Gun Shop

[K. Jakes]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 5, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Littleton] The winds blows, so hard that it displaces the summer heat, so hard that it rattles the leaves on trees (too green to fall, too tightly held to sunder), that it blows the street litter around, makes it dance: revelry. It is a chill afternoon and the sky threatens rain, looms dark and heavy in every direction. Emily has pull the collar of her coat up again the breeze. Her hair is braided back, flat against her head, flat against the back of her neck, down to where it is secured by a tight rubber band. Still, the wind teases curls free and they form a loose, dark halo around her pale face.

This is not the Court, with its fallen Kings and whisper-rush of moving water. There is no tumor-white mushroom, no upward-reaching coat-rack branch. There is a broken neon sign, panels missing, rust at the corners of its ballast and a building with a brick facade. There is a parking lot where all the lines have worn down, rubbed off, and only the concrete stopblocks reman as vague suggestions of spaces. There is an unkempt lawn, shaggy and in need of a clipping.

They've decided to meet here, instead, tonight. Emily comes in dark-washed jeans, her tennies, a softly pink polo under that black jacket. She waits, wind-whipped and bright blue-eyed. Messenger bag slung shoulder to hip. Hands in pockets.

It is a far cry from where they began, these Others. Their paths do not kiss here as much as purposefully converge. Green mid-90s compact in the parking lot; too old to worry about it getting stolen. Kage's truck soon to follow.

Chuck's Gun Shop.
Chicago, IL.
Orphan Unaffiliated meeting, unofficial: off the record.

[K. Jakes] Kage doesn't put the radio on when Ashley is in the car with her. Ashley hasn't asked her to keep the music off, she just doesn't turn it on. When she has other passengers in the truck, she often has the radio on, or her ipod plugged in, but the volume is at reasonable levels. When Kage is by herself, when there is noone else in the truck to worry about, she listens to her music with the volume cranked up high. Today, as the black truck with the windows rolled down turns into the parking lot outside of Chuck's Gun Shop, Ain't No Grave, a la Johnny Cash, chains slinking in the background, Gabriel, don't you blow your trumpet, 'til you hear from me. Ain't no grave can hold my body down.

The music dies when the truck settles in for sleep, when the driver's side door opens and Kage, red-hair luminous in the gray-sky of summer-storm, pale-skin luminous in the dingy, washed-out parking lot, against the could really use a wash black of her truck, hops to the ground. She has a bag, a more specific bag, a wallet, and when she sees Emily, she smiles. The smile draws lines around her mouth; around her eyes. She heads over to the dark-haired Other, soon to be a member of the Chorus.

The last time they spoke each to each, which wasn't a phonecall, Emily told Kage how she'd killed a man, how now she couldn't Belong where she wanted to, because she'd killed a man.

Now they're at Chuck's Gun Shop.

"Hey, Em," Kage says, when she joins Emily by the shop. The wind tosses her hair in her eyes, embers, gotta burn, that, but Kage just blinks and drags a hand through her hair, holding it back. "I've already made the appropriate arrangements. We've got an hour, no instructor. They'll let you rent inside. I told them that would be a possibility. Unless you want to buy, too?" Kage's eyebrows draw together, and she exhales, quiet. Then: "How are you?"

And they're heading in, although Kage doesn't mind lingering. There's no rush.

[Littleton] They're heading in because the wind, while not cold, does nip at and annoy the tips of their ears, their noses, the corners of their eyes. It dries them out, fills them with pollens and other things-tiny. It invades, sticks its whisper-sharp fingers between layers of clothes. It harries, tangles, torments. The wind is no one's friend today, for it is Mid-summer and cool enough to storm.

"Thank you," Emily says, once Kage explains their arrangements. "I wouldn't have known where to start." Her fingers lace around the strap of her bag, now, steady it as they move toward the door. The building comes between them and the wind, and it is just now that they realize how loud its whispers have been in their ears. Emily reaches for the door, pulls it open, lets the rowan-haired Other pass by.

"I'll rent for today. I may end up buying, if I like it enough. It seems silly to borrow from Nathan every time there's trouble." She's saying this like it's old-hat, but that old hat is borrowed. The door closes behind them, blocks out the wind, and it is comparatively quiet. The white noise shifts. The younger woman smooths her hair back, tames the tiny curls that crown her.

"I'm ... better," she says, sinking into the seriousness of that question. Sliding under its surface like weariness into warm water. "Largely due to you. I talked with Father Ward and Owen, as well." Confession, comfort -- these two names are resonant, unsurprisingly, for the Singer-to-be.

"Before the meeting, that is." This is said as if it is wearying. There are meetings. And then there are meetings about meetings. There are meetings to decide who should go to meetings. It's not quite that much redtape, but Emily feels it encroaching. "The most recent one."

There's a pause, now, and her gaze flicks toward Kage. It is searching (Are you worried) without seeking (About the weekend), and then it flicks away. They are not here for a purpose, not doom-mongering. Not now.

"Have you been here before?" is what she asks instead.

[K. Jakes] "You could buy from," Kage says, but her voice is still wind-level loud; she pauses, adjusts her own volume -- speaks, lower: more intimate. Kage's voice is a cool thing, moonlight and shadow; husk and loam and apples. "You could buy from Nathan," she says. "Then be off-record. That has its advantages, and its disadvantages. He might," a brief smile, impulsive, "be convinced to cut a most excellent deal, considering."

The inside of Chuck's Gun Shop contains no stereotypes. At least, not just now. All told, it's a relatively quiet day. The guns are under lock, are chained in place, or are under glass. It's not a place someone can run into, grab something, run out. There are hunting magazines and bounty hunter magazines on racks, there is ammo behind the counter, also on racks, and a clothes rack of hunting gear, some boots, etcetera. In the foyer, there are fliers and advertisements. There is, posted somewhere obvious, the Gun Laws of Illinois, and another chart that shows what Hunting Season is When, and there's some cop stuff too. Smells good, somehow. There's an office behind the main counter, and they can walk, look at the guns, look at the antique pieces, look at the newer pieces, their innards splayed for the elite customer, and next to the office there's a door, and through that door is the range. Also, the bathrooms.

There's an old guy in the office, and a younger guy at the counter, blue eyes, orange hair, scruffy cheeks. He looks at the two women as they approach, as they chat. Kage is smiling, something sardonic there, and also amused, at Emily's weariness as relates to meetings, and she has something to say, but it'll keep. "I have," she says, to whether or not she's been there, and it becomes even more evident when she gives her name to the blue-eyed guy, and he grins, says, "Oh, right. And guest. You guys have the place to yourselves today. What'll you two be using?"

Kage - for her part - chooses a Beretta. Emily - she'll advise, based on what she borrows most often from Nathan.

And then, after Emily's been read the safety rulesof the firing range, very earnestly, twice, once by the blue-eyed boy, once by the old man in the office, who comes out when they go through the door, eyeballs them as they get set up, the Orphan and Chorister-to-be are on their own.

"Did talking to them make you feel better?" Earlier topic, revisited.

[Littleton] Emily accepts the advice, the assistance. She is new to this, clear-headed today and ready to learn. She takes note of what the man says, is able to answer questions correctly and clearly, is patient with whatever proficiencies she must gain to accompany Kage to the range itself.

She has no idea what she borrows from Nathan, except to explain its relative size and shape. From there, it's more about fitting an appropriate firearm to her, because Nathan's heavy pistol may not be what is best appropriate.

And then they are on their own, in a place that smells of gunpowder and cleaning residue. It smells precise, effective, efficient -- if such things had olfactory cues. Emily slips off her jacket, hangs it over a chair beside a table at the far rear of the room. Her arms are lightly tanned, no longer moon-bright-white.

"It helped," she said, though there's a gravity to it that does not lift. "I feel like I'm fitting into place, somehow. Even with everything going all wrong, more and more I get the sense of where I am supposed to be." Her movements are measured, but her voice ambles, it wanders, it's resonant and warm but without any great push, without conviction.

"I'm not looking forward to this weekend," she says. "But at least I have hope that this will be over soon. And that next time, I might be more prepared."

[K. Jakes] [And ... on, automatically. Entropy 1/Corr 1 Where Are The Flaws. Coincidental +1. -1 so very, very practiced.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 3)

[K. Jakes] "I am, actually," Kage says, of this weekend. Her voice is clear, and so are her eyes, although they are on the weapon in her hand. The weapon she puts aside, the better to show Emily the proper way to hold a gun, the way Hollywood does not often cleave to, to steady her hand, her wrist, to check her posture. Then, Kage's clear, dark eyes are on Emily, steady, steadying, and one eyebrow is slightly lifted.

"Is that comfortable?" the Orphan asks Emily. "That's the thing, really. Comfort. And I've some ear-plugs, if you'd like." Kage isn't of the Nathan school of teachers, where point and click suffices. She has morals, Kage, and she also has concerns, and a gun is a weapon, a tool, and tools should be used properly, there is skill involved, more than dumb luck. For all dumb luck can be very, very helpful.

Perhaps Emily feels, too, Feels it, when Kage's hand gets keener, when her eyesight sharpens: and she can see the world through symbols; she can feel the instinct, guiding her bones; the connection. Her hand knows where to shoot Emily, for maximum effect; it knows where to shoot, too, to hit that target all the way over there. Nothing amorous about this: all draining, all withering, all immanent.

"I wanted to tell you," Kage says, "That I've noticed how much more comfortable you are now. I think you're finding how you belong, too. And I'm glad you're still in the city."

[Littleton] This is a Never. An I would never. A moment that Emily-then would never have copped to, never expected, never seen coming. This sense of near-normalcy while handling firearms, while the Other with her cold-fire hair bends the weave and the warp of the world around them. Sees with keener eyes, guides with a more deadly hand. This is normal, the nearness of having Kage adjust her grip, stance and posture. The confidence (let's call it that) of stepping forward, taking her destiny and Fate by the hand, shaking it, grapsing it: Here, now, we'll play by my rules.

It's comfortable in a way she never expected, but the comfort unsettles her. For herein there is Power, beyond what she might have imagined for herself. There is Temptation and the allure of self-proclaimed Righteousness. She sees it in the others, feels it in herself. This Never has cost her, some assumption, some Always, and while Emily cannot name it now she can feel it slipping away.

When one door opens
Another one closes.

Eyes open, then. Awake. Kage imparts skill to fill in the blankness where before was only instinct, respect and the reverence of things greater-than-self. Knowing she knew nothing is likley the only thing that saved Emily from the point-and-click hubris; the assumption that it was enough to know which way to point the gun, which end went toward the other (wo)man.

"Where else would I have gone," Emily asks, with her mouth wrily canted. Because the answer is Anywhere, Everywhere, Nowhere. That she has stayed put this long is a lesser miracle. "You're stuck with me for awhile," she says, certain of this. Certainty (surety).

There is a glimmer of silver at her throat once more.
Emily has (is) Home.

[Littleton] ((Dex + Firearms: dif 6))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Littleton] ((No, no, really: re-rolling +1 dif))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 7)

[K. Jakes] The first time Kage ever handled a gun it was a mistake. She was fifteen years old, and when she fired it, her shoulder dislocated and the bruises blossomed a poisonous purple. A flea-body purple, and stayed. Kage, at fifteen, had been half-forced onto a camping trip-cum-hunting trip with her older sister, some of her older sister's friends. Kage had been the youngest on the trip, and the older kids had decided to scare her. It was lucky, that she was such a poor shot. Lucky, that when the Bear was done growling around her flimsy cabin, when she found the rifle in among Kenny's things, her shot hadn't been so poor she'd actually hit Kenny and Graham in their stupid bear costume, when all she'd intended was to scare the Bear away, because what if someone got hurt. It was lucky, and Margot'd felt bad for weeks, and not just because of the parental fall-out.

The first time Kage ever struck out to deliberately learn how to defend herself with a weapon was after she was Awake, but before she'd been almost-recruited to the Traditions; after she'd Seen things, things that she knew she wanted, more than many things, to be certain never to need Touch up close, things she would like to keep at all possible. She'd tried to shoot Him, once she'd learned how to wield a weapon; He'd laughed at her.

She doesn't look like the kind've woman who is conversant in firearms.

Usually, when Kage reveals a skill, people take a moment, and then just accept it. Perhaps it's because of her confidence; perhaps it's because of her assurance, the casual, callous grace with which she asserts herself. Perhaps it's because this -- self-defense: it becomes far more important, Awake, than it had ever seemed, Asleep. Then, the threats were scary, are still scary, but they also seemed easy. Guns are illegal.

So is killing with them.

Yet.

" - the Moon," Kage says, not continuing the moment: "Or Neptune." A beat. And then: "All right. Shoot. Let's see you in action." The red-haired Orphan is in her own 'box', is standing back to give Emily plenty of room. If Emily were claustrophobic, the reinforced plastic of the 'cubicle' might wear on her, for all it's clear, segmented by lines.

[Littleton] In action is hardly that. There's focus, and calm and nothing pressing in but the nearness of glass. No pressure but performance (Show me) and no (grave) consequences to failure. There is nothing here to steel her resolve, no fear of death. No fear: motivation.

Maybe it's that she closes her eyes before she pulls the trigger, or maybe it's the tremble that comes to her hands -- this is the first time, since that shot him home, since another expired their last breath. First time she's held a weapon. First time she's taken aim at something as intangible as a paper target. First: it echoes in her head, tauntingly. First: it torments.

The shot goes wide, wild, unaimed, into the mortar-block-solid walls, cacophony. It is the wrong sound (Danger!); it is all wrong. Emily's eyes open, wide and unsettled. Her body tremors (fear [echoes]). The blue-eyed boy and the old man come forward from the office, wearing concerned and stern faces respectively.

There is a lecture. Review. Rebuke. Emily has lowered the weapon, she has set it aside. Her eyes are bright, stinging. She apologizes. Says yes, sir and no, sir. She is shaken, where is your confidence now, uncertain. There is a glimmer of silver at her throat. The menfolk recede, rush out like the tide.

She's pale.

It is terrible, still, this gun-thing. Terrible and wan-making. Emily presses her lips into a thin line, breathes out a shaky breath, apologizes to Kage with blue eyes and no words. It is quiet again, and it smells of gunpowder. It is clean, here, but not quite completely sterile. She is better, she tells herself, told Kage, tells all of then; she is better but not practiced, and that's why they are here.

"Not... not quite how it's supposed to go, eh?" A weak smile. Daunted.

[K. Jakes] "Try again, Em," Kage says, when the old man and the young have receded, have disappeared to their hideyholes, to their watchful observance. Her voice is steady, cool; a touch appraising, perhaps, but not cruel. "Happens to everybody. The first time I fired a gun -- it was a rifle; I almost shot my older sister's boyfriend. Thankfully, that did not come to pass. They're unthinking things, guns. Trust your hands. Trust your eyes. Connect with them, and the target -- see? You're already in line."

The red-haired Orphan stepped forward, touched Emily's arm; now she steps back again, giving the dark-haired young woman space to work, space to breathe, space to make mistakes. "But speaking of your eyes," she says: "Try keeping them open."

[Littleton] ((Dex + Firearms: This time with more successes!))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Littleton] ((Re-rolling: If this doesn't work, I'm gonna have to spend WP and work some magic. Don't make me!))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Littleton] Try again.

It takes Emily a little while to stop her breath from shuddering, to pull down the anxiety, the adrenaline rush, the rush, to let it go, to let back in the calm. There, see, her hands don't have to shake. There, see, her eyelashes need not press so firmly against one another, blot out the light, if I don't see you you can't see me. She breathes in, breathes out. She is.

Kage is calm, she is level, she is that fixed point at the center of the horizon; however Emily tips her head Kage is steady. Kage is the steady point that loaned her the tiny slip of moonbright that sloshed around her in stomach and helped her get home to Owen. Home. To where she was beginning to belong. Held her up long enough to ask her questions; this borrowed brightness. Kage is steady, immanent, rekindling.

Emily exhales carefully, picks up the firearm with a sense of regained purpose. She checks her posture, her grip, her line-of-sight. Checks her heartbeat: too quick. Waits. Waits. Waits. Her heartbeat: slower, steady, calm. She breathes out. She breathes in.

Pull.

And only after the shot fires, after she can see it go wide but not wildly so, then do her shoulders slump somewhat as the firearm is lowered, carefully, and her eyes press shut. There is no calamity this time.

Progress.

She smiles, faintly, and says: "Your turn?"

[K. Jakes] [Uh. It can happen to everybody, right? -1 diff.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 9 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[K. Jakes] [Again? Practicing?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 5)

[K. Jakes]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)

[K. Jakes] "Well done," Kage says, and her smile is unchecked. Honest. Kage will never be someone who drools over weaponry, who looks at is like a piece of artistry. Kage respects a weapon because it is a weapon, just like Kage respects a mind because it is a mind, and she respects, and is courteous to, both because both can be very, very dangerous. Then: one isn't one without the other. There's no whooping, so outpouring of glee, no overbrimming of ha HA, that's the way you do it, let me throw my hat in the air. Just: well done, a job well done indeed.

Her turn. Kage takes position at her own spot -- her own room -- in the firing range. Takes aim, and she is skilled, but not impressively so: she hits the target once; she hits the target twice; the third time, she hits, dead-center, with the precisoin of a better markswoman. The gun does not steam; it doesn't even gleam with deadly purpose. It's a game, in a self-contained range like this. When she is done, she checks the clip, puts the safety back on, does maintenance, rejoins Emily.

"How have your studies been going; has Owen or Father Ward been helpful yet in that respect?"

[Littleton] Check the clip, safety on, do maintenance -- these things she learns by mimicry, by copying Kage. It is not precisely the same for the firearm Emily uses, but it is similar enough that she can figure things out. She is bright enough, even if the nerves got the better of her today.

Perhaps today so that not this weekend? One could hope.

"Father Ward more than Owen," Emily says, glad to be stepping away from the lanes for awhile. "Thought it may just be that Owen and I haven't seen much of each other and Father Ward is more-or-less spearheading the current efforts." This is said easily enough, does not directly belie whatever she may feel about the arrangement.

"Do you remember what you showed me at the Court this Winter? I've been working, on that. I am getting closer," she says, and there is a small smile at this, not yet triumphant (but soon!)

[K. Jakes] "I've never spoken to Father Ward," Kage says, meditatively. She leans her slim shoulders against the wall, and looks off toward the door, the office, the shop of Chuck's Gun Shop. Her spine curves; her slouch is careless. Poised; cool. Without care. Her eyes, though; they're thoughtful, concerned. "What is he like, outside of them?"

Emily wants to know whether or not Kage remembers what she showed Emily at the Court. They've started calling it that outside of their own heads, and it feels Right; not at all Strange. Then: it takes a lot -- or seems to take a lot -- to make Kage seem self-conscious about wordplay or a trick of language. Kage remembers, and her eyes find Emily's.

"How?" A beat, "How do you think of it, when you try to Work it?"

[Littleton] Kage slouches against the wall, her hair a brilliant shock of red against the grey-wash wall. She stands out, vivid, bright: brilliance. Emily, comparatively her shadow, settles into a low chair, kicks her feet underneath it, rests her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists. Her back is long, mostly straight and only gently curved. Their eyes find each other, hold for a moment, then the bluer pair blink shut.

"He is firm but not unkind; wary but not ungentle." She offers up her assessment of the priest in a pair of juxtapositions. It is clearer than what she might have said of Owen; it keeps much back. "Righteous. Resolved." It is enough to offer up these adjectives to the cold fluorescent light of the firing range. It is everything she needs to say to paint out the man in colors oft kept hidden beneath the ceremonial frock.

How do you think of it? Kage asks. Here Emily's expression shifts to thoughtful, gently wistful: remembrance.

"I think of it as the underlying firmament, the starstuff of which everything is made; the bit that calls back to Creation, the Big Bang, whatever you will call that moment when there was first Nothing, and then of that Nothing... All." She is religious, Emily, in so much as she believes in something higher. In something both Immanent and Transcendental. She does not say Holy Spirit and she doesn't call it Divinity, but there is an innate and unmistakable Reverence to how she speaks of it. This, this gift she had not Opened her Eyes with, this is what she Awoke to see.

"It is something I have waited a very long time to see of my own accord," she says, and she is speaking of long year, of decades, not just the time she has spent Awake. "You showed me, and Father Ward has, but before either of you, a very long time ago, I heard it as something else."

She lifts her head off her chin, now, smiles a bit more brightly. There is something of an echo here, though Kage may not know what she's hearing. It's a private thing in the soon-to-be-Singer. It's protected and oft-unshared.

[K. Jakes] Kage is an observant woman (or, at least, thoughtful where she is not observant; she has the ability to think about people, to put them together, or a picture of what they are together in her head: part of the way she mythologizes the world). A man, a Mage, who feels as Father Ward does, like a Crusader, like a King limned in Faith, harshened by Fanaticism, sanded into sharpness by Duty, well. To hear Emily say that he is righteous, that he is resolved, is unsurprising; the juxtapositions give Kage a better idea of what the Priest is like when he is not at a meeting, where he wears his brusqueness, his impatience, his lack of diplomacy, his politicking, his earnestness on his sleeve.

"Hm," she says, quietly. A response. "What of Owen; when he has taught you, do you find yourself believing in what he says? Does he make sense to you?"

And Emily is answering, has answered, Kage's other question, and Emily's answer is given close attention: "As something else?" she queries, perplexed -- or mystified; mystification touches Kage's oft-inscrutable glance with a warmth darkness, something like water, which can be Oracular. Something bright, but dark.

[Littleton] ( ... Pause! ... )

The Zen of Riley

[Emily] It's summer, and as such the geek girls keep schedules that don't fall into the usual, expected timelines. They're meeting up after work, which is a lot like mid-afternoon, but not quite yet dinner time. It's a nothing sort of time, when the sub shop near the Best Buy is all but empty. The counter staff is chatting idly and ignoring all but newly-arriving customers. It's a lull, a trough in the activity chart, a quiet time. Almost pensive.

The air conditioning whirrs, trying valiantly to keep the storefront cool against the press of eighty-something degree heat filtering in through the windows. The panes of glass are almost hot to the touch, too warm to make sitting by the window truly comfortable. So they're destined to take up a booth one row back, to toss their messenger bags into the seat beside them and to try and pretend that the last month has not been so long, so trying, so divisive.

And if it all falls to pieces, fails and crumbles, they can each take their sandwich and go. Try again later. Build back slowly. Emily is hoping, this time, that it doesn't have to go that way. She's also wishing her turkey sandwich didn't have bacon. That offender is getting picked out by long, delicate fingers, laid aside on a napkin, frowned at gently.

[Riley] For some reason, this evening Riley is feeling the need for egg salad. No, that's not right. She's been craving it for days. Not just any egg salad, but her dad's. But Matt Poole has been out of town for the better part of the past week, which just makes Riley smile at the irony. Just when she wants something, she can't have it. That's just life, though. So, even though she's been craving egg salad all week, she ordered a chicken and Swiss, mustard instead of mayo, with lettuce and tomato on the side. The waiting will make it all worthwhile, or so she hopes.

The two apprentices are sitting across from each other for the first time since...Riley can't remember when. In the bar, when they vowed to drink away a bad week, toasted to a fresh start, they'd been sitting side-by-side, with Riley blocking any escape Emily might attempt. What followed were weeks of Riley waiting, waiting for Emily to come to her, hopefully without the intent to push her away even more. Nico said she should tell Emily she was waiting for her to make the approach. Riley's response had been, Nah. Either she'll come around, or she won't. She understood.

Riley was twenty-two once, after all.

And Emily had made the first approach, even if it was just a note left where Riley would find it.

And here they are, perhaps a little awkward as they each try to figure out how to break the thin layer of ice that frosts their friendship. Riley watches Emily pick bacon bits off her sandwich and lay them out on a napkin.

"Are you gonna eat that?" she asks. Just because Riley looks as skinny as she does, that doesn't mean she can't eat unhealthy food from time to time. She indulges in the occasional sugary snack, huge quantities of caffeine, fat and carbohydrates. And she runs them off almost every morning.

[Emily] "No," Emily says, and the word is simply shaped without a lot of emphasis behind it. It's shy, almost, but unquestioning. "Do you want them?" she asks, looking up to Riley with a quirked eyebrow, slides the napkin a little ways across the table to the Vdept.

"They're a little salty for me," she explains, excusing the bacon of any direct wrong doing.

It isn't too awkward, meeting like this, where the overhead lights fill in the indoor shadows and there's the grumbling ice machine in the background for white noise. Not after the past several weeks. This is downright tolerable.

"How was your shift?" she asks. It's a safe question, one that should lead readily into others, others that might bring them home to something a little less tentative. They could make their way to good, Emily knew, if they'd only just try. She was twenty-two, which meant she still held tight to optimism at times.

She hadn't known that Riley was waiting, just that Riley hadn't made the first call either. And Emily, for all her avoidance, wasn't willing to take Owen up on his offer to bridge this gap. She did it herself, in an awkward and uneasy way, but it had led them, this far. To sandwiches and small talk. A beginning.

[Riley] Riley knows a thing or fifty about optimism. Despite her age and the tragedies of her youth, she holds onto optimism easily. It's just tempered, realistic. She doesn't hope for world peace, for example, just that people will stop killing each other over stupid shit. She doesn't hope that BP will do much to apologize for the spill in the Gulf, just that someone, somewhere, will fix it.

Her friends have seen her optimism, even. Her light attitude toward life. Owen has had a pant leg soaked by an exuberant leap into a rain puddle. Emily saw her take a drifter in and let him sleep off a fever. Her kindness will probably get her hurt some day. Then again, maybe it already has, and she's come through well enough that the damage didn't last.

She sits up a little, shifting on her bench, and reaches out to slide the napkin with the bacon bits the rest of the way to her side of the table.

"Thanks. And it was alright. No calls from perverts from once, which was a nice change. 'Specially for Chuck. I'm sure he gets tired of having to pick me up and toss me aside like a toothpick." She grins a little, at the mental imagery, and the memory, and the thought that Chuck could do something like throw her around, which could potentially hurt her. Which would then immediately redirect her wrath toward him.

She picks up a Sun Chip, and her flicks her dark eyes up at Emily.

"What about you? How're...things?"

[Emily] Riley asks a big question, and it's just as Emily's taken a bite of sandwich. This is always what happens, whenever there's talking and food. Someone asks something important, and the other has to sit and chew. Chew. Chew. In the interim, Riley plays audience to a host of tiny tells that flicker across Emily's face.

First, there's the obvious inclination to pull back, to hide everything out of habit and self-protection. This gets set aside. Then there's a heaviness, it settles, seems to echo in her swallow and the sip of watered-down lemonade she takes to wash it down.

"Things are ... better. Sort of." A little wince. "I'm not going to lie, Riley; the last month has been intensely disturbing." She frowns a bit. "But if you put all the Awakened stuff aside, it's good. I got into my program," meaning school, which highlights again how young Emily is. But she means graduate program, so she should be a bit more excited about it than she is.

[Riley] Riley is content to wait out Emily's bite and subsequent chewing. She watches her face, and she eats her own chips with bacon pieces torn up and used as a kind of topping. She had a feeling her question was going to be a doozy. It's been nearly a month since they've spoken to each other; a lot can happen in that time.

When Emily says she's not going to lie, Riley's brows lift, the look saying she didn't expect her to, or that the thought of lying hadn't even crossed her mind. Small wonder, since Riley's such an abysmal liar, herself. "Disturbing how?" she asks. She herself has been busy with work, and her own projects. Aside from the writing on the Best Buy's bathroom walls, the near escape of whatever happened at the college campus, and the strange invitation she'd received, Riley's been out of the supernatural loop. And she's been very happy about that. She likes it when her stomach stays inside her body, when her mind stays clear and sober and sane.

[Emily] "Ah..." Emily begins. It's her usual stall. Emily doesn't Umm, not usually. She sets her sandwich aside, now, as if she's momentarily lost interest in it and nibbles on a crisp. She takes a sip of soda. It's clear that she's weighing her next thoughts, next words somewhat carefully.

"Well... let's start with the invitations. I'm pretty sure you got one?" She holds her hands up, index fingers and thumbs shaped like cropper's marks, and approximates the size of the small, red envelopes. "About this big? Yes? Well... just be glad you didn't show."

A heavy sigh, then, and she drops her hands into her lap. "It was the followup to what happened to you in the bathroom at work. A meeting. Everything went south, Ri'. People got shot, Sleepers died, I thought we were going to lose Ashley and Solomon there for awhile. Truly horrible." She leaves out something, here. Doesn't say in public I killed somebody. "All of that's not over, either. There's more coming this weekend."

Emily reaches up and rubs her hand over the back of her neck, under the collection of curls that drape from their elastic binding at her nape.

"And there was this thing, with the chanting kids, and an Earthquake -- but I passed some of that on to you and Chuck and Owen, just in case you had any insights." A pause. Emily lifts her chin, slightly, in acknowledgment of another thought a sidebar that intercedes. "Owen's back, now, too. We... did some catching up."

That's left alone. She doesn't say when or how or over what.

"You already know about the thing on campus. That's more or less the big stuff." The Orphan looks at her sandwich, decides to give it another go while Riley's processing that data dump. She takes a small bite, tests the feel of it in her mouth, finds it well-enough to continue with her meal.

[Riley] There are pockets, blank spaces in Emily's report of the last few weeks. It's not because their conversation, the fact that they're sitting here, speaking to each other is still so fresh and tentative that Riley doesn't launch into a series of rapid fire questions, draining her younger friend of all the information she has within in her pretty little head.

It's because there's so much. So much. She'd gotten the information, of course, about the earthquake, but she hadn't had time to really examine it. That's now top of her list of priorities for when she goes home from here. She doesn't ask about Owen, or even comment on that. She hadn't realized the man was gone. If she'd realized he wasn't an active part of Emily's life for any length of time, she wouldn't have gone so long waiting on the Orphan to come to her. And if she thinks about the fact that Emily pushed her away, as well as broke up with Chuck, and Owen hadn't been there, effectively leaving the younger woman adrift with no one to turn to or lean on or go to for support...

She doesn't think about it. That, she leaves alone. For now.

"Yeah, I got an invite, and I threw that away. I'm still waiting for that to bite me in the ass. How do you know more's coming this weekend?"

[Riley] [brb!]

[Emily] "Father Ward called another meeting," she said, implying this hadn't been the first. In fact, Emily was so blase about it than there had likely been a handful of meetings Riley (and the others) had been sheltered from. "Last night. To talk about what we know and how to combat it. I really can't talk about much, until I clear it with him first, but there's a Demon. We know a bit of his name. There's something coming this weekend, and it's going to take a large, coordinated effort to stop it."

She's not lying. Emily has direct orders fom her higher ups not to disclose information or particulars about their battle strategy.

It is a lot, and it sounds more than slightly insane when Emily lays it out in front of her friend, all, very matter of factly. Calmly, despite the fluttering terror at her breast; her Avatar is not happy with her sharing even this much with her friend.

"The bit I found, that I asked Chuck and you to bury? It's really important that no one ever finds it again. I hope you didn't write it down anywhere, or say it outloud, or even archive-a-copy like Chuck likes to do."

[Riley] "It's going to take a large, coordinated effort," she says, setting her hands down on the table to either side of her plate. Her voice is low, flat, disbelieving almost. Except she does believe, she has to. This is her life now. She and Nico and Ashley fought imps in the street. She's helped kill a ghost. Strange, out of this world things straight out of horror and science fiction movies are now a part of her every day life. Her right hand comes up to pinch the space above the bridge of her nose with long, slender fingers, and she continues, "but you're not allowed to talk about it, which means you can't actually coordinate anything. Is that right?"

Her hand drops down again, palm pressing flat to the cool Formica table top. "I didn't keep a copy. I'll talk to Chuck, though, make sure he doesn't have any suspicious flash drives laying around."

[Emily] "No," Emily says calmly, when Riley asserts that they can't coordinate anything because they can't talk about it. "It's not an absolute these words can't be spoken deal, not with most of it. More an admonishment that it's sensitive information. I'll check with Father Ward, and then I'll be happy to tell you whatever I can."

A pause. "If that's what you want. It's an ugly thing, Riley. There's been a lot of death, and torment and loss. I'd understand if you just want the recap at the end of the weekend."

[Riley] [lying!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Riley] I'd understand if you just want the recap at the end of the weekend.

Riley's jaw drops open. She looks at Emily as if the girl has lost her damn mind, like she's started speaking in tongues, like she's just told her she has every collectible New Kids on the Block doll (is Emily even old enough for that? (Riley doesn't want to know)).

"Of course I want to know. And I will be there whether Father Superior allows it or not, so the more I know the better. You're not going into this by yourself anymore."

Fiery, wrathful, dedicated defender. It'll get her killed some day, now that she has more to worry about than desperate shut-ins hoping to cop a feel of their female tech support agent. That day might be this weekend.

[Emily] Emily sits back in her chair. It's not that she's recoiling, so much as that Riley's force of personality sometimes catches her off guard. It's touching and a tad unnerving. Emily nods, just once, and seems to think this over a bit.

"I'll let Solomon and Israel know you're going to help." Note the words: Going to. Not: would like to. "And then I'll tell you everything I can."

She acquiesces, rather than fight with the Adept, but there's something Emily is keeping back. A nervousness. A worry. As protective as Riley is over Emily, the same feelings run in reverse here. She bites her tongue to keep from saying just promise me you'll be careful or anything of the like. Riley's getting tangled up in all of this again, because of Emily. That leaves the Orphan very little room to talk.

[Riley] It's in Riley's nature to be wary of these situations. She told a few people about the writing on the Best Buy's bathroom wall, but then she threw away her invitation. Self-preservation and all of that.

Which tends to get thrown out the window as soon as an inner fire of protectiveness is lit within the Virtual Adept. She's calm, laid back, easy going, until someone presses one of her buttons. One of those buttons happens to be anything to do with her friends. Like a stranger in a Denny's making them uncomfortable, escalating to near violence. It had her freaking out when she found out that seven years ago, Emily had been brutally beaten.

It's not an overabundance of confidence that spurs Riley to this level of protection over Emily. It's her firm belief that she shouldn't be going into this alone, that she needs someone with her to help her, or protect her, or something.

"Good," she says, seeming to simmer down at least a little. She picks up a chip and crunches it, but there's something about the set of her shoulders, the tension of her jaw, that says surly. Sullen, even. It's not a look that suits the usually affable and friendly Virtual Adept. She tries to shake it off, but it's difficult when she knows danger is looming ahead, just a few days in the future.

"So where did Owen go?" she asks. "I didn't even know he was gone, which, we should work on our collective communication skills if we're going to be a good team."

[Emily] The younger woman shrugged, wrapped long fingers around the Styrofoam cup housing her lemonade. Drew it closer to her. She sipped from the straw and then toyed with it while she spoke.

"To be fair, I'm not even sure he left town. I assume he did; I didn't see him at St. James's for a couple weeks." Emily doesn't exactly say she went looking for him, not in so many words, but it's implied. "He had... something personal to take care of. At least I think that's what it was. He didn't exactly say."

She looks up, just once, to meet the other girl's eyes. Shrugs again, and then looks away. Her gaze points out the window, and while Emily isn't directly trying to hide something from Riley she's far from laying it all out neatly on the table. There's hurt there, and worry; fondness and an edge of something stronger, pointedly withheld.

[Riley] [rar! RAR! rar!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 6, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Riley] [so, uh, not so rar ¬_¬ ]

[Riley] It's a measure of her age, her maturity, how long she's been dealing with her raging, fiercely sparking temper, that Riley finds out Owen was gone, gone, and she doesn't fly off the handle. He's not the only one at fault, after all. They've all, in Riley's mind at least, failed their youngest cabalmate. They've all left her alone to deal with her personal demons and the very real one she's had to face.

Rage, furious all consuming rage threatens to spark within the older woman, but she doesn't know who it's directed at. Herself, for not telling Owen about Emily's past, or hunting him down to make abso-fucking-lutely certain someone was around for Emily to go to. At Owen for not being there in the first place. It's no secret that they're close, that there's a bond there. Even without Chuck telling her Emily's feelings for the Chorister were stronger than might be prudent, she can tell there's a danger of the youngsters going that route.

Still, she takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and she forces her blood pressure to go back down. She forces her palms to lay flat against the table top again. She pushes it back. Not down, never down, doesn't bottle it up or lock it away. She'll find some way of releasing that pressure later.

"Ah. I see," she says, through a jaw that remarkably isn't clenched. "Well, we should still all work on our communication. That was one of the main reasons I suggested we all group up in the first place." A wry smile there, a memory of calmer, gentler times. Less stressful times, anyway.

If they keep on this track, Riley is going to get worked up, and she's going to do something she'll regret, something that could jeopardize this peace she has with Emily again. So she turns the talk back to safer topics, ones that don't involve demons, or magic, or danger and death. They talk about grad school and work while they finish their sandwiches. Plans are made to do this again, soon. To keep up and maintain the contact they've finally made again. When they finally part for the evening, Riley goes with a sense of ease. Not contentment. There are still things that need to be said, discussed, laid out on the table.

But for now, this first step is enough.

Another day at the Chantry

[Lara Wrathburn] Her effect comes tumbling down like a house of cards as she is interrupted by Riley's question. Her eyelids flutter as what she was watching and what was really before her mingled briefly before at last separating and and becoming only the two strangers who stood before her.

She blinks a few more times, before a warm, if slightly impish smile crosses her lips as she pushes herself up onto long legs and takes a step towards them. "I usually here that more as a statement then as a question.." She says with a bemused, yet languid look on her face as she stretches her legs.

"But yes it is...but it wasn't just a little while ago..." She says before checking her watch. "Or I should say four hours ago..." She says correcting herself, tapping the watch briefly to make sure its still working before letting it drop with a laugh. Then those bright green eyes turn to regard the pair once more as she steps forward and holds out a hand, perhaps to shake?

"My name is Lara...good to meet you."

[Chuck Carmichael] ".....what on earth was any reasonable person doing awake for hours ago?"

Chuck is not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, it must be said - he's only up this early, now, for this exact purpose. That purpose being exploring the Chantry with Riley, not meeting Lara. The latter is an added bonus, one imagines.

Chuck, in all his geek squad glory, is six foot four inches tall. He has dark brown, curly hair and skin that isn't as pale as it could be, given his geek status - he also has the muscled arms, shoulders, chest and abs of a rower, though only the arms, chest and shoulders are really visible under the short sleeved, white, button down shirt. He's good looking - above average, certainly - but in a way more commonly described as adorable than hot or any such thing. The general appearance of cute is only enhanced by the affable nature, and the wide smile he gives as he extends his own hand (and the fact that his eyes stay on Lara's face, rather than drifting down to take note of other . . . attributes).

"Hey. I'm Chuck," he says in a midwestern accent tinged tenor. "This is my buddy, Riley. Nice to meet you."

[Riley Poole] Riley's study of the woman before her is open and direct. Her brows lift a little, her head tilting slightly, and she nods a little. "I can see that. You probably get it as a question, too, though, just with different inflection. Aren't you hot?" she asks, roughening her voice a little in imitation of a male's voice.

Her own smile is warm and charming and lights up her dark brown eyes. She's an attractive woman, but her beauty is more subdued than Lara's. Riley has more of a girl-next-door kind of appeal, is more of a big sister type. Which may be why she and Chuck work so well together as a team. And why they get along so well. It may also explain why there isn't an ounce of sexual tension between the pair of them.

"Some people don't sleep like the dead, Chuck." Chuck is not a morning person, which thankfully hasn't affected their carpooling since he moved in next door to her. When Chuck has greeted Lara for the both of them, Riley extends her own hand. "Nice to meet you. So what were you doing out here?"

[Lara Wrathburn] "Its the bed's here...I haven't slept this good in years, all i seem to need here is four hours and I'm good to go." She shrugs nonchalantly as she smiles. "Why waste a perfectly good part of the day when I don't have to...when I could be doing...other things." She says as she does indeed look Chuck up and down, admiring what genetics and hard work had wrought of the man before her hand, slid into his and shook it, long slender fingers warm, but not all together strong.

She then turned to Riley, and admired her form as well, she wasn't as striking as Chuck, nor as beautiful as herself, but that girl-next-door quality was always a winner and Riley pulled it off well. She shook the woman's hand for a long moment, not tense or testing, just...enjoying.

The woman asked what she was up to, and her smile became just a little more impish, a little more mischevious as she laughed lightly briefly looking back to the spot she had been sitting on for so long, before turning once more to watch Riley and Chuck. "Ohhh just checking up on the future...seeing how things are going."

[Riley Poole] [doot de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah? Might have to try one out sometime," he says, oblivious to the checking out - but friendly, good humored and amiable. "I do sleep like the dead, and wake up a zombie with a hundred percent less craving for brains. If I don't get my eight - or if I have to wake up before about seven - it's better to just not sleep at all."

He shrugs, and is significantly less oblivious to Lara checking Riley out (That's hot.), and somehow amused by it. "You ladies want some alone time? We've got a bit before we have to be on the clock yet."

Teasing, always teasing is Chuck of the Friend Zone - oh, how fun it can be. But then, more serious, "So how are things going? And . . . Time isn't one of my things. But I've read enough scifi to know I should ask which future."

[Riley Poole] The beds in the house make people especially refreshed. Riley turns to look up at the building, as if she expected there to be some sort of physical evidence of why this phenomena occurred. Or maybe she was just musing something else entirely.

When she looked back, it was to find Lara looking over her friend. Her brows lifted, and the corners of her mouth began to quirk upward. She's just calculating just how much trouble she could deflect off Chuck at the store if she were to leave him here for a while when that green-eyed gaze is turned on herself. Then those brows are lifting a little higher.

Riley is tall and skinny, but it's not the usual geek physique of an life spend indoors with poor eating habits. What Lara can see of her body (and in shorts and short-sleeved shirt, she can see a lot) Riley is fit. Where Chuck's physical strength is centered around his upper body, Riley's is all over. Lean and trim, with just enough curve to keep her from being mistaken for a boy.

Chuck asks if they'd like some alone time, and Riley laughs, elbowing him in the ribs. "So the great Chuck Carmichael isn't as free from common male stereotypes as I'd previously thought. That's actually reassuring."

[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+emp, what was that look Riley?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Lara Wrathburn] Lara laughs lightly, amused and delighted by their comradery, their closeness without having to be skin close. Chuck asks if they want some alone time, Riley's eyes say the very same thing before she jabs the man in the ribs and indicates that even he could be a man.

"The real question is...is it warranted." Lara asks as she takes a step towards the pair, slow and deliberate as if to close the gap between them. But then the heat finally hits Lara, she can really feel it now, as if her mind still wasn't registering such things. She took a deep breath then, and without a second thought grabbed the bottom of the hoodie, and pulled it upwards, over, and off of her body, leaving only a light green t-shirt beneath. She sighs happily as she feels the relief, and tosses the hoodie asside, with the hoodie gone, several dermal piercings are visible along the center of her throat, as are a myriad of tattoo's that cover her arms.

"Why don't you both stick around...it's been rather quiet here lately." She says as she looks from one to the other, her hands coming to rest on her hips before finally addressing Chucks specific question. "That...tough to say, I'd like to say it's the future I want."

[Israel Cohen] [[Getting it out of the way. Per + Aware]]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Riley Poole] "Well," says Riley, mouth quirked in a grin, "I can't miss anymore work unless it's a national emergency, but if you want to hang out, Chuck, I could probably cover for you." Like she could, like Riley Poole could lie to the most gullible person in the world if her life depended on it. Which nearly anyone who knows her knows all too well that she can't.

And it's entirely possible that she'd be leaving Chuck here to play Backgammon or chess with Lara. Her smile, though, suggests she thinks something altogether different would happen between the very tall Virtual Adept and the red-haired Cultist.

[Chuck Carmichael] "No, the great Chuck Carmichael is, indeed, a healthy, straight-identifying male," he says with a grin, elbowing her back - easy camaraderie, indeed. The two are friends, and partners in a very true sense; close without being skin close is a good descriptor. (Which doesn't mean Chuck wouldn't be skin-close with Riley if the opportunity presented itself! It simply means that neither of them is pressing the issue.) "And if alone time is warranted, far be it from me to get in the way."

Then there's Lara suggesting he stay to, and, for a moment, his mind stays on the sexy track - so very, very sexy. It's hard to get off (hurr) once one is on it. "And if you want me to stick around, all the better."

But, future! Futures wanted, futures not (Don't you think about the future at all, Levi?), oh, future, loved and hated. "Awesome. Hope it works out for you, then. And, hey! I've only skipped out once since I got here. But we're about due for a call from Pervy McPervson, so I'd hate to leave you alone with it." His watch gets checked, and he shrugs. "We're due in at eleven, right? You wanna chill for a bit?"

[Lara Wrathburn] They try to get each other to stay, offering to cover each other so that both can have some fun, but neither of them accept it right off the bat, it just makes Lara smile all the more, they were cute, almost like brother and sister both trying to give each other the leg up.

Lara took the initiate, as she usually does and steps up to both of them looking from one to the other and smiles sweetly at them. "I'm sure they won't miss either of you...you've plenty of time, you should learn to enjoy it while you can." She says casually, but at the same time, that siren, that song of her's calls them to stay, almost...demands that they do so.

"We could get to know each other better, I've made it something of a mission to know as many of the mage's here in the city." She says as she steps between them, and then toward the door back into the house. "Besides...we really should enjoy the A/C while we can..." She says with a wry laugh as she slide the door open, and gestured inside.

[Manip+Exp]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Wharil Choc] He said he'd leave it alone. Said he'd turn his back on the library, on the fruitless search. Said he'd come back into the social fold. Come back to this form of reality.

It was a slow process.

Bare feet came bounding down the steps, a sort of falling, tumbling gallop that had the man's too-long hair bouncing and flopping. He needed a haircut. He didn't need a shave. He did need shoes, but then again, this place felt so comfortable once you forgave its more gruesome history. It felt so much like a home. Who could blame him for running about in torn jeans, a faded graphic T, and no shoes?

Wharil makes way for the kitchen, one of the only places he tends to be scene other than the library, and there only certain people would see him. But, the sound of voices calls to him and before he can actually arrive at his usual sandwich station, he's changing course and heading for the back door instead.

Curiosity painted across his face, he lingers just in sight. Surveying and listening in before he brings any attention to himself.

[Israel Cohen] Heedless of the fact that there is still some crumbled dirt [rich, fertile, dark] on her hands, she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms as she comes up the last step from the basement to the first floor, barely managing to cover her mouth as a yawn overtakes her. It leaves a streak of dirt along her left cheek, just below the eye, like an American football player who forgot to get their Eye Black on both sides. Her side bag, slung over one shoulder, the strap nestled between her breasts: She's wearing a plain black t-shirt, so it's not like the straps shifts anything to become provocative. Israel doesn't do provocative. Her jeans are faded, her Doc Marten's scuffed up. This is her 'work' close so far as these kinds of tasks goes. Whatever the tasks, her side bag is is bulkier than usual, its contents making occasional muffled clinking noises as she moves towards the kitchen, a bit overburdened: Given her lack of physical strength it is about as easy to overburden her muscles as it is to tower over her in height.

[Emily Littleton] The path to the Chantry is well-worn in Emily's head, oft traveled. It's a war path (no exaggeration) now between her flat and this porch. Whether by El or by car or by rideshare or by bus -- Emily keeps finding her way back to the white-picket-fence house, with all its ill portents and politics. This is thrice in as many days.

She's wearing a white polo and jeans. There is no glint of silver at her throat (still); her hair is pulled back into a low gathering at the base of her neck. Her messenger, a near constant companion, hangs at her side; its strap crosses her shoulder to hip.

The Chantry door opens, spilling the cool of the air conditioned inner air out into an already hot (and rising) day. Emily steps through that portal, closes it behind her, and moves into the house. There is no Hello, the house today. Just the sound of footsteps (tennies squeak on wood floors) trailing toward the message board. This is what she checks first, as if there'd be any new news since the night before.

Then on to the kitchen, where Israel is found standing. "Hello, Israel," she says, her voice less worn and more resonant than it's been in recent night. Despite the burden they all carry, Emily is mending; Emily is recovering.

[Riley Poole] Outside, a step away from being inside again, Riley is half in her work clothes, half in something casual. Her wavy hair has been twisted and pinned in place with a clip, and she's wearing her short-sleeved white button-down, the thin black tie loosened around her neck. Rather than the impractical black skirt, however, she's wearing denim shorts and her black and white Converse high-tops. It's almost a style, but mostly it's a rebellion. Chuck has been subjected to Riley's rant about the women's Geek Squad uniform so many times now he can probably recite it word for word back at her.

Lara slides open the patio door and invites the VAs into the air conditioned comfort of the house. To 'get to know each other better.' As much as she may want to stick around, and with Lara and Chuck both encouraging her to stay, Riley quirks her mouth. "Man, I have been dealing with Pervy McPervson since before you were born," she teases. "I can handle myself." Then she leans in close, tugs him down so that he's closer to her height, making it easier to whisper in his ear.

[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+Alert What are you whispering there..]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Riley Poole] [it's a seekrit!: char + subt]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7 (Failure at target 6)

[Riley Poole] [no seriously]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Wharil Choc] [Per+Alert: Ooh! Sekrit!]

[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Chuck Carmichael] Riley tugs and Chuck leans in - it's effortless, how they do this. There's no thought that goes into it; the two VAs simply work together. Sometimes people click. A grin tugs at his lips and he whispers back . . .

. . . and then turns his attention to Lara. "Yeah, I'll hang out. I've got my 'berry if they need me badly enough." And so inside it is, still with Riley for now - when she chooses to leave, it will be as easy as arriving together had been. Air conditioning is a relief, it must be said, though he's a midwestern boy to begin with - not impervious so much as used to it.

"How long have you been here, Lara? And from where?" This is, of course, about two steps inside the house from the patio.

[Wharil Choc] There's something about Wharil Choc's eyes. They were large, glassy things. Not Japanese Anime large, but certainly quite large indeed. They caught things. They saw more than what was expected. And they also showed a lot more than what was expected. For instance, when his eyes watch Passively at two VA's outside, analyzing their familiar whisper, and suddenly shift the young woman he barely recognized, they betray a puckish sort of curiosity.

His arms fold across his chest as the others enter. The movement of doing so, coupled with the slight smirk, are the only things that bring attention to himself.

Lara. What else could she learn just by standing here, he wondered.

[Lara Wrathburn] "Oh....I'm from all over the place...and I'm only just arriving in the city, maybe..a few weeks." She says casually as she steps inside and realizes they are not alone, they had been surrounded, Israel, Emily, and some new mage who she hadn't met before, but this seemed to throw her for a loop, she hadn't anticipated or seen any of this and it was a little confounding, a little...unsettling.

But the fiery headed cultist kept her cool as she slipped through the crowd, moving to find a bit of space amongst all the bodies before she turns to Chuck and Riley and winks at them. "Sorry...I just remembered, I've a very specific time to be ready for...I'll have to catch you both again....very soon." She says with certainty, because how did you hide from someone who knew where you were going to be afterall?

At that she turned and strode towards the front door, intent on getting out of there.

((Sorry folks, gotta bail from here, will catch you all soon though!))

[Emily Littleton] Emily is in the kitchen, near the diminutive Orphan, with her hands wrapped around the strap of her messenger bag, when the others enter the house. Chuck's voice is familiar, and it draws her attention up and away from Israel. She cants her head, curiously, to one side.

The Adepts in her cabal did not normally make an effort to visit the Chantry. Riley did, more than Chuck, but it was infrequent that she found them here. Her eyes narrowed somewhat at the name that left Chuck's lips, Lara. Instead of wandering out to say hey and how are you, Emily fixed herself a glass of water and took up a leaning residence against one wall.

She could listen, much like Wharil was, and talk to Israel. It wasn't eavesdropping if she just happened to be there.

[Israel Cohen] "Hullo, Emily... Wharil." These are who she notices first. [she feels them first; then hears and smells them]. With a small grunt of effort she gets the side-bag onto the kitchen counter near the fridge and starts to locate the right cabinet [she taps cabinet handles with outstretched finger tips, the pattern memorized] that holds glasses. Acquiring one requires half boosting herself up on the counter [note to self: by a step stool for the Chantry kitchen] because someone pushed them further back than she's used to... others enter. "Hullo, Riley and... Chuck, yes?" They've only met briefly. The smile she offers in their very general direction, though, is quietly warm; dirt smudges on her face notwithstanding.

She has some sense of Lara being there.. then gone.

Over to the fridge she goes to find the Brita water pitcher, speaking towards Emily as she goes, "How are you doing, Emily? You sound well..."

[Riley Poole] They enter the house to find it much more occupied than when they stepped outside, looking to introduce themselves to a stranger. That's what they do, the two Virtual Adepts. Unlike the stereotype, they're both friendly, outgoing, personable. Well, Riley is until someone hits a button, sets off her temper, earns her wrath.

The collection of folks within do not quite gain her ire, though the three (as she's going to think of them for at least a minute or two more) cockblockers do get a stern look and a smile with a slight edge to it. Because Lara is leaving, out the front doors and not up the stairs to one of the bedrooms, or wherever it was she had been wanting to steal the tech geeks away to. "Butter luck next time, Chuckles," she says, sighing.

Then, "Hey, guys." Too bright. Riley never was good at disguising disappointment, even if that disappointment was felt on behalf of her friends and not herself.

[Emily Littleton] For all her lack of sight, Israel picks up on more than the Singer-to-be might. She struggles, at moments, and overcomes the physical limitation. Emily stays out of the other Orphan's way, helps where her help would not become hindrance, and says, plainly: "I am well. Though, Israel? You've got something on your cheek..."

This is not said with worry. It's just dirt, not gore or taint or anything darker. Just dirt from the garden, or possibly the well.

The others file in and get a smile from Emily. Even her somewhat-estranged cabalmates. "Hey, Riley," she says. The British girl has given ground, accepted Hey as a reasonable greeting. They're changing her, these affable Vdepts. Even in absence they're bending her, slightly.

"Hi Chuck. Wharil."

[Chuck Carmichael] "Hey," he says, and doesn't hesitate to go give Emily a hug - not tight [restraint] but there [comfort, friendship]. The greeting includes everyone (the guy he can't quite see unless he looks just right, and even then forgets, the short blind woman) for all that he goes straight to his ex-girlfriend, and for all that Riley's disappointed at Lara's departure, Chuck doesn't seem overly so.

(He doesn't think there are even any video games in the Chantry.)

"Yeah, I'm Chuck. Nice to see you again Israel." Try. Focus. Focus. There's someone else sharing the space. You know it. "And to meet you. Um . . ."

[Israel Cohen] "Do I?" There's a faint rise of dusky-rose colour along olive-kissed complexion; not full on embarrassment or self-consciousness, but a pesky biological reaction to having something amiss pointed out with her appearance. It was worse five years ago; now days she's learned not to become so flustered over it, but some physiological response stubbournly remain. Her lips quirk as her shoulders shrug, a such is life: messy kind of gesture. "Thanks." Soft spoken though it is the word is earnest. Rather than get dirty hands on the pitcher, she closes the door with a bump of her hip and moves to the sink, cautiously so as not to bump into Emily or anyone else who might be near and not mindful that she's moving.

"You too, Chuck."

Her hands glide along drawer handles - guiding her; they run over the sink edge, over stainless steal until she finds the handle.. and begins washing her hands and then her face.

[Wharil Choc] "Hi." He finally says in an unremarkable voice. Wharil circles around the VA's, heading over toward the Kitchen counter instead and leaning there, all polite smiles.

"So who was that?" He asks. "That Lara person?"

[Emily Littleton] Chuck hugs her and Emily, for all her recent stiffness, slips an arm around him and hugs him back. It's a little restrained, given their change of status, but it's not uncomfortable. Things had always been easy-going between them, and this separation hasn't seemed to change that just yet. Besides, with demons loose on the city and her recent transgressions (broken commandments [matters of interpretation]), a hug was far from truly alarming.

"Oh, Lara lives here now," Emily tells Wharil. Helpfully. She even smiles, politely. Sweetly. Not an ill-word spoken, exactly, but it's hard to miss that there's no love lost between Emily and the red-headed Cultist.

[Riley Poole] It doesn't surprise Riley that Emily's reaction to Lara is less than one hundred percent positive, and not because of the strain that's been between the two apprentices the last few weeks. Women like Lara, Riley has learned, will inspire fairly polar reactions from other women. It's why Riley is content to remain fairly laid back as far as her personality goes. With her temper, after all, who knows how she'd react if someone decided to feel catty toward her.

Still, she steps into the kitchen and holds up her own wall, thumbs hooked into her pockets, and for a moment she just watches Emily. No ill will on her part, not even any tension. Riley just watches her still slightly estranged friend.

"I didn't realize people actually live here."

[Israel Cohen] "She's been staying here, yes." This spoken after time is taken to complete her cleansing. "Though who told her about it I've yet to find out. Still, she made it past the exterior Wards and I sense nothing malevolent from her." Per se... the woman's Resonance made Israel wary, but not in the sense of fearing actual corruption. Entropic Resonance was just.. difficult.. that way. With the amount of it the blind woman carries [and increased as of late] she isn't too quick to be judgmental. Still, caution is often a virtue... "Still," She finds the handle of the drawer on the left of the sink, pulling out a clean dish towel and patting her face and hands. "I've placed a Ban around the entrance of the Basement and the Library. It keyed to allow access to those who know they are formally accepted chantry members."
Paranoid?
Hell yes. Even if her version of it tends to be more subtle than the Priests.

[Emily Littleton] It has been a while, a damnably long while, since Riley and Ashley and Emily sat together with the express purpose of drinking away a bad week. Since the anniversary of something harrowing had pulled the Orphan down, down deep into her own remembered suffering. Since it had threatened, imperiled, and all but sundered some of her friendships. Emily-then was down-trodded, worn thin, broken.

Emily-now is still weary; it shows behind the careful set of her smile, in the very way she moves through space. It is as if she carries something heavy, something almost manifest in its importance. But, unlike the demons from her past, this does not seem to weigh down her eyes, rough-shod her voice, round out her shoulders overly much. There's a strength, now, that wasn't there before. There's a firmity, a surety; perhaps something she has borrowed (begged [stolen]) from Owen, or repurposed on her own.

She is still young, will always be younger than Riley and Chuck, but Emily has been hardened slightly. And Riley is watchful, so Riley will notice. Her friend is changed; her friend is bolstered. The last month has not been gentle.
to Riley Poole

[Wharil Choc] "Hm." Is all he really says to that. The waning smile on his face works against the grain of his voice. A hand goes up to try and seize the tumult of hair on his head.

"I need a haircut. Think I 'm gonna go do that now, actually. You folks uh...Well. Be safe, everybody."

And with very little urgency, Wharil Choc wanders off again.

[Wharil Choc] ((thanks for keeping me occupied folks!))

[Chuck Carmichael] ".....huh. I didn't know people . . ."

And there it is, his 'berry going off with the tone that means work [everybody's workin' for the weekend!] (shh! Never mind that it's supposed to be a completely different phone and Chuck broke the rules by routing work calls through his own Blackberry), and he rolls his eyes, stepping away from Em.

"That's us, Riley - we gotta roll. You ready?" And after polite goodbyes, he's on his way out.

[Riley Poole] Riley watches Emily for a moment, noting the changes in the younger girl. Not really so much a girl in the older woman's eyes. Maybe the last month has forced her to grow a little more. Maybe now she'll stop running away, or at least stop pushing Riley away.

Though things have been strained to some degree since that first time Emily showed her Life, there's no sign of it now. The VA has been biding her time since that night at the bar. It may surprise some to know that Riley Poole has the capacity for incredible patience.

So long as no one's setting off triggers or punching her buttons.

People start making their way out of the kitchen, going about their business of getting hair cuts, or working down in the basement. Speaking of work.

"Great," flat and unenthusiastic, "Pervy McPervson, here we come." Her disappointment on Chuck's behalf gone now, her smile for Emily is warmer. She even winks. "See ya, Emily." And the Geek Squadders make their escape.

[Emily Littleton] "Have fun stormin' the castle," she says, to the disappearing Vdepts. Emily doesn't bother to impersonate the voice, but she knows at least one pop reference to make them smile. Her friends get a little wave, friendlier than she's been of late, and then the Apprentice pushes off of her lean and announces. "I'm going to head upstairs to study some more. Israel, whenever you like, we can talk about those names. You seem to have your hands full just now, though, so it can wait."

The war room

[Solomon Ward] Calls go out. Random calls, unplanned calls, unscheduled communications. Some may already be in the chantry, others may have to travel to it. Such is life. Either way time is getting short and the priest is getting a hold of people. He may have asked Nathan to do the same. What ever it took.

Besides, every one needs a side kick right ?

So he waits, in the first living room of the chantry. Big Black Bag settled at his feet like some sort of security blanket. Tired and worn looking, but not as much before.

Time is of the essence, these days.

[Nathan Spriggs] The priest's call reaches Nathan, who was until recently occupied meeting someone else for much the same reasons as this very meeting. When asked, he reaches all the people he can get ahold of while himself and the Orphan named Kage.

They arrive by her truck shortly after, the Cultist taking the front as he checks around the house for a moment and steps inside. He had some things to mention to the priest himself, brainstorming had occurred and he had made a realization or two along the way.

[Emily Littleton] The Apprentice comes, and not entirely begrudgingly, back to the Chantry for the second or third time this weekend. She's beginning to think she out to get a nicer car, since the El ride between her place and the Chantry is hardly worth the bother. And this time she's offered to pick up Ashley along the way.

She's wearing a navy blue dress tonight, it comes to her knees. There's a bright white stencil of a giraffe on its front. Emily's hair has been wound back into a loose knot at her nape, and there's the messenger bag. As always. But that's about as together as the Apprentice gets on a Sunday evening without any forewarning. That and she's swapped the flip-flops for bright white tennies.

[Basil Gillingson] Basil arrives not long after his call...he takes a seat at the table but remains quiet. He was there to listen...input if he had to but he had no new information to add...he knew that from the get-go.

[Israel Cohen] She's there, dressed simply: A soft lilac sundress, modest enough, though sleeveless. She's sitting near or next to Solomon, a mug of steaming coffee in her hands, legs tucked up beside her, dress smoothed over her knees. On the table a cafe service and a tea kettle emit lazy, fragrant steam. Assorted coffee mugs; a pastry box filled with baklava, a tray of fudge brownies, a fair sized platter of sliced veggies, deli meats, cheese and crackers [the cheese is partitioned well away from the meat] and a stack of napkins.

Those who know her know well enough that Israel is a firm believer that food makes pretty much everything better.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is a bit more grudging than Emily, when it comes to coming to the chantry for another meeting. She hates them, feels out of place and awkward in the large gatherings of mages, and resents having to watch what she says at all times. She resents having to be politique in a way she doesn't have to worry about when she speaks to people one-on-one.

The Tytalan shows up with Emily, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue and orange striped shirt. She doesn't look quite as tired as she did earlier this week, appears to have finally gotten a night or two of sleep. No signs of grief on her face, in her demeanor, even if she is still drained.

Food does indeed make everything better, and by the time others are arriving, Ashley has already put together a sandwich and grabbed a handful of baklava. Who knows where she puts it.

[K. R. Jakes] The red-haired Orphan shows up with Nathan. Her truck -- black, monstrous -- is parked down the block, around a corner. She's dressed plainly, jeans, a demure white blouse, red red hair loosening from its tie. It's a hot day in Chicago, Hell-hot, steaming, muggy. She watches Nathan as he scopes out the place first and once they're in the room that will be used for the meeting, she makes a point of saying hello to Israel and Solomon, an aloud-thing, a not-just-a-courteous-nod, which is what Emily, Ashley, Basil all get. Ashley and Emily, maybe, each get a quirk of her eyebrow, something not-quite-inscrutable, something eloquent. A sort've suppressed, And here we are. Is that baklava?

[Solomon Ward] "I apologize for the short notice... I'm starting to realize that I've got a talent for interrupting peoples lives, so I'll try to make this as condensed as I can", he starts, waiting for the bulk majority of those called to be assembled. He'd called them all, or had them called, for a purpose. Nathan and he had been working close for the past week, getting to the root of a few issues. Israel was an obvious. Ashley, for all her 'sort it yourself' attitude wanted to be Deacon. Good, she could. Emily had found out some important information and so her contribution, even as an apprentice, was worth its weight. Mr. Gillingson ? Well, Mr. Gillingson and the priest had an under standing for now, perhaps one born of necessity, but when a Templar and a Quaesitor start putting their heads together, the situation has likely become very... ugly.

The man doesn't bother to partake of the food. He's got sheafs of paper and hand scrawled notes, a map, various depictions... your typically slew of nearly incoherent short hand an a mix mash of occult arcana that comes with such a rigidly ancient lore.

"This is what we have so far. It doesn't leave the people in this room, with the exception of updating Dr. Atlas of the Sons of Ether, Mr. Page of the Choir Celestial. Repeating the contents of this meeting to any other persons is tantamount to betrayal; I can not explain the severity of the information that's about to be shared."

He shuffles papers, more an academic at heart than nay real sort of leader. "One. We have a dead line. July fourth. The so called Chalice is actually a large opal. That date is the perfect juncture which with to fill the Chalice with the 'shadow of Telos' as it was called. Souls. The entity needs to fill it with souls. We have a location on the Chalice. We have partial Name on the demon, as well as its specific House before the fall and its cosmological purpose. That means we have a way, the basis, of how to fight it. "

Another breath, another look at his hand scrawled notes before he goes on. "The creature that calls itself Edom Baselious was an Angel of Death. Again, for the non monotheists in the room, feel free to drop the Judeo-Christian structure of what I say if it makes you happier. Again, it doesn't change the concept of what it is. A sentient concept, a self willed and self guiding cosmological force of entropy and decay. That rebelled against Creation. Later, it rebelled against the rebellion. I did som,e research and found contexts to similar names and titles. They vanished about two thousand years ago. As it hasn't been overly subtle since its arrival in the city, I'm bound to believe its unstable. What I mean to say is, if an entity that wants to unravel creation could possibly be more unstable. It also belongs to a faction of the fallen that want to see that end of creation carried out. Sooner than later...

"Thoughts, questions, additional information, or any thing I missed before I begin to lay out the tentative groundwork of what we might call a plan ?"

Sure, call it a plan, Solomon. Like a fucking billion year sentient force of the cosmos can really be planned for... but it makes feel better to think so.

[Ashley McGowen] "After speaking with Kage the other night," Ashley says, with a nod toward the Orphan, "I did my own research, and I can confirm the information you've found. I've also acquired the True Name of the chalice itself, which might prove useful when we actually go to retrieve it."

That appears to be the Hermetic's contribution. She watches Solomon, raises her eyebrows as if to ask him for his plan, and transfers a piece of the baklava, whole, into her mouth.

[Ashley McGowen] [Scratch that part about the True Name, she'd say she's working on acquiring it! Apparently she doesn't have it yet, sorry!]

[Israel Cohen] "The 'Shadow of Telos' is probably better seen as the timing needed - or preferred - for putting the Chalice into play. Like the warning from the Umbrood messenger weeks ago, it seems more accurately a designator, a colourful depiction of the Red Star's alignment." Her interjections - postulation, clarification - is quiet spoken per usual; one finger wanders along the smoothness of the heated mug in finespun hands. "Apparently that is the 4th of July?" She turns her face in the direction she last heard Kages voice -- whether or not the woman is still there; certainly Israel has no other way of telling until she speaks up again. "My concern," well, one of them. Her concerns are many. "is where is the Demon getting the souls to fill it? The Tormented ones he seems to have at his disposal? Or fresh ones?" It pains some part of her to speak of human souls so briefly, so nakedly... but, alas, what can one do?

[Emily Littleton] By the time they've seated themselves, Emily has collected a cup of coffee. Caffeine being requisite to dealing with demons, or so she'd learned from her own research this weekend. She'd collected a piece of baklava, okay two, and a napkin. With Owen absent, she pulled out a notebook to jot down whatever innocuous thoughts she could ot jog her memory later... but when Solomon called down the spectre of betrayal and treason, that notebook went away. Stowed safely back in the belly of her messenger bag, which was tucked behind her feet against the legs of the chair.

"Everything I have to contribute Father Ward and Owen Page are already aware of," Emily says, carefully. As if talking about this topic at all makes her vaguely uneasy.

[Basil Gillingson] Basil listened, taking in the information but staying silent. His fingers drummed slightly across the surface..his eyes closed. The discussion was to the point and so far no squabbling on details and who would do what had started.

[Nathan Spriggs] The Cultist remains quiet as the room is briefed, no signs of surprise or disbelief at the news however. He had known it for a while now, most of it anyhow, the Name part had been news to him too. Everything else had been uncovered recently, but he'd been there or briefed. A look around, he considers something. Several matters that needed to be brought to attention.

Ashley's contribution however gets a quirked brow, interested maybe? It was good to know there was information they were still missing since the big picture was still fragmented. When they continue speaking, he decides to step forward with potentially important information Solomon missed.

"We also learned it has a pestilence spirit working for it. Guarding the chalice in the Umbra. It would be good to investigate on that side too. We need to obtain this chalice before the 4th."

[K. R. Jakes] "Why not both?" Kage says, quiet, to Israel's question: her voice is smoke; is cool. Composed, controlled; she is a reserved creature. "The fourth of July," the way she says it, as confirmation, "Independence Day. It's a day when the crowds come out. If another disaster like the one at the bridge were to strike, well," a pause, she shrugs: loose, elegant. "Assuming the fresher, the better, it's a good day for a harvest."

[Solomon Ward] "Right, so, that being the case..." nodding to Kage. He still wasn't entirely sure who the woman was, but be damned if she wasn't the voice of reason and forethought every time he met the woman. Points to her, even if it was all doom and gloom. It was valid.

"So we have two problems, Edom and his plot. I count them as two problems because we're going to have to separate the man from his toy. Which we have to secure. From the the other side of the Shadow. Said Shadow is so unstable right now, even I won't fool with it right now. I highly recommend to others to be especially wary of the use of any Sight or spiritual arts. So actually, physically, retrieving the Chalice is a problem we need to figure out and quickly".

"My proposal... I know it was mentioned of assigning Cabals to specific tasks. We can try that. Unfortunately, do to skill sets, knowledge's, and magical practices that may not be possible. We're going to need one group to go for the Chalice. At the exact same time, this is going to take some coordination, we're going to have to have second group challenge Edom and hold it off. I believe it is possible to do so. Myself, Mr. Gillingson, and Dr. Winters will likely compromise the second team. Unfortunately, that's most of the magi in this room with any real Shadow arts that I'm aware of, or ?" he trails off, letting the question sit. Who else can summon, beseech, or interact with the Unfleshed.

"I'd rather keep the plan for confronting Edom confidential. Now we need to figure out how to pull the Chalice across, or get to it. I can, if needed, create a Shallowing at the site of the node. At this current juncture I'm also rather sure that doing so would kill who ever had to trek that far across the umbral city, it would turn the Chantry into a gate that would require massive defense, and it could very well rend Catherine... not the wisest course of action by any means."

[Ashley McGowen] "I don't know of many who are familiar enough with the Ars Spirituum, other than yourself, to open a Shallowing in order to go through and get the chalice," Ashley tells Solomon. "But I would think it would be possible to pull the chalice itself directly through on its own, if we could find out where it is."

There's a pause, a beat while the Hermetic folds her arms, gaze trailing away while she considers. "Opening a Shallowing here in the chantry is a terrible idea. Particularly since we have so few Willworkers who are skilled in dealing with spirits themselves. It would be difficult for us to defend against whatever came through. Would it be possible to just -move- the chalice elsewhere within the Umbra, or hide it, until after the second group kills Edom? If he can't find it it's still useless to him, even if it's not in our possession. We can get it later."

[Basil Gillingson] Basil listened...he knew that he could reach across the Shadow to touch something...wondering if it would be possible to remove it.

"You will still need someone to help remove the chalice. As Disciple Ward has stated...I, himself, and Disciple Winters will likely be engaging the demon. So who amongst us who has Ars Manos will be aiding you in this?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily casts a look at Kage. It's a little lost-and-seeking. The language, here, preempts her from actively joining the conversation. She wonders, albeit silently, if the Other with the cold-fire hair has ever felt this set-aside from a meeting, excepted from the whole by something as seemingly innocuous as language.

It divides.

"It is possible that someone in my cabal has a rudimentary knowledge of these... Ars... if someone would like to translate for me, later, I can get back to you with any potential names."

[Israel Cohen] At Ashley's mentioned idea and Basil's comment, Israel shakes her head, her lips pressing together in a small grimace -like remembered pain or perhaps a chagrin of admittance, "Not likely. I don't think a Disciple of Spirit could manage it either. It's next to impossible to get a read of any sort on it and what you can sense is... fixed and obfuscated. I think if the Chalice is retrieved it'll have to be done the old fashioned way: Fighting for it, up close and personal."
Then, to Emily, "Ars Manos refers to the Sphere of Spirit." a hint of a smile in her lips; some understanding there -- to be on the 'outs' of the Hermetics pet names for such things. Not, of course, that they are the only Tradition to have them by far.
And,
"Barring finding some feasible way of getting into the Shadow to retrieve the Chalice... the only other option is to have people prepared and waiting on the 4th." Best option, hardly. But barring some feasible way of transporting a group of them into the Umbra... "If it is looking to take fresh souls chances are high another Shallowing will appear. If the Demon can be handled as soon as possible - prior to the 4th - those of us able to manipulate the Barrier might be able to hold it open long enough for the rest to try and thwart what's going on."

[K. R. Jakes] Emily glances at Kage, and Kage is looking at Emily. The Orphan does this: when someone speaks, she studies them; she studies, too, the reactions of those who are listening. Her expression is pensive; her eyes are dark. She is thinking, planning. Kage is a thinker. Those who know her, well - they've likely realized this by now. Kage is cautious. There's a reason she's managed to attain the level of enlightenment she has while being without a Tradition. So all she says, or adds, is - " - I can keep an eye on the other side; alas, that is all." A beat. "If Kaya is still in the city," another shrug, loose: "I believe she has the requisite abilities."

[Nathan Spriggs] Nathan considers the position they're in, weighs the roles that needed to be played. What needed to be done. It isn't hard for him to decide which of the two teams he'd be better suited in. Much as he didn't like the thought of it. First though, another relatively important matter. "A map on the table has the place we've found the chalice to be in marked. Near the shoreline of Chicago and Lake Michigan."

Now to actual business, much as he dreaded it. But then more reason to put it off! The suggestion of Kaya being involved. He considers that for a moment, weighing whatever personal feelings on the matter he has with allowing a Demon to have his way. Not a hard decision to make. Not to him anyway. "I think Kaya is, I can get in contact with her on this matter." That's that.

"As for teams, I believe I'd be of at least some assistance on the team against Edom. At the very least to provide cover and take some of the heat off you." He says, that's right, suggesting himself a living target. Better than the alternative though. Only Israel and Solomon would understand why.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon shakes his head slowly to Ashley, the thought already having had crossed his mind, "I don't have the necessary skills. With out a knowledge of the manipulation of material objects I could reach over and move it, shove it, touch it... but I can't draw it back across with out higher understanding of spiritual principles or the manipulation of solid matter. Though now that you mention it, I could potentially ensorcel some one or some thing that could grant that power, and then they, with the proper knowledge, could... but the difficulty would be staggering, especially given an amateur in such arts attempting to apply them with whats effectively only a hammer, a tool. The idea of moving it solely on the umbral side has merit, but there's going to be so many spooks and boojums in the area, I doubt it would go unnoticed for long. If we can't get to this thing, we're out of luck until the day of the fourth... not an ideal time for cabals of mages to be running around a crowded city, flinging who knows what".

Still, Ashley's initial idea had got him thinking, and apparently Mr. Gillingson along similar lines.

"As to the Shallowing, you wouldn't need mages with spiritual arts. The gauntlet would, for a limited time, be reduced to nothing. It would be as before the mythological shattering. It isn't a matter of spiritual arts, its numbers. We simply wouldn't have enough mages in the city to hold back the things that may be gathering on the other side. At the Node that is" a slight wave of the hand "If we have to wait for the fourth, and there is a second shallowing, Israel's right. We can use that to our advantage, and myself and perhaps Mr. Gillingson can hold it open for others to get back out. Still risky, but feasible. Sadly that's also a worse case scenario."

Israel's lucky she's blind. The priest is glaring at her, and there's a thrum of resonance in the air as the mystical connection that binds them together twangs.

A glance to Nathan, and a small shake of the head "I appreciate your sincerity, Nathan, but Edom is going to require mages well versed in spiritual arts, wardings, life magic, entropic essences, and quintessential manipulation. You've got the latter, but unless you have moderate to amazing talents in any of the former... "

[Ashley McGowen] There's a frustrated noise out of the Hermetic as Solomon makes his response, though it doesn't seem to be directed at the priest. "We don't have enough mages with Ars Spirituum. Always seems to be a problem."

She glances toward Kage, then to Nathan, when Kaya's name is mentioned. "Kaya is unstable," she says, blunt. "I'm reluctant to trust her with something like this when she's proven to be flighty in the past, and has some Nephandic entity hunting her across the Gauntlet. The last thing we need is for -it- to show up and throw in."

She bites the inside of her cheek, looking back toward Solomon. "If the Gauntlet thins to nothing, a group of mages should be able to cross it and get a hold of the chalice then, shouldn't they? I mean, getting back -out- might be a problem, but..."

[Basil Gillingson] Basil went back to his silence after saying his peace. He listened once more, offering very little beyond his earlier words.

[Ashley McGowen] [Scratch Ashley's last question, misread Jessiah's post.]

[Emily Littleton] "I don't know about Spirits," Emily offers, unsurprisingly, to the class. "But if I'm correct, Warding is an extension of Correspondence? And I've at least rudimentary understanding of that art, as well as life pattern and entropy. I am currently studying quintessential energy, or however Father Ward and Mr. Gillingson best choose to describe it."

There is a small pause here, because she's said this before to no avail, but it bears repeating. "Should there by any way that I can assist a more experienced Awakened in his or her work, I would be happy to do so. Both in preparation for and at the time of this encounter."

[S. Ashton Winters] There's a meeting going on.

There's a meeting going on and this particular mage, in Union blue scrubs and a ponytail that has seen better days, comes to the chantry after a day that was rife with car accidents and what-have-you. Her schedule is...

Awkward.

She comes to where there's a gathering of people, and makes little fanfare. People know who she is; it's cold. Of course they know who she is.

[Israel Cohen] She is aware of the feeling of the glare or, more so, the charged twang in the connection between them. Once upon a time [she was after all, his apprentice] it might have made her flinch back. Years later there is a tension in her jaw [willful. what is done is done.], the barest inclination of her head. [I'm sorry it came out this way.]. Then she's moving along, shaking her head. "Better minds than myself might be able to suss out what holds the Chalice in place and makes it so.. slippery... to scry. I can share my impressions with anyone who would care to 'see' for themselves." A slight shrug, her words earnest: From what she could tell it seemed well beyond the capabilities of anyone she knew, but she'd be glad to be proven wrong.

Then, "And... it's not entirely the worst case scenario. Not completely. There's one benefit to a group of Magi going in through a Shallowing and attacking: We would have the liberty to use our Arts in a manner which hurts us here in our world. Paradox does not function in the Shadow as it does here; the bonds of the Concensus dampen or obliterate completely. We experienced that last night." It isn't news to make the whole matter much more thrilling, but it's a perk. A benefit. The little blind ray of [sorrowfilled, hope willing] sunshine.

Emily speaks up and Israel again inclines her ear the younger womans way, "Actually there is a very good way yourself and others could prove helpful: In deterring any Sleepers who might wander upon what is going on. For their own safety and the general greater good. And, in general, watch the backs of whoever goes in there, if that is what it comes down to."

[K. R. Jakes] Of Kaya, Kage (neutral) says - "It's true; I wouldn't vouch for her stability, or for her ability to perform under pressure."

Solomon says that he doesn't have the necessary skills. This is a point that the Mages come back to again, and again: not having a Sphere; not having a knowledge. And it's a wall, but walls have door, right? Kage says - "I imagine that focusing on what we do not have is going to become an exercise in frustration. Look: the people in this room are, by and large, intelligent creatures; where one of us lacks, another may not -- and I believe that's where ritual comes in. Perhaps there's some way to effect the Chalice -- or Edom -- before the 4th, not just by sending out individual Magi collected in a group, but by creating a Working. In tangent. Together. Where there's a gap, someone else fills it: a nice, tidy knot. It might take some creativity."

"I mean, there are plenty of people in this room with the ability to Reach, with the ability to share things, Mind-to-Mind. Maybe it's possible to Rube Goldberg the Chalice out. Heck: to replace it with a copy. The copy probably wouldn't fool its keepers for very long, but..." Kage trails away, her chin cupped in the palm of her hand. "If Ashley gets its True Name, I imagine this will be easier."

Israel speaks, too, and Kage listens to that, pensive-thing, says - "It might behoove everybody to try and figure out where some kind of 'harvest' is most likely to take place. Assuming it'll take place in one location. Where are the most people going to be gathered on the Fourth? Weak spots, well: maybe they can be shored up, and disasters averted. If people aren't killed, and their souls aren't..."

She trails away, because it's a messy topic. Maybe also because Ashton comes in, and draws the Orphan's attention. Doesn't seem like there's anything else she wants to add. Kage is still in thinking-about-things stage. Testing options.

[Nathan Spriggs] The Cultist is quiet as Solomon shoots down his idea, holding back a response. He understands what's on the line. More ideas traded back and forth, he looks from Israel to Emily to Kage as they speak. First to what Israel says, in regards to Emily. "What methods do you think would be best for that? We'd need to know where things are dangerous in the first place, though the beach is a given and that's mostly on the 4th. In any case, I have a few ways to help with that."

To what Kage says, he nods. "I can also see about that as well, tracking down reserved spots for parties as well as annually held ones shouldn't be too difficult."

[Ashley McGowen] There are a lot of ideas being thrown around, and Ashley is quiet, thoughtful, while she tries to parse through all of them. While she tries to figure out which would be the best solution, the least likely to result in the deaths of valuable chantry members - what would be the most challenging.

Truth be told, she'd like to be in the group hunting down Edom, but she recognizes the sense in being elsewhere. "The problem with ritual magic here," Ashley tells Kage, "is that each person would need to know the rudiments of what's involved and have a basic understanding and agreement with what everyone -else- is doing. It might not jive with a group with this much disparity." There's a wry look in the Hermetic's eyes, something that passes. "But replacing it with a copy is a thought."

She bites the inside of her cheek again. "If it becomes necessary to lead a group through - which is looking like the most likely option, at this point - I'll go through. Another option if we can't get to the chalice itself - I could Will as many Sleepers as possible to try to stay inside or keep them away from certain areas, though it would be easier if they had a reason to rationalize it."

[atlas Mason] Footsteps resound on the porch steps outside, footsteps that interrupt and intercede with the meeting already in progress within the nexus point for the mage's of Chicago. Those footsteps are followed by a sudden and repeated rap upon the front door, polite and nice, before the white door itself swung open gently on its hinges.

Who strode in upon that moment, that meeting of paradigms and minds, but the elusive yet ever present Atlas Mason, tonight though there was no roar of a motorcycle well past its age, the Etherite must have found his way here by other means today, considerably less obvious way's to be certain.

He strode into the entrance way, glancing about as he called out openly. "Are there any personages located within the physical limitations of this...oh." He says as he stops and notes the presence of several individuals all sitting about the living room, he looked from one to the next coming to grasp with the fact that they were probably here for similar reasons to his own.

He was as he always was...however tonight there was a sense of intense interest, behind a scholarly visage the man was almost manic with excitement, and in his hands, he held an intricate, inverted metal pyramid, of which the design is elegant, masterful, potent, and all together occult.

"A societal convergence is already in progress within this physical locality? This increases the forward motion capacity of this time juncture by 25.27%." He says with a smile as he steps into the room.

[Solomon Ward] A small hand is waved towards Kage. Not so much dismissively, simply a 'won't work, "The problem with that is two fold. One, each member of the ritual must have knowledge of what many of you refer to as arts or spheres. If they don't have a basic understanding of all arts involved, it cant be done... Ms. McGowen covered that admirably. Second is magical style and knowledge. I can easily combine my magic with Israel's, and maybe Mr. Gillingson or Ms. McGowen. Emily is pliable, as shes young. Nathan, Dr. Mason, and myself are completely incompatible. We just don't have the same arcane and occult correspondences"

"Don't get me wrong Nathan...its appreciated. Also, consider you have a very strong talent for divination and probability.. maybe not all powerful, but more than most in this room from what I gather. That can go a long way to aiding a group of mages who may not be entirely in their element when it comes down to things."

Theres a look cast to Ashley, a double take almost, in hindsight of her words about Kaya. A look that carries weight, as if he wishes to speak to her later. It also gets Nathan a small glare.

Wonderful.

[Emily Littleton] Emily glances from Israel to Ashley, and then to Nathan. "I am happy to help with redirection and rationalization. If we think through a common excuse beforehand, we may even have the upper hand in believability. Little things like uniforms go a long way in selling a half-truth -- and there should be enforcement out in force for a holiday."

"Maybe we should talk about that, off-line, Nathan? I'm sure we can come up with something together." She smiled, gently, however displeased she may be about working together with the Cultist who recently shot her would-be-Mentor.

[K. R. Jakes] Kage listens to Ashley, to Solomon, and hms to herself. It's easy for Kage to fit different paradigms into one Working -- at least, it's easy in her head; but she's an Orphan, and her world-view is particularly flexible. She doesn't seem put-out, just: okay, still thinking.

Enter, Atlas. Kage smiles at him -- brief smile, but true. Says, "Hey, Atlas. Good timing."

[Nathan Spriggs] Nathan gets a glare, not quite sure why. But he does. A look over to Emily as she suggests a course of action and a nod when she suggest talking about it later. An idea at Solomon's words though, why didn't he think of it before. "That gives me an idea. I don't know for certain with what accuracy, but I could look to see if we can track Edom's movements or at least the biggest danger zone. Unfortunately I'm incapable of using Correspondence magic, though if I could somehow boost someone's with my own Time and Entropy magic..."

[S. Ashton Winters] "Timeline on this. Is it going down in the next couple of days?" she has to ask, sh ehas to.

She watches, she listens... and asks because it's June. It doesn't feel right for her to be so cold this time of year. She folds her arms across her chest, "we might have already covered this, but I need to be certain so appropriate measures can be taken."

[Solomon Ward] "Before July fourth, if at all possible... though if we can't figure out how to get a group in the umbra, that isn't suicide, before that... who knows. Right now it looks like we're screwed until this prophetic shit storm comes to pass" A slight shrug.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley sighs, raises a hand and rubs the back of her neck as Solomon speaks again. "If we don't have any other options...then if it's dangerous, it's dangerous. We have to do something."

[atlas Mason] Atlas receives a smatterings of welcome's and he returns the gestures in kind with a amiable smile and a nod in each person's direction as he listens intently, parsing together data as he listened to each person talk about him. He gets a small portion of whats going on, what the topic is, but he seems to be lost on precisely what it is they are attempting to discuss.

"I must interject and disengage this cross conglomeration dissemination of data and action plan preparation and designation with a pertinent query with which to clarify the particulars and requirements of this convergence before I may ascertain the potency or direct usefulness of my personages' own specific data and materiel."

He says/asks as he looks from person to person trying to ascertain exactly what was going on. Sol mentions something about crossing into the Ether and he raises a brow.

"Furnish and disseminate the requested data and my personage may have a particular device that is capable of fulfilling your required task."

[Emily Littleton] ((Int [Analytical] + Engimas: Translation required?))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to atlas Mason

[Israel Cohen] At Atlas' entrace she'd smiled at his greeting.. rather distracted and tired, but smiled nonetheless. "Hi, Atlas... there's some food and coffee and tea..[/i]" Indicating the table.

Things move on then; for now there seems to be a lull in ideas to put out on the table, the reality of what has been discussed and what options there seem to be sinking in. Then Atlas speaks up again and the blind woman cants her head to the side, eyebrows arching up, interested. Curious. Dubious. Hopeful?

"The problem is this: We know that the Demon - Edom as he calls himself - had in his possession an item called the Twilight Star, an Opal that, we believe, can serve as a chalice for soul harvesting. We even know where abouts he's hidden it... but it's in the Umbra, which is teeming with dangers as Telos hangs over us and, from my own attempts at crying, is difficult to get a register on and seems solidly held or fixed in place... it seems the only way to get it safely away from the Demon's usage is to wait for when he plans to use it - the 4th of July it seems - and hope that if a Shallowing appears a team can go in and try to rest the Opal free. There's... something you have that can help?" Quizzical, but not dismissive.

[atlas Mason] [What Atlas says, what Atlas hears: "Sorry to interrupt this lovely little planning commitee, but you know if you all would just tell me what it is your talking about i might be able to help?" "Ohhh well like I said Sol, if you would just tell me what it is thats going on...I just might have what you need for the job eh?"
to Emily Littleton

[K. R. Jakes] Kage: listens, says nothing. Her attention is on Atlas. Her gaze, eloquent, echoes Israel's question.

[Nathan Spriggs] Nathan doesn't particularly add anything. Just waiting and listening for now.

[S. Ashton Winters] She sighs, and adjusts her ponytail. The woman watches for now.

[atlas Mason] Israel, blessed Israel furnishes Atlas with the information that he needed, and the man thinks on her words for a few moments before a smile spreads across his lips, it is both a friendly, and eager smile, that manic look in his eyes spreading ever so slightly, oh the science he would do! and the assistants he would gather here tonight.

"Particular gratitudes categorized and released within the vicinity of your personalized dynamic sphere Israel." The man says with a nod in the blind woman's direction before looking back to the group in general.

"Synchronizing our intended action junctures with that of the actualizing free form super-ether based entity labelled Edom would be a gross miscalculation initiated by ourselves alone. The acquisition and neutralization of the aberrant materiel catagorized by its properties as an essential etheric essence cultivation and capture device is at this juncture, plausible."

He says now holding up the inverted, and intricate looking pyramid he had walked in within his hands, the thing is made of metal, and is clearly arcane in its design, but here was Atlas, master of technology...of a sort holding it like it was normal as daylight.

"This device operates on similar principles to the Lafette's currently inoperable light space fold drive systems. Its internalized paradigmic components actualize and replicate the standardized spatial dimensional wormhole utilized by many etheric and non etheric devices and paradigmic effects. Nominal operation requires the presence and direct interaction of three paradigmically initiated individuals with no concurrent or parallel capabilties. Given current statistical data, this...is the most efficent route to the afformentioned materiel."

[Solomon Ward] Solomon blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.

I actually understood all of that... .

"We have a solution for Edom" he says to Atlas, given the mans statement. That part is going to get settled one way or another, but Solomon is confident it will work... or at least work well enough to remove the man from the picture when they go for the Chalice.

"What you just came up with... When ? How ? I'm amazed at the good fortune...."

Because so far, every thing else has been a trap. Paranoid much ?

[Emily Littleton] Emily's trying to parse what Atlas is saying. She gets most of it, but it's confusing there at the end.

"No concurrent or parallel capabilities?" she asks. "Does that mean that, as long as three Awakened with paradigms that support your workings are working together, they don't need to have overlapping gifts?"

[Israel Cohen] She cannot see what Atlas is holding, of course, but what he says has her sitting up, placing her bare feet on the hardwood floors and unseeing hazel eyes widen, though their direction is somewhat over and to the left of Atlas' shoulder or thereabouts. "Wait... you have a device... a Wonder?... that can... open a portal into the Umbra?" her words are tentative as she works out what the man just said in all his techno-phraseology. "Can it sustain such an opening? And seal it again as needed? Is it an Artifact? A Charm? A Talisman?" There are differences, yes, though ultimately not pressingly important.

[Ashley McGowen] It takes what Atlas is saying a moment to process, but when it does, Ashley looks at the device he's holding aloft with interest. And a moment of hope, of the first inkling that they might be able to do this without it being nigh unto suicidal, without waiting and relying upon unknowns.

"If that's what it does, we should get a group together, plan out how to retrieve it, and get it as soon as possible. I'll go."

[K. R. Jakes] "So it's like a key," Kage says, also: seeking clarification, perhaps, "which opens a door."

A beat. And: "If that's what it does," an echo, of Ashley, "then whoever uses it should use it as close to the chalice's exact location in the oth--in the Umbra as possible. How does it work, Atlas? Did you create it yourself? Can the three individuals, uhm, operating it be the three who go through, or do they need to stay in one place, in order to keep it open?"

[Nathan Spriggs] The Cultist shifts at Atlas' words, attention falling on the device. Memories of another box that took people to the Umbra still fresh in his mind. It was either a trap or something worse. Either way, bad news and probably a necessity right now.

[Solomon Ward] A shake of the head to Ashley, raising one hand as if to imply the woman have some patience.
"Mr Gillingson, myself, and Dr. Winters, minimum, should tie the entity up first. We either have to remove it from the equation in its entirety, or we have to be able to delay its ability to retaliate."

A slight pause.

"I don't know its exact capabilities. What it did, exactly, as a cosmic force. All I know is 'Angel of Death' is pretty clear cut. It isn't some thing I'd want rearing up possesively over some thing I was often when half the mages don't have the occult knowledge to even attempt to hedge out its powers. ...

... we kill it, or slow it. Stall it. Banish it. What ever it takes. Don't go for the Chalice before that takes place. During, after, what ever. Not before"

[Ashley McGowen] "Then figure out when you're going to go, and we'll coordinate something," Ashley says - and yes, her tone is a touch impatient. It isn't one of her virtues. Well, most of the time it isn't.

"This isn't something we have a lot of time to sit on."

[atlas Mason] They all begin questioning once he revealed what he had in his hands, their interest piqued only after the devices intent came to mind, he shook his head slightly as a thought crossed his mind before he turned his attentions to addressing each of their questions and concerns. He turns first to the young priest.

"This device is actualized by the integration and assembly of three concurrent components, each of which were discovered and reclaimed from the materiel that had formerly been the physical structures of the three opposing paradigmic individuals encountered in the sub level of the sexually aligned and provocative display business which several of our personages converged upon recently."

He then looked to Emily and smiled, it was a proud thing, the woman had made a logic jump, he loved those. "Both correct and incorrect is your thesis upon the effect of this device Emily, the individuals do not require similar knowledge or capabilities, in addition they do not require to be paradigmically aligned, however it is unlikely that the device would function if members of the technocratic conglomeration were utilized."

He then looks over to Israel. "The correct correlating title utilized by non Etheric socio-conglomerations would be that of a Talisman Israel, and your posited statement of the operation of the device is precisely what I had indicated to post hence."

Finally he turns to Kage, shaking his head. "The individuals that utilize the device are the personages who will incur dimensional phasic transition, they're structures once, transitioned will be required to remain within a specific proximity.

[Israel Cohen] "Ashley," This is said quietly but not cajoling. "Solomon, Basil and Ashton will be attempting to take on a relative incarnation of Entropy and Death. They will act as quickly as they can but it isn't something that can be lightly slapped together." She isn't playing up the risk those three are taking. That should be clear enough. The probability of one or more [all] of them not coming back from their encounter?
Very. Very. High. That her voice is nearly a whisper is perhaps the only indication of what a strain [terror] the idea is for her.

Then, "Alright, so... I think for now we need to start to figure out: Who will be going after the 'Star'. Who will be working with Atlas to work the Talisman. Who will be backup/helping to keep Sleepers safe. And whether we do this after whatever happens with Eliminating the Demon happens or simultaneously. Also, are there any other Awakened we want to bring in on this? Cabalmates, certainly. What of the new Akashic in town - Li Daiyu? She seems very capable. For myself, I've been making more Charms, most of them for Healing. I might be best off acting as, er.. corpsman. Distributing the charms as needed where people are taking hits."

[Solomon Ward] Solomon just stared at Ashley for a moment before looking to Israel, nodding slightly, and nodding. He had nothing to say on the matter that the woman hadn't already mentioned admirably, and had done it with twice the finesse he could have any how.

"Dr. Winters, care to join me ? We can go over my initial idea and you and Mr. Gillingson can add your input as well. I'd sincerely like to hear you opinions and alterations once the basic ground plan is laid out."

"I appreciate every one coming. This is important. Thank you, and go with God".

Exit one priest.