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.