Coordination

[Burning] This is how it is.

Fog.
Red fog. Blood fog.
Fog, full of doom. And ominous howls,
the snarl, snap, crunch of teeth, of some Things,
And imps, drawn to the gate, with innumerable teeth
that gleam, and do unhealable damage.
The (reverent [unrelenting]) almost-Chorister and the (ardent [burning]) Orphan
are tied together, so they don't lose each other,
in the fog that is red and full of doom.
The Avatar storm hurts. Like a mofo. Which hurts a lot.
A lot.
They are tied together with the belt
from Kage's imbued (armor) jacket of badassery.
They are wielding imbued bullets.
Hurting like Hell.
The taste of honey on their lps,
and their tongues,
in their throat.
They are tired.
Up ahead, the chalice (Twilight Star) gleams silver,
through the red fog of doom, the red fog of
spirits, spiritual rush hour, malice,
and above the Red Star is calling
madness. Don't look up.
They can't see the Others.
The Others, up ahead.
More monsters are coming,
trying to squeeze into the human world.
World of electricity, TV, light, dogs,
cats, cars, bookstores and tea.
They could run out
of bullets.
They could run
[no - they couldn't.]

Action.

[Reverence] This is limbo (purgatory [Hell's doorstep]). The quiet between attacks stretches on in all directions, not just North, South, East, West but also Up and Down. Up, where they dare not look, the shadow-star gleams. It burns. It taunts. Cajoles. Look up, it entreats; they do not listen.

This is limbo, and in the quiet between attacks there is nothing but the thud of their heartbeats, the press of their pulse against the rent margins of their wounds -- and they are wounded now, and not so hasty to use Israel's charms. There is a wariness here, a worry over each spent bullet, a knowing that the stone vials they hold in their pockets, each draught of sweet honey may be their last. It is a hardening and a numbness; a readiness and a weariness. Between attacks the red fog seems to reach on forever, and somewhere in that forever are their friends.

One must be vigilant while the other takes stock, counts ammunition, checks wounds. All while they are tied together by the ribbon-belt of Kage's coat, imbued as it is (to shine like justice).

There is another howl in the distance. Emily's shoulders square, her eyes flash with fear and resignation. She reaches out to place this coming onslaught even as she moves in to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Other. Raven-haired (rowan-haired), woad-painted, tear-stained, bloodied -- they were a far ways from their kissing-paths and court, these two.

Another howl, this time closer. It would be upon them in seconds, now...

[Burning] S
Nothing is impossible for those who (fired [the heavenly muse]) are on the road of ascent (awe). Kage believes (although she does not realize it [does not wake to it]) with all of her heart that there is always, always a way, that nothing wrong can stay if people don't want it to, that there is nothing too terrible. Beside her, Emily is resigned and afraid and they have no idea how long they'll be at the gate. They've no idea when it will become clear that their allies (friends [peers]) have failed or succeeded. There is no clear sign of just when they (give up [noone's coming]) step back out of the shadow and close the gate (or die [here, vanquished (vanished)]). They're hopefull. They've got to be. And beside Kage, Emily squares her shoulders, resigned, and Kage watches the next misleadingly shaped thing circle out of the fog, stalk closer, hunting, ready to slip past, to snag their hearts in its teeth.

"Hold," she says, and she lowers her gun, fumbling for Emily's hand. She'll find it; their fingers will lace. Maybe their fingers are slick, now, and bloody, sticky with honey. Her voice is low, shaded with urgency; Kage is a passionate creature, and ardent, for all she often affects coolness, detachment. That is not who she is. This is: impassioned and controlled, contained and luminous, practical and impractical. A voice of moon and water, spun of shadow and star, unriddled. Her voice is dry as kindling, and when, later, she has a drink of water, it'll be the best damned water she's ever had. "Em, I'm going to reach. Remember the Court? I'm going to wield: so pray, lean on your reverence, twine your reverence with me, braid it; hold - "

And, she thinks, I'll connect the dots, I'll unmap them with stars,
And there is no time, there is just a note in her head, a word in the back of her throat, something she coughs out,
something sure, something made-up, something creative,
flexible, something Old,

And then, there is a star, a fall of white radiance so hot and so (kiss [touch]) intense that it starts in one and then connects
A map, indeed. A labyrinth.
And maybe, maybe,
the sudden simmering flare of Prime
(Vulgar [Not Here])
looks like a maze,
closing, burning,
end.

End you, you f'ing hellhounds, end you and all your teeth.

[Reverence] Kage has recently gone seeking, Emily knows, and what Kage has found has brought her enlightenment. And yet it has not stripped away all (any) that she knew or was before. She died; she woke up again. Their fingers intertwine and they are slick-sticky-slippery with blood and honey, with sweat and gore. There is something visceral in this joining of hands, but not inherently Reverent. The Reverence they would have to bring on their own.

Kage believes that there is always a way, even if she cannot name it and Emily knows (believes [has Faith]) that this is not the end she was meant to know. There is a purpose to this, this suffering, this heartache, the Call back to communion, and it is not so that she can die here, in this half-world, in this threshold that is not quite one place or another, in this blood-red fog, in this land of lost friends and wrongness. (Where's the Reverence in that?) She has not buried a girl child, comforted the brother, called out Demons on their lies, witnessed prophesy from an Angel's lips; she has not Awakened into all that she might be to cower, here, on the threshold of greatness.

No.

Emily shoves the gun into her pocket that her fingers might intertwine with the stone beads there. These smooth rounds were once her godfather's; they have been in the Chorus longer than she has aspired to join its ranks. They are worn through with another Singer's resonance, and that is Steadfast (Surety); it is Faithful and calm. They are cool, still, this bits of stone and the eight-pointed cross. They are a heralding, a heritage, a birthright.

It's Reverence she focuses on, and when she sees the thread of Kage's working, Emily latches on to it. It's Faith (Unrelenting [Steadfast]) she can offer up, a powerful, wordless knowing. They feed into one another, support, strengthen; together they build something that Kage can weild like starbright, like moonglow, like Radiance (burning [Ardent]).

It is the beginning and the ending; the Song of everything; the Silence that was. It is devastating and beautiful. Soul-bright and scalding. Wrathful.