Don't let this hold you back. (Greg visiting)

[Emily] Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, Emily realized that her fridge was under siege by the Leftovers Army and that, to fill it with any more nostalgic favorites and new delights, she would have to either feed the soup kitchen clientele or send up the bat-signal for her friends. Your assistance required: Leftovers. Come at will.

She had such faith in this method of culinary redistribution that there was a fruit trifle in the works, made with real pastry cream, and a fresh salad waiting to accompany the parade of past meals. It always helps to dress up leftovers, however tasty and varied they may be.

The Prynne children, as they are referred to at home, sit at her small dining table. Gregory's leaned back in his chair, dangerously lifted two of its feet off the floor. He's grinning at Emily, who is holding a laminated card to her forehead with one fingertip. This is some sort of game.

"Am I an animal?" she asks.

"Biological or Biblical defintion?" he inquires.

"Are you implying I'm a person?"

"That's a second question."

"Evading isn't part of the game, Gregory."

The door to Emily's flat stands partly open. Their conversation, such as it is, reaches out into the hallway. The lightness in their voices, the slight burr to Emily's as Gregory turns the twenty questions game into something less about fact-finding and more about testing boundaries, the faint scent of balsamic vinaigrette -- it all seeps out through the cracks to welcome a visitor in. And of course, the downstairs door is still broken; hardly anyone bothers with the bell.

"You're not a person, nor are you an animal," he concedes, but not without a wry smile.

"I don't think you gather the meaning of this game," the Singer-to-be says, with a note of exasperation. She's still holding the card to her forehead. He's still smirking; she's still irked.

"Is the game not how long can you make Emily hold a card to her forehead and look positively peeved? Have I mistaken the game, again?" he asks. She drops her hand away to fold her arms. The card sticks for a moment, then falls from her forehead to disrupt her irritated moue.

This is what Ashley hears when she approaches. This followed by a soft but fervent string of impolite Chinese, rendered in an affectionate (but intolerant) and imperfect tone.

"Prat."

"Pedant."

Emily has a houseguest.

[Ashley] Ashley just returned from Boston last night, accompanied by an exhaustion that hangs over her shoulders, perches and sinks its claws to the bone. When she first arrived, the first order of business was to take her violin to the chantry. The second order of business was to go home, cuddle with Zane, and sleep for fourteen hours.

She hasn't really had time to go shopping, and so her refrigerator and cabinets are empty, with the exception of a bag of rice, five bottles of beer, and half a can of oatmeal (but no milk.) This was almost dinner anyway - or, at least, the rice was. Rice and soy sauce. And stout.

Needless to say, she's thrilled to get Emily's message.

So she can hear the voices down the hall when she enters the apartment building and walks up, listening to the quarreling voices. She's wondering who Emily's friend might be: someone Emily knows from one of the places she's visited? Ashley doesn't think Emily is the sort who would have kept in touch, from what she knows of the girl's history. But she's been wrong about people before. Many times.

A pair of blue eyes and a slightly tousled head of dark hair peer in through the half-open door, and she knocks on the door frame before entering. Emily will have noticed this by now, that Ashley rarely if ever crosses thresholds of any kind without being invited. In fact, Emily has never seen her do it. Perhaps she's unable to; some magi are bound to odd rules, to mystical rules. Whatever the reason, there's an expression of smug amusement flickering around her mouth, the tilt of her eyebrows.

And she corrects Emily's pronunciation, and, "He's not wrong, Em. Precise usage of diction is important, some would say."

[Emily] Emily is retrieving the fallen card when Ashley knocks, interjects. She's stretched over to one side of her chair, reaching downward, bracing her knee on the underside of the table so she doesn't topple over.

"I like her," Gregory says. "You would," Emily retorts, snatching the card up in her fingertips and righting herself. The apples of her cheeks are pinked, but not brightly rosy. She flicks the card at him, and then gets up to welcome Ashley in.

The man in Emily's flat is of a similar coloring to her. His hair is a little lighter. His eyes a little greyer. He stands taller than Emily, and his features are blunted while hers are sharp. They do not look enough alike to be siblings, but they share some vague kinship. There is a watchful (protective) note to how he observes her while she's akwardly reaching after the card; soft but noticable to the keenly observant. They are easy with one another; familiar. Moreso than even Emily is with Chuck or Riley. It is a different kinship than she shares with Owen.

Greg rises as Emily crosses to the door. He's wearing a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and slacks. Emily's wearing a white linen blouse and jeans. They look cripser, a bit more proper than most of the oh-by-the-way gatherings at Emily's are. Emily is barefoot, Greg wears socks. There is an extra pair of shoes by the door.

"Hey Ashley," Emily says, waving her in even before she's crossed to the door. "I hope you're hungry!" The Singer-to-be's smile is warmer than usual; it's comfortable and easy. The warmth of it touches her eyes. There is a sense of Home within her flat that does not, tonight, emanate from the bauble around her neck.

"I'd like you to meet Gregory Prynne. He's a very good friend of mine, from Manchester." There is no Traditional title; there are no implications of Traditional ties. "Greg, this is Ashley McGowen. She's a friend of mine, and has helped immensely with the past year. She also saves me from my leftovers when I have overcooked."

This last bit brings a small twist to Greg's mouth, a little lift of his eyebrow. Ashley does a great public service, it seems.

"A pleasure to meet you," he says, and it's not quite a strictly formal as Emily's utterance of the same words. There's a quiet warmth to it.

[Ashley] The truth is that no matter how much a person pretends not to need other people, it's always nice to be warmly greeted when you come home after being away. Emily is the first person she's seen after coming back from Boston, and while that smile likely doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Ashley has been away for a week and a half, it's still nice to see.

Ashley's dress is a bit less proper than either that of the Singer-to-be or this man who has some relation to her. If that causes her any discomfort, it doesn't really show. She's dressed in a pair of jeans and flip-flops and a (slightly rumpled) dark green shirt advertising a Boston pub - just one of the many Irish pubs that can be found there, particularly on the south side of the city. (Her mother was from there. For all Emily's been concerned with origins Ashley's spoken very little of her own - but she wears it comfortably. Isn't seeking it the way the younger woman is.)

There's also this: there's a flash of discomfort across Ashley's face when Emily gives her name to Gregory, because Ashley's own mother did not know the name of her Awakened self. But then again, many of her colleagues are not aware that Ashley McGowen is her Craft Name, not her given name. That's the disadvantage of choosing something that is intended to rebel against the pompous, overwrought (highly traditional) Names of others. Not that Ashley's isn't as full of portent. It's just intended to modernize.

But she shrugs this aside, because it's few Sleepers, after all, who are introduced to her this way, and they've all been related or close to close friends. Gregory is offered a slender hand in greeting. "Good to meet you, Greg," she says, and for once there's a little friendliness in her voice, because it is good to meet an old friend of Emily's. A beat, and she glances toward Emily. "I am really hungry," she concedes. "I haven't eaten since I ate in the airport in Boston last night."

[Emily] Emily is not aware that Ashley has multiple names for her different social connections. Perhaps she should be, given the background Emily holds. But Emily is Emily, however the pronunciation or stressed syllables change as she travels the world. Her name is the same here as it is at home. It has been the same since she was born. There is no distinction between that life and this one, beyond the physical locations that separate them.

Greg shakes Ashley's hand, and he's quick enough to pick up on the subtle cues. He does not kiss it, as he had Riley's. This is a different friendship of Emily's and Ashley, for all that she is welcomed in warmly, strikes him as potently different.

"Emily has been cooking for an army," Gregory assures Ashley, while Emily makes a pinched expression of displeasure over airport food.

"Your last meal was at the airport? I'll put the kettle on," she says, as if good tea might scrub the memory of cardboard to go boxes (and their equally tasteless innards) from everyone's memory.

The gathering segues neatly into the most lived in space of Emily's flat, the kitchen. Greg lingers just outside, leans a little against the counter that separates her dining and kitchen spaces. Emily presents Ashley with the parade of leftover choices: home-made hot & sour soup and tofu with a spicy pepper sauce, a braised pork dish with a rich tomato-vegetable sauce, green beans with lemon and garlic. There's a fresh salad and a fruit-based dessert to turn whatever entree-cast-off she chooses into a meal.

There is no microwave at Emily's flat, but reheating is an art she's managed by stove and by oven. It won't take long for Ashley's dinner to take shape.

"How was Boston?" Emily asks, as they're sorting out meal plans. "And do you have any pictures?" Gregory adds. "I've heard it's a beautiful city. A lot of history."

There is a little look between near-siblings, here. Something akin to a playful nudge and a muted rebuke. It is a jab, no doubt, this comment about History, as much as it is honest inquiry.

[Ashley] An intent look toward Gregory reveals that Emily's old friend is not Awakened, and Ashley suspected as much. Emily, after all, is not too long Awakened herself, and while the trait does tend to run in families, it's still rare. Before her father, Ashley is unaware of any other Awakened family members she has herself; then again, she has had little contact with much of her extended family for...a long time.

Emily offers to put a kettle on and the Hermetic brightens at this, leans on the counter the way Greg does, though she gives the unfamiliar man his space. She asks for a little of everything, the way one might expect of Ashley. And, also the way one might expect of Ashley, her definition of 'a little' is a little different than most people's. But she likes everything, and Emily is a good cook.

"I have a lot of pictures of Boston," she says, "but none that I took while I was there this week. I lived there for almost ten years."

Given the nudging that goes on between Emily and Greg, she has perhaps just volunteered herself to regale them with some of the city's history, but she doesn't notice. She's too intent on the idea of dinner.

[Emily] If Gregory notices how Emily's little for Ashley differs from her little for everyone else, it's possible that he thinks it somehow apt. There is a Hunger about Ashley that even the unfamiliar man can feel. It skims along his skin, gently narrows his eyes toward watchfulness. He is mindful of how this petite but somehow forceful woman interacts with Emily, he borrows cues from the Chorister-to-be but is a bit more reticent, quiet, than he might otherwise be.

"Are you from Boston, then?" he asks, as Emily fills the kettle and sets it on the stove. "Emmy, love, is anyone you know actually from Chicago?"

She thinks about it for a moment, not longer, and then shrugs. The corners of her mouth twitch downward a bit, she looks off to one side. The expression says: Who cares? "The closest is Riley, I think, and she moved here when she was young."

Emily snaps on the burner under the kettle. She's given up scolding Greg when he calls her Emmy or poppet in front of her friends. Drawing attention to it only seems to encourage the behavior. She leans into the corner formed by the lower cabinets and lightly crosses her arms over her stomach.

"This is Greg's first visit to the States. He's very much playing the tourist. He made me eat a chili dog today, just for the experience." Ashley, by now, knows Emily's feelings for hot dogs. That deep, abiding love extends to most things Tex-Mex as well. Chili and hot dogs all in one bite was paramount to physical torture. "I've seen more of Chicago in the last three days than I saw my first year of living here."

[Ashley] "I'm from coastal Connecticut originally," she tells Gregory, "but I moved to Boston when I was twelve." Gregory's other question, whether anyone is actually from Chicago - Ashley finds it odd that Gregory finds it odd. Then again, Ashley has been active in the Awakened community for some time, and they travel a lot; she's also a graduate student, and she is used to the idea that no one is from where they are now.

In fact, the idea of staying in one place for one's entire life puzzles Ashley a little, makes her wonder how they do it. Why they would ever want to, and how life doesn't lead them away.

"Kage is from Chicago, too," she says. "So's Chuck." Though Chuck is from one of the suburbs, she thinks. Maybe Kage is too, initially; still: the Chicago area. She's watching Greg every now and again, because she's curious about this Sleeper friend of Emily's. And she isn't curious about Sleepers very often; usually finds them inconsequential. Still, when Ashley cares, it's always about individuals.

She says to Gregory, "There are good museums, if that's your thing."

[Emily] Ashley finds it odd that Gregory finds it odd, but Gregory has lived in the same house all of his life. It's the house that Emily's grandmother grew up in. It's a house Gregory's father called home for most of his life. It's a place intertwined with their family (families) for generations. It is odd to him, at times, that Emily did not grow up there but still knows it as home. He will be buried, one day, in the small God's Acre on the cathedral grounds, beside his father. He sees nothing strange about living in one city all his life; he has no plans to move either.

"I read about an exhibit here recently. A man lived in the museum for an entire month, in a glass room. As an exhibit. I find that curious, don't you? To become a living installment, and then to just go home when it's over."

When Gregory starts into this, Emily pulls a cannister of tea out of the cupboard. She has heard it before. It didn't interest her the first time, or when Greg asked the Docent about the experiment either. She readies the tea pot. She hands things across the counter to get set on the table.

Now Emily is watching Ashley watch Gregory. She notes the curiosity on the Adept's features. It's just shy of worrisome. The kettle just begins to whistle and she busies herself with pouring the hot water over the leaves, bringing it to the table.

[Ashley] Ashley, too, has heard about this exhibit: she heard about it when it was here, and she heard about it when it was elsewhere. She's heard of similar exhibits that were done elsewhere, in other museums. Ashley likes art, though; she appreciates self-expression. Though, let it be said, that she is rather skeptical of much of the art she happens across. She disdains it when it isn't genuine.

She watches Emily begin to heat the water, eyes the cannister and leans a bit over the counter to see what kind of tea Emily is making for them. She likes most of them: she just likes to see whether it's something she hasn't tried.

"Well, I think that's sort of the point," she says to Greg. "Having the way you live sort of laid out for everyone to see, so that you get used to it. I have to wonder whether he thought it was strange to go back to privacy after it was done." And while she's been eying Greg with a sort of guarded interest, she doesn't seem to be inclined to act on it yet. Or to badger the man into noticing what she is, that she's Different, that so is Emily, in a way that is not the way other people around him may be different.

[Emily] "And here I thought that's what roommates were for," Emily quips lightly as she sets the teapot on the table. Ashley knows by now that there is a strainer built into this pot. That they won't have to worry, much, after loose leaves in their mugs.

The canister she brought down from the cupboard today is a new one, though. It is a dark matte brown, with an orange-paper seal that has been broken just so where the lid lifts off the body. She is careful to put it back just the same way each time, so that label lines up as if it were never maligned. There's ritual to this, however mundane and simple. It's a special tea, unusual in its smoky low-notes. It's something to be sipped, not gulped. If Ashley asks, Emily will say that it's Russian. Gregory will expand on that, saying it's something their father enjoyed.

"People are inherently flexible, though. I imagine it may have seemed odd for the first day, or at moments during the experiment, but that he adapted fairly quickly. It's the sort of thing I wouldn't mind participating in, as an experiment, but could never imagine Emily trying."

Emily? She looked at Gregory like he was patently insane. No, no, the Singer to be would not be living in public spaces with her habits and indiscretions on full display. They were very different people. Emily liked her quiet, her privacy, and when she could have neither she simply did not unfurl so very much.

"I've shared living quarters. Just not with hundreds of different people every day. And not being able to get away from that? No, thank you." She shook her head a bit, poured out tea for the three of them.

[Ashley] Ashley does indeed ask after the odd tea: she hasn't seen it before, hasn't tried it before, and rather likes trying new things when she comes across them. She seems to accept Gregory's answer, though the mention of their father makes the Hermetic's dark eyebrows loft. "Are you guys brother and sister?" she asks, with a look between them. Because Emily did not introduce Gregory as her brother. Half brother, maybe, Ashley thinks, or adoptive: but then, why...?

"He probably did adapt quickly. But you get used to being watched, I think, is part of the point of the experiment," she says. It is Ashley's commentary without providing commentary: this is something the Technocracy has taken advantage of, and Emily knows exactly Ashley's feelings on the organization. She doesn't know that they probably have a file on Ashley at this point, but that isn't difficult to surmise, in all likelihood.

"I wouldn't be comfortable with it either. Living with someone is pretty different from having hundreds of people know really personal details," she says. Then again Ashley, too, is a very private person. Even many of the people who know her best can't say they know a great deal about her, when it comes to some things. With the exception of Kage and now, sometimes, Daiyu, she can be remarkably close-mouthed.

[Emily] Are you guys brother and sister?

"Not exactly," Emily says. She glances at Gregory, then down at her mug of tea. Gregory, for all he's helped this moment come into being, decides now is an excellent time to place his napkin on his lap and see about making himself a salad.

"Gregory's father is, was, my god-father," she explains, catching herself quickly on the tense correction. It's not an easy thing to unwind, the way their lives are intertwined. "Whenever I was home, we were more or less like siblings. Gregory and Cedric have been more my family than my own parents, what with their careers and outreach keeping them so busy, and my grandmother helped raise him."

Emily takes a sip from her tea, and adds, "Had things happened differently, Gregory's father would have been my Praecept, too." The Congregation word is slipped into the conversation, and with its nearly-familiar overtones it does not flag any worry from Gregory.

There is a sadness, though, in both of the young adults sharing the table with Ashley. It's an ache she knows, too. There is a quiet between them that speaks to their shared loss, but they do not linger in it. Gregory touches Emily's leg under the table, Emily glances at him with a small smile. It passes.

"I can't imagine growing accustomed to that level of scrutiny," Emily adds, pulling the conversation away from familial ties and the incidental Chorus vocabulary. "I think we're going down to the shore, tomorrow, though. So we can practice being around throngs of strangers." This is lighter, wry once more.

[Ashley] Gregory's father would have been Emily's Praecept. That makes the Hermetic's eyebrows raise again, and there's a look toward Emily. Inquiring, and when she sees that her suspicions are correct, there's just the slightest of nods. She has to wonder whether this is something Emily knew about before, or just recently learned: the way Emily says was clues her in, even though it isn't easy for her to pick up on that sadness between the other two.

Her grief, after all, is still quite fresh, and it's different. Emily and Gregory seem to have been close to Emily's godfather. Ashley was not at all close to her mother, and while she might claim that it was choice, it wasn't. Not really. Her mother initiated the distance, not the other way around. Therein lies much of what pains her about the entire thing, and it is precisely why it has, and will, go completely unspoken of.

So if the way they share that loss strikes a chord within Ashley, reminds her of her mother, reminds her that there will be no looks of shared understanding between her and anyone else, she doesn't show it. She just watches, with that sort of intent interest, that sort of Hunger, that she often shows, and whatever else lies underneath...well, it's all underneath. Maybe there's nothing there at all.

"Huh," is all she says to this new information. There's a pause in which she rests her elbow on the table, throws a longing glance toward the tea while she's waiting for it to be strained and cooled. Then she says, "Any embarrassing childhood stories?"

[Emily] Ashley asks after embarrassing childhood stories and the corners of Gregory's mouth lift. It's a similar expression to Emily's quietly wry grin, which she is not wearing at present. She is diligently focusing on preparing Ashley's tea in hopes that Greg will politely pass over the question.

Instead, her brother-of-sorts turns a little in his chair so that he faces Ashley more fully. He rests one arm on the back of the chair, and an elbow on the table. This is very conversational, casual; it almost means that Emily cannot immediately scrutinze his expression.

"All manner of them," he tells her, with a mock-thoughtful expression. As if he is paging through volumes of history, to select some favorite story to relate. "Emily was rarely home for very long, when we were young, but it was a bit like having a visiting maelstrom when she was near. She took things apart, or tried to teach herself to cook with whatever was readily on hand -- no recipes, mind -- tried to teach the cat to count in Chinese. What sort of embarrassing story were you looking for? Reciting a psalm while pretending to read from what was actually a primer book about colors? Or that one time in Vienna with the crowned Prince of --"

"We're not telling that story," Emily interjects. She'd weathered the good-natured recounting up until that point. This is not a playful no, really, go on but rather a slightly edgy I think you'd better not. "I had to write a formal apology letter to the Bavarian court. We're not going to bring that up here."

[Ashley] The way Ashley grins when Greg mentions Vienna, the Crowned Prince of - well, that indicates that it is exactly the kind of story she'd been looking for. Ashley was an only child, despite her parents' attempts to have more; one imagines she might have been the worst kind of older sister to have around, based on that pointed smile and the fact that it broadens when Emily makes her protest.

"You had to write a formal apology letter to the Bavarian court? Now you have to tell me." Maybe she has mistaken Emily's real protest for a playful one, maybe she hasn't - maybe she just doesn't care.

It's one part schadenfreude, four parts actual curiosity: Emily, after all, is quite well behaved and rather mature for a twenty one year old, all told. Even if she does have her moments (Riley worries).

[Emily] [Emily: Manip + Expression: We don't need to get into that just now, Gregory.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Emily] [Gregory: WP to resist younger sister type pleas...]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Emily] This cajoling and entreating, it goes both ways. Gregory teases and Emily, like any younger sister anywhere, pleads for mercy the best way she knows how. Through that tone of voice, and that expression of mercy-seeking petulance.

It doesn't work. It rarely works. Every once in a great while she appeals to his common decency and triumphs, but there is nothing harmful in story-telling of this sort, so Gregory smiles at her... and tells Ashley the story.

"Ms. Littleton, here, may have--"

"Allegedly," Emily interjects.

"May have allegedly assisted with planning and executing a party for underage children of Embassy staff and a few international guests, including a member of the Bavarian royal family. Who may have gotten so intoxicated that he kissed, who was in again Emily?"

"I do not recall," she said, her cheeks pinking brightly as she glanced down at the table.

"No matter, there were pictures, of course. And at least one ran in the newspaper."

"It was retracted later."

"How old were you all?" he asks her, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

The answer was a muffled mmm-teen.

"What's the drinking age in Austria again?"

"Beer or hard liquor?" she asks, and it's a little too easy for the well-mannered twenty-one-year old that Ashley knows. It implies that Emily knows very well exactly how many local statutes they were breaking several years ago in Vienna. "Though I doubt that matters. I had to write a formal apology when my father found out. It doesn't do to upset international dignitaries when your father works for the Embassy."

She exhaled, eyes still slightly narrowed at Gregory's shoulder, then sipped at her tea.

"And I didn't plan it, but I was the one who talked us out of most of the trouble with the Polizei that night."

[Ashley] [Don't laugh at your friend. Don't laugh at your friend.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 6 at target 6)

[Ashley] Ashley holds in whatever mockery she may have admirably well. Her eyebrows lift, have that sort of lightness to them that indicates amusement, but she takes her mug of tea and sips at it while she listens to Gregory's story. If Emily had feared being humiliated or laughed at, that, at least, she's spared: though there is a grin playing about one corner of the Hermetic's mouth.

"But you seem so straight-laced and focused now," she says to Emily.

Maybe she just lacks imagination; the worst thing Ashley (Vanessa Novotny) got in trouble for as a teenager were arguments. She stayed late at the library once and forgot to call home and panicked her father. There were no parties, and certainly no kissing Bavarian royalty.

[Emily] Emily had been straight laced, and well mannered. Headstrong, yes. Foolish, at times. Convinced of her immortality and invincibility. And then something had happened on the streets of Prague that shifted her, changed her in ways she couldn't quite express. It worried Gregory, for all he teased her about this now. He shared this story for many reasons, not the least of them being that someone as Hungry, as driven and innately curious as Ashley seemed to be -- someone like that might push a little more soundly at the margins of Emily's careful composure, might help her loose the secrets and demons she carried with her.

He meant well, but Greg did not know all of what had happened all those years ago. He also did not know anything about the past several months in Chicago. So he smiled, warmly and with no little affection as Ashley named her straight-laced and focused.

"I, ah," Emily reaches up to rub at the side of her nose, then her hands went back to holding her mug of tea instead. "I decided to come here for University and set all of that aside. No living all over the world at once, no international fraternity parties, no State dinners or cultural exchanges. I thought it might be good to focus on one thing, for a bit. Sort out of a few things.

"I still go places, I just come back to the same city now. More regularly than I went home to Manchester."

There's a pause here, thoughtful, but the words Emily voices next come out lightly. As if she were trying to paint them as inconsequential.

"I was tired of being that person. After a few years, it's all seems the same."

[Ashley] Ashley knows that Emily has demons she is hiding from. She'd intended to try to pull them forward, rip them out and present them to the girl to deal with; painful, but it should be done. Ashley imagines that she confronts all of her problems head on: she would like her allies to do the same. But she doesn't necessarily connect the two. A lot of people are troubled as teenagers and settle down later, and she is not explicitly sure of when Emily woke on the streets of Prague.

Still, she grins, because that thought hasn't occurred to her, because it's not likely to. That makes this conversation light-hearted teasing, not a slightly amusing side effect of the younger woman's earlier trauma.

"Everyone kind of cools down as they get older, I think," she says. And she's thinking a little of herself here; she never got into trouble, but she is certainly not the utterly defiant, furious, bitter youth that she was during her apprenticeship and when she was an initiate. She no longer goes looking for fights, doesn't flaunt her abilities and her power over others for the sake of doing so. That's all passed.

"Does Owen know about your history with Bavarian royalty?" He'll find out, says the grin.

[Emily] "Ah, no," Emily says, in a manner that implies she does not necessarily wish for him to find out either. Not that it will change anything between them, or the directed mischeif in Ashley's smile. "Owen and I have spoken surprisingly little about my sordid European past."

There's a twist to her mouth, here, that's at once wry and self-protected. It's lightened by the general warmth in her eyes, the fondness than lingers whenever a particular Singer is brought up in safe company.

"I keep hearing this name, Emily, but you haven't told me much about Owen. Perhaps Ashley can help fill in the gaps...?" He raises an eyebrow and tosses the teasing-of-younger-siblings torch toward the Hermetic with a growing smile.

This might be what it would have been like to have siblings, or close cousins, Ashley may think. The cooperative mayhem, the gentle pushing that seems intent on keeping the apple Emily's cheeks a permanently rosy blush. She could imagine that, if these two knew her better, all of this might get turned around on Ashley herself at a moment's notice. For now, though, the Prynne children are doing what they oft did best: drawing someone into the circle of their close, unorthodox family. Welcoming them, cherishing the time they all share together. They call it Fellowship, when they're forced to name it or know it. They're grateful for it when they each lay down to sleep at night.

Greg's foot is kicked under the table.

"All I really know so far is that the man was accosted with a cupcake. That will hardly do, Emily."

"It's enough."

[Ashley] This is much of what she imagines it to be. As a child she used to idealize it, wonder what it would be like had her parents actually managed to have more children; that they did not did bother her, once. In spite of her musical talent (perhaps because of it - most people do not have passions that strong), she was rather lonely, as a child. Longed for that Fellowship and sense of family that she imagined others had, and didn't really find it until she met Bran and Justine.

Now, well. She has to imagine it's possible to have again. Sometimes she thinks she does, even if it's still in its infancy. But she doesn't hope. Conflict between people is natural and those things come and go.

Owen's name is mentioned, and an amused look flickers from Hermetic to Chorister-to-be as she kicks Greg under the table. She lets her mug rest on the table again, fingertips still touching the edge, just curling around one side of it. "I don't know very much about Owen, actually," she tells Greg. "He's very serious and quiet. Good guy, though, from what I've seen."

These, she imagines, are things an older brother would want to know.

[Emily] This closeness has not come without its conflicts and trials. Ashley sees the two of them now, when they are both well. She does not see the rift between them that losing their father had formed. She does not see the many worried nights that Gregory spent sitting on the floor outside of Emily's room in the Manchester House, or on a stiff chair in a hospital room, or on the other end of the phone from across the world. She doesn't know that when they say goodbye, neither know when or if they'll meet again and that finality and mortality anchors even these easier moments.

She's all I have left of family, is what Greg most wants to tell the Singer his sister is so fond of just now, but Owen is not here.

"Serious, and quiet?" These traits are repeated with a measure of surprise and approval. "And discrete, it sounds. If you don't know much either."

Gregory sips from his tea, eyes Emily to see if she'd care to expound.

"It's a start," he tells her. She rolls her eyes a bit, but the smile broadens. If Ashley did not know by now that there was something more going on between the Apprentice and her mentor, it would be painfully obvious now. Even to an Adept who was not specialized in Empathy or Emotion.

"He works at the Church, Gregory," she says, and this means something to her guest. It triggers a little bit more surprise, but that is as carefully guarded as he might keep it. "And he draws. He's very private though, so you'll have to ask yourself, if you happen to meet him while you're here."

She doesn't say that she cares very much for him. Emily does not need to tell either of her guests that aloud for them to know and name it.

[Ashley] Ashley did not realize, up until this point, that there was more going on between Owen and Emily, and it strikes her all of a sudden. Ashley isn't Emily's cabal mate, she isn't a Tradition mate of hers, and truth be told, she doesn't extend the same sort of concern and protectiveness to Emily that she does to many of the other younger mages. Her protectiveness toward Emily, it's usually there but rather nonspecific: it's the same sort of claim she lays to Wharil, to Kage, to Daiyu; the same sort she lays to the City and to her House. Emily is hers. There is no condescension; generally, it's the protectiveness she extends toward her equals.

Because Emily is, really. In courage and Will, at least, if not experience. Not yet.

This, though, concerns her the way it would concern her to hear about any other apprentice being involved with her mentor; it concerns her the way older siblings or parents are worried to hear about someone younger and less experienced doing something risky. And she had suspected Emily's involvement with Jarod (though she hasn't thought too extensively about that, awkward) - which makes it a rather worrisome trend. Owen, she would have thought, would be too responsible to let it happen.

She eyes the Chorister-to-be for a few seconds while Emily tells Greg a little more about Owen. She didn't know Owen was an artist. Other than a brief conversation with him half a year ago and the times she has seen him in action, Ashley knows very little of Owen.

The Hermetic's eyebrows draw together for a few seconds. And she sips her tea. "I think you'll be able to track him down," she tells Gregory.

[Emily] Ashley has good reason to her concern. The worrisome piece is not, perhaps, the one that might come readily to mind. The pattern is not what it seems on the surface. Jarod was not her lover because he was her mentor. He had been the former first, and the latter by extension of some similar protectiveness.

At least she wouldn't be getting hurt on his watch.

And Owen? Emily has always approached that relationship as a friendship, first. A truer friendship than she'd let herself form in many years. There's a warmth between them that is not about magic, in the strictest sense, but has been fostered, nutured, tried and tempered by the Awakened experiences they have shared. When she first met him, Owen was more the guide-light, the lamp-left-on that led her back to the Church and bolstered her tenuous relationship with her faith. She has been something of a homecoming for him, as well; he smiles now, on rare occasion, and it is warm in its own way.

The trend, here, is not about mentors or lovers or even friends. It is brilliance. The girl sharing a meal and opening her home to them is used to being real, tangible, immanent to any given person for very short pieces of time. She's used to being a frame of still film, or a story, or an echo, or a long-forgotten name. She is not used to being captured, caught, kept; she does not linger. So the intensity of the ties she forges does not seem to have consequence.

Emily struggles with permanence and all of its implications. She struggles with people.

Jarod was a bright, searing moment. Owen more a slow, ember-burn. But they're both fire of one sort or another, so when Ashley's gaze lingers overlong on her, Emily bows her head. The blush fades, and she pulls back in on the little cues she was letting show without thinking of them.

"I'll get dessert," she says, softly, and lifts herself out of her chair. The moment is quieter, without either woman having aired the topic directly.

[Emily] [Gregory: Empathy: What just happened here? (Hidden Things)]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1

[Ashley] [Hmmm. Can I put all of this together? Awareness. +2.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Failure at target 8)

[Ashley] Emily excuses herself and gets up, leaving Gregory and Ashley there at the table, and in that moment Ashley knows one thing regardless of how well she empathizes: Emily has some guilt about this. Though perhaps guilt is not the right word. Perhaps she knows that she is doing something risky, and she knows it's something she should be concealing. (Emily hasn't spoken of it, but Ashley does not consider this to be in any way a concealment; she, after all, does not inform others of her personal life, or whether she is seeing someone. This is different. This is done differently.)

She can see this, but as to the greater overarching problem, as to Emily's difficulties with attachment - that she wanders and seeks Home while never quite setting down roots - that is lost on Ashley. Given that Emily has hidden her cues well, given that Ashley's knowledge of such things is far less piecing together observations and more bursts of insight, of intuition, brought on by an action or two and how it strikes her, that is perhaps not so surprising.

Emily won't be able to hide from this topic for long. There's one lingering, considering glance in her direction as she walks back to the kitchen. Ashley ultimately can't figure out how to broach the topic without provoking too many questions from Greg, so it will wait for another time.

"What else has Emily told you about Chicago, Greg?" she asks, turning bright blue eyes in Greg's direction.

[Emily] Gregory watches Emily with a calm countenance. His eyes do not seek to find hers, but take note of the shape of her mouth, the set of her jaw. He notices how she toys with the thin silver chain at her throat, and he can name the history of the bauble she pulls out from under her clothes to wrap long fingers around. She stops just short of pulling its resonance forward, but Gregory knows the feeling it holds for her. He knows the House that once pulsed with the same heartbeat of Home. It is not magic to him, purely sentiment.

Emily is in the kitchen, now, though the counter only separates her from them in distance. It doesn't obscure what flitters across her expression. And there's remorse there, yes, and a resignation that aches. It is not purely happy, this thing between her and her mentor. (Emily had only really named him that when forced into a corner. It had not been the whole of how she'd thought of him.)

A she portions out servings of the cake, custard, and fruit layers, Emily is a bit more particular about how they lay on the plates than is strictly necessary. When she is nervous, these tendencies come forward. She has not been able to stand idle, still, when Owen was here for quite some time. Not at first, or with the new-found uncertainties between them. (Making people happy is important.) Gregory watches her for a moment longer, then belatedly addresses Ashley's question.

"We've talked about the University, Northwestern, and her new program for the fall. And a recent, student government was it, poppet?" Emily glances up at the nickname and frowns in a way that also wrinkles her nose. "Some sort of governance meeting that had her all manner of irritated."

"Ah, no, that wasn't for school. It's an," oh, here she is tricksy with how she words this, but Emily says it so easily that it doesn't even raise eyebrows, "Outreach program I got involved with late last year. They're putting together a Board to recuperate a community center." She smiles, a bit thinly. "I thought it sounded worth the foray into politics if I got to help out."

Gregory chuckles. The idea of Emily weathering any sort of organizational meeting amuses him. It crinkles the corners of his eyes warmly as he glances back at Ashley.

"I'm not so much visiting the city as I am here to see Emily, and the home she's made for herself. This is, point of fact, the first time Ms. Littleton has ever invited me to where she was living at the time. And I rarely get to hear about or meet her friends," there is a smile here for Ashley, for Gregory has noticed that the Adept is a good friend of Emily's, however they might name it. "But Emily was good enough to give me a brief history of the city as she and wikipedia understand it. And scolded me not to pronounce the S in Illinois."

[Ashley] "Ah. I heard about the outreach program, too," Ashley says, with a glance toward the girl. That's, again, contemplative: she hadn't realized that Emily had been irritated by the outcome of the meeting. Ashley herself had been in a rage for several days; the painfully awkward episode where she had to fish a miniscule unicorn out of Kage's pants and promising her violin to Declan (and blowing off steam afterward) helped to push it from her mind before she went to Boston. That's not to say that she's not still angry.

When Greg mentions that Emily has never invited him to a place in which she has lived, Ashley raises her eyebrows and glances toward Emily again. It's brief, that look. Thoughtful. Momentarily distracted by the fruit and custard that Emily is arranging on the plate: she loves fruit. (Then again, Ashley's culinary preferences tend to shift depending on what she happens to be eating at the time. Everything is a favorite.)

"I think Chicago's changed a lot of Emily's perceptions as regards the rest of the world," she says to Greg, "so it's been pretty important to her, in terms of places she's lived, from what I understand." A glance toward the girl, acknowledging, perhaps to involve her in the conversation rather than to talk about her as though she is not here. "The city itself is all right."

[Emily] Ashley glances toward Emily after mention of the Chantry meeting. Emily does not seem outwardly perturbed by it now. She has had quite a bit of time to simmer down. She's passed on information to her cabal and there is nothing, immediately, hanging over her head until the Sentinel posts sentry rotations and she's asked to give up an evening here or there to mind the white picket fence house. So when Ashley catches Emily's eye for a moment, it's as Emily is placing a plate of dessert near her.

"It's been more the people here, a few in particular, and the things have happened here than the city itself," Emily affirms, hanging Gregory his plate and taking her own back to her seat. This is a layered trifle, it's fresh pastry cream a light cake and assorted berries from the farmer's market. Emily had threatened Gregory with a berry fool instead, but ended up making trifle anyway. They both liked it better.

"It's a pleasant enough backdrop, though I'd rather spend my summers elsewhere if I'm going to deal with this heat." This is idle. It pulls the conversation away from those shifted perceptions, but Gregory seems to fall right back toward them when he speaks.

"It's good to see you happy, Emily," is all he says at first. "You've find a nice home for yourself."

[Ashley] Ashley picks up her fork once more once the plate is set in front of her, happily spearing a few chunks of fruit and dredging them in the cream. She transfers them to her mouth and chews while she listens to Greg and Emily.

A furrow forms between the Tytalan's brows as Emily tries to shift the topic to the weather. Whether Emily picked up on her nudging or whether she's just uncomfortable and attempting to divert, Ashley is not sure. But really, the weather? The heat? No. She refuses.

"She's doing well here," Ashley says. "Even though life is kind of fast-paced and she's had a lot to figure out."

[Emily] "Fast paced?" Greg asks, and Emily's mouth happens to be full so she can't evade. "Is it really so much more hectic here than other places you've lived?"

Emily shakes her head No, chews, washes the swallow down with a sip of tea.

"I think Ashley means that it's been a pivotal year -- getting into the graduate program, finding my own flat, I've met a lot of new people, going back to Church. That's a lot on top of school, and work, and some community building."

She glances from Greg to Ashley, as if to say Surely, that's what you meant, right? because Ashley cannot be on the edge of bringing up Fallen Angels, or Fallen Magi, or Madness, or any of the other delightful trials they have shared. Not over dessert.

[Ashley] A glance toward Ashley reveals that she is not too intent on Greg, at the moment: she has no intention of being labeled as Emily's crazy friend who talks about conspiracy theories and Fallen Angels (that would be giving it to him, you see). But she is hinting, nudging. Pushing, however gently. So that perhaps he might see things a little differently, perhaps an idea will take hold. If it were easier for her to be subtle, this would be done far more easily; this sort of conversation is not something Ashley excels in, the dancing around the point.

Perhaps, in her own way, she's evaluating him to see whether he could be helpful, either to her or to Emily. Perhaps she just wants Emily to know that she should be pushing him. Maybe she also doesn't want to see a rift between Emily and her Sleeper family and friends - Awakening them, helping them along, is the surest way to avoid that.

"I mainly meant her studies and the community building she mentioned, yeah," Ashley says. "It's been a little chaotic."

[Emily] There's an odd pause here, where Ashley's desire to push and seek out boundaries runs aground Emily's protective stance about any of them bringing Gregory, unprepared, into this Awakened world. It is hard for her, at times, to imagine Cedric leaving either of them to grow into this alone. She know it isn't what he wanted for her, but she's not ready for Gregory to wake up into his Apprenticeship and suffer the way she's seen people here suffer.

The way she's seen Ashley suffer.

"Do you remember when I was home for Easter?" Emily asks Gregory, just barely gesturing with her fork above her plate. "I told you I'd met some people have philosophical talks with, great thinking of big thoughts talks?" Her smile broadens, as if this had been a thing she enjoyed, not just a requirement of straightening out her Awakening.

Greg nods, but isn't quite sure of where this is heading. "Ashley's one of them, so that may also be a bit of what she's getting at." Oh look, more explaining. All of it leads to somewhere, though, and Emily is arriving at that point soon enough.

"Beyond going back to church," she says, straight-faced, no misleading cues or notions, no, "It's made me think again about joining the Order."

The Order likely means something different to the two people at her table. This piques Gregory's interest, though, and a serious side of it at that.

"Really?" he asks, looking between the two women. "And I have you to thank for this?" he asks Ashley, but not in a way that entirely pulls his attention away from Emily.

[Ashley] About joining the Order, says Emily, and Ashley's brows furrow in confusion for a few seconds as she looks between the girl and her brother. She covers it with another large bite of cake and fruit, trying to figure out whether this is something she's heard about before. Whether Gregory might actually know about the Chorus already and just call it something different. She isn't too familiar with Chorister customs, Ashley.

"I'm not sure what the Order is," she says, "so I can't claim direct responsibility for that. But we've been talking a lot." Her blue eyes meet Greg's brown ones, and temporarily, the plate in front of her is forgotten, the stem of the fork still held lightly between a thumb and two fingers. Rolled between them for a moment, like it were a cigarette or the pommel of a rapier, as she contemplates the new revelation.

A beat, and then she adds, "I'm in a PhD program at Northwestern, for sociology. I sort of breathe talking about useless academic bullshit, but beyond that..." A shrug, and a glance in Emily's direction. It's wondering, and it isn't quite a request; Ashley rarely requests anything.

[Emily] Emily would have happily dragged the moment out a bit longer, if Gregory wasn't so quick to fill in the gaps for Ashley. He did so with a measure of pride, and why not? He was the next in a line of familial members.

"My father was a Knight of Grace in the Venerable Order of St. John of Jerusalem." There were so many syllables. It sounded like a title Basil might run off at a meeting and then imperiously quiz new comers on to see if they'd been paying attention. "Emily's grandmother was a Dame of Justice. I am a member and it seems she's rethought joining, which pleases me to no end."

Emily's smile warmed a bit, but she was still working on her dessert as well.

"Would you ask around and see if I might get sponsorship to the British Priory, once you're home?" Emily asks him. Greg nods.

[Ashley] It's a rather impressive title, and the Hermetic of course is naturally interested in these Names, in what they mean. In the fact that Emily's family has held these titles. They're something other Hermetics announce proudly to each other - maybe not to the outside world, but they confer something, they shroud whoever bears them.

"What does the Order do?" she asks, and it's unclear of whether or not that question is directed to Greg or to Emily. Emily can see the glance that is flicked in her direction afterward, though, that it's questioning. That she's wondering if, perhaps, the girl is from a line of Choristers, or from a line of consors perhaps. That she's wondering if Emily is even aware of any of it.

And when Greg inquires as to her field of study, Ashley says, "I'm a conflict theorist. I study and theorize about the way different memes interact and influence each other, more or less. That's what I'm doing my thesis on, and I'll likely branch out for my dissertation."

[Emily] Their family (families) have held these titles, they have been in service to the Chorus and the Order over many years. But in the UK, titles and heraldry is not as odd as it is here. It has not given them as much pause. If Emily's family was a line of consors, it's not something she has known about.

"The Order of Malta, or of St. John, stretches back as far as the Knights Templar, though we are a less military branch. Also referred to as the Order of St. John of the Ambulance, our primary aims are humanitarian, often medical outreach programs or habitat building."

Gregory gives Ashley a brief overview of the Order, but stops short of teaching her the creed and stations. It does not sound like a branch of the Chorus, but rather a mundane organization. Those do exist, under the mantle of Church authority.

"Conflict theory, eh?" Now he looks over at his sometimes-sister. "Well that explains why you two get on so well." Smile. No, grin.

[Ashley] It does indeed sound like a mundane organization, but that in and of itself is interesting to Ashley, though for different reasons. Sleeper organizations are important, too, and the old traditions they hold over are evidence of how strong those old ideas are. How firmly rooted in Sleeper minds they have become, even if they are less than they were.

She's one of the new guard of the Order of Hermes, the ones who know that an idea can shift and adapt and still be the same idea at the core. They're the ones who laugh at Harry Potter and the kids who wave their wands and dream of doing magic. They're the ones who note little boys and girls dreaming romantic dreams of knighthood and smile smugly to themselves. Some may Awaken. Some will just perpetuate the idea through time.

"That sounds like something you should get in on, Emily," she says, with another look toward the Chorister-to-be, before she resumes eating. When Greg comments on the focus of her studies she just grins. "Well, I think Emily's take on the whole thing is a little less...pragmatic overall than mine, I guess. You can't really study the way human beings interact in groups and take up ideas without getting that way."

[Emily] There is a lot of ceremony, of ritual that goes on in the Order as Emily and Gregory know it. It is more ritualized, in many ways, than most of her Awakened life has been. That will change, sooner than she knows, but it gives her footing for the brave new world she'll be joining.

"It's something I'd like to. Either now, or after I've finished school. I'm old enough to join as a member, rather than a page now." This is a small blessing. She did not want to be someone's apprentice, again, in an organization she has understood since she was a child. "I'm not sure I have the time just now. Not this coming year at least."

It is likely far clearer, to Ashley, how right she had been to point Emily toward the Chorus this past Winter. It was more than a label Emily applied to herself (Catholic, Faithful, Reverent). It reached back into her heritage, it tugged at foundational truths.

Dinner was winding down now, and the fatigue of intercontinental travel was catching up with Gregory. "Anything you study that intently, or focus on that tightly will shift your perspective. Or at least your language. I'm not surprised you view things differently. Emily likes puzzles you can take apart and put back together; it sounds like you enjoy people puzzles. I think I'm closer in line with your interests, but I appreciate the elegance of hers."

At times, it would be nice to have people problems that could be neatly dissected, repaired and remedied. Emily notes the fatigue in her guest, though, and starts stacking the empty plates to move them to the kitchen. This is done quietly, without fuss.

"I'm still a bit jet-lagged," he admits. "Would either of you mind if I turn in early this evening?"

[Ashley] Ashley raises her eyebrows at this observation, that she enjoys people puzzles. Ashley doesn't think of herself as much of a people person, really, doesn't think of herself as someone who takes much of an interest in other people, as someone who analyzes them and tries to figure out what drives them. She turns over those words for a second before she says, "I'm interested in puzzles, period. I'm interested in the interaction of ideas and concepts, more than I am people. People just happen to embody those things."

She sees each person, each Mind, as a Will. People do not play overmuch into how she sees things, not as individuals.

Greg looks tired, though, and so while Ashley would ordinarily be happy to engage him and talk and figure out what he thinks, she half-relents, allowing the man to get up without further words. She has things to discuss with Emily, anyway. Offering her plate, she takes a sip of her tea and says, "I don't mind." Beat. "You want help with the dishes, Em?"

[Emily] For Gregory, anything that is borne of the interaction between people is ultimately of people. He is a humanitarian, and that's the mindset he grew up with. They could likely debate the matter, where he not politely keeping back a yawn. He tells Ashley that is has been a pleasure to meet her, and that he'll be in town for the rest of the week if she'd like to stop by again. Gregory wraps an arm around Emily's shoulders and kisses the top of her head before heading off to her room.

Emily is sleeping on the couch this week. Thankfully it is a comfortable hand-me-down.

"I would love help with the dishes," Emily says, even though the usual reply is she'll manage, why thank you. It's possible that Ashley has something she wanted to discuss. Emily had also learned that the Hermetic extended and accepted help on her own times. Occasionally it was important to accept it from Ashley, that Ashley may one day accept it in return. "And you're taking some of the leftovers home, right?"

She starts bringing things into the kitchen to wash up, but Emily glances over at the now-closed room to her bedroom at least twice as they start into tidying up.

[Ashley] This: it's just politeness, and an easy way to corner Emily in the kitchen. She does indeed extend her help on her own terms; Ashley offers help when she wants to offer help, when she feels like it and the impulse strikes her or when it seems smart to offer help, not out of obligation or a sense of duty. It is always important to the Hermetic to avoid feeling as though she is bound, as though her Will is fettered.

Return politeness? She'd certainly accept that. Help with anything that might feel like it's too much for her to bear on her own, probably not.

She helps Emily take everything to the kitchen, setting the small pile near the sink so that they can be washed, scraping them first: most small apartments do not have disposals. "I'll take some leftovers, sure," she agrees, almost brightly. Emily's a good cook, after all.

And, well, Ashley does have something to talk about, and it doesn't take long. "Tell me about you and Owen."

[Emily] Emily can appreciate that need to be unfettered. She will not be caught; she will not be kept. It's more than a fiercely independent streak that keeps the Orphan girl from setting down too many roots, or accepting too many people's ties to her. And this thing that Ashley is asking after, it too must be kept unfettered, uncluttered up with too many words or explanation.

"What part of it?" Emily asks, as if this were somehow easy for her, but there is an edge of concern in her voice. Of fondness, too. It's hard to hide entirely what she feels for the Singer, but there is a deep trepidation there as well. It is simple enough to not make eye contact, just now, while they are working side by side. It means she does not have to try openly to evade Ashley.

[Ashley] Emily can speak with her sidelong, without looking at her, without being bored into by a pair of bright blue eyes across the table or in a chair or in her living room. This is a far more comfortable way to talk about something that is patently uncomfortable - even if it's just the half-conscious knowledge that looking into someone's eyes is a way to read thoughts, and perhaps she's safe from Ashley this way.

"You know," Ashley says, almost reproving. But then she clarifies. Pauses, and says, "Look, Emily, I don't really care who you're involved with. Most of the time. But when it's your mentor it causes problems."

It probably wouldn't surprise anyone to hear Ashley address this so directly, but given that she often pulls back, has a tendency to let others make their own mistakes, that she brings it up at all might be unexpected.

[Emily] It is perhaps not as unexpected as Ashley thinks. Emily doesn't start, or seem surprised. She doesn't even look particularly chagrined. She finishes washing whatever she's holding, and then turns off the tap. She wipes her hands on a plain cotton towel.

"What sort of problems?" she asks. Which is, in itself, not a denial or a rebuke. It's a calm question, level and a bit canted toward sadness. "Different ones than if it were a cabalmate, or a Tradition mate, or a Council member, or an Executive of the Chantry, or a Sleeper?"

She's not arguing. This is just a query. She's trying to place the conversation in some inward scale of ill-advisement and actual rebuke.

[Ashley] It doesn't seem to be a rebuke. Not yet. All this seems to be just now is concerned, which is perhaps evidenced by the fact that Ashley doesn't raise her voice. She, too, wipes her hands, places the last of them there to dry. This isn't aggression, isn't a violation, isn't an edict being handed down to Emily, an order to cease what she's doing and take a step back.

And then the Hermetic folds her arms, leans back on the counter and regards the younger woman. But she seems more certain now: even up until a few seconds ago she hadn't been entirely sure her suspicions were correct. "Yeah, different ones," she says. Though perhaps her thoughts stray to Bran for a few seconds. Perhaps they stray to Daiyu. It's hard to say, and Emily doesn't know much about either of them.

"You rely on a mentor to teach you, which means that they have to do things that being in a relationship means they can't do sometimes. They have to be your mentor first." There's a pause. "A mentor is...they have Will over you and help shape you in a way that no one else does, which is what makes it different from someone else. It can't be a relationship of equals, because of the terms you're on - or should be on. Which happens often. It just isn't desirable."

[Emily] Emily's teeth catch her lower lip for a moment, draw it into her mouth just slightly. Her eyes close, lashes brush against her cheek, chin dips: repose. Thoughtful. There is still an inherent grace to her, quiet and diminished even now, hushed.

"Owen has never been that to me," she says, softly. "He has not held Will or Dominion over me. He has let me struggle with the things that kept me from coming back to my Faith, and he has given me support and acceptance when I tried to find my path. We've talked, more than anything, but it has always felt, to me, that there was some measure of reciprocity. Perhaps not equality, but it was not a one-way street."

She doesn't look at Ashley when she talks. She picks some place between them to let her focus rest instead.

"I don't form attachments easily, Ashley. Not the type that I have with Gregory, friendships that endure across decades and continents and a rash of really poor decisions on my part. I haven't felt kinship like this, outside of the small misfit family we built to overcome the oddity of my life, the sadness in Gregory's.

"I've found something similar in Owen. Even before everything with Edom, there was something about him that I felt like I could trust -- maybe because he has been through dark times or struggled with his faith, I don't know. I didn't think too hard on it then, because I didn't imagine I would stay long enough to reach this point."

Her forehead creases a little. All of this is rambling and indirect, she needed to bring it back together, somehow.

"I mean to say that the most precious this Owen has been to me has not been someone to mould or shape or hone me, but a friend who has let me grow to trust him and care about him in my own time. If he leaves, tomorrow, or I go, or something happens," this is always a possibility in Emily's life (nothing stays [no permanence]), "It isn't firm guidance that I will miss most. And I don't think it's possible to set the feelings we have for one another side. Even if we chose not to acknowledge them, they will influence how we act in other ways."

[Ashley] "If you do what he tells you to do, and trust his teaching and guidance, he does have Will over you," she tells Emily, "but that's beside the point." This was not the sort of relationship Ashley had with her mentor, in the slightest. Victoria Kurtz has been dead for six years, and Ashley still feels a flare of hatred - not just anger, but hatred - deep in her guts when the name surfaces.

Still. It is not the type of relationship she has with Morgan, either, and that is considerably less adversarial than her interactions with her own mentor long ago. It took her time to realize that Will was not just about brute force, not just about terrifying one's opponents and overawing one's allies, but she has. She doesn't always employ other methods, but she has.

The rest: if it stirs any sympathy in Ashley, it doesn't show. She frowns at Emily for a few moments and then she says, "If that's all true, Em, then you need to get a new mentor. If you don't think you can set aside your feelings for Owen then your dependency on him as your teacher needs to be redirected. Don't deny yourself, but don't let this hold you back, either."

[Emily] Don't let this hold you back, either.

There's a flicker of something sharper that crosses Emily's expression for a moment before it is yoked, pulled down, tamped. She nods a little, and then says: "I'll talk to him about it. It may be for the best."

It's neither an agreement or a refusal, just the promise that the topic would be opened and aired. Not even soon, but at some point. She is aware of it, at the very least.

There is part of Emily that wants to tell Ashley she'll be fine, and this search for a mentor task may be over-rated after all. These thoughts do not get voiced, for they are from a headstrong and somewhat wounded place. Giving breath to them would be folly, at best. She goes back to rinsing the last of the dishes, stacking them to dry. It is quiet for a little bit in her kitchen, but it is not the comfortable, companionable quiet of this working same scullery with Owen.

[Ashley] It illustrates one of the differences between Ashley and other people: she is far more ambitious than many of the others in Chicago. Positioning herself above others, feeling stronger than the rest of them, is important to her. She does form bonds with other people, values them, but her affection for them does not play into how she views her own strength in the slightest.

Her affection for other people has been a liability for her, in the past. She left that cabal. She's grown since then.

That's how Ashley sees it. The reality is never quite as simple, but it isn't a lie, either. She stares back at Emily for a few seconds as though daring Emily to argue with her - as though she wants Emily to challenge her, even. But Emily doesn't, and perhaps Ashley sees this as giving in. She says, "Good. I think it will be for the best."

And when that silence becomes much less companionable, becomes tense, Ashley too sinks into an uneasy quiet, sensing its disruption.

[Emily] They work in very different ways, Ashley and Emily. Perhaps that's why one is an Adept and one only an Apprentice. There are other comparisons to make, and Emily shuffles through a few of them in her head before sighing, not entirely softly.

"I don't mean this to sound rude, or particularly ungrateful," Emily says, and it's clearly the lead in to a but. This may be the argument that Ashley was looking after. "But Owen and I will decide what's best for the two of us here. And I'll let him know your concerns, and I will take them seriously, but I can't promise you that I will change teachers or that he and I will part in other ways."

There's a little pause here. She's managed to keep this matter of fact, despite how defensive (protective) she feels about her relationship with the Singer.

"I just, didn't want you to think that I agreed, full stop, when I'm more agreeing to look into it." This, this is a tender thing that Ashley has stirred up, and while she can be polite or professional about it, Emily is also quiet trepidatious of the whole thing. It is a lot like being caught (kept) in some ways. She doesn't mind that until it's all set down in words, pointed out, pushed at, challenged. Then it makes her uneasy.

"It's not something that holds me back, either. It's something that's forcing me to grow and I don't always like it, and it's not terribly comfortable, but I think it's a good thing."

She thinks. She doesn't know.

[Ashley] "I'm not a Singer," Ashley says, with a sidelong look toward Emily, "or I would force you to seek out another mentor." There's an undertone of iron, there. She's well aware that Emily just very politely told her to go mind her own fucking business, and Emily is right to; this is not her Tradition. Her counsel here can be that of an Adept, that of a friend, but she has no real authority.

She isn't bothering to be as polite, but her voice hasn't risen either. There's no anger here, it's simple Will. Theoretically she could ignore those Tradition boundaries, could tell Emily what to do as a ranking Tradition member. Perhaps it says something that she doesn't. But she does add, "If you don't address this yourself, Emily, I'll speak with Solomon."

She doesn't want to have to do that. She still would.

There's a pause and then she adds, "People other than your mentor can help you grow. Any relationship is going to be beneficial to you. But your mentor is your mentor in an official capacity, and the role is different. Just because Owen is helping you push yourself doesn't make him the right mentor for you."

[Emily] There is iron in Ashley's voice, and it captures an odd undernote in Emily's interest. She does not seem put off by it, not does she shy away from this very polite disagreement in the kitchen. It's mild enough that the guest in her bedroom is not coming out to see what the matter is. Perhaps it's circumstance, more than anything, that is keeping them to more civil terms.

It's also years upon years of training in the younger mage. The corners of Emily's mouth twitch, faintly. Upward, indicating the shadow of a smile. There's no irritation or concern in her features.

I'm not a Singer, Ashley says.

"Neither am I," Emily reminds her, evenly. She has not yet been inducted. She still stands apart from her Mentor, since they are naming him that for this conversation. "But should you wish to bring it up with the Chorus, last I saw them both in the same room, Solomon deferred to Owen on matters of the Tradition."

Her arms cross lightly over her middle. There's no tension to it, for all that Ashley is challenged. (For all that Emily feels challenged and uncertain.)

"Unless you simply wish to speak with another Tradition member. Then you might also seek out James. Whichever is easiest."

She's not calling Ashley's bluff, because she doesn't believe Ashley is bluffing. Emily simply refuses to show overt agitation, here, now, on this topic, in her own home. It is not iron, but Emily is her own form of unrelenting.

[Ashley] "Solomon, as a disciple, would be the ranking member. So I would bring it to him," Ashley says, with a frown at the girl. She's unaware of the particulars of the Tradition, whether Solomon deferred to Owen or what that means. She knows that Solomon is a Templar, or wears the markings of a Templar; she is well aware that he is an errant knight in a Tradition steadily becoming more and more modern. More and more accepting of other ways, of a One. She doesn't know how that affects how the Chorus sees him.

There is tension in Ashley, and it's growing - and it's because she's trying to keep some semblance of self control while she is arguing with a friend. This disagreement has the potential to be anything but polite. She's struggling to keep a hold of her temper, of her Hunger, of her need to rush ahead and batter Emily into agreeing with her.

"Attend to it yourself, or I will speak with someone...whether the appropriate person ends up being Solomon or James or someone else. As an Emissary you can't be improperly trained, and as my friend I'm not going to watch it happen."

[Emily] Yes, Solomon, as a Disciple, would be the ranking member of the Tradition. That would make more sense than what Emily had seen transpire in the Chantry when the two first met. There had been kneeling and ritual words and reciting of cities and titles and what not. All in the language of the Congregation, which Emily was only just beginning to grasp. Perhaps things had changed. Perhaps not.

Either way, Ashley was still threatening to take her personal life -- something fragile and tenuous at best -- and air it with relative strangers. Because of an educational or ideological principle.

"You have firmly impressed upon me how seriously you take this, Ashley," Emily says. She does not say the Adept is right, but she does recognize and name the gravity of this conversation. It may not be what Ashley wants, but it is something. (We don't always get what we want. [No matter the Hunger.])

"But you've also left very little margin for self-determination here. If I do not elect to take a new teacher, you will force the issue and have it publically discussed within Owen's Tradition, what may one day become mine. If Will is so foundational to your Tradition, why are you so quick to threaten to usurp mine? Or his?"

It may sound more pointed than she means it to be, but Emily is just pushing back against the intensity Ashley could put forward. The Apprentice does not wilt under it, but it roughens some edges. The Adept pushes buttons.

"Of all the reasons you've given, the last -- that you are my friend and concerned -- carries more weight than any other. Not the threats to take this over my head and embarrass or chastise me or Owen in front of peers or Elders."

[Ashley] "As my friend, and as an ally of mine, I want you to be strong Willed and I foster that," Ashley says, "but I won't hold it above mine." What she means is: others are here to do her Will. What she means is that if she and Emily Will differently, she most certainly will usurp whatever she can, do whatever she must in order to push ahead. Friends are friends - but when it comes to opposition, they're just another mind running up against hers.

It's a side of Ashley a lot of people see right from the beginning. For some, it takes longer. It never sits well with anyone who sees it, the realization that she might throw a friendship away if she got too Hungry, if there was something to be dominated, that other people are all right as long as they don't stand against her.

"Your decision has the potential to impact more things than just the two of you. Otherwise it would be up to you."

[Emily] So they have reached a new understanding betwixt them, this clear statement of Ashley's Will and its limitations. What her Hunger might mean in the wrong moments, or in the right ones. Emily is quiet for a long moment, considering, weighing, before she answers.

"As does yours," is all she says. It is quiet, somewhat saddened. Emily does not elaborate upon why.

Now she pulls a container from her lower cupboard, something for Ashley to take leftovers home in. After such friction, it is natural to choose the most worn container, the thing she'd never want to see back. It forges no unnecessary ties.

Emily instead takes her favorite one out. The one she reaches for when it's time to pack a lunch for the lab. With the nicest seal. That doesn't let marinara sauce spill inside her messenger bag. Even angry with Ashley, or hurt and a bit disappointed, she places generous portions of her leftovers into the container, sections them off carefully with folded foils so they won't intermingle too much.

Ashley might throw a friendship away because it got in the way of other aims. Emily had walked away from friends and lovers simply because it was time to go. She would walk away from Ashley if the right phone call came through today, or tomorrow, or next year. There was one person in the City that leaving behind gave her pause for thought, tugged at heartstrings. He was not here to defend himself tonight.

She hands Ashley two containers. One with dessert and the other with the assorted leftovers.

"Here. This should keep you busy for a bit," she says. There's no rancor in her tone, but their previous discussion is over as far as the Orphan girl (Singer? [we'll see]) is concerned. "I know Greg enjoyed meeting you. Feel free to drop by again while he's here if you like."

It's polite. Urbane. Just this shy of actually friendly. The space between them is worn, just now. Emily is saying, without telling Ashley, that it is time to go.

[Ashley] By tomorrow, Ashley will have forgotten about this. She isn't hurt, she's just been challenged: and if Emily expresses any hurt she'll be a little oblivious as to why. If Emily holds a grudge, she'll also be oblivious as to why. She sometimes forgets that other people aren't the way she is, wouldn't do the same things she would do. Her own behavior is the only frame of reference she has.

And really, she has as many problems with the idea of permanency as Emily does. It's hard to sustain the idea that conflict drives people and pushes people forward, will ultimately push her Will forward, while clinging to the idea that she'll be able to keep people she cares about around forever. She knows: eventually things will come to a head and one of them will push and one of them will walk away. That's the way of things.

She is willing to let the discussion end there, though. She has nothing left to say to Emily on the matter; she's willing to step back and see whether Emily sorts it out herself. She's willing to see whether Emily makes the smart decision.

She takes the container and, as she does, is suddenly again rather acutely aware of the way that camaraderie has been ground down, is dust, at least for today. "Thanks," she says to Emily, and that too is shy of actually friendly. She still has steam to blow off, and there's that rising uncertainty now that she's beating back. Beats back long enough to go and put her shoes on without letting it leak through.

"I'll see you. If Greg leaves before I stop by again tell him 'bye for me."

At which point the diminutive Hermetic scoots out the door, calling for Home.