies? If your synaptic storage functions have failed you Nathan, you comprehend and assimilate the fact that we are involved in several junctures requiring our co-efficient functionality, not negative neuro chemical responses or directed aggression."
He then looks to Ashley as she goes to leave, and from the look of it, he considers leaving as well.
[Nathan Spriggs] For a second, time seemed to stop for the Cultist, hesitant or maybe just waiting for a response. Suddenly, Israel cut in, a sense of relief spreading across him. After the events of last night, he was twitchy, prone to rash and paranoid actions, even he realized he'd overreacted in a way. Still, his mind was his alone. No one else's.
As Ashley seems to back down, walk away from the place, a last stare to him. Then Atlas seems to join in, like Ashley was in the right all along, because apparently threats of mind-infiltration were not hostile actions in and of themselves. A last look to him, and a shrug. Then he turns to Israel, unhooking the holster and gun, understanding something.
"My. Mind. Is. Mine." Then he extended his hand, holstered gun and all, towards Israel. Not in any threatening gesture, he was literally handing it to her. Understanding it was a bad idea to carry it for now, "I don't trust myself right now."
[Emily Littleton] Something in Emily's bag starts to ring. Not a delicate digital ring, no, or a ringtone, but an echo of something older. Her cellphone actually sounds like a, wait for it, phone. How ungeekly. But opportune, as things often were for magi. She needed out of the conflict, if she planned on salvaging what's left of her good mood.
"Hey, loves," she said, distracted by the number on her phone once she'd reclaimed it. "Ring me when you're breaking up here and I'll come tear down. I need to take this, and it'll be awhile."
There's a smile, for mostly all of them, and it's polite enough. The tenor of her voice has shifted slightly. And it's an entirely foreign tongue that she answers the phone in, saying, in faultering but functional Chinese: Good morning. The Orphan left her prized football, but nabbed her messenger bag on the way out.
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