[Emily Littleton] It has rained, off and on, throughout the day. Drizzled mostly. Without conviction. Lazy little droplets that wound their way down to the earth, clinging to whatever would catch the along the way. Fatter drops clung to the underside of new growth high in the trees, shuddered on the wind, fell down with wet, flat splats on the sidewalk. Beaded on awnings, or ironwork, or bicycle spokes. Crystalline spurs, wavering, transient.
The wind blew from everywhere at once, refusing to conform to a singular direction. Even here, in Lake View, it pushed in from odd angles, disturbed the sheer panels that hung before Emily's kitchen window. The window had been left open, all night and all day. The apartment is chill, but clean smelling as she pushes inside. Steps out of her shoes. Flicks a switch, carries her jacket across the room to drape over one of the dining room chairs. Her keys meet the table with a clatter, falling where they are dropped, beside her phone, beside the little thumb drive that pins down a note that reads: Emily- I won't tell Owen. Call me when you need me.
The Orphan moves on, rubbing her hands together and stamping her feet a little, but not closing the window just yet. She puts the kettle on, pulls out a sampling of the fruit, and fresh baked bread, and cheeses and thin-sliced meats that she'd set out for dinner the night before. Fixes herself a plate while the water boils.
And now, just now, she wanders back to the table. Pulls down the window to close out the cold. Casts a look at that note, weighed down by the USB stick, frowns.
The downstairs door is still broken. It keeps out nothing but the wind. With a turn of the knob and a little pressure it yields. From there it is two flights up, to apartment 3F, just a single door separate Emily from whomever might come knocking on this blustery Monday evening. But she is not expecting company, and she is watching the kettle to see if it will boil.
[Ashley McGowen] Emily isn't expecting company, but company turns up on her doorstep nonetheless. The knock on the door comes as she's getting settled, as she's getting a plate of fruit and meat and cheese, as the kettle is beginning to heat, threatening to whistle and cry out and echo in the mostly empty apartment.
Maybe Ashley is just there to get out of the rain, because it's a couple of miles to her place from here and the Hermetic is all too used to getting stuck in the elements, and not used to having a place to retreat to. She still doesn't know where most of the people in town live, even people like Wharil, who she's known for nearly a year.
Regardless. Tap tap tap.
On her doorstep is a small frame, slightly bedraggled and wet, reaching up with the sleeve of her wool coat to wipe away the moisture trickling out of her hair. When the door opens she looks up, up from the floor and then up a little further at the face that verges on being a foot higher than hers. Even in shoes. "Hey, Emily. You busy?"
[Emily Littleton] It takes a moment, but the door swings open, revealing the austere space that is the Apprentice's home. It is welcoming, for all that it is spartan and somewhat bare. Today there are large white mums on the table, a few days old but still untouched by brown splotches. There is a blanket thrown across the arm of Owen's rocking chair, a book in its seat, and a stone rosary nestled among them.
Emily's hair is damp, too, and the tee she wears reads: 2B || !2B. Otherwise she is barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a pair of jeans and a little flushed from her own time out in the cold.
"Ashley," she says, with a little lilt of surprise. Then Emily is stepping out of the doorway, holding it open for the Disciple. "Come in, please." Politeness and hospitality reign here.
"I've just put the kettle on and pulled out some small things for dinner. Would you like me to fix you a plate?" She offers a hand to help with the other woman's coat, if it's needed. Today she remembers to find a hangar, to put them both away in the closet to drip in confinement.
The younger girl is weary. It's nestled in small cues in her visage, a little tightness around her eyes, the slowness of her smile. Otherwise she seems hale.
[Ashley McGowen] [She looks tired, don't eat her food!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 8)
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is always hungry. The deep, aching variety that isn't quite starvation but perpetually gnaws at the lining of the stomach, the kind that can make it hard to concentrate, the kind that makes it hard to think about anything else. She could fill her stomach close to bursting, could literally come close to gorging herself to death, and chances are that she would still feel hungry. It's not just metaphorical.
So it's with Will that she takes in Emily's weariness, the tightness around her eyes, and says, "You don't have to. I just came to check up on you."
Her voice is flat, not laden with pathos or concern or any of the things that usually spur a friend to check on another friend. Maybe Emily's the sort to be grateful for that, who would otherwise feel smothered. But the Hermetic just reaches up and brushes some dripping hair out of her eyes, water sliding down her face and neck and eaten up by the collar of her T-shirt (red, an unhappy file thrown away into a wastepaper basket the way an icon shows up on Macs.)
"I mean," she adds, as though she feels the need to clarify, "I figured. After everything with the woman. I'd check up and see how you were." What she intended to do once she got Emily's response on her mental state is unclear, as though she recognizes that checking in is a considerate thing to do but doesn't know what to do afterward.
[Emily Littleton] ((Really? I'm fine...))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] The Orphan (for now, Singer soon to be) has had quite the day of well-meaning inquiries. It began the night before, which prompted her nearly twenty-four-hour pacing spree across the city and back again. There'd been that moment with Wharil at the Chantry.
Emily sighs, a bit. Shrugs her shoulders in a half-hearted what can you do? expression, and takes the kettle off the flame just before it starts to scream. "Is Jasmine green alright?" she asks the Hermetic, as she pulls two mugs down from the cupboard.
"And I'm alright," she continues, her voice a little less resonant that usual, less mellifluous and bright. "As well as can be expected. It's nice of you to ask though," a smile, but not warm enough to touch her eyes. "Do you take sugar in your tea?"
[Ashley McGowen] [Awareness, taking sight penalties]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Ashley McGowen] Emily says she's all right and Ashley seems to accept the answer. The Hermetic isn't particularly sensitive, and she typically cues in to how others are feeling simply by making observations about their expressions, when she bothers at all. She catches sight of the note, of the text written on it before Emily can put it away, though. That Riley won't tell Owen something.
Her curiosity can't help but be piqued, but she doesn't ask. The two of them are cabal-mates now, and there are cabal matters that Ashley isn't privy to.
"Jasmine green is fine, and no," Ashley says, when Emily asks about sugar. She generally prefers it as it is, as Emily will doubtlessly find out on other occasions where there will be tea. "I'm glad," she adds, after a beat. She seems as though she might say more, but whatever it was, that admission is lost in hesitation.
There's silence, silence that Emily can fill if she wishes. Emily is making tea, and she can't just turn around and flee. So Ashley says, "How are you? Otherwise, I mean? Have you been learning?"
[Emily Littleton] Jasmine Green was the tea that Jarod often fixed for her, when Emily was staying at his place. Whether just for a few hours, or overnight. Long before that, it had been the tea Emily made for herself when she was trying to settle into a new place, needing to wind down from a long night, aching for something a little more home-like than Lady Grey and biscuits.
She's fastidious about the little rituals around tea-making. It is something the two Awakened can share without the pretenses of rank or Traditional divides. When Emily hands Ashley her mug, it is perfectly steeped, fragrant and pale green.
She wraps long fingers around her own, keeps it close to her center. The plate of food she has prepared is set out on the table for them both. In that movement, Emily sweeps up the note and the thumb drive. Both are tucked into the pocket of her jacket as she takes a seat at the table. She hasn't realized that Ashley read it.
"Riley and I were studying, together, just last night. Now that finals is over, we may have more time to work together." Perhaps that is what the Orphan doesn't want Owen to know about. "We're starting with Life... maybe we'll move on to other things after that." There's a small smile, but it is more careful than warm. She blows across the surface of her tea, then takes a sip.
[Ashley McGowen] Emily and Riley are studying Life together, and the Hermetic can't help but quirk a small smile at this, as she goes to sit down at the table with Emily. She and Bran and Justine studied together that way in their early days, practice their Words, would exclaim in wonder over the things they could see, because just seeing alone is enough for apprentices. It's almost natural to think of Boston around Emily, in this apartment that resonates with Home.
She holds the mug of tea between her hands and doesn't sip from it yet, content to smell the steam. She watches Emily across the table, swinging her feet beneath the chair, letting them rest on their toes. Sometimes the short of stature are forced to sit a bit awkwardly in their seats.
"You two probably see things pretty differently. It'll probably help you practice, once you get used to it," she says. "Owen okay with you learning with another apprentice? Once in a while some mentors are pretty restrictive about that."
[Emily Littleton] Emily tucks one foot behind her opposite knee, tries to find a position that makes the IKEA chairs more yielding, more comfortable. Again she is struck by the pressing need for a sofa, something more inviting and hospitable than the hard-backed Swede-modern chairs.
The Apprentices brow knits, momentarily, and her teeth catch the corner of her mouth. "I hadn't thought to ask him," she admits, caught a little by surprise by Ashley's statement. "I suppose I should, though. Ah... thanks."
The girl was a little shame-faced, but it fled quickly. She took another sip of her tea and nabbed a grape from the table. She nudged the plate toward Ashley a bit: please, eat if you're hungry.
"You don't think I'll have upset him, do you?"
[Ashley McGowen] There's a plate being nudged toward her, and while Ashley may have had the restraint to tell Emily that no, getting a separate plate for her was unnecessary, she doesn't have the restraint to avoid taking food that is being pushed in her direction. The feel she gives off often seems to inspire other mages to feed her, actually - they usually do, whenever she meets with them, and rarely does she ever have to pay.
She takes some of the fruit, munching at it thoughtfully, taking in that shame that crosses the girl's face, realizing that the note was most likely not in regard to Emily's training. Probably not even in regard to anything within their cabal. Her curiosity gnaws at her as deeply as that perpetual rumbling in the pit of her stomach does.
"Probably not," she says. "I'm just used to oldschool Hermetics. One or two of them really had sticks up their asses about it." It isn't even a lie. She's not good at lying. Or at being particularly indirect, for that matter.
"You might want to double check with him just in case, though. It's generally not a good policy to keep things from your mentor."
[Emily Littleton] Ashley is very direct, which is why Emily does not imagine that the Hermetic has ulterior motives in this line of questioning. So the Orphan nods, sips at her tea again and is pensive for just a moment.
"I'll let him know," she says, with no apparent evasion. "Thanks for the head's up." So no, whatever it is she isn't telling Owen doesn't seem to be related to her teachings. Or even the happenings of a new and still-settling cabal. Perhaps Ashley had mistaken the note for something more serious than it was.
"I spoke to Wharil this morning," she says, changing the subject deftly. There's a pause here, just long enough to let the other woman catch the change in topic. Long enough to pop another grape into her mouth. "He thinks the incident in the park and the zombies Riley encountered might be connected."
She says it so plainly, the incident in the park, as if it didn't dredge up any horror, or grief, or guilt. Ashley knew better, but Emily played her cards very close to breast. Even as tired as she was tonight.
[Ashley McGowen] Emily's change of topic is rather successful. Ashley isn't very good at ulterior motives - or, at least, she isn't very good at concealing them when she has them. To most of the city's magi she's been entirely up front about her selfishness, her desire to further herself, her belief in growth through conflict. She hasn't had a lot of practice at subterfuge.
So the mention of Wharil and the zombies makes her perk, look up at the Orphan, even as she transfers a grape to her mouth. "I filled him in on that, I was hoping he'd talk to you," she says. "I've also been thinking they're probably connected. I didn't at first, but then Solomon said something about the zombies being animated by control over what Minds they had, and their souls...I mean, someone with the ability to do that could easily exert control over the thoughts of another person and give them commands. Which I'm assuming he had to do, in order to get her to do something like drown her daughter."
Unfortunately there's little notice of how sensitive Emily still is about it, little thought given to how her words might affect the Orphan. She says them with a glance off into space, thoughtful; they're not meant to hurt, she's simply speaking her musings aloud.
"We'll figure it out. I'll have to get a hold of him now that he's talked to you, see if he has any other thoughts on it."
[Emily Littleton] Ashley mentions the dead little girl and Emily tips her teacup to look into its depths. A silent moment passes, perhaps some sort of reverence for the departed, maybe just a moment to still the Orphan's thoughts. Pensive. Yes, that was a good word for it.
"Drown her daughter, and try to stab her son."
Beat.
"The woman, though? She wasn't dead yet," Emily reminds Ashley, but the Hermetic had seen the woman's tortured pattern. She'd ripped it out of Emily's head. She knew as surely as Emily did herself.
"I forgot to tell Wharil, but I left him a message later -- the Man seemed uncomfortable when I started praying." That was a polite way to put it. The Orphan's features twisted in wry amusement for a moment before she continued: "He called me a bitch."
In Emily's book, being an irritation to the forces of Evil was squarely better than holding their undying devotion.
"And like I told Wharil... if there's anything I can do to help find him, to stop him from doing that to anyone else? Please, let me know." Rather than devolving into pale-faced tears, Emily seems almost resolved to be stronger. To contribute. To end the suffering she'd seen that family through, and its residual effects on herself and Owen. But she is young in this magical world, and nearly impotent.
Another sip from her mug, then, and wishing it was laced with something stronger. The girl reached one warmed hand up to press against the back of her neck. Then let the fingertips fall away.
"He said we might still be targets. Do you think there's any truth to that?"
[Ashley McGowen] "Whether or not she was dead doesn't matter. Skilled practitioners of the Ars Mentis are able to create really...rudimentary thought patterns, probably like what was found in the zombies, and they can also assert their Will over the living," Ashley says. She's thoughtful for a moment, brooding even; it was study she'd hoped to undertake herself, before she had difficulty with her own Seeking.
When Emily explains that the Man insulted her, it draws a wry smile from the Hermetic. She apparently shares Emily's opinion on such matters - that if an enemy is cursing you, you must be doing something right.
She finally sips from her tea, pauses for a few seconds and lets it wash down the sugary taste of the fruit. Emily looks as though she feels stronger, is shoring herself up and resolving to -do something,- and that isn't lost on Ashley. She picks up on it, gives Emily a long look that has some of the first glints of respect. "I'll let you know," she says. "There's a good chance you are targets, but I think that goes for all of us, at this point. You're just going to need to keep an eye out."
[Emily Littleton] You're just going to need to keep an eye out, Ashley says, and it isn't too far for Emily to add, to herself, and not pull stunts again like last night.
She throws a glance, sidelong, to the corner of the table where the little note in spidery writing had been. Takes a sip of her tea. Nods, in a thoughtful way. The mug comes down to rest on the table top with a rasp of ceramic on wood.
"Oh.... and how is that any different than usual?" she asks, with a wry note underlying her voice at last. No wearied sigh, not tonight; no wistful remembrance of simpler times. Just a small, small and twisted, growing in its knowing way as she finds her footing in the community.
[Ashley McGowen] "It's not," Ashley says, understanding that wry tone in Emily's voice and mirroring it. Ashley is a Disciple, and she's certainly lived through times of chaos, of trouble, but the number of things that are going on in Chicago are still more than she has dealt with before. "But it's good for you to have people you can work with. All the experience I got with my first cabal was pretty invaluable."
The Society, of course, is still in its infancy. They haven't reached nearly the levels of trust, of intimacy, of knowing that she and the two Flambeau had. May never. But for the time being she can certainly appreciate their usefulness.
"If something happens and you need to take cover quickly, I have wards set up in the chantry that'll keep you somewhat protected. If you have time, go there," she adds, glancing up and meeting Emily's eyes. "It's a safe place for you to go to ground. That's what it's there for."
[Emily Littleton] The wry smile slid from her features, leaving only the weariness and somewhat worn solemnity behind. The girl nodded, resettling in her chair into a less casual pose. She lifted her tea, sipped at it again, set it aside once more.
"Alright," she said. It carried a gravity to it. Between her accent and her mannerisms, Emily could make the single word into a sweeping agreement, or a small, somber acquiescence.
"Do you want me to spread the word around on that, or is sanctuary restricted to cabals and chantry members?" Oh, look. She'd been paying attention at the meetings after all. Emily's eyes shift up to meet Ashley's; it's a bit easier to see into what's troubling her now. And she is, troubled that is. The note was not so innocent as Emily may have suggested with her nonchalance and carefully controlled demeanor.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley's mouth thins, at this question, and she should have suspected that it was one that Emily would ask. Truth be told, Ashley resents the idea that her protection should be extended to everyone; she resents the idea that she should be called upon to protect useless people. It's been a struggle for her, reconciling that with the responsibility she's been shouldering.
"The ward covers the entire place, so it's theoretically extended to everyone, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't," she says, "because I'd rather not see people running to the chantry for every little thing. For things they should be able to deal with themselves. And I also don't want anyone fucking with my wards."
That others should be able to deal with their own problems, that failure to do so should be on their own heads - it's a harsh perspective. It's also clear how she feels about it.
"The chantry is a place you shouldn't be bringing Sleepers to," she adds, as though she's guessed a little at what Emily might have wanted to do. Would do if such a situation arose once more.
[Emily Littleton] Ashley suspected what Emily might have wanted to do, but it isn't what Emily is asking. There's a distinction here, lost in the silences they keep between them.
"When I'm in over my head, I find Owen," she says, plainly. Not Chuck, not Riley, but Owen. "If he thinks we should go to the Chantry, I'll follow. It... probably wouldn't be my first thought, unless I couldn't get in touch with anyone, and happened to remember this conversation."
Honesty, naked and simple. The Choruster-to-be isn't capable to too many clever deceptions tonight, and she's wasted her one solid defense on the matter of telling or not telling Owen something.
"By Sleeper, I take you to mean the unAwakened? I can understand why the meeting house would not be open to them, even in crisis," she says. It's like an Embassy. You couldn't bring other Nationals in without permission. Sovereign soil. Emily understood perhaps better than Ashley expected her to.
[Ashley McGowen] She's pleased that Emily understands, and it shows. She's encountered many mages over the years that have ideals about how the Sleepers should be treated, that want to bring them in, do everything for them. In Ashley's mind this is something Technocrats do, give Sleepers everything, dull their minds, remove the things they can struggle against and hone themselves.
"Good," she says. "And yeah. I meant the unAwakened. It's just...once you do things like that for one of them, your door's always open. They expect more and more of you, and they depend on you." The clarification isn't necessary, but she still provides it.
And finally, it's there in the back of her mind and she can't not ask. She simply wonders, and if Emily rebuffs her, so be it. "So what are you and Riley not going to tell Owen about?" There's desire to know, there - no reprimand, no chiding.
[Emily Littleton] ((Evade, deflect, redirect...))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] It's not terribly clear to Emily that Ashley is speaking about the unAwakened, and not people in general. It sounds a bit like how Emily had come to rely on Owen, and then pulled Owen into that mess with Riley and the zombies. Oh, the explanation gave Emily food for thought ... but perhaps not the particular idea Ashley had hoped to leave her gnawing on.
She nibbles on another something from the tray, this time a bit of cheese and a piece of that homemade bread. The latter she pulls into small pieces, before putting it into her mouth. Doesn't bite into it while they talk.
"Greece," she says, as if the country itself was enough to end Ashley's insatiable curiosity. "I was thinking Santorini, but Riley pointed out the recent riots -- so maybe Catalonia instead." The words, proper nouns, are heavily accented, pulled away from the neater clip of Emily's usually-British tones.
"It's been so grey lately, it hardly feels like summer. And it's been a month and a half since I was away..." Which was just at Easter, when she went to England. Emily had a severe case of wanderlust, which might explain the overly spartan decorating style. Her inability to tie herself down for long.
Still... The Apprentices weren't telling Owen about vacation planning? Perhaps the Initiate was not invited?
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is making a small sandwich out of the bread and cheese and meat on the plate, happy to be munching whilst they talk. It helps keep her mind off of being hungry, fills up pauses, provides some small amount of gratification so that she can focus.
She raises her eyebrows at Emily at the explanation. She actually takes it for what it is, isn't terribly suspicious of Emily's answer and doesn't seem to recognize that the girl is trying to evade, but it still doesn't make much sense to her. "Do you think Owen'd be upset about you going to Greece?" she asks, perplexed.
The mini-sandwich is transferred, whole, to her mouth a second later. Unlike Emily, Ashley wasn't brought up in an embassy - she observes most standards of social decency, but clearly doesn't have her firm grasp of etiquette. At the very least she simply doesn't bother.
[Emily Littleton] It wasn't manners or Embassy upbringings that had Emily making smaller pieces of her food before eating them. She despised the awkward moment between getting asked a question, and getting her food chomped down to small enough pieces to swallow it away and answer. So she took it out of the equation, utterly, rather than risk the awkward pauses or indelicate mouth-covered-but-talking-anyway moments.
She was terribly picky, in her own ways, but she tried to keep them from the forefront of her interactions. As much as one could hide their true nature from others, that is.
"No..." she said, Ashley's perplexion having spread to the Orphan. Contagious. "I guess not. I'm not sure why it seemed like such a big deal last night," she said, shrugging somewhat. Another grape, then. A sip of tea. Small movements to conceal the edge and nervousness she couldn't quite hide away completely.
"He's pretty even-keel," she says, about Owen. "I guess I shouldn't worry about it overmuch."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley still looks a touch confused. She's still chewing at the mini-sandwich; she doesn't mind the awkward pauses. They give her time to think, and while she has swallowed food nearly whole before in order to clear a path for speech, it's certainly not something the human throat is made for. (A serpent's - sea monster's - certainly.)
She still looks a little confused, as though she's trying to determine why Emily would have made a big deal about it in the first place. Why she seems so nervous. She's slow to pick up on such things at the best of times.
"You're probably more worn out from the thing in the park than you think," she tells Emily. "I guess it...I mean. I know after I had the whole thing with looking into Dylan's mind it sort of made me do shit like that even when I wasn't actively thinking about it." She's making the effort at sympathy, or at least her words would indicate. Whatever else, the Hermetic has a rather thorough understanding of trauma.
Just not in helping others through it. She picks up a grape and pops it into her mouth, watching Emily intently.
[Emily Littleton] "That's probably it," she said, softly. Mulling something over for a moment as she agreed with the Hermetic. Emily picked up her mug and brought it to the sink. Rinsed it out. It gave her a moment with her back to Ashley, a moment with her hands busied (not idle [Devil's playthings]).
She turned, resting against the counter, folding her arms over her middle easily. There's a small shrug, but it only seems to exacerbate the weariness she wears, thinly.
"Now that finals are over, I'll try to catch more sleep and see if that helps." She offer Ashley a small smile. "That might not fix it, but it can't hurt, right?"
[Ashley McGowen] "Maybe that and...I don't know. Getting out and doing things and writing helped me," she says, eyes tracking the Chorister-to-be as Emily makes her way over to the sink. Her cup is not yet empty, and after a moment she takes another sip from it. "I mean, you don't have Jhor or anything, but I guess the basic principle still applies."
Ashley's tone is that of someone who is trying to be helpful, straining for understanding. (Because it's difficult, because she has to struggle to do it.) The true cause for Emily's evasion eludes her, and so she's trying to offer advice for the perceived one.
It's awkward, but the glance in Emily's direction is of something genuine. She tilts back the mug, empties it the rest of the way, and sets it on the table, spinning it a few times with her fingertips.
[Emily Littleton] It's wrong, she knows, to abuse this openness and open concern with reticent and misdirection. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Emily wishes her past was gentler, did not come back to haunt her, did not create unwitting divides between her and the people she might call friends. There's a melancholy to that knowledge, and a guilt, and it bleeds through a bit around the edges of her otherwise careful mask.
"I'm sorry," she says, and its genuine even if Emily does not disclose the true root of that apology. "I'm just... really tired tonight. I don't mean to be difficult." She casts the Hermetic a little, knowing, self-deprecating smile.
Emily doesn't even ask after the new vocabulary word, Jhor, which must mean she is tired indeed.
[Ashley McGowen] "You aren't being difficult," the puzzled Hermetic says in response. She's unaware of the attempts to mislead and misdirect: honest people, unfortunately, are more often than not likely to assume that their own honesty is there in others. She assumes forthrightness because Emily is offering her -some- answer, because she is skilled in her evasions, because she offers enough to whet but not to satisfy entirely (thus she draws helpfulness, not suspicion).
She picks up the mug and takes it over to the sink, turning to face Emily once it's been placed there. "I'll leave and let you rest, in that case," she suggests, with a glance over her shoulder toward the door.
[Emily Littleton] There is relief in Emily's eyes, though a part of her still pushes to entreat Ashley to not tell Owen. To let the Choruster be. To not worry him with what must be, has to be, the foolishness and newness of his Apprentice. She stills her tongue, because Emily knows that such a request would only draw scrutiny back to her. Still it unnerves her, leaving this odd exchange out there, public. Free for Ashley to repeat at will. And where would that leave her?
Lying to Owen? Not lying to Owen? Confiding in him (possibly snapping at him, the way she had with the Adept the night before). Emily reaches up, scrubs one hand over her face, then runs it through her hair.
"I..." The Orphan stammered, slightly. "I'll get your coat." She's moving, then, again, before Ashley can watch her too closely for too long. Emily's fluent in her space now, turns to talk to Ashley as she goes across the room to retrieve this article of clothing. "Please, feel free to take some of the bread and fruit and cheese. My eyes were bigger than my stomach is lately," which was to say she hadn't really been hungry, of late, "And I'd rather you take some with you than to have it go off here."
Friendly, again. Emily knows what to do with greetings and partings. It's all the little moments in between the flummox her up. If Ashley agrees, then she puts together a small carepackage for the Hermetic. If she declines, then Emily does not push the matter further.
When they have made their way to the doorway, Emily thanks her for stopping by. Reiterates that Ashley is always welcome, even as Emily is seeing her out. There's warmth in these partings, and less evasion than before.
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