[Emily Littleton] She left messages for the Singers and then headed to the Chantry. Emily has been there most of the afternoon and all of the early evening. By now, she's settled into the Library studying things both sacred and mundane. There's little line in this Apprentice's life; no demarcation for where one pursuit ends and another begins. There's nothing wrong with researching Cosmology on the internet.
She hurried out the door in her jeans and a witty tee shirt (white type on black cotton: 2B || !2B) that places her more as a likely Virtual Adept than Singer. Perhaps today that's fitting. Her curls are pulled back in a loose spiral at the back of her head, secured with a spare pencil. There is no glint of silver at her neck; she has not yet recovered sufficiently to wear her Wonder and Home at her throat just yet.
The messenger bag, an ever-present accessory, rests by her feet. She is calm, calmer than she's been in many nights. There is a clear sense of purpose and direction to her, now, even in something as quiet and self-contained as study. It elevates her (Reverence); it drives her forward (Unrelenting).
[Solomon Ward] Solomon arrives, as simple as that. The man is not one to dally, so as soon as the message was received he was on the road. The man has a difference tonight, slight as that may be. The growth of facial hair from not shaving has increased, though its still only a shadow. His shirt is white, with a black tie. No solid black, no Collar. It isn't to say the man has lost religion. Not in the least bit.
He just hasn't had time to do laundry, which speaks worlds for a man like Father Ward.
He's with out the coat. The heavy revolver he likes to hide under it. The assortment of things the poor girl saw the last time they had seen one another. It doesn't take away from the stern quality of the man in the least. Driven, hardened, unyielding. The recent events of the city are taking its toll on him obvious ways, shaping him. For better or worse remains to be seen.
The priest enters the Chantry with a mantle of energy set on his shoulders. Even the apprentice can feel it, though its harder to discern here amongst the heavy wards and the ambient energy of the node below them. Righteous and unyielding and archaic. There's enough magic hovering over the man for a sleeper to notice, if only subconsciously.
A quick glance around, before settling on the apprentice "Ms. Littleton".
[Emily Littleton] When he enters the study, Emily looks up. She slides her seat back, stands. It's a mark of respect, just like the careful attention she pays to him. In or out of the frock, Solomon is a man of the Cloth. It's a Calling she's been born and bred to recognize, name and honor. Emily's eyes are steady, clear and keenly perceptive today. Like the last time they saw her, she is more than just a floundering Apprentice. Or, is striving to be more at the very least.
"Father Ward," she says, noticing the energy around the man as a more than sufficient stand in for his usual attire. "I apologize for disturbing your Saturday, but I thought you'd want to hear about this."
Right to the point then. Efficient. If he nods, or motions for her to continue, Emily will pick up her notebook, flip through a few pages until she finds the issue she wants to submit to him for comment and direction.
[Solomon Ward] "No need to apologize, Ms. Littleton. I'm glad you recognized the significance of what you found and thought to contact me. I have no idea how you did it, but all the same I'd like to see what you found" he says, moving to take a seat beside her.
Not so close as to touch. The man has an immense sense of propriety, but to at least facilitate easy and low toned conversation and a shared view of what ever it is she has in her note book. Per usual he waits for the young lady to sit, gesturing for her to do so.
"It's rather remarkable that you stumbled across some thing like this... though perhaps stumble is the wrong word to use. I'm sure you had a direct intent in researching what you could. What I mean to say is that some thing this significant could be found by some one unstudied in this particular spiritual aspect. Please, slowly, tell me where it was found, verify information source, and explain why you, personally, find it significant. We'll go from there".
[Emily Littleton] "Certainly."
When he moves to join her, Emily reclaims her seat. She sits straight-backed and properly. Something about Solomon calls out echoes of her Old World upbringing, and it makes her that much more mindful of her manners. It's not always that way -- getting snapped at in a middle-of-the-night can still prompt her to late-adolescent ire -- but it's the predominant interaction these two have.
When no one is toting firearms, that is. But that's neither here nor now.
She explains her process and methodology, which will no doubt seem strange to the aescetic man beside her. All this in a calm, directed, purposeful manner. It's no wonder that her academic pursuits fall to the squarely rational, organized and mathematically-influenced.
"I started with keywords -- Givens, if you will, were this a proof of some sort -- related to our recent events. Possession. Demon. Chicago. Tarot Cards. These brought up thousands of hits -- citations -- from sources of varying veracity. Among them was a listing of recent murders with an ecclesiastical theme or represenative symbology. This form a reputable local journal; the site had appropriate credentials and represents a legitimate publication in town."
She pauses here, to indicate the list of events at the top of her notebook page.
"Of these, one of the more recent stands out. It's the apparent suicide of a local man, Reverend Masterson. He was found, hanged, over a pentagram. The Reverend kept a blog -- an internet journal, or self-published resource -- that many people followed. Just before he passed, he posting an out-of-character and disturbed entry that was removed at some later point."
Here the girl taps the last entry in her list, the article about Masterson.
"Using various data archive sites and some advanced search -- research -- techniques, I was able to recover the text of that missive, from a mirror elsewhere on the internet."
[Solomon Ward] "Fascinating" is all he says at first, as she verifies the claim of her sources. The man is an anachronism, his manners and his ways, his magic and his beliefs, more or less dying in this day and age. Some of it is down right dead. The man is a fount of languages and magical practices that very few mages, even inside the Choir or the Order, continue to practice. The fact that this sort of thing could be picked up off the internet, where any might stumble across it, is both amazing and terrifying.
He may not understand technical terms well, but he's intelligent enough to follow her explanations more or less in an easy stride. It's akin to tracing tomes and books, finding references to others, and back tracking the authors legitimacy... just... online. "I'd kept an eye on papers, but it seems Mr. Basileous has been a busy little man" more to himself than any real significance to their conversation.
"Ok.. so, he kept an online journal... some of it was removed, and you dug it up. That being said, how hard would it be for others to dig up ? Can you or some of the more tech savvy bury it deeper or burn it or what ever its called or required to remove it for good ? That is a large fear of mine... beyond that, you've done some amazing work, Ms. Littleton. I'd like you to teach me some of this, one day."
"Do go on.. what is it you found, exactly. And for the Love of God, don't say it out loud... . You haven't pronounced it aloud have you ? Names are... Echoes, of the thoughts of God. More than sounds, they are metaphysical presentations of of a creature, a place, a thing. The human throat can't actually mimic what their true nature and intent is... but backed by understanding of their symbolism, used in an utterance of sound, and empowered by the Will; They're very easy to notice. They are very hard to get accurate, and most Names aren't even True. They're errors, summoning, or alternative names of less power, more designed like waving ones hand than capable of making a demand, that sort of thing. Yet if the good Reverend... ."
He lets the statement hang, soft fear and bright hope enter twining around his fading statement like the serpents of a caduceus.
[Emily Littleton] Solomon's concerns do not go unanswered. As soon as he mentions the digital analog to book burning, Emily is nodding her grave agreement.
"I've already asked the Virtual Adept Initiate in my cabal to work on burying it. Making information disappear from the digital ether is about as impossible as sourcing, acquiring and burning all the physical copies of a book or idea after the printing press and the later Xerox machine came into being. Someone will have a copy somewhere that they will later unearth and share. This is Chuck's specialty, though: Making information irretrievable."
There's a pause here, and then her expression broadens into a smile. It's pleasant-leaning-warm, today. "I'd be happy to teach you," she says, without pride or ego inserting itself. Sharing information and skillsets makes everyone stronger, better, more capable; Emily belives it's paramount to building a brighter, more stable future.
He explains to her names, and their metaphysical purpose, their origin. She listens intently, squirrels this information down deep in some fold or recess of her memory. It was vital to understanding this brave new world, and it put some of Ashley's zealousness about Words into perspective.
"I have not spoken it," she assures him. Level. No deception. Then her brow furrows somewhat. "I haven't even written it down. My Avatar -- and this must sound quite silly -- won't let me. Each time I pick up a pen and try, it flusters and rebels and I'm physically overwhelmed. The thought of sharing this with anyone but you or Owen makes me unsettled, almost nauseous." This, this was truly unsettling to the girl. It was, perhaps, the first time her Avatar had swayed her hand this firmly.
"Just after the name he scribed out, phonetically because he could not place the language, the Reverend wrote this." She indicates the bottom of the page of notes, where, in Emily's tightly controlled script is neatly (faithfully) noted this:
the loam of the tree. the dead stuff the wasted, oh god oh god its coming its coming, the reaper, the whirlwind, the jewel, the chalice, he has it, hidden, safe oh god forgive me forgive me the carnage the violation forgive forgive forgive..
[Solomon Ward] "My guide... I'm sorry, Avatar, as most of you call it, manifests regularly. I mean that. It can be unsettling for you to get used to, you may never get used to it at all... but the fact you've seen and recognized it is a good sign."
It's difficult to read. The information he needs is there, shining, like a dark star that absorbs light and yet remains brilliant all the same. The man of the cloth in terror, begging forgiveness. He'd hung himself... no, maybe not. He'd hung himself over a pentagram. A man of the cloth would never... so he either hung himself and it was made after, to capatilize on his death... or it wasn't a suicide. "God bless you, Reverend, for this...."
The words alone say it all. This is important beyond doubt. The Reverend was on the right track.
"Don't speak them. Don't enact your Will. I want you to think of them, clearly, step by step. I'm going to do some thing that's some what intrusive, and I apologize, but I need this and I need to burn it in to my own memory. It won't go deeper than the surface, I promise you"
The soft chant he begins under his breath is eerie, and very reminiscent of the words she has memorized in her own. The same language, the same format.
[Mind 2 = Dif 6 [Vulgar, no witniss 4 + 2], +1 For stacked effects = 7. -1 Foci, -1 resonance (archaic), -1 quint = 4.
2 Sux required]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Emily Littleton] This is not the first time a Disciple has decided to use Emily's memory as a direct interface. It is not the first time she's pulled a memory up to the forefront of her thoughts, focused it clearly, sharpened it and held it very, very still for another mind to access. It's unnerving and uncomfortable, and she's not exactly sure about the ethics behind it, but it's for a good reason, this violation. Emily tells herself it's toward a good cause and steels herself for the feeling being drawn under, again, snapped up in the jaws of that violent, terrible --
-- but Solomon's Will is not like Ashley's. It's not like Daiyu's was when she reached out to calm the Apprentice one night in the park. It's unique and separate from the minds that have touched hers thus far, and the trepidation (while warranted) is perhaps a bit too accute.
The name he searches is held, pictured in the letters exactly as they'd appeared on the screen, captured in her mind's eye for him to share seeing. Perhaps it bleeds over, the scent of rich (impeccable) coffee, and the soft touch of morning light streaming through her window. Bare feet on wood floors. The Orphan is tactile, she seeks Immanence; the memory does not come bereft of other cues, for that's part of how her sharp (agile [intricate]) mind keeps everything inter-indexed and readily recalled.
Meph-tile. Ru-ar-loth-tim-ee-ay. Ee-on-hile.
[Solomon Ward] His mental caress is an iron fist inside a velvet glove. It is slow and cautious and tentative, respectful of another's sovereignty and slow to ease itself in where it needs to be. It is righteous and unyielding, demanding almost. It will have its way. That doesn't mean that it can not do so gently or respectfully. This isn't an outright violation, unless it runs so deeply against her beliefs that she perceives it as such.
It simply is, what it is, and it carries on it emotions that are two way in communication. He takes her thoughts, and only at the surface, what she offers up willingly, as he said he would. Amongst his resonance is other things. Subtle fears, deep worries. Strong hopes. Pride in her accomplishment. An eagerness for wrath yet to fall like a raised hammer. Like a salve to assuage his potential distress of the situation, it moves like honey on the mind and on the tongue with which to assure her that this is necessary, but more so that it is the right thing to do.
The link fades, withdrawing just as gently as it came.
"Thank you".
I've got you by the balls now, Edom.
[Emily Littleton] These moments, their intimacies, the shared communion of two minds -- it serves to reveal how ultimately alone they all are, even in a room of peers or fellows. It serves to remind her how alike they are, even as they are driven by unique goals and purposes. He is afraid, worried, hopeful, proud, wrathful, certain. She is anxious, immanent, fearful, hopeful, and, in her own way, certain. Father Ward can feel, no doubt, the fabric of her Faith strengthening through these trials even as others' might fade away, rend, tatter. She is more a Child of God now than she was before Edom darkened their doorstep. (In the darkness, let there be light.)
Maybe this will be the thought that follows him as he slips from her mind. When that link releases, Emily sucks in a deeper breath. Maybe he'll crave coffee for the rest of the afternoon. She steadies herself. Her eyelashes part and her eyes blink open. The girl is quiet, for several seconds. It is disorienting, and surprisingly lonely to be suddenly alone in your own head. But that fades, and soon she's squaring her shoulders from the slight slump they acquired, schooling her expression.
"You're... you're welcome," she says, quietly. It's almost a whisper.
[Solomon Ward] "I'm..sorry, if it went against your beliefs. I tried to make it easy" he says, apologetically. The man is tired. Afraid and driven, worried and strong. Terrified and courageous. Courage isn't the absence of fear. It is the control of it.
"A lot of things we do shatter what we were told, growing up. Physics get turned on their head. Pagan gods and spirits we were told not to believe rear up. We are, more often than criminals and police officers, forced to deeds we were taught was socially and legally wrong..depending on the paths we chose, of course. Or the paths others choose for us."
A slight sigh, he goes on. "I'm very sorry for what you had to see, that night, Ms. Littleton. I meant to check on you sooner, but I've had so much to do. So much..." slowly, before he resumes his train of thought, "how are you faring ? It isn't easy to see death. It's harder to participate in it".
[Emily Littleton] "Don't apologize," she says, firmly but without looking up to meet his eyes. Emily glances down at her hands, folded on the table before her, instead. "The priority has to be stopping this, right? Stop Him so that the Sleepers and Awakened alike stop getting hurt by this. It has to be what drives us, or there'll only be more suffering in the end."
This is what she says, and she comprehends it, and she believes it, but it's difficult, still. Idealism and action are difficult to reconcile. She is troubled by what she has done, more than by what she has seen. Emily has known, for a very long time, that there is darkness in the world. Up until recently, she has been content to believe that the darkness came from the hearts and minds of Man. Now... there are deeper shadows cast across her path.
"I am concerned about the person I am becoming in the wake of what I have become," she says, clearly speaking of her Awakening. Speaking plainly. "A year ago, I would have sworn to you with all surety that I would never take another's life. And yet here we are, a week after it has happened, and I have not turned myself over to mortal authorities or found the courage to offer this up at Confessional. Not because I believe myself above His laws, in any way, mind..."
Her her voice softens, fades. Emily shrugs. Her hands fall from the table and into her lap. She glances at some point on the far wall.
"I asked Owen if what I've done would keep me out of the Chorus. I put the same question to you. Is a person who has done what I now have fit and welcome to Sing beside you? Can I do His work, if I have broken His commandments?"
[Solomon Ward] "What Commandment did you break, Ms. Littleton ?" quietly, questioningly. This came down to interpretation. Of language, meaning, faith. "We often read it as 'Thou shalt not kill' and leave it to that. The Commandment is 'thou shall not murder'. Murder is a cold blooded thing. Its calculated and reasoned and made moral in the minds of immoral men. Or its reasonless, petty, instinctive. The actions of a man that is not a man. It is for personal gain or with out thought. Both are sinful."
"Jesus would never have condoned a murder. The man was a saint after all. He had times of anger and sorrow and wrath, and Jesus would have been forgiving... I have no doubt of that... . But Jesus wasn't there, Ms. Littleton. What we did we did out of self defense and righteous anger."
He sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hand before setting them back to his knee and continuing. "Defense doesn't exclude you from the Choir Celestial, Emily. How often in the Bible do men find themselves defending their person, physically or spiritually, from unbelievers ? Other times the stories and allegories are helping those who couldn't defend themselves. We did both."
"It goes against the teachings of Jesus, but I've learned in my forty-plus years of life there's a time to kill. Some thing are unforgivable. Like irreparable and unforgivable sin. They were aligned with a fallen angel, a callous soul who chose to kill and murder indiscriminately.. or with a calculation to harm others. There is a time to kill, Emily.
When every thing you believe in or stands for is violated. When the very actions of a man or a woman or a thing are so reprehensible to your soul, your faith. When you see evil that shakes you to the very core of your soul, and it jars you. Like a hammer blow. When you feel that, deep in your heart, its time to kill. That's righteous. It isn't pure. It isn' legal, it isn't moral... its righteous. The danger only lies when you start confusing it for what it isn't.
That's when you've gone too far. I know, I've walked that line myself".
[Emily Littleton] The Apprentice listens, and she is still for a long moment afterward. She is thoughtful, conflicted. There is a something deeply pensive, penitent to her expression as she folding one arm across her middle and reached up to tap at her lip with the other hand. These are mindful gestures, considering. The quiet stretches out, but not so long as to be unbearable.
"Alright," she says, weightly. As if she's tried and measured and weighed all he'd had to say and found it ringing true. "Then, if this is true, what keeps us from taking a matter of interpretation, of syntax, and using it to justify that which is not Righteous. If we are disconnected from the legality, the mortality even, who or what holds our Compass true?"
She is concerned with these things, with the Righteousness of it. The Reverence behind it. If these things are not kept pure, held sacrosanct, then Emily is once more at a loss for why she has Woken Up into this world of wonders and horrors.
[Solomon Ward] "Yourself. Its a matter of necessity. We are not above the law and should never think of ourselves that way. Simply because we find ourselves empowered does not change our relation to the world by placing us above it. We still pay taxes, stop at red lights, and understand that murder and rape and theft are laws to be upheld. We also, due to the very scope of our world, and other worlds as well, occasionally find survival or doing the right thing out side those mortal laws. You have to police yourself, Emily. You have to police your Cabal, and they have to police you."
"It hurts, but we kill our own. All the time. If I fell too far out of line, so far that it was irredeemable, Israel would kill me. In a heart beat. I'd do the same. It sounds extreme, but she and I deal near exclusively in matters of corruption. Spiritual, mental, incurable often enough. If you, or your Cabal or loved ones, can't uphold that there are others that will. The Euthanatos death cult for example. I don't agree or care for their spiritual beliefs, but they're usually pretty spot on in their victims. The Order has a House of mages that do the same thing, though often its an internal matter. Some of the Celestial Guardian Orders, though not all".
"Knowing that a righteous kill is exactly that doesn't condone it. We still have to find peace with ourselves, with our faith, our beliefs. It won't make any more moral than it already was. When you start putting the two together, your Compass, as you put it, is off. Every death you inflict scars the soul a little deeper. The question is, better your soul or another victims ?"
[Emily Littleton] These thoughts are heavy, they weigh on her shoulders, bow down her head. She is young, but not too young to understand the gravity of what is before them. She is not so naive as to think that she, among her peers, might be immune from this. There is pride to her, but not full hubris. Emily had lost that, seven years ago, and steadily struggled with rebuilding ever since.
"My cabal is young," she tells him. "It is new. We are still binding together, learning our boundaries, learning each other. I do not know yet if they can hold me to as straight and narrow a path as I should walk. In the interim, while we are figuring these things out, I would like it if you could promise me this: Should I faulter, Fall, or become irredeemable, you will not hesitate. It's not fear that holds us to Godliness, but with everything happening around us, I will rest better knowing that there is someone who is unafraid, ungentled against stopping me if I were to become what we all fight against."
This is somber. It is serious. She knows exactly what she's asking of him, and the finality it carries. Emily is not yet his Tradition-mate, but she soon will be (if things work out as planned).
[Solomon Ward] The man finally reaches up, though the acion is some what slow. Heavy. It gives an appearance of being older than he actually is. Its another burden for him to carry, though in all actuality he has always carried it. It just seems heavier, more real, when she puts it to voice. A hand laid to rest on her shoulder as her head bowed under the weight of it.
"I would, first and foremost, do every thing humanely possible to prevent that, Ms. Littleton. There are few things that cause rapid and irredeemable corruption, but it is possible. The Barabbi rituals of falling, certain cursed books or artifacts. Sadly, in our world, evil is real. Visceral. Its more than a concept, it can be a disease... .
but yes. I will do every thing in my power to make sure it never comes to that, and if it ever does... every thing in my soul will be offered up to put things to right, what ever the path it must take. You have my sworn vow to that, Ms. Littleton.
[Emily Littleton] She nods, just once, and continues on in quiet for a long moment. It is a heavy thing but speaking it aloud makes it less terrifying for Emily. It is a shared weight. She is beginning to see that the community bears a great responsibility to and for one another, however diverse and divergent their opinions and Faiths may be. It is a tapestry, closely woven and intricate.
"Thank you, Father Ward," she says, when she has tipped up her chin once more. Squared her shoulders again. Reclaimed her inward grace, however thin and tremulous it may be at times.
"If there's anything more I can do to help, please tell me. I know most of this is beyond me, but I very much want to see His tyranny ended. I just have fewer means to effect that than some." Emily says wants, but she means needs. Solomon is Unyielding and this apprentice Unrelenting. She is still growing into her own, magically, but her work has already taken on a driven note.
[Solomon Ward] "Ms. Littleton, it is probably safest at this time that you don't understand the scope of what you discovered as fully as I do... but what you did was monumental. You think you have fewer means to affect this situation, but that isn't true. This isn't about magical power or arcane knowledge... it helps, it makes it easier, don't get me wrong. Magic is a tool. It is a means to an end. It is never the end in and of itself. You, alone, with skill and intelligence have just contributed to the cause in means and degrees far greater than most of us."
He takes his hand back and stands, smoothing in his trousers as he does so.
"I have to get this back and work on it. You've done a great thing, Emily. Don't be discouraged by what you know, or think you don't know. Follow your heart and do what you believe in. Its the best any of us can do."
He makes the sign of the cross before he turns, speaking the words before he makes for the door. "Go with God, madam. Let His peace be yours, His love and joy and devotion your shield. Such is the armor of faith, Amen".
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