Making people happy is good

[Emily] Birthdays are curious things. Emily doesn't celebrate her own. Sure, Gregory calls her. Some years she answers. That's not really all that different from most days, though. Gregory calls her, sometimes, and sometimes she even answers. Gregory called her today, in fact, and so her laptop is sitting open on the kitchen counter while she works. There's an oft-laggy display of a particular brother-cum-friend in a window beside whatever recipe Emily is being half-faithful to this evening. In the fridge, safely kept away from the summer heat, someone's birthday cake waits.

"I have a couch now," she says, pausing to eye the laptop with a patient expression. Patient by comparison. No, not at all patient. Suffering, perhaps, but not patient. "But you'd probably be more comfortable if you just let me find you a hotel and hire car."

"I'm visiting you, Emily, not Chicago. What do I care after hotels and hire cars?

The Orphan girl wrinkled her nose and kept chopping herbs. "Mmm, just think about it, eh love?"

There's a comfortable cadence to this. If she doesn't look over, it's almost as if Greg is there, standing in the room beside her, helping her put together something special but not too ornate for a particular person's birthday dinner. Downstairs, the building door is still broken. It yields under the slightest pressure. Most of the city's magi (who happen to know where Emily lives) don't view it as any hindrance at all. They push, it yields; it keeps out nothing but the wind.

There's a new bit of structure to her living room -- this aforementioned couch. It's glaringly at odds with Owen's rocking chair, which is still the more lived in (loved) accoutrement. The boxes he'd asked her about out at the Court? They're unpacked, now; stowed, now. It's almost as if she intends to stay.

"I'll think about it."

"Good." A pause. "I have to go. Company should be here in a few." She makes an exaggerated show of blowing a kiss to the screen, announces Buss! in a playful voice, and waits for a response (Love you too, Em.) before tapping a key on the computer with a damp finger, and then closing it.

There are no outward signs of birthday celebration to upset or annoy Owen. Just the dinner, as promised, and the cake, as suggested. Squirreled away, in the closet of Emily's room, there is a shallow box wrapped and tied with a bright white ribbon. He could search the flat upon entry and not immediately notice it.

The door to her apartment stands slightly ajar. It welcomes, invites.

[Owen Page] It's not so much the act of celebrating the day he was born, twenty-four years ago that unsettles Owen Page. It's simply the lack of experience he has with the custom. Birthdays had not been celebrated as important events in his household growing up and after his sister's death they made a point every time one came around not to notice the empty kitchen chair at the dinner table, the empty space where another member ought to have been, impatiently declaring they needed to do something for the day.

In more than one way, Emily Littleton has replaced the void in Owen's life that his sister used to inhabit.

She is a different fit for it, she serves a different purpose in the Initiate's heart but the unexpected fullness that has grown since they became acquainted is important, none the less and is perhaps the key reason why when the time dictated for his arrival rolls around Owen is precise, he's not a minute earlier than instructed. The door is slightly ajar in anticipation, but he raps on it regardless a few times with the back of his hand, pushing it open.

The smells of baking, of food cooking drifts from within.

"Emily?" He calls, standing just slightly over the threshold with a bottle of soft-drink in his arms. He'd tried, for the occasion, to dress somewhat neater than usual. His jeans were clean, the shirt he wore over them was collared and a very dark navy that matched the hue of his eyes almost exactly. The dark hair had been styled into something nearing submission and he carried with him the faint traces of cologne.

My, somebody could clean up well, when they attempted.

"I, uh, I brought soda." He calls, feeling strangely foolish with his replacement for wine.

[Emily] It's not a big space, Emily's apartment. She'd declared it to be overmuch for one person, that night that Nathan & Israel shared a meal at her table. They'd said it was just about right. It feels less empty, now, with a couch to break up the expanse of her living room floor. It is still incomplete: there is no coffee table, no television, nothing more than a gathering of bookshelves, walls, and places to sit.

The couch, like every other piece of substantial furniture, was not of Emily's choosing. It was a gift, from a well-meaning someone. Of all of them, only Owen had found something to gift that Emily enjoyed for its own merits as well as its function. It spoke to something, perhaps this kinship they were building, reinforcing in the dark and trying times as well as the simpler ones.

Simpler, like today. Emily is wearing a plain dress; it's charcoal grey, jersey material, and comes to her knees. It calls out the slate undertones in her eyes, but not overtly. This is not fussy attire; it's comfortable, touchable, accessibly feminine. She is barefoot, now, but she could throw on some sandals and they could walk to the park (if he wanted to take her up on the offer of basketball). This is important: it's flexible, this dress, like she is about the whole event. It's Owen's birthday, not Emily's; he didn't want a housewarming; they are not the same, she knows.

She turns one of the burners to low, another off, before she steps out of the kitchen to answer the door. She's smiling, when she catches sight of him, but that softens for a moment -- it always softens, at least inwardly, for Owen.

"Come in," she says, waving him in as she crosses the room to meet him. There is a little hesistence, as she comes up to him. A little uncertainty as to their new roles. The smile widens, then hitches as she glances away for a moment. Sees to the door. Something that doesn't quite cover the faint blush she wears. Emily recovers, quickly, finds her footing. "You look quite handsome," she tells him. The note underscoring these words is not wry, tonight. It's pleasant, warmer, however light her tone is.

"And, good," she says, to this offering of soda. "I got back from Market and realized I had nothing to offer you but tea, coffee or water. I'm glad you brought something you like."

She has not told him that she doesn't drink soda. Emily has not told him that she doesn't drink tea-from-tea-bags. She is less rigid, less stubborn when he is near. Or simply more tolerant. Her hand finds his arm, a light touch to welcome him in; it doesn't push boundaries, uncertain as those are just now: it invites, like the open door did.

[Owen Page] He doesn't kiss her.

Some people might accuse him of cruelty for that, for unchivalrous behavior that had no place in Emily's home. But it's far less some act intended to embarrass her then it is an uncertainty on both their sides about where exactly the boundaries were, now -- if there were any left at all. He shifts his weight a little, and ducks his head with a briefly crooked smile when she tells him he looks quite handsome.

There's color staining his cheeks, too.

"I figured I should iron my shirt for a change," he confesses with some degree of replying wry tone, though he does lift his face and take her in; her bare feet, the blush to her cheeks, the way her dress brings out the highlights in her eyes. He studies her for a minute and adds quietly: "You look beautiful." Well, it's hard to argue with that, isn't it? The way he says it is equal parts wondering and reserved, as if he weren't quite sure how to pronounce such a compliment.

She touches his arm, and he takes her hand in his briefly, and squeezes it before letting it go to do what he always seems to do when he's in Emily's place. He wanders around it, takes it in. This time he turns back to look at her with nothing sort of approval: "You've unpacked," it's clear, he's amused at the effect his gently chiding words had on her. But that's all he says about it.

Well, that and: "I'm glad."

[Emily] Owen takes her hand. He doesn't kiss her, doesn't touch her familiarly. There's no arm slung around her shoulder (ownership), no overt advances into her space. It's sweet, this. For all her flirting and her flings of the past, this shy and sweet beginning is not something Emily has known. It leaves her at a loss for what to say, how to react. There's no certainty here, but there's warmth (and affection) enough to bridge the gap.

He names her beautiful, in that quiet, studied way that Owen has, and Emily can't raise up a wry word to counter that, can't argue. Instead of speaking, her eyes find his. Hold them for a moment. This is wordless, but there is a thank you buried there, alongside something pleased and something deeper. It lingers, and then her eyelashes kiss, she looks away. He looses her hand and she takes his soda to the kitchen with her.

You've unpacked, he says, and now that smile turns up more playfully. Now there's a lilt to her words as she replies: "Or simply hidden them..." Ah yes, the mischief. It's not gone missing amidst this warmer, gentler thing between them.

As he explores, she begins to fill the space between them with words. Idle things, easy things. There are still quite a few pictures on her wall that he has not studied, but now she does not try to call him away from them. Does not seek to draw him away from what he might learn, or ask, or seek to know.

"I didn't know what you like," she's saying, about dinner, no doubt. "So I guessed. I hope it's not awful," unlikely, but possible given their differences in upbringing and palettes. She's nervous, all of a sudden, as if this dinner suddenly means more than she had realized. And Emily, who is so comfortable in the kitchen, who finds a bit of Home in them even when her moments there are borrowed at another's flat, Emily busies herself with getting him something to drink. She worries about standing idle. There is little to fuss over, but she finds something seemingly innocuous to do.

[Owen Page] They are different, here. Where she fusses while nervous, or feeling idle her Mentor is quite the opposite. He is a study of still life, of a human being at their ease with hands in his pockets and his eyes tracing over the pictures on her walls. He lets her busy herself because he understands her enough to know why it matters that she be allowed to keep herself occupied, to appear far more confident than she might feel, inwardly.

"I like everything," he attests kindly to her fears, and approaches after making his perusal of her flat. He doesn't sneak a look in the bedroom, or try and discover the location of the boxes she'd teasingly said perhaps she's merely tucked out of his line of sight. Perhaps then, he simply takes her at her word. He adopts a wall somewhere out of her way as she dances about and leans his shoulder into it, crossing his arms neatly over his chest; expression somewhere south of warm, but far from the typically brooding frown it so often seemed to be possessed by.

"I spoke to James, by the way." He shifts, his dark eyes focused on her movements, tone calm, apparently he was not angry with the other Initiate. "I let him know if anything like the other night happens again, he should try and contact me, or reach me through you."

A beat, he adds with a touch of remembered agitation. "Alex was there, tried to get in the middle of things. Does he always do that?"

[Emily] There is rice, on the stove, in a pot over low heat that sends out a steady stream of steam through the offset lid. There's something in the oven, but its heat doesn't fill the small flat. The door to the patio is propped open, slightly, and it helps draw away the cooking heat. Her flat is efficient by design, Emily has made it more-so by how she fills it, uses it. The something is fish, he can tell, after further study. There's a vegetable (possibly unfamiliar) in a pan on the stove, already sauteed and just needing plating. It will all come together in minutes, when the oven is through. Like magic, that, but really just a thing borne of practice and planning. It will all meet the table together, at the proper temperature, when they're ready to sit down.

Emily does not bring his soda to him. She sets it on the table, at one of the two places that are already set with silverware and napkins. The table is closer than the wall he has found to lean upon. Perhaps it's her way of coaxing him nearer.

"Oh?" is all she says, at first, about James. There is not spike of remembered anger; no pinch to her features. Just Oh, and a glance up at him and away from her small things-to-do. Then she nods, at having been made a point of contact in Owen's stead. And then they're on to Alex.

Which brings a twist to Emily's mouth, open amusement to her eyes. She whets her lower lip, catches it with her teeth, clearly thinks the better of the first thing that comes to mind and says.

"He's adorable." It's not really a compliment, the way she says it. It's part explanation, and part carefully phrased condescension. "He's Riley's beau," she says, nudging one eyebrow up to question him, wondering Owen had known that. "I think he means well, but he's all movement and very little strategy." A pause. "He makes her happy, Riley; I've never seen her that happy before."

There's warmth for that, even if she's not sure what to make of Alex just yet. What to make of his association with their cabalmate. Riley being happy is important, as is Riley being safe, which is not something Alex contributes to in a positive fashion.

"Ashton is teaching him," she says, as she turns to pull two plates from the cupboard. There's some finality to this, as if it settled things in her mind. "Wharil, too."

[Owen Page] Had he known that, he likely hadn't but then it can, often times be very hard to gauge if what you're telling Owen is news to him or not. She sets his drink down on the table and he crosses toward it, and toward her. The pot with the rice in it is bubbling quietly, the oven humming with quiet efficiency.

There's a breeze rolling through the patio door, and bringing with it the scents of the evening air outside. He's beside her suddenly as she turns with the plates in hand, he takes them from her and carefully sets them down, his actions putting him right alongside her so she can see the traces of water still clinging to the nape of his neck where he'd pushed a comb through his hair after showering.

His sleeve brushes against her; his eyes are very intent when he turns to look at her without saying a word, just looking, tracing her features. He leans in, hesitates only to lower his eyes to her mouth before kissing her very softly; there's a tenderness to the action. He holds her chin between his fingertips while their lips touch, leaves it there for a beat when he pulls back to study her, smiling faintly.

"Making people happy is good," he murmurs, and lets her go so she can finish preparing dinner. "But Alex was reckless that night, and Riley should have known better." It's not condemning, his tone, but practical. "James shouldn't have even been there to start with. Things happen, but when you put a couple in a situation like that, they're gonna do stupid things."

A corner of his lip curls.

"I have."

The park. The man. The demand that he choose.
They both remember.

[Emily] This tenderness, the softness, it answers some internal question that Emily has held, wordless, at the back of her mind since before he arrived. Since the flutter of nervousness told her that it was somehow not the same, this visit, and yet not different enough to be known and named. When he is closer, and the intensity he brings to her flat (her life) is paired with that affection, something in her stills.

Owen brings her home. He has, since that night he's referencing with a small smile. Possibly since the evening they met in the Sanctuary of St. James'. He lets her go, so that she can finish with dinner, and Emily instead slides her arms around him and hugs him closer for a moment. There is no warning, this time, no Owen, I am going to hug you. In her mind, they have moved passed this.

He brings her home, and he makes her happy. There's no half-held wall between them, here, in the quiet of her flat. She is unsure of this openness, fragile as it is, tentatively offered, but Emily trusts Owen. She trusts him to push a curl back behind her ear, without her flinching. She trusts him to kiss her, without having to turn it into a game or some little levity. This is not easy, but it is good.

Her voice is soft, a little lower. "But you won't," she says, pulling back enough to put one finger on his breastbone, warningly. "Not again, right?" There's no teeth to this; she's not even looking for an answer. It's just chiding, somewhat; affectionate, mostly.

They don't speak about the man, or that night. It passes, as it should, having no place between them tonight.

"Do you want your present before, or after dinner?" she asks him, stepping away to see to the oven while he considers. This is lighter, again. Easier. It does tread the line of their newly pushed boundaries just so, like being near enough to touch does. Apparently, the oven is through, as she turns it off and finds a mitt to handle the baking tray. Once that's out and resting on the countertop, though, Emily finds her way back to where he stands. Near enough to fall back in beside him. It's clear that's where she'd like to be, now that he's broached the distance between them, set the tone between them, allowed her this affection and happiness without being self-conscious or worried.

[Owen Page] It has taken them some time to reach this place. To get to a point where they can balance all the various balls that have been juggled between them for months on end. His private demons, her desire to find Home again, his conflicts about being more than a potential teacher to her.

The near misses and the close calls.
The break downs and the break throughs.

Now that they have somehow delved past all these things they are faced with a new and equally as uncertain obstacle -- intimacy. Owen hasn't been closer to the word than just to say it for years, he has never allowed himself that happiness; that level of ease with the Universe around him. For Emily, it has not so much been a question of time as finding the right person, at the right time.

She had been close to Jarod, close to Chuck.
Owen had maintained that such a physical kinship between them could never happen.
He'd had good reasons, then.
He still holds that most of them are probably true now, as well.

But standing in Emily Littleton's apartment as she puts her arms around him and hugs him close without any warning but the action itself -- he cannot think why they matter. He cannot think of much at all, to be honest. Nothing but her warmth, and the way her light seems to envelop him and make him whole.

Make him better.

Present before, or after dinner? It makes him smile, and the smile says so much for him. "After," he confirms as he helps her bring food to the table. "I don't want to be distracted from the food."

--

It's delicious. Owen tells her so when they eat and again when she goes to clear the dishes. He insists on helping, and they stand side by side and stack the dishwasher, or rinse them in the sink. There is something oddly soothing about the picture of this, of the teamwork in such a base, domestic little act. It is not until later that Owen takes his drink and is steered to the couch, where he sinks down obediently and awaits the present that she'd bought him despite his protestations that she shouldn't have done that.

Everyone says that, but really they're pleased that someone cared to do it.

Owen seems relaxed enough, sitting with his arm perched on the couch, his elbow propping him up, palm braced at the back of his neck as she returns with the little flat box. He eyes it with some degree of suspicion when she hands it to him, and flicks her a vaguely chiding eyebrow. "You didn't spend money on me, did you?"

[Emily] They have different trials with the word intimacy and the challenges it presents. Emily had been close to Jarod, she'd even started to trust him, believe that they might one day become friends -- but that's not how it had begun. That's not what the night at the soup kitchen had been, all fuss and fury, and what had motivated her to follow a beautiful stranger home. Intimacy hadn't been the driving force behind falling into Chuck, either. Physicality was an effective shield, a distraction, a way to cover that the other rifts weren't closing, might never meet.

Jarod had left, before they could find center. Emily broke things off with Chuck when she realized she wasn't even trying. But Owen was different. This thing between them had not started because of a clever turn of phrase, or an idle winter evening, or a boundary pushed too far when neither of them were thinking of the right reasons to say no, to step back. They were friends, before anything; there is a kinship between them; they cannot yet count the number of times they have kissed on the fingers of a single hand.

There is an ache in Emily when she thinks of that day that will surely come, when she will have to walk away from this and out of Chicago. It's keener than she quite understands; it's the sort of hurt that one fights against, protects against. It catches in her throat, the thought of telling him goodbye.

These thoughts find her in the oddest moments. In the way his smile seems so much warmer, now, even while they're sorting dishes out and she's shooing him toward the couch. Or when she's pulling the wrapped gift out of her closet (he didn't even try to seek it out).

"Noooo," she says, when he asks if she spent money on him. "I bartered clever stories and witty riddles, instead." She smirks. Of course she did, but perhaps not as much as he was worrying about.

She brings this present back to him, and it seems a simple thing. It is a moderate weight in his hands, not heavy. Wrapped in a soft green-hued paper and tied with a crisp white ribbon, it similar in size to the box a sweater or shirt might be wrapped in. There is a card, square, in bright white envelope with perfectly maintained corners. She is fastidious, Emily. The envelope sas Owen.

The card is a picture that may be familiar to him if he's studied the places that line her walls. It's scenery, somewhere in Greece, white plastered buildings, cobblestone streets, brightly painted doorways and terracotta pots over-spilling with flowers. Inside, she has written: Many happy returns of the day,
~Emily

Nothing as banal as Happy Birthday, no.

When he eases open that box, if he opens it here, there is nothing too terribly extravagant inside. Another sketchpad, like the one he has now that fits into his portfolio. Some charcoal, for that same hobby of his. There is a calligraphy brush and a small well of ink, too. A smaller book, with cork covers and handpressed pages, that is more the size of a journal. (Herein is a surprise, should he flip through the pages one days. A single Chinese character, painted on the page in a careful hand. And these words, "A birthday wish for you: peace, in whatever measure you may find it. For however long it may deign to stay. Be that a moment, or a month, or even a lifetime. ~E.L.")

Around this journal is wound a thin cord, at first it seems to be a fastener of some sort, but if Owen follows it, he will find it fastened a pi-disc of green-grey jade. The cord is long enough, that it would hang below the cut of the shirts he often wears, near the cross she knows he keeps close-to-breast.

[Owen Page] He's silent as he reads her card, and then carefully sets it aside and pulls open the white ribbon; sliding out the contents of her gift with his sure, nimble fingers. These were hands that were accustomed to working at tasks with swift accuracy and he does not disappoint in his handling of the wrapping paper and other fastenings.

He grows still as he sees the sketchpad and the charcoal; swallows. Takes up the brush and the inkwell for a moment as if testing the validity of their true existance in his palm. The sets them down in favor of the bound journal and the jade necklace; the latter of which is taken up in both hands and a thumb run across; feeling the expanse of the smooth stone.

Owen's utter focus to this experience; this unwrapping and receiving of gifts is as much a journey for him as it is an adventure to observe from another's viewpoint. Emily can watch the emotions flickering across his eyes. The surprise, the pleasure at what she's given to him. She can also see he isn't sure how to frame what he wants to say in reply to these things in his lap she has given to him.

He takes the pendant up and slides it over his head, fitting it beneath the collar of his button-up shirt so that it rests, nestled beside the cross against his skin. "Thank you," he says softly, and looks at her beside him, she can see the faint glow of heat in his cheeks, framing his sharp, angular features.

She can hear the vague suggestion of emotion straining his voice.

"I had.. no idea what I'd even want as a present but these are ... they're perfect." He reaches up, and touches her cheek with one of his palms, stroking hair out of her eyes. "I know it's not how birthdays work," he murmurs, contemplative as he looks at her with his steady, sure touch against her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.

"But I wish I something to give back."

[Emily] Someday, surely, she will tell him why the calligraphy, why the jade. She'll mention that her earliest memories are from China; that she lived there longer than in any other country. She'll tell him the stone is renown for everything -- from luck, to longevity, to prosperity, to mediating the very conversations between a soul and God -- and was given from one party to another as a sign of utmost respect.

She might even, someday, explain that she thought it might make a good focus, were he to want to learn from her what another had taught her. This stone that reputedly grows ever more intertwined with its wearer over time might make an excellent Life focus. She might tell him, if the time were right.

There is so much she doesn't say, because from where Emily is, close to him and watching the flicker-play of emotions across his face, there is not room for such ramblings on. The things themselves are enough, and it pleases her.

There is something of her life, now, that rides along against his skin. It will stay with him while she is away, perhaps even after she is gone. It is an echo of things he does not yet know; it is an echo of things they have not yet seen. So there is a quiet brightness to her eyes, a sentimentality and a wordless contenment when he reaches out to touch her.

Emily gently tips her cheek into that touch; smiles softly (this is Owen's smile; it is only for him) when his thumb traces her jawline. Her voice is soft, barely above a murmur as she answers, "I'm glad you like them..." It falls away into a silent query when he says he wishes to give something back.

Her eyes find his, study and hold them. There is nothing, for her, in this moment but the two of them on this hand-me-down couch. Her mouth forms the question that her eyes ask Oh?, but she doesn't voice it. This is the counterpoint to the moments when their grief or their intensity (relentlessness) have rushed out to greet one another. They are no less intense, now, but it is not borne of a bone-deep ache, a marrow-deep keening.

She finds her voice again, stumbles over the words slightly. "It's your birthday, Owen. It works however you like."

[Owen Page] "Does it?" He asks, and he seems, keenly for a beat, so uncertain.

As if he had no idea how much of this; the moment, the presents, her company were really in his care. Were really left up to him to decide how they should proceed. In another lifetime, he might have been trying to seduce Emily about now, kissing her and persuading her until they fell into bed together. But, it isn't what he wants from this -- whatever that is.

The time must be right, and it must be seamless, a natural, flowing conclusion.

In part this is his beliefs coming through in him, and in part it is his own fear, his own uncertainty about how all of this must work. In the now, he carefully puts his gifts to one side and draws her toward him. He touches her face, strokes his hands through her hair and pulls her against him so that they are all but laying entwined on the hand me down couch in her apartment.

He speaks to her, with her, asks her about Riley, and Alex and Chuck. He touches on the meeting that took place but does not linger when he feels how she stiffens, how her voice alters at the mere mention of it. His hands rub over her shoulders in an absent, comforting manner. There is a form of magic to be felt here, too. The way they fold into one another, the way the energies surround and hum from their very cores.

He is content.
This, tonight, it is enough.

Three-alarm fire

[Mr. Turnquist] When the doors opened Alex was immediately stepping inside. His hand reached out for Rileys, long fingers entwining within her own grasp and he all but pulled her with him, not that he needed too, she seemed just as eager as he was to browse the aisles. Although she had questioned him, he did not respond straight away, too busy was he tilting his head, standing up onto the tiptoes of his right foot and turning to get a better look at the lay of the land. Soon however, his eyes did return to Riley, there was excitement in them when he spoke.

"Well I mean.. I don't know Riley.. " He struggled for an adult reason.
"Wouldn't that be cool though? Like a giant firetruck toy, and she could ride on it, she could put her plant on it and just wheel around."

He grinned, he had obviously spent some time thinking about this. Perhaps there was a firetruck in Alex's past, or the wish for a firetruck. Perhaps a little alex had once upon a time lay in bed and dreamt about being a fireman, climbing ladders, putting out burning buildings and saving lives. And of course the odd cat or two..

"Where do you think we should start? This place is HUGE.."

[Miss Poole] She waits while he looks around, too, the smile lingering on her face. He's too cute now, eagerly looking around a toy store, trying to figure out where to start looking for the riding toys.

For a fire truck, so that a little girl can ride around with her plant. She can think of stranger toys for a toddler girl. Which, when she gets right down to it, a fire truck isn't that strange.

Her gaze snaps to his feet when he raises himself up to look around. The smile on her face fades to a look of consternation. His crutches were left in the car, which earned a comment or two, and apparently will now be earning him looks. The almost-frown can't withstand the grin on his face, though. It's not often that Riley Poole is the one lifted by another person's charm.

"Let's just look around and see what we find," she says, tightening her grip on his hand and starting off down the main aisle. A couple of kids looking at toys together, despite their age and their size. So really, just a couple of big old kids. "While we're here I wanna check out the sports equipment, too. I haven't played basketball in ages."

[Mr. Turnquist] Despite his exuberance, he did notice the almost frown from Riley, but it couldn't change his attitude today. He knew she wanted him to use the crutches, hell maybe he should have been, problem was that whatever Ashton did back at her place to his foot had made it feel a whole lot better. If he wasn't using crutches before then, it was going to be impossible to get him to use them now.

He had actually asked Ashton for a cane, maybe with a sword in it or some other cool hidden object. To which her reply had been You shot yourself Alex. I'm not about to give you pointy objects. His attention was taken away by Riley though as she pulled him off towards one of the nearby main aisles. This particular one was lined with small bits and pieces, mostly unpackaged things. Slinky's, bouncy balls, and random little tubs of goo - who's purpose Alex could only guess at.

Alex reached out and grabbed up an incredibly large bouncy ball, it was almost the size of his hand but softer than your average one, he let it drop to the floor and it bounced up easily over their heads. When it returned Alex caught it in his other hand and grinned at her before putting it away.

"You know, they should totally make stuff like this for grown ups... where's the grown up version of a bouncy ball.. or weird squishy stuff you know?" He laughed and squeezed her hand slightly. "Wheres my weird squishy stuff Riley?"

Still further down the lane, the old favourites started to break away and packaging began. Action figures, toy cars, toy guns. This was obviously the boys section.

[Miss Poole] Riley leads him down the aisle to the little toys, maybe as a place to start, but given the way she beelines for the slinkies, it's no coincidence she's brought him here.

Alex grabs the bouncy ball and sends it shooting up over their heads. Riley, with each end of a large slinky in both hands, shifting the metal coil back and forth, back and forth, watches it go up and come back down. Alex catches it and grins at her, and Riley grins right back. She's older than he is by a few years, yet she's completely happy to play with a slinky or watch him bounce a ball around. His comment has her quirking a dark brow at him.

"I got your weird squishy goo right here," she says, dumping the slinky into its compartment with all the other ones, and she picks up the tub of goo and holds it out to him. "What do people even use this for, anyway?" she asks, pulling it back toward her so she can read the label. "Seems like just a mess maker to me. Oh!" The tub gets set back down.

Riley reaches out to one of the little baskets full of toys and pulls out what looks like a mass of rubber tendrils. A koosh ball. She tosses it from one hand to the other, throwing it high over her head. Then she throws it at Alex.

"Think fast!"

[dex + ath]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Miss Poole] [mulligan!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 8, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Mr. Turnquist] Alex had turned away from her when she began talking and his eyes flicked back to her now and then to see what she was holding. "Hm. I bet you do." A quick reply to her comment about having his goo as he browsed his way through the shelves, pushing things out of the way and spying strange forgotten toys lingering at the back behind all the newer ones.

"I don't know.. I think its just for ma-" He turned just in time to get a face full of Koosh Ball. He blinked and he hopped backwards, driven by his instinct and all but tumbling into the shelf behind him. Luckily they were huge metal things, bolted to the ground, they weren't likely to fall over like in some non-comedy.

"Miss Poole.." Alex said as he bent down and picked up the Koosh Ball.

"I think you have some explaining to do... is this YOUR koosh ball?" He spoke as he advanced on her slowly.

"Please explain, Miss Poole, why you think it is ok to break the rules.. are you above the rules Miss Poole?" His mock-serious face was split by a grin and a short pft of laughter.

He was trying to sound like a school principal but his mirth had given him away. Instead he reverted to plan B. He threw the koosh at her boobs.

[dex+ath dif7]

"
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 8 (Failure at target 7)

[Mr. Turnquist] [MULLIGAN]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7 (Failure at target 7)

[Mr. Turnquist] [Mulligans Mulligan.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 7)

[Miss Littleton] There had not been a firetruck in Emily's past, or a wishing for firetrucks. Nor had there been an abundance of koosh or nerf or any other odd sounding projectiles. But there had been toys, and she understood their importance. Laughter and playfulness and happiness -- these things were precious, and not retained entirely for childhood. So it's an odd place for her to be, Toys 'R' Us, but it makes sense as well.

Because someone is having a birthday, and some things about birthdays are sacred. Not all gifts given should be practical; some things should be purely for fun and frivolity.

Little does she know about the koosh war on aisle three. Or what hooligans might be up to trouble-making in that area. She recognized the clatter of someone falling into metal shelves (don't ask me why that's familiar), though, and it sounded a bit too significant to have been a small child. Motivated by curiousity, and the utter lack of anything interesting in the action figures and small metal cars aisle, Emily heads that way.

... are you above the rules, Miss Poole? a voice was saying. Emily's mouth twitched into a smirk. She peeked around the end of their row and said, easy-as-pie, "Hey."

Just a little pause.

"Everyone okay over here?"

[Miss Poole] When Alex stumbles backwards, Riley's expression changes. She goes from playful to worried in an instant. But she only manages a small step forward before he crashes into the shelving, the metal rattling and the toys behind him clattering around. Then he rights himself, and he bends to pick up the fallen ball.

Alex does his best to overcome his mirth to play at principal. Riley snatches another koosh ball from the shelf and quickly hides her hands behind her back on the pretense of standing at attention. Feet together and her chin tilted down in an appropriate approximation of humiliated chagrin.

Except for that grin which stretches ear to ear. Riley is almost completely incapable of disguising what she's thinking, and what she's thinking right now is positively devilish. She does manage to lift her head, dark eyes wide, a look of absolutely feigned innocence on her face. She nods, her hands still behind her back when he throws the koosh at her. It flies wildly off course, barely glancing off her hip.

"There are no rules in koosh ball!" she all but bellows in the manner of This is Sparta!, throwing a neon green bundle of rubbery tendrils at him.

Then there's a voice saying Hey. Riley dares take her eyes off her enemy to look behind her to confirm that the voice does, in fact, belong to one Miss Emily Littleton.

Her face brightens considerably, which is a feat considering Riley's face was already lit with enough joy and mirth to power a large industrious city if someone could just figure out how to harness that energy.

"Em! Hey, what's up?"

[dex + ath for the throw]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Mr. Turnquist] [dodge -1]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Mr. Turnquist] He sensed something was wrong, his spidey senses where tingling all over. This was far too easy, this was far far too easy. Miss Poole was up to something. Soon enough it was revealed when the Koosh Ball appeared from behind her back.

His eyes went wide and time seemed to slow down as he bellowed a "Nnnoooooo" and tried to avoid the incoming projectile. Too late, it was all in vain, his movements which had saved him from certain death (or at least certain de-limbing) were not enough to save him from the wrath of Riley's Koosh.

He bent down to pick up the koosh once it had fallen to the ground, his laughter slowly dying away into bubbles of the stuff until he was simply smiling again. Riley had just spotted someone familiar, who turns out, Alex knew now as well. Alex under-arm threw the koosh ball to Emily, gently, not an attack just a transfer of possession.

"Hey Emily, what you doing here?"

[Miss Littleton] Emily takes stock of the situation. Riley assualting Alex with squishy projectiles. Alex failing to defend. Falling, apparently. Still laughing (good man). Riley's grin all but splitting her face. These sort of good moods were infectious. Emily couldn't help but find herself grinning back, broadly. Whatever had happened the night before, the chaos in her apartment, the upcoming Emissary meeting, all of it faded away.

What's up?
What are you doing here?

"Apparently, I'm interrupting world war three," she says, voice full of wry amusement, eyes laughingly bright. Alex tosses her a koosh and Emily catches it, then looks down at the object in her hand with marked confusion. It's... so much... smaller than it had looked-midflight.

And there were squishy tendrils between her fingers.

Weird.

"Who's winning?" she asks, hefting the odd little ball in her hand, slightly. It's obvious who's winning, but she'd let them answer for themselves. Her gaze swung from Riley's face, to Alex's, and then that smile encompassed them both.

[Miss Poole] It's completely obvious who's winning. Emily's seen it before, or something similar. Though she's not dancing around her opponent, doing some weird half dance half shuffle, not so much crowing her victory as rubbing Alex's defeat in his face, it's still clear. Riley's face is transformed with a victorious smirking grin, her hair down in waves around her face only slightly displaced by the activity of throwing kooshes around. She's dressed partially in her work uniform, the white button-down unbuttoned and her tie loosened, but a pair of denim shorts have replaced the hated skirt.

Reaching up both hands, she pulls her hair up off her neck, twists it once, and lets it fall back over her shoulder.

"I am," she says, jerking a thumb toward her chest. She's still laughing at Alex's little trip into bullet time, which didn't save him from getting hit by the almighty koosh. Probably because he moved too slowly and acted like a goof.

"Well, sorta. World wars take more than just two countries. What's it gonna be, Emily? Are you Axis, Ally, or Switzerland?" Riley asks, grinning as she picks up another koosh. This one is multicolored, red and white and yellow and orange.

[Mr. Turnquist] "Yeah yeah, You're winning, no need to gloat." He peered at Emily. "She always wins, did she tell you that?" He nodded his head as he began to saunter towards Riley. "Yeah.. I mean.. I just don't get it.." His head tilted and he looked Riley in the eyes. "I think I'm good at something... and then Miss Poole here comes along and says.. well actually.... "

He turned towards Emily, "Does this sound at all familiar?" By now he had come to stand next to Riley, his own hand reaching out to grab a Koosh. His was Green, Purple, Blue and Gold. "Anyway... She's right you know Em.." A pause.


"You really should decide..." He smiled, bouncing the koosh in his hand threateningly.
"Everyones got to pick a Side.." Again the koosh rolled up into the air, landing in his palm. He grinned at Riley.

[Miss Littleton] [Dex + Ath: To join the fray!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] [Mulligans! (You just don't want me to attack a friendly.)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 5, 5 (Failure at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] [Mulligan mulligan mulligan. Are we through now, Kahseeno?!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] "Clearly you have yet to grasp the first law of Poole-namics, Alex," Emily says, all officious and mirthfully. She rolls the koosh in her hand as she smirks at him. "Riley is, as they say, made of win and awesome. You'll get used to it, over time. We all have to."

Suffering. Do you see that? The long-suffering look on Emily's face? Yes, she too can wield sarcasm and a sidelong smirk. The girl's eyes are dancingly bright, now. It's not something Riley's seen in a long, long while.

"Picking sides sounds so arbitrary," she says, as if considering which side to join in the great Koosh battle was worthy of far more weighty consideration. But she seems to have made up her mind.

She glances at Alex, lifts her eyebrows as if to say Shall we? and then the squish-ball-koosh-thing is launched at her cabalmate and friend. It falls far short. Plunks sadly on the ground. Disappointingly.

"... Bugger."

Now Emily is unarmed. And glaring balefully at the koosh in the middle of the aisle that apparently did not conform to any laws of natural physics.

[Miss Poole] Riley looks at Alex, koosh in hand and lifted in a helpless shrug as if to say She's right, what can you do? For now, there's an unofficial truce between the three of them, a cease fire really, while Emily decides if she's going to join in or stay on the sidelines. Or perhaps even claim a side of her own, make it a war on three fronts.

The glance to Alex has Riley grinning and sidestepping away from the young Euthanatos. Of course he needs the assistance. Riley is clearly the strongest, a force to be reckoned with. Though the other apprentices are younger, Riley has a lot more experience being a child. It's something she never let go of when she grew up. Even at twenty-seven, she still splashes in puddles and holds impromptu snowball fights with the kids in her neighborhood. She plays video games and remembers, despite all the bad that happens to them all, that it will be better.

What that really means now, though, is that the tall Italian is more adept with a koosh ball. As soon as Emily chose her side, Riley was on the alert, ready for attack from two sides. Then one of the sides begs off to go hobbling in search of a bathroom. Not that Alex really hobbles. His mentor is a monster of a doctor, a beast. Whatever she did earlier, it's made Alex's limp much less pronounced.

She laughs aloud when Emily's koosh flops to the floor between them. "I hope you know," she says, holding herself with an almost regal poise, "this means war," she intones with some muddled accent, her voice pitched slightly lower. Then, grinning, she throws the koosh at Emily.

[throwing, woo!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] [Dodge: EEEEE! Hopefully I evade better than I attack!]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] "But of cour---ACK!"

When Riley declares war, the other Apprentice -- late-comer to the war, stepping in to support the relative newcomer in the global community -- laughs. It breaks out of her, uncontrolled and unguarded. Emily's laugh is warm, it's mellifluent and easy. Riley lobs the koosh at her and she sidesteps, easily, with a little courtsey to it even.

Now they both have time to retrive a projectile, to take up one of the fluffy-rubbery balls again and take aim on one another. Alex is retreating to the restroom (Oh, thanks, mate!) when Emily hefts the ball a little bit in her hand and tries to catch Riley off guard with a quick riposte.

[throwing, not like a girl this time]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Miss Poole] [catch?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Miss Poole] Both geek girls are being absolutely ridiculous and utterly adorable. Riley lobs a koosh at Emily, and Emily slides gracefully to the side, even does a little curtsy as if to say Why hello there, pleasure to see you. Riley can't stand it. She breaks into uncontrollable laughter, light and low, one arm wrapped over her midsection.

This gives Emily time to arm herself and perhaps take advantage of a moment of weakness on the Virtual Adept's part. But, lo, Emily throws and Riley plucks the strange ball-type-thing from the air as one might pluck an apple from a tree. She grins at her friend, tossing the ball up and letting it fall back into her palm, tendrils swaying in the breeze of its own making.

"Alex said he ran into you the other day. Said you told him..." a pause to throw the koosh again at the country of Littletonia, "...I was a student. Did you tell him any other juicy tidbits I should be prepared for?" She's grinning still, lighthearted, not really caring if Emily divulged Riley's deepest darkest secrets. She doesn't have many, and the city is already slowly learning about her greatest flaw, though few have actually seen Riley Poole unleash her temper on the unfortunate.

[throw!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] [Dodge: It works better than throwing, right?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] The people of Pooletopia are better versed in Koosh warfare than the gentle diplomatically-minded Littletonians. Riley lobs the ball back at Emily, who attempts to sidestep but still takes the hit to her side. Emily clasps one hand to her side, where the koosh hit her, and gasps, as if she were suddenly wounded.

She's chuckling as she reaches down to pick up the toy again, looking at Riley with a purely impish grin. "I may have given him the over-protective friend speech," she says, with a diffident little shrug. She may have; but then again he might have outright lied to her.

Emily was so, very much better at the games of social warfare.

"He seems nice," Emily says. Nice being an understatement; it's the sort of thing one said when they weren't really entitled to have an opinion on such things. "And utterly smitten."

A smirk again. She tosses the koosh back, this time with less war and more play behind it. All in good fun.

[throw: nice and friendly like]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Miss Poole] [catch!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Miss Poole] Emily takes a hit to the side, and Riley starts with fists upraised in triumph, then covers her mouth one hand in mock dismay when the soon-to-be Chorister grabs her side.

"Oh yeah?" she asks, head canted slightly, the corners of her mouth starting to curve upward. Emily may have given a boy the over-protective friend speech. Riley apparently finds this pleasantly surprising. She doesn't know about the rest of the conversation between her Alex and her Emily, maybe feels she doesn't need to know it. If secrets were given out, she'll find out about it eventually, there's no point in getting worked up and worried, creating problems where there are none.

Then a smile, fond an affectionate. "He is. He's really sweet." Which may not be something Alexander Turnquist wants the world finding out about, but Riley tells Emily anyway. She may already know, or she may not. Her smile shifts to something almost giddy, communicating without words that Alex isn't the only smitten one in the store tonight. She catches the koosh, tosses it from one hand to the other once, twice before tossing it Emily's way again.

"He's...nice." She doesn't really think about the fact that she's repeating Emily's words back to her. It's a horrible understatement, but it's the kind of thing one says when the person they're describing is too many things to be expressed adequately in a word or a phrase. Besides, by now the man in question may be headed back over.

[toss!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Mr. Turnquist] The man in question, was in fact headed back over. Our hero Alexander Turnquist, beaten and harried by his enemies had decided to take a breather and let the girls chat for awhile. He had spent his time wisely he browsing and hunting, searching and exploring until eventually he had found it.

He came running back to them, or at least as much as a man who's been shot in the foot can run. Oh ok, so he hobbled back to them. Whatevs. He had an utterly contagious smile on his face, he was simply beaming.

"Who's nice?" The first words out of his mouth as he interrupted the conversation.

"Never mind, I found it!" This almost shouted at Riley as he grabbed her hands with his own and started tugging.

"Come on, I totally found it and it is TOTALLY awesome.... Oh my god Marcy is going to love this."

[Miss Littleton] [catch: ???]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Miss Littleton] The expression Riley wears pulls at the corner of Emily's eyes. It's a brilliance, a warmth and happiness that can't be feigned. It's good to see in the Vdept, who is occasionally childlike (but rarely childish). It makes some things easier. When Riley asks Oh, Really? Em shrugs a bit with a what can you do? look.

She grasps for the ball as it comes sailing her way and just grabs it with her fingertips. She bobbles it, and ultiamtely drops it again. This time, though, Emily just picks it up and holds on to it. As if she's considering bringing it home with her after all of this.

Who's nice? Alex asks, and Em turns that impish good mood on him, now. "Chuck's nice." She says helpfully. "And Riley's nice. I can be nice, but only on occasion -- why, Alex, who do you think is nice?" she asks. As if it's a very important question. As if he'd missed quite a conversation indeed.

But then Alex is tugging Riley toward something, sounding out Ashton's toddler's name. "Does it make noise?" she asks, immediately suspicious of this thing-for-Marcy. "Does it have batteries?"

[Miss Poole] Alex makes his way back to them, where the koosh war seems to have wound down in his absence. Planned? Did the young Turnquistian wander off in the hopes that Pooletopia and Littletonia had exhausted all their resources in a fruitless war just so he could more easily invade the country of his choosing?

He wants to know who's nice, and Emily gives him an answer that is both true and incorrect.
"Oh, that's a lie," she says, chiding. "Don't let her fool you, Em's almost always ack!"

Apparently his plan really was to come in and take over one of the koosh warring parties. He takes Riley by the hands and starts to tug her after him. Riley doesn't mind being swept away by the tides of this particular war, though, if the bright smile on her face is any indication. She hasn't met Marcy, has only seen Ashton herself briefly. She doesn't know that there may be some cause for concern with Alex getting the child a firetruck.

"It might?" she says to Emily. Alex tugs her hands. "Okay okay I know, let's go check it out." Coming from another woman, Riley might sound short, like she's putting up with the antics of a child. Truth is, she's right there with Alex, all excited to find a plaything for a toddler. Any signs that Riley is simply tolerating Alex's antics are quite transparently feigned.

"He's getting her a truck she can ride around in. C'mon!" she beckons, following after Alex. If he relinquishes one of her hands, Riley doesn't let him release the other.

[Mr. Turnquist] His head turned to Emily and his mouth was open in a grin. "I think Riley's Nice." and he lifted her hand, placing a kiss against the back of it. "You ARE nice too Em. Even if you won't admit it." There was so much nice-throwing going around, it was all rather sickening.

He limped along, half skipping though he slowed somewhat at the questions from Emily.

"Well.. Actually I dont know Emily, I didn't look.. So yeah.. like Riley said! it might!, why do you ask anyway?" he had a little knowing grin for her. He knew she babysit there occasionally.

Alex did in fact let go of one of Rileys hands, but he held tight to the other. Soon the three of them were dashing across the expanse of the huge warehouse. Occasionally Alex would laugh and nudge Riley, pointing out some ridiculous looking toy. Muttering things like I never had anything like that! and I wonder what that is... followed by it looks like a cross between an elephant and a pelican

Suddenly they were stopping and Alex simply pointed with his free hand.

"There."

Not far away, in the direction indicated, sat a fire truck. No, not just a fire truck. Sat THE fire truck. The boss of all fire trucks. It came almost up to Alex's knee and was over a yard long. In the front it had a small seat with a steering wheel, underneath the seat was an empty square for a kid to push it like something out of the flintstones.

It was bright red, it had flashing lights, it probably made all sorts of horrible sounds if you put batteries in it. The back was a large empty tray, decorated with pretend ladders and fire hoses.

"Whad'ya think??" He looked pathetically happy.

[Miss Littleton] They're adorable. They really are. Almost sacchrine-sweet. It's hard to be anything but pleased for the other Apprentices. Emily follows along behind them, curious as to this riding-in-truck that Alex is planning on gifting to Marcelle.

Who throws everything she can get her nearly-two-year-old hands on. Whose favorite words, just now, are mine and NOoooOoooOoOOOoo.

When they came to rest before the largest fire truck toy Emily had ever seen, the Orphan girl's wry smile turned every so gently rueful.

"Madre de.... Well, at least I'll know where she is," she says. There's mirth underlying that, but also the concern that Ashton might end her apprentice if it made too much noise. Or makes Marcy all the more mobile.

"That is quite the fire truck," she confirms. It's an understatement, like Alex is nice, but these understatements seem to be somehow fitting when Emily speaks them. It might be the accent, lightening to the lack of enthusiasm to something more delicately wry and laughing.

[Miss Poole] Alex may feel he's dragging Riley after him. As she moves with him through the store, Riley, as childlike and effervescent as she can be, nonetheless intentionally tries to impede Alex's forward momentum. He's still healing, after all, no matter how well Ashton bandaged him up earlier. There are still a couple of days left before she'll feel comfortable letting him go tearing through toy stores.

So despite Alex's exuberance, he finds he's holding onto an anchor, slowing him down. Nonetheless, they move quickly through the aisles, past the strange toys and the familiar. At one point they pass the Barbie aisle, and Riley visibly winces at the explosion of pink. Not that she's against pink, but nothing should be filled with that much of one color.

When they reach the truck at last, Riley pulls up alongside Alex. Finally, she lets go of his hand and moves forward to inspect the toy vehicle. "Wow." She leans over and tugs it forward, pushes it back, tugs it forward again before crouching down to look inside.

"This is really cool, Alex!" Emily's comments are taken at face value today. If there's worry or concern beneath her words, Riley is too distracted by the truck to notice.

[Mr. Turnquist] Alex placed his hands on his hips a moment and stretched his shoulders. Peering down at the firetruck in thought.

"I'm getting it."

That was it. He had decided. Maybe he should get two, one for himself. No that would be silly, he couldn't even fit in the little drivers seat.

Emily may have been worried about her role as babysitter with this thing rolling around, and perhaps ashton would be a little upset with her apprentice for gifting a toy with such potential to annoy. But Marcy would love it. He knew that much, she would love it as much as Alex loved it. He didn't care what the stinky grownups thought.

They spent the next few minutes pushing the thing around, making engine noises and siren sounds. Wweeowwwweeeeoww. Soon it was time to go though, and reluctantly they departed. Alex with a giant box in one arm and Riley's hand in the other, swinging slowly between them.

They would maybe go for coffee together, maybe get some dinner, eventually however the trio would part ways. Riley and Alex saying fond farewells before finally Riley could get alex home and off his feet. She could stop frowning at him and telling him to slow down. Soon though, he would be better, soon his foot would feel good as new and all the pampering would cease. The thought made him appreciate the attention from Riley all the more, made him hold his tongue and grin idiotically when she gave him it. But nothing lasts forever, he would miss it when it was gone. He would miss all of it.

The End.

Man in a gray suit

[Isabel Burrows] Isabel carefully picked her way passed all the people on the sidewalk tonight - heading to bars, resturants and clubs. She had been on her way to a club.. until the incident happened, that was.

Now, the previously well put together Isabel looked like she'd gotten beaten up - a few scrapes here, a bruise there on her arm.. and dried blood trailing down her neck from somewhere in her hairline. Her hair looked well done, save for the matting of blood. She wore a black strapless dress and a pair of heels. People avoided the bloodied woman as she headed down the street.

Isa's phone was retrieved from her purse.. and she dialed Emily's number. She had no idea what had just happened.. but maybe her friend would.

[Emily Littleton] Emily's evening has been surprisingly calm by contrast. Isabel's friend from Vienna (though neither of them are Austrian) is making dinner, doing homework, plotting a birthday cake for a dear friend. These are meditatively quiet, solo activities. When her cell rings, she picks it up, thumbs the Call button and tucks it between her ear and shoulder.

"Emily."

There are quiet sounds in the background: running water, something simmering on the stove, a fan pushing air around the small space in which she lives.

[Isabel Burrows] "Em..? It's Isa.. something happened tonight.. I don't know what it was.. but.. it.. uh.. it involved something magic-ish. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I'm so confused.."

[Emily Littleton] The background sounds quieted. Running water stopped, whatever was simmering on the stove was turned off so it could be safely forgotten. The fan continued.

"Sure, Isa," Emily says, and she keeps her tone neutral. It's concerned but not alarm. Steady. Solid. It says you can trust me and everything will be okay without being placating or condescending.

"I was just making dinner. Do you want to come over? It's just pasta & vegetables..." She downplays it, because that's safer than upselling. "I'll give you my address."

[Isabel Burrows] "Yeah.. I think it's best if we talk about it in person.." She sighed on the other end of the phone.. I'll be over.." Isabel then hung up the phone.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, there was a knock upon Emily's door.. or at the buzzer, whichever it happened to be. She hadn't stopped home - she hadn't stopped even at McDonalds to clean herself up.. she didn't need anyone calling the paramedics. she just needed to talk.

[Emily Littleton] Emily's flat is on the top story of a brick faced walk-up in Lake View. It's not a nice building, but it's nicer than some. It's certainly not the style of home that Isabel has been accustomed to. The downstairs door yields to any pressure at all, swings open and lets her in without requiring her to ring the bell. It keeps nothing out but the wind. She has to forgo the lift, as Emily's building Super is less vigilant than most and the lift that was broken last February is still out of service. Emily's apartment, 3F, is near the end of the hallway.

Isabel knocks.

Emily answers shortly there after. The door swings open, revealing Emily who wears jeans and a tank top (there are the faintest echoes of pink lines criss-crossing her left shoulder now, noticeable only because they failed to take any sort of summer tan). Whatever small smile she wore damped, immediately, when she saw her friend in such a state. It did not rise to alarm, but the jovial undertones were lost.

"... Come on in," she says, stepping out of the doorway.

The flat itself is unremarkable. There's a wooden rocking chair, lovingly restored, in the living room. Keeping it company are a pair of bookshelves. Outlined in blue painters tape is the impression of a future or fallen sofa. Very CSI. Very Emily.

Emily ushers her onward, to the small dinette with its four chairs, and her small kitchen space. This is cheerier. There are flowers on the table, the smell of fresh herbs and liltly wilted summer vegetables. It is clean, neat, ordered.

The elder girl gestures to the table and chairs, wanders into the kitchen to get a clean towel, dampens it with water from the faucet. She offers it to Isabel, but will just as readily help the other girl clean the blood from her face, her hairline. There's something almost protective in this, a side Isa's not seen from Emily before.

[Isabel Burrows] The sofa outline in tape on the floor brought her attention back out of her own problems.. and into the present. She even smiled slightly. "Hey Emily.. thanks for being home.."

She allowed herself to be lead to the table.. and before she sat, she slipped off her heels - she'd walked far to long in them today as it was. Isabel took the offered towel and very gently attempted to remove the dried blood stains from her skin.

"Thank you.. " There was a brief pause before she began. "I was walking to a Club tonight.. nothing was different than normal. And then.. I turned a corner and everyone was gone. Everyone. No people, no cars.. nothing. Just silence. And then I saw this man in a gray suit standing by an alley.."

[Emily Littleton] "Anytime," she says, and there's surety underlying it. There's comfort to find and take in her presence. It's a nice change; it shows how much she's grown. While Isabel talks, Emily gets her friend a glass of water. Brings it to the table, sets it in front of the other girl.

She's listening, intently, and the darkness of her blue eyes never leaves Isabel's form. It could be uncomfortable, except that Emily was clearly on her side, here. Clearly looking to understand, protect, and inform.

"Do you remember anything about him in particular? Or what happened next?"

[Isabel Burrows] She nodded - indicating that she did remember what happened.. and she continued on. "He said he couldn't say where we were.. or why.. but he suggested I continue on to my destination, to find out if what.. I.. was supposed to find.. was there? Something like that.. we went into the club - it was still empty. I had this overwhelming fear hit me.. like everything that I'm terrified of was all wrapped up into one and shoved at me all at once. His demeanor changed then.. he started talking about my Dad.. and how I was worthless without other people."

A small beat.. "And he wanted to know why I didn't use any magic to figure out what was going on.. I explained to him that I didn't know how.. and he seemed disappointed."

"He became threatening.. and that feeling of being so scared continued.. I wanted to flee, and when I tried, he was upset.. he said the only way to leave was to admit that I was nothing with out other people.. so - I.. was so scared, I did."

She paused long enough to take a sip of water.. "I woke up on the sidewalk then.. like this - my head hurt.. and I found a coin of some sort with no markings on it in my purse.. and a note proclaiming me worthless.. I don't know what happened .."

[Emily Littleton] "I wonder how he knew about your father..." Emily mused. It's a thoughtful thing; it creases her brow and purses her lips for a moment.

"You're not worthless, Isa. First off, I hope you know this. Whatever this was, it's not about whether or not you're worthy." This is firm. She reaches across the table to rest a hand on Isabel's arm. It's warm, comforting, calm.

"Do you mind if I call someone to come over and talk to you?" Emily asks, after thinking about this for a bit. "I'll check out your head, make sure you're okay, but I'd like you to talk to Ashley about this -- do you remember her, from the cafe? She's pretty solid with this stuff."

There's a smile here, warm and reassuring. As if Emily won't pick up her cell and make that call if Isa happens to say no. (Though she might. She might just wait til the other girl was calmer.)

[Isabel Burrows] "Something happened to me.. and I don't know what it was.. or how I could have stopped it. I felt like I was invaded.." She sniffled some.. and wiped a small tear with a napkin. It was such a bizzare feeling of helplessness.. she just didn't know what to do with it.

"Head wounds just bleed a lot.. I'm sure it's ok.. no one even stopped to check on me - it must not have been too bad of a fall.. but.. ok. And.. yes.. you can call Ashley.."

[Emily Littleton] "People can be assholes," she tells Isabel, but not with any enmity. It's not uncommon, here, for strangers to walk right by someone bleeding on a street corner. It was a sad state, but not surprising. "We'll figure out what happened, love. Okay? I'll get you something to eat, and make some calls."

Emily rose from the table to collect her cellphone, and eyed her friend (can we call each other that after so many years) with a worried expression. She found Ashley's number in her phone and pressed send, then went about putting together a modest portion of food for Isabel. She'd have to make dinner stretch, with the calls she was about to make.

"Hey, Ashley?" Emily says, when the call goes through. "Do you have a moment?" Always a leading question with this apprentice. "Do you remember Isabel? She's here, at my place. If you've the time, could you drop by and have a chat with her? I'm not sure what happened, but it sounds like someone pushed their way into her head..."

There's a note of worry there.

And once the phone call to the Adept wraps up, there's another answerphone message left for a particular Lake View denizen. "Hey, Owen? It's Emily. If you're free there's a little meetup at my place. A friend of mine had some trouble. Ash's coming over to help. Just though you should know. Cheers."

Never a dull day.

[Ashley McGowen] Never a dull day, indeed. Emily caught Ashley in the middle of something, to judge by the Hermetic's slightly rushed tone when she answers. It slows, focuses, as she realizes that Emily might actually need help (do you have a moment is always a bad, bad sign). "It's Emily, someone needs some help," she informs whoever she's with, and then says, "Yeah, Emily. I'll be over in...give me a half-hour?"

She has to walk, of course, say goodbye...whatever else she was doing. If she had a car, such calls might go faster. Or maybe they wouldn't - city traffic can be terrible.

So the Hermetic sets off for Emily's after grabbing necessary instruments.

[Isabel Burrows] "Emily.. it's ok.. I'm not hungry - I ate before I went out. Thank you though.. you eat, it's ok. I appreciate the water.." Isabel seemed instantly calmer - it was just nice to get the story off of her chest - now someone else knew.. someone else who knew about this magic stuff.

"Is it ok if I use your bathroom to clean up a little.. before your friends arrive?" She'd wait just long enough for the expected answer of 'no problem.. or go ahead' before she stood and wandered towards the bathroom barefooted.

[Emily Littleton] "Not at all," she says, and indicates the door that leads to the wash room. Really, there are only two doors that Isabel hasn't been through already, and one stands slightly ajar and leads to a room far to big to be her bathroom.

"When you're through, I'd like to check on your head, if that's okay with you. I know it's just a bump, but I'd feel better." A smile, softer here. She doesn't mention that she's got yet another ranking mage on speed dial if she needs to ask after concussions, or their reasonable treatment. It's the sort of thing Emily thinks about, though.

She sets the plate down at Isa's place once the other girl leaves for the washroom. Just in case she's hungry later. While Isa's busy, she finds her godfather's prayer beads and leaves them, incidentally, on the far edge of the table, within arm's reach should she need her Prime focus.

[Emily Littleton] Somewhere in there, Emily affirmed "Half an hour's fine. Thank you," to Ashley.

That gave Isabel time to gather herself. Gave Emily time to check up on a few things. Half an hour was a good block of time, not too short, not too long.

[Isabel Burrows] A short while later, Isabel returned. Her hair was down, and wet - she'd apparently decided to wash the blood out in the sink.. and then proceed to clean up after herself. She looked moderately more put together - less disheveled now.. save for the wet hair.

She smiled lightly and ran a hand through her hair - making sure it didn't drip on her floor. Isabel then reseated herself at the kitchen table.

[Emily Littleton] [Life 1: base dif 4, -1 practiced]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 10 (Failure at target 3)

[Ashley McGowen] It takes a little longer than a half hour for Ashley to show up, but not too much longer. Emily's front door is still broken; she knows this, so she just walks right in and up to the girl's apartment. There are three short little raps; Ashley isn't the sort of friend who just walks into her friends' houses, even when she's been called over, when they expect her to be there. She has to be invited inside.

The Hermetic waits, tucking her hands in the pockets of her jeans while she does. It was raining again today. The storms really haven't stopped. So her hair is matted down, dripping with moisture, and she's wiping one of her cheeks off on the shoulder of her T-shirt while she stands there. It doesn't help much: her shirt is wet too.

Still, Ashley is used to these things. The woman walks everywhere, and that means that she's gotten accustomed to rainy days. Enjoys them, even.

[Emily Littleton] [Life 1: Really now. base dif 4, re-rolling +1, -1 practiced. +WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 6 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]

[Emily Littleton] When the Singer-to-be heard the sink running, she wandered into the bedroom to get the other girl a towel. She knocked, once, on the bathroom door, then draped the towel over the doorknob if Isa didn't open the door to take it herself.

Somewhere in the middle of this process, Emily decided she'd best put the kettle on. Not only because Ashley was coming over, and Ashley liked tea, but because tea was a quiet ritual and it might make her stop chewing on the inside edge of her lip.

"You look like you feel a bit better," she said to Isabel, handing over a thin elastic band in case she wanted to pull her damp hair back somehow. "I put the kettle on. I can make coffee if you'd rather, but Ashley and I usually take tea."

All of this is done calmly, with a sense of poise that Emily is borrowing from the more experienced magi she knows. It would do no good to worry Isa, now. It would just make some things more difficult.

Emily doesn't ask, this once, before she stretches her senses out, takes stock of the living world around her in a much more acute manner than her mundane senses alone. Her fingertips find the pulse point at her wrist, while she studies the other girl for a long moment. There's a building sense of Emily's own resonance, the Reverence intrinsic to her pattern now. It enfolds her, elevates this small space to something more than a half-empty flat.

She studies the way the girl's eyes track, checks her movements against what she remembers of Isa's balance and mannerisms. When she's seen what she needs to, she lessens the intimacy of that moment with a question: "You don't have a concussion, right? You know your own birthday?" To which Isa will likely reply with rolled eyes and a humoring response.

There's a knock at the door.

"Ah, that must be Ashley," Emily says, and goes to welcome the Adept in. "Hey... come on... in."

The Deacon is dripping wet.

"Do you... want a towel, too? I put the kettle on." Emily strings the thoughts together, as if there's no oddity to it.

[Isabel Burrows] The towel had been found.. and appropraitely used. "I do feel a bit better.. thank you. Tea is lovely - but water is ok too.. ideally, liquor would be best - that's what I had been waiting for all day.." She grinned slightly.

"I think I'm ok.. Seriously Emily.. I was out for.. a few seconds.. max. I feel ok other than having a splitting headache.. and yeah, I know when my birthday is.. " She laughed quietly. "Thank you for the concern.."

Then the knock at the door. Isabel went quiet as her gaze shifted towards the front door. Just Ashely.. that's right.. she was coming over.

[Ashley McGowen] "Hi, Emily." The deacon is dripping wet, and before she steps inside, she nods to Emily when the girl asks if she'd like a towel. Ashley, too, has wood floors; she has sympathy for anyone that tries to keep theirs in good shape. (It means they extend the courtesy back when they come calling at her apartment.)

When Emily extends the towel toward her, she accepts it, drying her hair and her arms first before she steps through the door and inside. She pulls off her shoes inside the entrance - or, well, she peels them off, wiggles them away from her foot. Chucks aren't the best shoes to have worn when it's raining outside. Her socks, too, get pulled away. Her feet and the cuffs of her pants are dried before she makes her way into the main room, rubbing at her hair again, leaving it tousled and standing on end.

"Hi, Isabel," she says, glancing toward the girl, newly Awakened still, after she's mostly dry. A little more situated. Her clothes are still damp, but it isn't bad enough to do more than make her mildly uncomfortable. They'll dry.

"So what happened?"

[Emily Littleton] "Isabel was telling me that she ran into someone on the way to a Club tonight, a man in a gray suit. At the end of an alley. Just as she came upon him, the crowds thinned out -- there wasn't anyone in sight." Emily summarizes, because it's sometimes easier that way. She has a good grasp on how to pass information to Ashley at this point. It makes the process go more smoothly, or merely sharpens the Deacon's questions.

"He got her aside somehow, into an abandoned club," Emily's tone doesn't judgment here, whatever her thoughts may be. "Where his demeanor changed. He challenged her on her fears -- brought up things no stranger could know, unless they were particularly lucky at their guesses." Plenty of rich girls had daddy issues, but it was unlikely they'd get singled out as a torment device by an absolute stranger.

"She woke up outside, with some bruises and a bloody temple -- did I miss anything, Isa?" Emily asks. It sounds almost clinical, the way that Emily reports this to Ashley, but it doesn't lessen her concern. "I've checked her life pattern. She's not got a concussion, or anything I'd have to call Ashton for."

By now they've wandered back toward Emily's modest dining table. She leaves Ashley with Isabel, wanders into the kitchen. "Jasmine green okay with everyone?"

[Isabel Burrows] A hand rose in greeting.. Quietly enough she spoke. "Hi Ashley." Isabel looked a little haggard.. but better than she did upon arrival to the apartment.

At one point, she pipped up, filling in information. "No.. the crowd was completely gone as I rounded the corner. Like suddenly I was dropped into.. a dream. Nothing was gradual about it. One minute I'm on the busy street.. and the next, I'm alone.. with this older man down the way."

"And.. after I woke up, I found a note.. and a piece of metal in the shape of coin in my purse - so I know it was real.."

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley listens to this account, her blue eyes intent first on Isabel and then on Emily as the Chorister-to-be gives her the rundown on what happened. Muscles in Ashley's jaw tighten from the moment 'a man in a gray suit' is mentioned.

"That's fine," Ashley says, of Emily's tea selection, but it's a little distracted. A little strained. Because there's then, "Emily, did you notice anyone around when Isabel got here? Isabel, do you know whether you were followed?"

Ashley has a quick mind: quick and sharp, and right now it's racing, reaching possible conclusions about what might have just happened. Plant, is one of the options she's considered. Whatever it is, she doesn't like it.

"What did the note say?"

[Isabel Burrows] The selection of tea just got a nod.. anything would be fine.

"I don't think I was followed.. no one seemed to pay much attention to the bloody girl wandering down the street.. What I do remember about the man is.. the appearance wasn't what he showed me. He was something else entirely."

"I should have kept the note.. I threw it away I was so upset. As well as the coin. But the note said.. You are nothing without someone else. So, become something."

[Emily Littleton] Ashley's jaw tightened. Emily's hand stilled -- it had been reaching for the cupboard, to draw down one of the glass canisters of tea. Instead it came back to her middle, to rest on her hip while she frowned.

"It was just her, but honestly? I didn't look outside. There could have been someone outside of the building." A pause, and then the Chorister-to-be's frown shifted to a rueful expression. "Or inside -- the downstairs door is still broken."

[Ashley McGowen] "-Fuck,-" Ashley spits, and the Hermetic is already pacing toward the window to look out like some kind of caged animal, to glance up and down the street. As though whatever she is worried about might be easily sighted; it won't. This is just for her own reassurance, as though she was expecting someone to be lurking right outside.

The note Isabel was given doesn't seem to be reassuring her. And she will turn her attention to the girl, to whatever was done to her Mind, in a moment.

But right now, the only thought in her head is making sure that this is, in fact, a secure location. Ashley reaches beneath the collar of her shirt for the chain that hangs there, bound at either end by pieces of leather. Her index finger hooks through the glass link, and there's a surge of Hunger as she rends space, looking through it for the sign of other Wills.

[Correspondence 2, Prime 1. Lookin' around. Diff 5, -1 for focus.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 4)

[Isabel Burrows] ... "Should I be much more worried about this than I already am?" She glanced between the two of them. They seemed to have a lot of insight that she lacked..

[Emily Littleton] [Subterfuge: Yeah, that's not terrifying in the slightest, Ms. Adept. You freaking out doesn't bug me at all.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] On a good day, Ashley's resonance is intense and overwhelming. In this small space (caged was an apt description), it could steal your breath away. Emily drew a slow, careful breath as the waves of Hunger, Unyielding, washed over her, amplied her natural longing for the dinner she'd prepared. The Singer-to-be's eyes close for a moment, and then she goes back to getting tea together for the three of them.

She quietly wishes her other voicemail had found its mark as well, but that's purely self-serving in this moment.

"Maybe," Emily tells Isabel as she measures out the tea. Pours the water over it. "Let's see what Ashley finds before we worry overmuch about it." Emily gathers three mugs and brings them to the table with her teapot. There's nothing in her countenance that speaks to precisely how upsetting Ashley's reaction is to her.

Gotta stay calm. She's not the newest member of the group anymore.

"Not everyone you meet, that can do what we can, is going to be nice. Or helpful. Or even good-natured." It's an easy explanation, gentled away from the truth of what Emily wanted to say. "Would you pour tea for us?"

It gave the other girl something to do, to focus on beyond the rising resonance and worry.

[Isabel Burrows] "Uh.. sure.." Isabel looked a little skeptical as she stood and set about pouring tea for the three of them. After a moment.. she looked up. "He said his name was Richter.. I think.. if it helps?"

She got the vibe that not everything was entirely cool.. but nothing tipped her off yet that this could be a really big deal..

[Ashley McGowen] For a few seconds, that's all there is. Racing Hunger, relentless, the touch of her Will like some kind of predator looking for other threats (or for prey - does it care which? even a threat is, in the end.)

There is no trace of another Will, but Ashley knows that it doesn't mean there's nothing to find. It doesn't mean the place isn't under surveillance; they might have sent someone unAwakened to do the job. They do these things, grayfaces. So her hand falls away and she looks back at her shoulder at the other two, stepping away from the window.

She's angry. That much is communicated. "The person who picked Isabel up might have been a Technocrat," she says, more to Emily, but there is a brief glance toward Isabel too as she speaks. "In which case, there's a high likelihood that she was followed and they let her go purposefully. We haven't really heard a lot from them in the city, but they did that kind of shit during the Ascension War."

Ashley Woke just as the War was ending. She doesn't have first hand experience, the way some of her older colleagues do. But it was recent enough, and she has been Awakened long enough, to know plenty of people who fought. To wonder if maybe the Technocracy will get tired of the cold ceasefire they have right now, the war of attrition.

"But I don't sense anyone Awakened outside. Which doesn't mean there's no one there, but it's a good sign."

[Emily Littleton] This word Technocrat doesn't likely mean much to Isabel, but it clearly means something to the other two women in Emily's flat. Emily, who has been calm, who has been carefully collected and confident and composed -- she tosses Ashley a look that said so much more than a simple curse would could elucidate.

She had been learning quite a few things from Owen -- dark, meaningful glances; brooding; possibly even some magic, too. The girl just nods, once. Then twice. Then scrubs a hand over her face and finally speaks.

"Okay." It's all she says at first. Okay, so my apartment's been compromised. Okay, so my friend is being tracked by the 'Crats. Okay, so we don't really know and all of this is starting to give me a headache.

"I'm going to get the excedrin from the washroom. When I get back, we can figure out what that means. Since I'm sure hurrying out of here in a threesome looking for safer ground is precisely the wrong idea." A weak smile, for Ashley. She does cut a look back to Isabel, who's suddenly being talked around. It's uncomfortable, Emily knows.

"I'll explain what I know later, Isa. For now, assume Technocrat always means danger. Be wary, and be alert if you across mention of them again." And do whatever Ashley tells you to.

[Isabel Burrows] It was rather uncomfortable, being talked about.. being talked around. She'd poured the tea and just retook her seat. It seemed best to try to make herself small.. - maybe they'd forget about her? It seemed like she'd caused some sort of danger to Emily.. at least that's what she gathered with the being followed part.. and for that, she felt horrible.

Quielty she muttered over her tea.. "I'm sorry Emily.. I shouldn't have come here.. I didn't know."

Was that an appropriate answer? Maybe - she wasn't sure. All of this worried her some, but it worried the pair of them much more..

[Ashley McGowen] "Don't apologize," Ashley says. Spits it, really, the same way she spat the curse, because she's still angry. It's not at Isabel, but the poor girl in her current state might certainly think so. "You didn't know."

Which is part of why she suspects Technocrats: if -she- were one of them and wanted to scope out a chantry, picking a brand new member, a newly Awakened mage who doesn't know anything yet, would certainly be the approach she would take. But the truth is that right now, they don't know. So when Emily says she needs some Excedrin, she just gets a terse nod as Ashley raises both of her hands and runs them back through her damp hair, leaving it in further disarray.

Her eyes rove toward the tea when Isabel pours it, as she catches the scent, and something flickers behind their bright blue. As though it's made her remember something, something that might not be as unpleasant as present circumstances. After a few seconds, her chest thins, a deep sigh that isn't heard so much as seen in the way she just deflates. As though breathing out her irritation, or attempting to.

"All right. Isabel, I'm going to make sure it didn't fuck with you too much, or leave anything behind. This won't be pleasant, but I'm not going to hurt you."

[Emily Littleton] "None of that," Emily tells her firmly, but not without compassion. She looks for, meets and holds the other girl's gaze for a long moment. "You didn't know, so it wasn't wanton. You did nothing wrong, Isabel."

This, too, was a familiar moment, recast from the opposite perspective. Emily remembers, all too clearly, standing in Owen's apartment. Shaking. Holding an imbued weapon and reeking of Nephandi taint. These are the moments all Apprentices seem to have; the ones that shape their paths and their road to Ascension. It's never easy.

"And it's probably better you came here than anywhere else. My lease is up soon, and I've the least to move of any of us," she added, with a wry twist to her smile. It was gentle, and patient. Emily could at least offer her that.

She waits until Ashley-the-Deacon stands down a little, deflates, becomes just a bit easier to deal with once more. Until it is safe (more or less) to leave the two of them alone for a moment.

She's not gone long. And she never closes the washroom door. Emily is back before Ashley's Will starts to rise again. She's standing behind Isabel's chair, with her hand on the other girl's shoulder. I'm right here, that touch says. I'm not going to leave your side. Because what comes next? Is anything but gentle. It's anything but calm. Emily knows, and this is the only surety she can offer, just now.

[Isabel Burrows] "Uh.. ok.. I'm gonna trust you, Ashley.." She had no idea what to expect - but.. after what happened today.. it was likely worth the risk to have people she though she could trust try to figure it out.."

[Ashley McGowen] The Hermetic steps away from the window, walks back over, closer to Isabel. She doesn't need to be this close in order to do what she's going to do, but it is, perhaps, the sort of thing a person does without being fully aware of it: she wouldn't stand across the room if she were talking to Isabel, trying to have a one-on-one conversation with her. She doesn't stand there in order to peer into her Mind, either.

She doesn't say anything else. The necklace is still pulled free, lying over the collar of her shirt, and after a few seconds she reaches up and grasps the iron link.

What happens next is, indeed, as unpleasant as Ashley had warned it would be. Isabel has never had another presence in her mind before: up until now, it's likely she wouldn't even have imagined it possible. It's like having some part of her, some part that she can't fully articulate, being grasped between a pair of jaws, pressing but never snapping shut; it's like having a wall to that part of herself that is -her- overrun by some kind of host, relentless.

And once there, Ashley is looking, filtering through thoughts. Isabel can't protect hers, but for what it's worth, the Hermetic isn't prying: she's looking for what's pertinent. Looking for the traces of a foreign Will and whether anything has been altered or placed there that isn't the girl's own. Looking for, besides, her memories of the event.

[Mind 3, -1 for focus, -2 for applicable resonance Entropic: Hungry. Spending WP.]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 6, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 3) [WP]

[Isabel Burrows] Sure - she'd been warned it wasn't going to be pleasant. But, she'd closed her eyes.. and taken a few deep breaths to ready herself whatever was going to happen. But really - nothing could have prepared her for the open deluge into her mind.

She felt it invade. And all she could think was.. get out! Wait wait.. this was for good, no matter how awful it felt. God, was she going to end up crying for a second time today?

[Emily Littleton] [Awareness as Empathy: You okay, Isa? Because this is hard to deal, yo. I know. I've been there.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 2, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Isabel Burrows] {Mmm.. today sucks! She's ok.. but a little messed up!}
to Emily Littleton

[Emily Littleton] Emily's hand never leaves her shoulder. It doesn't tighten, doesn't bear down. It's just a warm, steady presence. She knows what this is like, having another Mage -- having Ashley of all the other mages -- rummage through your mental space. And Ashley's Will is only that much stronger now. Emily sucks in a shallow breath, holds it as the Adpet crosses that mental threshold, pulls forward what she needs to know.

She watches, from where she stands. Watches that this ingress doesn't go too long, that there's nothing too pained or discomfitted in her friend. Emily doesn't know that Isabel wants to push Ashley out -- the thought hadn't crossed her mind when she'd been in a similar situation -- but she can see the play of emotion on the younger woman's features. Tonight, she couldn't read them for what they were. Perhaps it was too close.

After what feels like long enough, Emily clears her throat quietly. She doesn't say "Ashley, that's enough." She doesn't need to. If the Adept doesn't pull out of the younger mage's mind, Emily will speak up. They're just shy of that moment, now. Standing at the precipice. The Singer-to-be is tense, save for the hand on Isabel's shoulder. She is watchful (protective [concerned]).

"Isa? You okay?" she asks, when the swell of Hunger finally begins to slake. Only after she gets a reply, has the newly Awakened girl meet her eyes for a moment, only then will she turn back to the Adept and ask "What did you find?"

[Ashley McGowen] This: it wasn't what Ashley was expecting. Isabel gets a sense of confusion as that Hungry presence roots through memories, grasps a few as though tasting them, devouring them and drawing them into itself (not quite - Isabel still -has- them, you see) and that confusion is -her- confusion but not. Mind magic is intimate, and that is, perhaps, the most unnerving thing about this entire experience: Ashley might as well be a stranger, and here Isabel is with every private thought she's ever had potentially laid bare.

Ashley's presence recedes without further digging, though. Without ripping all of those private things away. Isabel can feel it when it does, and seconds later, the Hermetic's hand falls away from her necklace. Whether that's because Emily cleared her throat, or restraint on Ashley's part (whether she might have taken every single thing she could, if the Chorister-to-be weren't there), that's hard to tell.

She doesn't ask whether Isabel's all right. She glances toward the girl, once, without much apparent sympathy. She doesn't need to read Isabel's expression to know that the girl wanted to push her out, that she wanted to cry; she felt all of it.

She just declines to speak on it. What is there for her to say, really?

"It was a spirit, or something like one," she tells Emily. "Not a Technocrat or another mage. It didn't leave anything, but it definitely did fuck with her head."

[Isabel Burrows] Out out out! She didn't say it - but it was a shout enough internally. And there.. in the back of her mind was the thought that if Ashley could get into her mind.. then perhaps she did have the ability to push her out. The only reason she didn't try was because she knew they were concerned about what happened.. and it was important they could figure it out. Especially if she'd just endangered the two of them.

Isabel drew a sharp breath in as the grip on her mind was released.. it felt like a weight was lifted - like she again had control. But - for a second time today - she felt invaded. Perhaps even violated.

Dark lashes opened again after a small sigh. Her gaze met Emily's.. and she nodded in response. She was ok. At least she thought she might be.

[Emily Littleton] "Oh," Emily says, blandly and without amusement. Spirits ranked right up there with Technocrats in Emily's book, after the Edom experience. But? Spirits didn't require her to move house. (It's the little blessings, really.)

Isabel meets her eyes, and there's the edge of argument in them -- the drive to push Ashley out, the indignance of having had someone else's thoughts rub up against your own. Emily is quietly pleased by this, but says nothing of the sort just now. Instead she nods, and lets her hand slip off Isabel's shoulder.

"Eat something," she suggests. "Even just a few bites. It helps." This is said softly, and out of concern not command. It helped to ground oneself after the oddities their world presented. And the food was right in front of her.

Now Emily takes up her tea, carries it around the table to her seat. She toes the leg of the chair to slide it away from the table and settles down into it.

"That's still upsetting," Emily says, now. Now that the threat level has started to fade and they wouldn't be stealing away from her apartment in the dead of night, worrying after being stalked by men in suits of varying shades of black-and-white. "You can stay here, tonight, if you like, Isa," Emily says, then cuts a look back to Ashley. "That's reasonable, right? It's unlikely anything will come here, looking after her, yes?"

Emily had no practical magical experience with Spirits. That sphere was a void for her.

"And thank you, Ashley," she says, seriously. With a gravity than makes it sound genuine and weighty.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley felt that urge to fight her and push her out, and the glance she gives Isabel when it sinks in is also something vaguely pleased. The girl didn't just submit, accept the presence of another Will there and taking whatever it wanted.

For all that, though, it's fortunate that Isabel did not try to fight Ashley. The Hermetic is an Adept, and there are not many Adepts in the world. They aren't exceedingly rare, but rare enough that there's a handful in most cities at best. One in this city. They're powerful, they are close to becoming One with their Avatars, and most of them do not take well to being denied what they want. Isabel made the choice to give instead of having it forcefully taken from her, and that's something.

"You're welcome," she says to Emily. She reaches up and tucks the necklace back beneath the collar of her shirt.

"I'm glad you contacted me. I'll alert people. It might just be a one-time thing, since...spirits do that sometimes, for whatever reasons they have. But there's no way to know."

[Isabel Burrows] Ugh.. food.. she wasn't hungry in the least - but.. she took a few bites as instructed. They both knew better than she did - at least in these matters - so she'd let them lead how this would go.

"If it comes back.. can I stop it?" She spoke up after a moment of letting the two Mages talk.. and think.

[Emily Littleton] Ashley is an Adept, and to some extent Emily knows what this means. She understands the difference between an Initiate (which she'll be soon) and an Apprentice (which she was [is] not long ago), and from there to Disciple as well. Adept is not something she's wrapped her head around fully, just yet, but she's noticed the change in Ashley. They'd talked about it; how it made the other mage more Whole, how she's vibrant and thriving again.

"I left a message for Owen," Emily says, but whether she wants Ashley to follow up with her mentor (friend) or plans to do it herself is left unclear. There's a softness to the other Singer's name when Emily speaks it, but that has been a long time coming and may not immediately strike either woman as strange.

"I know very little about Spirits, Isa," Emily tells her. Perhaps it's not comforting to hear, but it is honest. She sips from her tea, sets it on the table, idly lets the fingers of one hand trace around the rim of her cup. "Whenever something like this happens to me, I find Owen -- or Ashley, or Kage, or someone I trust to have a keener perspective. Or someone on speed dial who might know more yet."

There's a small, almost apologetic look tossed to the Adept now. And then another glance for the newly Awakened Apprentice. This is sympathetic, and dimly worried.

[Ashley McGowen] "I also don't know very much about spirits." And here, a frown, something darkening her expression: Gregor knew a lot about spirits. She relied on the Dreamspeaker for all of those things, for understanding where she was weak, because that's what one does in a cabal. She's still feeling his loss, for pragmatic purposes at least. (Emotionally, too, but she doesn't talk about that.)

"But I know people who do. I don't know whether it's going to come back here, but I'm not far away if it does. Neither is Kage." Or Owen, she thinks, though she's unsure of whether the Chorister is still staying at the church or not.

"I don't know exactly what it wanted from you, either," Ashley adds, with a glance toward Isabel as the girl takes a few bites of what Emily set in front of her. "Sometimes, I think that's all they want...to shake people up, take a few things. I guess they feed off of emotional responses sometimes or something? I don't completely get it."

She reaches for a cup of tea, cooling where it is, and breathes in the steam. Doesn't sip from it yet. Her work's done, but she's not about to let it go to waste.

[Isabel Burrows] "I didn't know who else to call. That's why I called you when I realized that something strange happened. I suppose I could have tried Nathan? I think he might have given me his number. I didn't mean to trouble you guys. I just didn't know what else to do.."

It was suddenly very clear to her that she didn't really have anyone to rely on. She had intended just to ignore all of the recent strange developments and let her life move on. Perhaps this proved that she couldn't do that.

"Thank you for the offer of letting me stay, Emily - but I couldn't possibly impose on you any further. My flat isn't too far from here.. " A slight shake of her head. "And thank you, Ashley.. for making sure it didn't do terrible things to me.. " Well, besides mess up her self confidence something fierce..

[Ashley McGowen] [Lalala...]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] "Ahhhh..." There's a warning edge to Emily's tone. She likes Nathan, well enough, all things considered. But. (There is always a but.) "Probably not the best thing to take to Nathan, Spirits."

Emily is thinking about a particular episode, at the Chantry. And another, in the Park. Oh, hell, more or less about the entire Spring. Nathan didn't like Spirits much. That much she'd gathered.

"It's not an imposition. I crashed on people's couches several times when this was all pretty new." On Owen's a handful of times. On Jarod's before that (okay, not on Jarod's -couch- but who's counting?). "If having someone else around will help, then stay. Please."

She offers the other girl a warm smile. It's encouraging. Welcoming. Now that the immanent danger had passed, Emily could go back to being a friend and offering safe haven. "Though this is a good time to bring up something. Isa, you and I are what we call Apprentices. Fairly new, with a lot of questions, and somewhat uncertain about how all of this works. Ashley was rather insistent with me that I find a mentor, and for all that I like to think I can handle things on my own -- it has helped immensely."

This is the mentor speech. The you need one section. Paragraph because I said so. It's in the same book as the pick a tradition speech. About three chapters before the Cabals And You! sidebar. Emily had them memorized for how often she heard them.

"Would you be interested in finding a teacher you could work with?"

[Ashley McGowen] "Don't -apologize,-" Ashley says again, a little clipped as she glances toward Isabel. There's a flicker of irritation in her expression, but it goes largely unvoiced, mainly because Ashley reminds herself of how young the girl is, how new. It isn't much of an excuse, but she's making a visible effort at restraint.

Emily, who has seen Ashley's temper before and heard her berate people for less, recognizes it for the restraint it is. "You did what you had to do."

Emily then brings up the possibility of finding Isabel a mentor, mentions that it would be a good thing for the other girl to do. Clearly, she's learned. The Chorister-to-be gets a smirk as the Hermetic takes a long swallow from the cup of tea.

Another, and then she's walking over to put the cup in the sink, then making her way back to the door so that she can get her shoes. She's had to sit through, and make, this speech plenty of times herself, and she's happy to leave it to someone else for once.

[Isabel Burrows] "It's ok.. really. Sleeping in my own bed would probably be best.. Em." Her shoes were under the table where she sat.. and seeing that Ashely was leaving - she took it as her que to leave as well. Quietly enough she slid her heels back on.

Yes - she'd heard the find a tradition speech before.. but it was back when someone just told her what she was. Picking one was still a bit of a odd concept. Wasn't there some sort of course guide or something that she could thumb through and pick one? How do you pick when the options are as clear a mud?

"After today.. I think a mentor would be a good idea. Someone who could help me stop this from happening again?"

[Emily Littleton] That burr in Ashley's voice draws Emily's attention, momentarily, away from her tea and her old-time friend. It's a warning shot, one Isa's unlikely to notice for what it is. Emily does. She sips at her tea again and lets it pass.

"Alright," Emily says, letting the offer fall away as Isabel's confident (or passing her of as confident) enough to wander home after all. She rises, when Ashley starts toward the door and Isabel slips into her shoes. It's possible (probable) that Isa wouldn't deign to stay anyway, after she found out that Emily's bed is a (very comfortable) futon on the floor.

"Someone to help you when new things find you -- because next time it won't be this, it will be something else you've never fathomed before. Sometimes to step between you and that danger, and sometimes to explain it. We'll ask around at the Chantry and see if anyone's willing to take a student. See if you fit well enough with any of them."

She looks to Ashley for confirmation of this plan, but the Adept is dealing with her water-logged Chucks. She hadn't missed the smirk, no, but she wasn't dignifying it with an eye-roll just now.

[Emily Littleton] ((Edit: or passing *herself *off as confident ...))

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley is fighting with her still-wet socks before the water-logged Chucks, a prolonged battle with her footwear that has her hopping on one foot near the door before she decides that it might be better to preserve her dignity and sit down while she does this. The Hermetic falls to the ground with a thud, wrestling one sock onto her foot. Savagely.

"It might be better to have her talk around and see who she fits with, first," Ashley says to Emily, a little distracted. "But getting an idea of who might be interested in an apprentice first would help. Have someone take her on temporarily, maybe, until she has a better picture of who is who and what is what."

She isn't sure how to handle these things, really: there was her father, and then there was the Order of Hermes, and the Order picked her up when she was brought before the council in Boston. Chicago is far less organized.

Time to change that.

[Isabel Burrows] Isabel stood, now with shoes on.. just in time to watch Ashley fall rather ungracefully while attempting to put her own socks and shoes on. She glanced between the mages. They were doing it again - talking about her, yet around her. She might as well not be here for this..

She did pipe up as she passed the outline of the couch again.. "Em.. do you want a couch? I have an extra." Well, that wasn't entirely true - but she was looking for an excuse to buy a different one..

[Emily Littleton] Thud. Ashley hits the floor with enough resonance that Emily's downstairs neighbors likely paused, looked up worriedly, and then went about their evenings again. She's about to comment when --

"You have an extra couch?" Emily asked. One eyebrow went up, one scooched down. Her mouth turned into a funny squiggle. Okay, it wasn't that bad, but the look she tossed the other Apprentice was one of abject confusion.

Before she remembered that Isabel was from an entirely different world. In Emily's world, it was unlikely she would ever have surplus furniture just lying about, waiting to be gifted to needy (materialistically challenged) friends.

"Ah, I mean, that would be nice. Thank you." Her manners caught up with her somewhat belatedly. "I've been meaning to get one. Now that Greg's coming to visit I pretty much have to, or I'll be sleeping on the floor all week."

This has derailed the mentor talk. The politely checking with Ashley as to Chantry protocols. It's quite a nonsequitur. From thoughts worthy of the Chantry message board to do you want a couch.

Emily reached up to rub at the back of her neck. She hadn't taken the headache meds, yet, and the evening was wearing on her. "Sometime soon, we'll head for the Chantry, Isa. I'm sorry if it feels like we've been talking over your head a bit, just now. Ashley's in charge of the house; anyone who's brought there needs to be cleared with her first." This should explain a bit of it. That, and, well, Emily doesn't know that much more than the newcomer. She's still an apprentice herself.

[Isabel Burrows] "I'll have the movers call you to set up a time, ok?" While the CSI like outline of the couch was cute - it wasn't very pratical. Everyone needed a couch.. and.. it was a topic she could safely talk about without her head thinking it might explode. "It's pretty comfy, actually.. good enough for sleeping if you had to." The young woman smiled a bit more.. and continued to head towards the door. She'd offere Ashley a hand up if she still needed it.

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley turns an idle ear to the conversation they're having about the couch, which isn't particularly interesting for the Adept beyond: oh, I won't have to sit at the kitchen table anymore. Now I have -options.-

She takes the hand that's offered to help her up, after she's managed to wiggle her feet into each shoe and tie them. It took Herculean effort, that. She lets Isabel tug her to her feet, thanks her, and then looks up at the two apprentices.

"See you both. I'll have a word for you if I find out more about what's going on. Isabel, Emily can show you to the chantry when you're ready, you have my clearance."

[Isabel Burrows] "Thanks.." Isabel spoke quietly enough. "Good night you two.. I think this day has made me overly tired.. I should head home."
{Night guys.. I gotta run! Sleep well! Thanks!!

[Emily Littleton] Well, Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here. For Ashley to really have options, Emily would need to find a coffee table as well. Somewhere to set their tea while they were talking. That was altogether too much new furniture for one week, especially with threatening (idly) to find her another chair. God forbid Emily someday find herself with a fully furnished flat.

"Sure, Isa. I can be here pretty much anytime, so whatever works best for you," she says. Movers! Well, that's a little like bribing the guys from Good Will to lug something upstairs for little payment beyond cookies and a smile. Hmm.

"Take care, both of you, and have a good night." She finds herself wrapping their partings into the same breath. Isa wanders off first, leaving Emily to cast Ashley a small look. She stops short of thanking the Adept again. Lest she hit that burred tone and irritated look herself. "I'm telling you, one of these days I will call for something other than work..."

Wishful thinking. Emily was still holding to it.