One big happy family

[Riley] When Riley woke up this morning, her day off, she sat up in her small bed, hand automatically reaching out for and finding a bundle of fur, and she thought, Today is a day for GRILLING.

Fortunately, today is not her dad's day off. So Riley went about the business of showering, dressing, making a brief trip to the store, comforted by the knowledge that today. Today, of ALL days. Her condo is not in danger of being burned to the ground. At the store, as she wandered through the produce section searching for appropriate vegetables, a call was made to Emily, these days ever her first choice for human social interaction. She didn't know that Emily was wanting to talk to her, that she had something to tell her, had a horrible week to unload and vent and be comforted over. All Riley knew when she called the Orphan was that she wanted to grill, and she wanted to grill for friends, and hey, Riley always goes to Emily's, but Emily's never been to Riley's place.

There was a brief moment in one of the aisles when some woman's cart collided with Riley's, and harsh words were snarled and hurled like stones. Pebbles, really. Not even a moment of ire could really dampen Riley's spirits today. So that by the time there is a knock on her door, she's calm again, smiling that charming smile so full of warmth and friendliness. She invites Emily in to her condo, which is full of bright colors that, on reflection, others might not think about putting together.

The whole place has a modern feel, up-to-date. There's an almost sterile style to some of the furniture, softened by bright colors and soft textures. It feels like it would belong to Riley, Riley and someone else. It is, in fact, a mixture of the things the woman likes and things her father likes, fused together in perfect harmony. Looking around, it's no wonder the Virtual Adept was able to help Emily de-IKEA her apartment.

There is one important thing to notice about Riley's condo on entering. There are no signs of technology in the living room, no television, no video game consoles, not even a radio. Considering the Virtual Adept is baffled when she meets people with years-old cell phones or (horror of horrors) not even so much as a pager or an mp3 player, it's a strange and obvious absence.

"C'mon in," she says to Emily. There's a cabinet near the door, cubbyholes really, obviously meant to house shoes. The balcony door is open, letting in air which is touched by the city, but smells overwhelmingly of cooked meats. "Do you want something to drink?" she asks, already heading into the kitchen herself. Today, Riley is dressed in linen shorts and an old and faded t-shirt, the lettering cracked and nearly illegible with age that reads: Lincoln Park HS Athletic Dept. Someone still fits in their high school gym clothes.

[Emily] Grilling was not a purely American affair, but the gusto with which the Yanks went after this particular culinary task was unparalleled. It had struck her as strange, on her first few summer visits to the States, but now Emily took it for what it was: a National love affair with al fresco eating, carmelized vegetables and slightly charred meats. She had developed a fondness for it, whilst retaining her unmitigated scorn for hot dogs.

There's an etiquette to making house calls. It's something both geek girls know, innately. It's something even Ashley observed. Emily did not come over to Riley's empty handed. She had a brown-paper wrapped bundle of brightly colored gerbera daisies (the brightest she could find) and a bowl of already cleaned & prepared fresh fruits in the other.

The flowers are offered over to Riley as soon as Emily is welcomed in. All of this -- the cheerful gift, the brightly colored salad, the easy-going mannersims -- are at sharp odds with the Orphan's week. It's a welcome change, but she is not quite adept enough to manage it without some small tells.

She's quieter, for one. A bit less ready and willing to echo Riley's effusive goodwill. Emily steps out of her shoes, extends a hand to the lovely Mr. O. in greeting, sets her messenger bag aside.

"Just water would be lovely, cheers," she says to Riley, looking up with a smaller-than-usual smile and a bit more reservation in her deeply blue eyes. She straightens, having shown the cat the proper level of attention, and looks about the flat. "Your place is so colorful!" Approving, a warmer smile as she walks a bit further into the space. "Very cheerful. I like it."

[Riley] [hey, uh, is something up? -1 diff cuz we frenz!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[Emily] ((Keepin' ma' thoughts to ma' self...))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 7)

[Riley] The flowers are accepted with a delighted smile and an exclamation of, "Oh, these are freakin' cute! Thanks!" The bowl of fruit is placed on the dining table, the flowers are carried with her into the kitchen where she first busies herself getting Emily a glass of water from the purifier in the fridge.

"Thanks," she says to Emily liking the condo, stepping out of the kitchen now, holding out the glass of water. Her feet are bare, and if Emily looks down she can see the tattoo on her left foot, a creeping vine with pinkish purple flowers, just along the top of her foot, ending below the ankle. Further inspection of Riley's feet will reveal bright pink polish adorning her nails. Just like the day in the coffee shop, she notices small tells of Emily's mood, the initial smaller smile, the reservation. Only this time the cause is not so readily obvious. So Riley doesn't draw attention to it. For now.

"When we first moved here it was all...well, dark woods and stuff like over at Chuck's, but we had this horrible shag carpet. And the walls had this really ugly paper. Finally," and even years later, there is still a touch of exasperation there, "my dad let me redecorate after I graduated. C'mon, let's sit outside."

Not eveyone would think that middle-sixties is a good temperature to have the windows open, to sit around in the partial sunshine in shorts and a t-shirt. But the alcove the balconies look into protects them from the wind this city is so famous for. And Riley grew up here, is descended from sturdy Italian stock. The patio furniture is wrought iron twisted into the forms of vines and flowers, the tabletop a sturdy heavy glass that was recently clean. Riley steps out into the sunshine - hopefully with Emily close behind, almost assuredly with Dr. O making a beeline for one of the chairs - to check on the grilled things. She lifts the top of the grill to check on seasoned burger patties and an assortment of foil wrapped things that look vaguely like corn cobs or potatoes.

"I talked to Ashley the other day," she says, tone offhand, Oh by the way. "And I had an idea I wanted to run past you."

[Emily] Mid-sixties was plenty warm for enjoying the springlike weather that had finally returned to Chicago. And a break from the winds made the day seem warmer still. Emily was wearing jeans and a light-weight top, with a paisely pattern of spring green, light pink and chocolate brown to it. It wasn't a tee-shirt (a little too feminine for that) but was the sort of thing that could be dressed up with a skirt or down, as on this afternoon, with a pair of jeans. Most of the foreign girl's wardrobe served double duty this way. She could not abide things with fewer then two uses.

"You did a really nice job with it," Emily said, appreciatively, carrying her water out with her to the patio. She made sure to give the cat clearance to make his beeline for a chair -- once underfoot, felines were quite adept at overturning the larger and less agile humans they kept as company.

I talked to Ashley the other day... There was a faint flinch to Emily's expression, but then she reached up to shield her eyes from a glint of sunlight -- so that must have been it.

"Oh? Shoot!" She invited the idea in, leaning against the patio railing and turning her back to the brightness. Now her expression was not pinched, it was easy-going enough. Still quiet and a bit more reserved than usual. She took a sip of her water, and listened up.

[Riley] With her back turned to the patio and its furniture, the feline and her friend, Riley misses the flinch and the ensuing shielding from the sun. At least until she lowers the grill top, sets her spatula aside, and turns around to face Emily. She's grinning in a way that is excited and nervous all at once.

"Well. You know how, like, I don't remember it was forever ago, but they had that meeting over at the House talking about cabals? I've noticed that it keeps coming up, and they sound like they're crazy useful for the people in them. Especially apprentices, since it sounds like everyone involved could kind of help everyone else out."

She steps away from the grill now, moves around to where Emily is seated, drinking her water. Dr. O looks on with big blue eyes, ears flicking back to catch a noise before easing forward again. "I guess what I want to ask you, is."

Riley lowers herself to one knee beside Emily's chair, sniffs dramatically as she takes one of her hands in both of hers. "Emily Littleton, joy of my life, light of my eyes. My sun, my moon, my everything. Would you possibly consider forming a cabal with me?" Here is where the theatrics drop, at least for a moment. "You could ask Owen, since you said you were going to be working with him, anyway. And I can ask Chuck, if I can ever pin him down and talk to him about being my Mentor."

[Emily] ((WP check; srs cabal is srs bznss))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 7, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Emily] This is not quite the moment, not quite the proposal, that Emily imagines tied to bended knee and endearments in her heart of hearts. No. So it catches the Orphan by surprise, openly so, and for a moment she casts about for the proper reaction.

It comes in the gentle tightening of Emily's fingers on Riley's, in a broad and unencumbered smile that sweeps across her features, pushing aside for now darker thoughts and serious concerns. It elevates her, brings the brightness back to her eyes (barely contained mirth [laughter]).

"Riley Poole, friend of my heart, darling, dear heart, master of the victory dance," these titles are returned as lightly as Riley had tendered hers, but they are underscored with the warmth and affection of friendships. "I would be honoured."

She offers the Vdept a hand to help her to her feet. "And I shall talk to Owen about it," there's a slight faulter here, a little pause that goes a little too far. "You two would feel comfortable working with him, do you think?"

It's a concern, and not a small one. Because Emily had worked with Owen now, would be working with him extensively in the future. They'd found a balance point, or come to some sort of agreement, but it had a very different tenor than her friendship with Riley and Chuck.

[Riley] Emily barely contains her laughter. Riley lets hers go. Broad smile is met with broad smile mingled with laughter when Emily agrees. She accepts the hand up, tugs out the chair beside Emily and settles herself into it. Within seconds there is a ball of cream and grey fur nestled in her lap. Riley absently scratches behind the feline's ears as she considers the prospect of Owen.

"I don't know. I think we could make it work. But ultimately, I think it'd really be up to him. I mean, he is sort of the wild card in the foursome. The rest of us kind of fused together on sight. He still seems to keep his distance, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, unless distance means he would never really willingly come to me or Chuck."

[Emily] She settles into her own chair, keeping that glass of water held in one hand. Emily tucks one foot behind the opposing knee. It's a subtly open body language. (I'm going to tell you something ...)

"About that," she begins, as a warning that topics would be trending into less pleasant places. There's a solemnity that slips into her eyes, belies the darker motivations between her quieter reservation. It doesn't quite break through to her voice, yet.

"If they accept, I think you and I may end up being the bridge between the two very different men," this is said easily enough. As if it were something to which Emily has given great thought, as well. "Some things have happened, in the last few weeks, and I find myself going to Owen first. It's not that I trust you guys less, that's just where I find myself ending up."

Honesty, blunt and naked. It's a rare thing coming from Emily, but moments like this require it.

"I could see you and Chuck working well as a team, and it taking some practice and time to blend all four of us into something more. It wouldn't be instantaneous, but I imagine it'd all work out in time."

She doesn't say that she knows Owen can reach out to others when needed; that she saw the same occur just last night. She doesn't say it, yet, but it's coming. Emily takes a sip of her water and lets Riley respond.

[Riley] About that, and Emily has Riley's complete attention. Not that she didn't have it before, but it becomes more focused. Not so intense as quiet Owen's gaze can be, not so steady and penetrating. She has her head turned to Emily, dark eyes on her face while dark brows constrict, forming the faintest of shadows on her brow. Thoughtful, alert, listening.

"I think that would be pretty natural, actually. I think for all of us, our first points of contact will likely be the ones in our Tradition. I imagine I'll probably go to Chuck first just because our brains sort of fire in the same direction. Our way of processing and dealing with information, being Virtual Adepts, will probably be different from yours. Also, it makes sense that you'd go to your Mentor first. I don't think working together as a team necessarily means we'll all be working together all the time on every little thing. I think grouping up would help us learn more effectively." She says 'us,' but Emily can tell, can piece together from what Riley has told her and the look on her face that she mostly means herself. More people are learning how ineffective a teacher Jon had been, that the freshly Awakened mage has been trying to figure things out on her own for the better part of the last several months.

"I really do think we'll end up being what brings the guys together. And, unfortunately for everyone, I think we're going to wind up being the face of the group, too." A wry smile at this, memories of the recent meeting coming to mind first. "Asking questions, doing the legwork, talking to the other magi. Not always. Chuck's okay with people sometimes, and Owen." She pauses, dark-eyed gaze shifting aside. "I don't really know him, but he seems to do alright one-on-one."

[Emily] "Oh, come on," she says, with a little laughter shining in her eyes. "I think gentlemen would be a smashing face to the cabal." There is it, twisting up the corners of her mouth just so. The thought amuses her, terribly, but it's clear that she agrees with Riley on this matter.

The lightness fades, but does not entirely disperse. This is what Riley brings, innately, without magic and without pretense : comfort, ease, friendship, acceptance, hope. It is a warm and spreading thing, infectious. Over time, it would reach even Owen (Emily hoped).

"I'd be happy to help, with the learning. If I can. I don't know if there's anything I've picked up that you haven't yet," she says, clearly putting herself on equal footing with Riley. Perhaps this is unfair; she's younger, still figuring out who she is. They are both casting about for firm footing in the Awakened world.

"Most of what I know, I Woke Up with. I learned to read Life patterns before Jarod left, and I think Owen wants me to start working on Prime and Mind." There's a ghost of a smile now, vaguely rueful for the volume of work ahead. (It's feigned [she enjoys the challenge] thrives on it). "I keep coming back to Life, though -- with that Blue Horizon thing, with the recent troubles with Owen at the Park..."

And there it is. A lead in. An opening. (What happened at the park, Emily? [Oh, that...]) Riley knows her well enough to see that Emily has purposefully given an opening. It does not have to be taken, but it is an invitation none the less.

[Riley] "Oh, I'm sure there's a lot you know that I don't." There's bitterness in the statement, but it's not directed at Emily. It's not directed at anything or anyone, it just is. It doesn't bother Riley that Emily, the younger, would have a greater knowledge base. She works in what is essentially a retail position, has for many years, will for many more. There will always be people coming in younger who know more, who received more or better education. And she knows that magi will Awaken at any age. So it doesn't matter that Emily might know more than the slightly older woman.

It's the fact that she's learned almost nothing new since she Awakened that troubles her, as Emily well knows. And since blame can't be shifted entirely onto one person or another, or even herself, Riley has no outlet for that bitterness. All she can do now is try to make up for lost time.

And there it is. The opening she's been waiting on since Emily first showed up. As soon Emily gets to recent troubles, Riley's focus changes again. Like a fisherman waiting patiently on the water since before dawn, Riley knew she just needed to bide her time.

"What kind of troubles? Are you alright? Is Owen?"

[Chuck] There'd been texting about food, and far be it from Chuck to turn down the company of two of his favorite people - after a while, when he's done with whatever it is he was working on, he comes and raps on the unlocked door to herald his arrival before letting himself in. This is what he hears: What kind of troubles? Are you alright? Is Owen?

Needless to say, he turns to look at Emily expectantly.

[Emily] Emily drew a deep breath when Riley pounced on the opening. It was expected, but still unnerving. Emily took a sip of her water, set it aside. Placed her hands in her lap (Well, see...). When Emily talks about disturbing things, she has a tendancy to sit a little straighter, stand a little taller, pull her shoulders back just so, tip up her chin -- it's not defiance, or even resolve. It lends a different weight to her words, than if she curled into her chair and shrugged them out unevenly.

She knows this on a level so fundamental and deep that the deception comes unbidden. It's not manipulation anymore, just a piece of who Emily has been and is now.

"I'm alright," she says, evenly. And it's factual -- physically -- if not completely honest. "Owen's fine, too. We're both okay," she repeats, for emphasis, and because it's good to hear herself affirming it.

"A few nights ago, we were at Lincoln Park, playing basketball when the wind kicked up and the lights started to flicker." Her description is not as clear and straight-forward as Owen's had been last night, but she was less certain of the details, had fewer experiences to gauge them again. "When we ... reached out... to see what was going on, we found a small boy."

A pause. Sadness.

"Tony," Emily said his name gently. "He was hiding in the bushes, alone and afraid. He told us he needed help to protect his sister, Emma, from their mother." If they had made eye contact before, Emily was incapable of holding it now. She swallowed, but her voice held steady. "He lead us to a park, where his mother had been giving Emma a bath.

"Owen found the baby drowned, in the fountain." She looks down at her hands. She's still looking at them when Chuck makes his way to the patio. It's a horribly sad moment, and one that Emily damps down as best she can. There's a shudder-shake of her shoulders, and she gets back to talking.

"His mother returned, with a man -- I think he was controlling her, possessing her somehow. She attacked the boy, and the man attacked me and Owen. He threatened my life and Tony's, and made Owen choose between us.

"When Owen wouldn't, they quarreled. Then the man left." She looked up at Riley, then over to Chuck. Almost apologetically. "We did the best we could by the boy. Owen found someone within the Chorus to take him in. He buried the baby at St. James."

And there, Emily runs out of words. She looks back to her lap again, shrugs softly.

"I'm not worried about whether Owen has my back or not," she said, to Riley here, as if the story served as some sort of explanation or justification for her inclusion of the Choristor in their cabal-to-be.

[Riley] When Chuck lets himself into the apartment and hears women's voices, he'll find two of his favorite people on the balcony, the sliding glass door opened wide to let the warm outside air permeate the inside of the condo. Given the subject matter, it's possible he hasn't noticed the bright cheerful colors decorating the living and dining room spaces, or the modern feel of the kitchen with the frosted glass cabinet doors. He may not even notice the (gasp!) absence of a television or even a radio in these areas. The only signs of technology are in the kitchen, and the sun-shaped clock hanging on a wall in the living room.

The girls are out on the balcony, seated in the same wrought iron furniture Chuck could see any time he looked out his own balcony. The smell of cooking seasoned meats and vegetables fills the air. It may only be spring, but it already feels like summertime in Chicago, with so many people taking to the outdoors to cook their meals on the days when the sun comes out.

Emily and Riley don't appear to be enjoying themselves at the moment. Emily is talking while Riley, Balinese in her lap purring away merrily, watches her intently, worry creasing her brow and darkening her brown eyes. Except in one place. Emily is serious, sits a little straighter in a way that is nearly subconscious, but when she says she and Owen were playing basketball in Lincoln Park, a flicker of a smile touches the corners of Riley's mouth, brightens her eyes before Emily continues.

And as she does, a sense of dread rises within Riley, a slow tension shifting up her spine and spreading out into her limbs. The things Emily tells them, they sound like what one would find in a supernatural horror story. Or maybe something on the nightly news. It's the story heard by the friend of a friend of a friend, who was totally there, man. It's not something someone like Emily should have had to witness. Emily affirms and reaffirms that she and Owen are fine, that they're okay. Obviously, Riley doesn't believe her. Also obviously, she doesn't reach out to her immediately or try to touch her, try to hold her, try to tell her how she should feel in this matter.

After a brief silence, Riley says, "That's horrible, Em." It had just been a matter of course for Riley to include Owen in the potential cabal-to-be, to add his name to the list of possible people to be included in it. She rises, Dr. O leaping out of her lap with an unhappy chirp, and for a moment she looks at Emily. She takes her hand again much as she had in jest earlier, mouth quirking as she looks at the future Chorister's face. It doesn't bother her if Emily won't meet her eyes.

"I don't think anyone would have ever doubted if Owen had your back, not even before...that."

[Chuck] ".....that is horrible."

It's rare for Chuck to be truly serious unless he's elbow deep in code or computer parts, and even then it's not exactly common. Whatever he'd expected when he headed over had been different than this, but he takes it in stride and his hand comes to rest on Emily's shoulder briefly, giving a squeeze that he hopes is comforting.

"And no, I don't think anyone would think Owen didn't have your back either. It's handy, having friends like that."

[Emily] Emily's fingers squeeze Riley's a bit (Thank you), but it's unclear if the younger girl is trying to soothe her own worries or the Vdept's. Probably a little of both. There's a warmer look for Riley now, less burdened by the memories she had to sift through to explain what had happened. (Less burdened by the memories Ashley had gone sifting through just the night before.)

"Hey..." she said gently. "We're okay. It was awful, but we both came through it." There was something more resolute to Emily now. She was protecting more than just herself. (Owen knew. [She knew about Owen.] They'd found safety in each other.) That warmer, gentler look passed on to Chuck, lest he was worrying too.

"Owen told Ashley and Kage about it, last night at the Chantry. Ashley's going to try and track down the man, given the Life scan I showed her." She doesn't say how she shared it with the Hermetic, it's glossed over completely. Emily does not want to revisit that moment, either. "And now you two know. So be careful out there, yeah?"

Because she cared about them, too. It was bad enough that one of them had been through this, Emily didn't want the Adepts to suffer as well.

[Riley] This, right here. This is another reason for Riley's suggestion. So that all of them have more people they can turn to, share with, open up to, find comfort in. She knows that Emily can be a deeply private person, that she'll keep more in than she maybe needs to, either to protect herself or others, and that's fine with Riley. It really is. But sometimes a person just needs friends.

It's handy, having friends like that. And Riley nods, squeezes Emily's hand again, brief, and releases her. "Thanks for the warning." There is no further questioning from her. If she notices pockets of static in Emily's story, she lets them be.

"I think this stuff's about ready, guys." She straightens then and goes to the grill. "Which reminds me, Chuck! To the kitchen!" She throws a wink to Emily, a small comforting smile, then she's marching back inside.

[Chuck] ".....are you serious? Is your homeowner's insurance all squared away and everything?" He looks wide eyed at the mention of this forray into the kitchen, but is amenable enough to the idea; he only pauses to kiss Emily's temple, then moves along with Riley. "What do you need, lady?"

Because of course he's noticed holes, and of course he's not pushing boundaries - not these, anyway. There's (sometimes) a difference between progress and steamrollering, after all.

[Emily] Riley's getting up, checking the grill. Emily takes the opportunity to stand, stretch out limbs taut with the strain of revisiting earlier events. She collects her water glass, and slips an arm around the tallest Vdept to hug him before he can be whisked away to the kitchen with Riley.

It gave her a few moments to lean against the railing and gather her thoughts. To appreciate the warm and unfettered sunlight. To unfurl, so that when she rejoined them, she'd be gentler, happier, easier-going again. Because Riley had a good influence on her, and not everything had to be serious and somber all of the time.

[Riley] Riley steps inside, laughing. "All the cooking's done, goofus. I just need an extra pair of hands for plates and things." The look she gives, however, implies that there's something more. Whatever it is, she waits until they're safely within the completely open and not at all soundproof sanctuary of the kitchen.

She ducks when she's inside, looking beneath cabinets and over a counter slash bar to see that Emily is outside and well out of earshot. Then she turns and looks up at her taller, manlier counterpart.

"So hey. Since my first foray into an apprentice mentor relationship was pretty much a bust, I wanted to ask you if you thought you might be up to the task. Of being my mentor, I mean."

[Chuck] "Yeah? We could work that out. You're already as good at computer stuff as I am - which almost never happens, let me tell you," he adds with a smirk. But, some of this requires seriousness, and so . . .

"I'm mostly a Correspondence and Mind guy - I mean, I know a bit of some of the others, but that's my focus. I'm also of the school that you learn better on your feet than from a 'book' or in a 'classroom', and that the more sources of information you have, the broader the base you pull from, the more you learn and more effective you can be. So, if you're down with that, I'm cool with taking the position."

[Riley] At first, Riley nods, "Oh, yeah? Yeah. Cool."

But as Chuck explains his school of thought, her expression changes. Her eyes soften, ducks her chin down so that she's looking up at him with what can only be described as doe-eyes. She even throws in a sigh, wistful and longing.

"Chuck." She pushes off from the counter, reaches out to take his hands in hers. "Dearest Chuck. My darling, my one and only, my partner in crime. I am so down with that it will blow your mind. You will make me the happiest girl in Chicago if you would agree to be my Mentor." She breaks for a second, lets go one hand so that she can wag a finger at his chest. "Just so long as you actually facilitate my learning and help me figure out how to actually do things."

[Chuck] It's amazing how quickly the class clown's face goes from semi-joking to [apparent] dead seriousness; when Riley takes his hands, she finds her own squeezed neatly in his larger ones, and his voice, when he speaks, is full of import.

"Riley, my all star, protector of my coffee, one to whom all my milkshakes belong, consider it done. We'll work out what you've learned so far and where you want to expand, and see where my skill set is complimentary and go from there. And I say quite sincerely that I hope I'll be half as mind blowing as your level of 'down' promises to be."

The gravity of expression and voice doesn't last all the way through - of course there's a goofy Chuck grin thrown in, and it is good.

[Riley] They're both grinning like dorks by the end of Riley's faux-proposal and Chuck's acceptance. It is, of course, not unlike any day at the office, the office tending to be the VW Bug they have to drive around the city to fix computers and general help save the world, one soccer mom or retiree at a time.

"Awesome. I'm sure we'll be fine. We make a good team, Carmichael," she says, reaching up to bop him on the shoulder with the side of a closed fist. "Oh! And speaking of good teams, Emily and I have some news, and she thought it'd be best if it came from me. Look, Chuck, I don't know how to tell you this so...I'm just going to say it."

She sighs, gaze dropping. Someone is on a roll today. "Well, you see, Emily brought me some flowers," she nods her head to the counter where the gerbera daisies lay waiting for a vase, "and it really made me realize how much I care about her and want her in my life. So, I proposed. And she said yes. And Chuck." She reaches out to put her hand on his shoulder.

By now she's grinning, unable to keep herself composed any longer. "We would be honored. Deeply honored. If you would be our flower girl."

[Emily] Enter Emily, returned from the balcony, returned to the easier composure and brighter smile and...

... Spluttering in laughter when she catches wind of Riley's last announcement. It attacks her, folds her over viciously with a well-needed case of the giggles. It elicits little Oh mys and hee sounds while the usually-proper Orphan struggles to find her center again.

She's wiping a tear from her eye when she makes it into the kitchen, holding her water glass still, and grinning ear to ear. Em slips an arm around Riley, makes a mua sound and show of nearly kissing the other girl's cheek.

"Aww, we're gonna be one big happy family," she announces, mirth still tripping up and off each word.

[Chuck] "Do I get a pretty dress and a tiara? It's all about the tiara, you know." There is, in fact, laughter all around - Chuck is ridiculously amused by all of this, and he ends up with an arm around Riley as well. "We sure are," he affirms Emily's assessment, his deeper laugh tempering that of the two girls; it's nice to hear, he thinks.

There's a pause, then, and a raised eyebrow - no less amusement, though. "Three isn't that big. I'd guess you've got Owen in mind too, given the strong vouching for. Anyone else?"

[Riley] There's a calm before a storm moment as Riley finds herself with Emily's arm around her on one side, Chuck's on the other. A moment where she just looks at him.

And imagines him in a pink sparkly princess dress with a beautiful and elaborate tiara perched among his curly brown hair.

She laughs so hard Dr. O is startled away from where he sat just outside the kitchen. She laughs so hard she literally has to hold onto both friends for support lest she drop to the floor and roll. It takes a long time for her to catch her breath, to get to a point where she's able to talk again. When she gets there, it's apparent that Emily isn't the only one who needs to wipe a tear.

"Oh my god, Chuck." For another few seconds, it's all she can say. Luckily, Chuck's a quick thinker. He's already fit the pieces together and figured out the meaning of Riley's double-proposal, what Emily means when she says they're going to be one big happy family.

"Ahhhh," she sighs. The tension raised by Emily's recounting of her time in the park is well and thoroughly shattered now. Riley thinks it's a very good thing she shut off the grill before she came inside. "Yeah, he's definitely on the list. I think the four of us would work really well as a core group. I haven't really met anyone else who might fit in with us. Have you guys?" She disentangles herself from both of them and sets about finding three plates, some forks, bread and things. Like with Emily's home, Riley is completely comfortable with having her friends root around looking for whatever they need.

[Emily] "Three's positively huge," Emily says, making a face at Chuck that can only mean Are you crazy? The next bit is said sagely, as if the comparison held some sort of statistical significance: "It's three times as big as my current family-in-Chicago."

And the Riley's shattered the moment with riotous laughter, and Emily can't help but grin in its wake. They're disentangling from one another, setting the table, falling into a comfortable rythmn of comraderie.

It's a good thing. It's an easy thing. Even for Emily (especially for Emily).

"I should talk to Owen about this before we assume him in," is the only hesitation (caution) Emily offers, before they all get too attached to the idea. There's an edge to that, protective of the Chorister, but it's not enough to irritate or burr.

"Hey Riley, where do you keep the napkins?" she asked, breaking away from the cabal talk to something more pragmatically attached to the task at hand.

[Chuck] "I haven't, no. I mean, there are a couple people I think are cool, but no one who'd really . . . mesh, you know? But I don't know Owen that well yet, so I guess it all depends on how we work together and stuff."

The girls are considerably more adept at this entertaining thing than Chuck is - if it doesn't involve cheese, crackers, cut fruit and veggies at his place, it usually involves grilled hot dogs or carryout. Unless, of course, Emily's cooking, and that's a thing completely different. So, he takes direction well, fetches and carries, gets things from up high if they're needed, and so forth until it's time to sit down and eat - because at six foot four and completely inept in the kitchen, what else is he going to do?

"I think we're kinda . . . a lot different than what most people in town are looking for. Which is awesome, because it means we have a niche."

[Riley] They go about setting the table just as if they were one big happy family. Plates are found and take up three of the four chairs around the table on the balcony. The napkins are found, as well as silverware and condiments. The day is still sunny and warm for the most part. The building set-up protects Riley's balcony from the bulk of the wind, letting just a hint of a breeze pass through. In the middle of summer that's going to suck, but right now. Right now it's comfortable.

A vase is found for the flowers, which get set on the dining room table to add a little more color to the living room. When they all assemble at the patio table, Riley closes the screen on Dr. O, ensuring that no little kitty face turns up begging for human food. He meows at her a couple times before finally sauntering away, tail held high and pompous.

"I agree. And as different as our Traditions are, I think we'll still get along really well. I think it's going to have more to do with how our minds synthesize than how we wind up hurling thunderbolts or whatever it is we do." There are burgers and whole wheat bread, and potatoes and corn that had been grilled within the confines of aluminum foil. Emily brought cut and prepared fruit. Riley offers beer or juice or water to those who need refreshments.

"I don't really know Owen, either, but what I've seen and heard," a nod to Emily, the most she'll touch back on the harrowing story of the little boy and his mother and sister, "I like."

[Emily] Just water for the still-an-Orphan someday-Choristor. She's still working her way back from the edge of dark places and darker memories. It's been a few days, but it's a little too fresh for her to accept a beer without some misgivings. This isn't what she says, though. Emily wouldn't draw attention to it.

They're talking about Owen, whom they don't know, whom she's vouched for. Emily settles her napkin into her lap, takes a sip of her water. She doesn't really chime in, doesn't gush over the man who likely saved her life (and possibly has more than once).

"I think we're all quite different," is what she does say, cautiously, as they're passing food around the table and saying whatever it is that passes for Grace in Riley's house. "Just the three of us are quite different -- backgrounds, interests, strengths -- and Owen will, naturally, compound that."

She doesn't say: He doesn't even own a mobile. She doesn't add: please don't ask for his handle.

"What do you think our niche will be?" she asks Chuck, eyebrow raising gently in curiosity. It's not a challenge, no, though that push has been closer to Emily's skin lately. (He doesn't know yet [Unrelenting, Reverence]).

[Chuck] "Well, of course we're different. I'm a lapsed jew-boy from suburbia who's lucky if the kitchen only sets on fire instead of exploding." There's amusement, and it's not that he's the only person who fits that description, but it's apt enough and he's willing to bet it doesn't fit any of them.

Unless . . .

But Chuck is (always) highly caffeinated and now is no different, so his thoughts require marshaling . . . which he manages right now, at least passably well.

"Admittedly, it's harder with Owen - but we three are the geeks, regardless of Tradition. One could say we're our own little squad, in fact. And while, if I remember right, tech isn't his thing, he's still got a certain aptitude for fixing things, doesn't he? Like that table, that one time." There's a pause, a shrug. "So, we're the fixers."

[Riley] "The fixers." Riley nods as she's cutting into a potato. She doesn't slather her food with copious amounts of butter or salt or sour cream. She actually eats well, she eats healthy food that is mostly organic, mostly whole wheat. She's thin without being terribly skinny. Must be part of living with a physical trainer for a father.

"I like that. I think it kind of fits. Emily, when you get a chance you should talk to Owen as soon as you can. And," she pauses, taking a bite of her potato, dark eyes glancing over to Chuck. "Let him know we've got his back, too. Even if for some reason he decides we smell and doesn't want to be around us."

[Emily] "He does have a way with mending things," Emily cedes, preparing her own plate with smaller portions and predominantly vegetables. She eats, just not as much as Riley or Chuck. She's a little smaller than them both, too.

"I'll pass it on, and let you know what he says," Emily agrees. And then the table falls quiet as they tuck in to a good dinner, and an evening with friends.