Visiting Molly

[Molly Quincannon] Emily is used to this, having seen Molly move in - in fact, having met Molly on move-in day - but it comes as a bit of a surprise to some that when told "We're going to Molly's place," they end up pulling into the minuscule paved parking area of a defunct-looking automotive repair garage. It does, however, have a front door and windows that ought to be on a house. And a doorbell. Which plays a cheerful little tune when pressed.

[Emily Littleton] It's hot, it's humid, it smells like rain. These are the three truths that Emily has sorted about the Chicago summer. It will be hot; it will be humid; it will smell like rain, even where there's no cloudbreak in sight.

It's been a few days since Isabel showed up on Emily's doorstep. Just a few less since a couch appeared in the Apprentice's nigh-empty flat. These days have been hot, humid, and have smelled like rain. When Emily rings Isabel, it's early afternoon. It's a Hi, and how are you doing phone call that segues into an invitation to join her on a trip out to see Molly, whom Isabel can assume is another member of the magely community.

Emily's car goes, most of the time. It is an unremarkable mid-90s compact. It is clean enough and efficient enough. Isabel might be getting the idea that her friend's life is about sufficiency, not surplus.

They pull up in the parking lot of a defunct auto shop in an interesting part of town. It's a potentially unsafe neighborhood; not the sort of place either Orphan girl might find themselves living. It's not the sort of place they should even wander unescorted (which means it's precisely the sort of place Emily finds herself more often than not).

Stepping out of the car, the dark-haired girl stops long enough to sling her messenger bag's strap over her head, to collect a plastic food container and a small brown-paper gift back with a chocolate-colored bow.

"She's in here," Emily tells Isabel, with a nod of her head at the Auto Shop's entry. There's a slight smirk to her smile to, which is all around warmer today. It's almost playfully bright. And then they're off, to ring the bell, to linger at the front door as if this were a perfectly reasonable house call to make.

[Isabel Burrows] Isabel responded to Emily's request to go visit someone named Molly with excitement. Frankly, she had no other plans and no other good reason to leave the house. God forbid she ever got a job - even though the boredom lately had caused her to consider it.

The young woman paused at Emily's car door and she looked down at the seat, making sure it was clean enough as not to ruin her outfit before she seated herself. She was satisifed that it wasn't going to infect her dress with goo.. and other than the intial quizzical look to the car - she didn't comment further, and in fact didn't seem to mind.

Upon arrival, the similiarly dark haired young woman peered out the window and almost wrinkled her nose at the thought. "She lives here?" Isabel asked even as she climbed out of the car.

A slender and well manicured hand brushed the wrinkles from sitting out of her skirt. The young woman wore a clearly very expensive sundress in bright shades of red and pink. Her heels, matched the red shade and she wore a simple strand of pearls. One might think she was going to a formal garden party.. and not the nasty side of Chicago to visit an auto-repair-shop turned home.

Idly, she wondered if this Molly used the car lifts as sofas..

[Molly Quincannon] The doorbell is pressed. The cheerful little tune is played. And when Molly (all emo-girl glasses and raggedy hair and black jeans and Darth Vader slippers and T-shirt that says "PEBKAC" and impish smile) opens the door, her first words are to Emily, and they are not 'hello', but...

"Do you still need a sofa? Also, hi, come in, who's your friend? Sorry; hi. Molly. Pleased to meet you. What's your name and, more importantly, what would you like to drink? I've got Jolt, Mountain Dew, apple juice, orange soda and three different kinds of beer."

Through the front door is the old customer service area, and it's been turned into a fairly homey sort of place. There are posters everywhere. There are beanbags, a ratty armchair and a red poofy loveseat in front of the customer service desk. On the customer service desk are six computers, and there are three desk chairs - two lovely ornate brass and red velvet things and a grubby black thing that was evidently rescued from a dumpster. There are silk scarves on the ceiling to hide the barren look it must have. It looks ... almost like a living room.

[Emily Littleton] Emily is the midpoint between Molly (geek chic) and Isabel (perfectly proper). She's wearing a short sleeved white button up and a navy skirt (it's jersey material, soft and flexible). She manages to look passably feminine, without delving into the girly realm. The contents of her messenger bag help her firmly retain her geek status. It's a thin line, but someone has to toe it.

She lives here? Isabel asks, and Emily tosses her an ever-broadening grin. That's firmly a yes. But before Emily can answer, Molly's pulled open the door and started jabbering. Em's smile never flags.

"No, actually. Also, hi. Her name's Isabel. I'd love some juice. I brought you cake, as promised, and a flat-warming present," Emily takes the influx of questions in stride, hammers out a neat list of answers, as if this is everyday business, and hands over the promised cake (vanilla genoise with chocolate ganache frosting) and present. Exchange of information and gifts. How very efficient!

Then they're moving into the place, and Emily tosses Isabel a side-long look. It's meant to be reassuring. It might just bother the other girl more.

"Isabel's new to town. We met, years ago, in Vienna." She says this, so hum-drum, very blase, as if everyone has friends from years ago from far flung places. "She's recently opened her eyes, too, so go gently." A smile, for Molly, who will understand the double-speak here and it's caution (but lack of condescension).

"Isa, Molly and I met a couple weeks ago. We have some good mutual friends, too." So delicate, this, the lack of specificity and yet how easy Emily made it sound. "How have you been?" this bit is for Molly, of course.

[Isabel Burrows] The figure at the door.. is an interesting one at least. The clearly naive rich girl standing outside of her 'home' offered her a polite smile, a quick once over and then a peer around her into the room behind her. She probably just wanted to make sure she wasn't going to get any oil stains on her shoes, or clothing. She seemed a little relieved once she realized the place was mostly like a living room.

"Hello, Molly." The young woman's accent was clear: She was quite British - though not harsh enough to be unintelligeable. "Yes.. Isabel Burrows. It's a pleasure to meet you." She offered out a hand - and would wait just a moment to see if the one with the Darth Vader slippers would take it. If not, she'd take it back without a word about it.

... those.. were interesting drink options. But - remember Isabel, no being a snot today! So.. she merely smiled again. "Mountain Dew? Please.."

She followed Emily into what she called a 'flat'.. and suddenly felt like she should have brought a gift. Had she only known!

[Molly Quincannon] "Oh, good," is Molly's response to Emily in regards to the bit about the sofa. "Because I've got one for you. Sofa, that is, not housewarming gift. Three-piece set, actually - black leather thing. Seems comfy, but I haven't really got the room. So take whatever of the pieces you want and I'll see what can be done with the rest. And ooh, cake, thank you! Also you still didn't have to with the housewarming present but I am glad you did."

Then she steps into a tiny room off to the side that ... well, it apparently serves as a kitchen, given that she comes out of it with two cans of Mountain Dew and whatever it is that Emily fancies. ("We also have coffee, if you prefer.") "Good to meet you, Isabel. Mutual friends are good to have, and I'm always happy to have another one. And I've been okay, thanks, Emily. It's been ... busy and hectic and I've been very lucky and even more awesome, and there is no more man-eating garbage, but that's another thing. Sit! Sit! Make yourselves comfortable!"

[Emily Littleton] The housewarming gift, when Molly opens it, is a french press and a pound of appropriate ground dark roast coffee. She'd remembered that Molly had lost her coffee pot to the great U-Haul Heist of 2010, and replaced it with a far more satisfactory methodology. The label may be familiar, now that Molly has found Emily's favorite secret Lake View haunt.

"Man-eating garbage and another thing? My, we live in interesting times..." The Singer-to-be finds herself a place to sit. She's calmer, now, that she's been in a long while. Contented. That warmth and well-being seems to flow from her center. It is self-evident, even in the face of more magely news.

"I'll let you know about the furniture. My flat's filling up at an alarming rate," she teases, gently. There's a nice lilt underlying the words. This is an easy summer Monday.

"Has anyone told you about the Chantry meet?" Emily asks, floating the topic of the Emissary's Council. She doesn't expect Molly's been briefed, but, hey, it's worth bringing up. "We have an attempt at government now," she says, lofting the glass of whatever-juice-Molly-had a little in celebration. It's weary celebration, but hopeful none the less.

[Isabel Burrows] Isa gladly accepted the can of Mountain Dew. Well.. it wasn't wine, or a fine french bottled water - it was a kind offer and she would drink it. The young woman stepped into the room further and glanced towards the couch as it was offered.

And, as long as it looked like it wasn't coated in grime, Isabel would sit - ever so graceful and proper like. She sat straight and with ankles crossed just ever so slightly off to the side. A beat. "No.. man eating garbage?" She asked questioningly in an appropriate pause in the conversation.

Hrm.. 'government, eh?'.. yup, this whole mage thing was turning out to be remarkably like a sorority.. first impressions were true!

[Molly Quincannon] The couch Isabel has to sit on is red poofy microsuede - quite clean and rather comfortable. Molly, for her part, goes for one of the beanbags. "We had an issue with man-eating garbage," says Molly to Isabel - Molly, by virtue of her Trad, does not entirely believe in pulling punches. "Taken care of, though not without some serious work, a lot of mojo and, incidentally, the burns. Oh great Google that stung. But still, worthwhile. Now all we have to do is take care of the Evil Empire and the out-of-state assholes that mean I can't go to the Chantry house without a seriously good cloak anymore, and we're all set!"

Then she hugs the coffee pot and coffee. "Oooooooooh, thank you! I got myself a standby pot but it's good to have a good French press around too. Good for guzzling at the desk during the Marathons. So is it the government thing that has you all of a-glow? 'Cos I'm dying to find out how that went. Don't think Atlas is too happy about it; I think he's got concerns. Or," she adds with a grin, "is it about certain birthday celebrations?"

[Emily Littleton] Molly asks if it's politics that has Emily calmer and centered. That's so laughable that the younger mage actually pulls a sour-lemon face before she catches herself acting half her age and self-corrects.

"Ah, no."

Emily slides her messenger bag's strap over her head, nestles the bag near her feet. She's canted forward a bit in her seat, leans her elbows on her knees while she talks. (It's certainly the birthday that has her aglow; how astute of you, Molly!

"I think that meeting went well enough, all things considered. It's not a perfect solution, but it's a start -- this is what I kept telling myself while me and my excedrin bottle became best of friends."

There's a weakly wry smile, here. For emphasis.

"The basic governance of the Chantry will be by cabal representatives -- Emissaries. They form the guiding council. There are day-to-day executive positions: A Dean for administration, a Sentinel for security, a Librarian to manage the obvious resources. These will act with some autonomy, but ultimately answer to the council. Council meetings will have open door policies to allow all community members to bring issues before the group regardless of whether they're full Chantry members or guests.

"The full members will adopt additional responsibilities for upkeep. I think that's about it. It was a very very long meeting."

Emily sips at her juice. "The celebrations were far more pleasurable," she adds, with a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

[Isabel Burrows] Isabel just sat back quietly on the couch. She knew nothing of what they were talking about and thus couldn't offer any useful contributions to the conversations. That was, until Molly mentioned a birthday celebration, and Emily perked up a little more.

"Happy Belated Birthday, Emily."

[Molly Quincannon] Isabel's wishing Emily a happy belated birthday gets a bite of the lower lip, to keep herself from laughing or indeed giving anything away. If Emily wishes to let Isabel believe that it's her birthday celebrations that have her glowing so, rather than those of a certain Someone ... well, that's for Emily to say.

The rest gets a bit of a frown. "Yeah ... leaving aside some of the issues of cabal-centric government ... why is there no information officer?" Opening her own can of Dew, she goes on to point out, "People are woefully underinformed in this city. We're relying on passing messages with notes on a bulletin board when half the city's mages can't even access the Chantry. I can't go because I'm now officially on that list of people who've interacted with the yahoos, so if I didn't talk to half the planet, I'd miss out on everything. I mean, I'm actually considering setting up a heavily-encrypted live-stream ... I guess radio network sort of thing, so Israel can get the news with everyone else, with a text version for James, probably ... anyway, some kind of newsletter to keep people informed about the bigger things. Grief-mongers. Man-eating garbage. That other mess. Because as it is, we've got people blundering into situations they haven't been briefed on and that gets people hurt."

Then she winces and turns to Isabel. "Sorry. One of my soapbox issues. So what part of Jolly Old are you from?"

[Emily Littleton] "My birthday's in the winter," she said to Isabel, gently, as an aside. "But thank you!" There is warmth for this, nonetheless. She is careful not to specify the date, even the month. Emily doesn't celebrate (much like a certain Chorister)

"This is just a beginning," Emily tells Molly, when the obvious issues are raised. She reaches up to run her fingertips through her hair, lightly lest they get stuck in the gathering up of her curls into a ponytail low at her neck. "There's a lot left to establish, but even this much -- four Emissaries and three Executives -- is almost half the chantry membership. Adding more positions just means more overlap or that every single member has an official position -- which is unwieldy."

She sighs, perhaps more sharply than she means to.

"Believe it or not, this is better than when I woke up. It is progress, however halting and painfully-achieved."

[Isabel Burrows] "Oh.. sorry." She smiled lightly - there was a hint of blush to her cheeks as she said it. Well.. who else would they have been talking about? There were only three of them in the room! Oh well..

Isabel just sat back on the couch and sipped her oh-so-kindly offered drink. She had nothing she could add to this topic, so she'd just listen.

[Molly Quincannon] "At least until there are more Chantry members," is the reply to Emily; it's kindly spoken. "So until that happens, I'll just have to do what I can to make sure people are informed where they need to be. Because ... well, they really do need to be. It's a thing. Sorry to poke at the metaphorical bruise." She raises her can of soft drink in salute.

Then, there's curiosity. "So what happens if, say, a new cabal forms? I mean, do they elect their own rep and send them to you, or what?" There seems to be more Molly wants to ask, but - unusually for the generally straightforward Cultist - she's sort of sidling around those questions, looking for an approach vector.

[Emily Littleton] There is a salute, a shared sensitivity.

"Believe you me, I know. I just... For all that my father is politically inclined, I have no inward desire to sit in a small room and beat ideals about until they're bloodied. I'm also all too aware that each person has their own, very human agendas. I find it frustrating."

Oh well. Emily lets that go. Takes hold of another thought to soothe the ruffled feathers that remain.

"Oh, if another cabal forms, that's easily sorted. Say you formed a group and wanted access? You could let me, or any of the other Emissaries know -- that's me, or Wharil, or Nathan or Israel. We would make sure the others are aware you're cleared for access. The Dean adds you to the list, and you send your Emissary to our fun coffee-and-chit-chat meetings from them on out. You get Node and Library access, too, and the Sentinel will add you to the sentry rotation."

Just like that. Emily spreads her hands a little, to emphasize the point.

"It's not much of a barrier to entry. It's not like anyone asks you for a mission statement, or minutes of your cabal meetings."

[Molly Quincannon] "Well, I actually more have my hopes set on joining an existing crew. People I know I can work with, y'know? At least in some cases," she adds with a bit of a smile. "Others I'm less sure about but I like to stick where I can fit in." Then she shakes her head. "Besides, I ... can't see it, with most of the unaffiliated in Chicago right now. Some of them ... I odn't know if they work well with anyone, much less me. Which ... again, a reason we need an info-share network. Which I guess I can set up, if no one minds it currently not being under any kind of Chantry oversight. Sometimes, like when you're fighting the eeeeeeeeeevil ... information is the only weapon you've got."

[Emily Littleton] Emily nods, but that doesn't give much away. If Molly's fishing for an invite, Cabal 3's Emissary is being tight-lipped about that option.

"That's certainly one way to do it. I know the Guardians have taken on another member since all of this began, and I think the Society may be looking at one or more." Nothing then about the younger two cabals in town. "I think a lot of the city does not want to group up for one reason or another, and while that's their prerogative, it's not something the more established magi will accept readily."

This is said plainly, without rancor or malice. It's an observation, nothing deeper.

"It's times like this that I wish I had Owen's calm, and Israel's experience, and my father's way with bending words," she chuckles, lowly. It's apparent, in some ways, how much younger Emily is than the ambient council age. How new she still is, despite her sheparding Isabel around, cautioningly mentioning how new the other girl is.

"If you want to bring this info-share to the next meeting, I'll be more than happy to let the others know. You're passionate about it, and you seem to have a grasp on what it might entail. Can't hurt to bring it up."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly nods and lets the tight-lipped thing go. She doesn't seem to have been fishing, and it's not a matter she's curious about somehow (small mercies, perhaps). It's the rest that gets her asking questions. "So ... I get that being part of the Chantry as it stands is ... you know, a good thing and everything, and there's limited and structured access to the node and everything. But ... what happens if less altruistically-minded and more ... chaotic ... people find a different node? You know, find another spot and make it theirs. Is there a chance that if that happens, they're going to become a second ... I don't know, point of Awakened politics within the city just because of what they control?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily shrugs a little bit.

"I really don't know enough about all of this to tell you. If there's a second Chantry, with its own resources and its own rules, then I suppose there'd be either competing or collaborative interests. I don't see why it would necessarily be antagonistic or favorable.

"It seems to me that a Chantry is more than just a safe house or a stash of books or even an upwelling. I don't know that it would be enough to find a resource, camp it, and fortify one's interests." It's not StarCraft, she's saying. "It might give them leverage, or autonomy, but I don't see how that would help with any of the worries you've brought up, personally."

[Molly Quincannon] Again, Molly leaves it at a nod, and then looks thoughtful. "I guess I just wonder about it from the point of view of these warring cabals that are springing up," she says, though there's an unspoken among other things in there that she doesn't trouble herself to hide much. "I mean, if one of them has a node, then it's a more worrisome prospect than we thought. I still want to know what those wastes of Tass are up to. I've got ... some information from one of their contacts but I haven't decoded it properly yet. It's been a busy month," she continues, settling back into the ratty chair with a sigh. "I swear I hadn't been here a week before it all went screwy. Is it always like this? Or am I just lucky to have come across every bit of major weird to hit the city this month?"

[Emily Littleton] There's a flicker of concern that disturbs Emily's borrowed calm. It's riddled through with something akin to guilt, or regret.

"I've been largely out of the fray this month," she says, in a tone of voice that suggests she has desperately needed it. That whatever happened, last week, with a particular birthday boy was perhaps far more needed and resonant than Molly may have first assumed. Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, briefly, then lets that hand fall away from her face.

She draws a little breath, sits up more squarely.

"Alright, then. Tell me about these warring cabals?" It's a leading tone, but also a weary one. Emily is acutely interested, but already shedding the threads of comfort and comportment she'd carried in with her.

[Molly Quincannon] "Well, there's a message on the chantry board that suggests that Israel, at least, knows more about it than I do," Molly explains. "You might want to check that and talk to her. I need to talk to her at some point myself about what happened with me and the new guy, Thomas. We were just sitting, he and I, having a drink when in comes this Awakened guy who has that 'woo-woo-don't-remember-me' shtick on full throttle, so all even I have is hazy details and a name. He says he was supposed to meet a contact about some other cabal who killed his cabal and may or may not have given their names to Technocrats. So we decided to try to track down this contact, and I found him pretty easily - behooooold the power of the internet - and it turned out that somebody - presumably from this other cabal - snuck up on him in his home using Correspondence or some equivalent and blew his freakin' head off. There wasn't a resonance I could pick up, but it felt ... wrong, the magic, so I don't even know what was going on there. Anyway, apparently someone also knew that this Jacob guy - hazy woo-woo guy - would be there looking for him somehow, and called the cops. I pulled a Houdini and we got away clean, but ... man, it was a mess." She shakes her head. "For anything else, Israel or maybe Solomon. Whoever that is."

[Emily Littleton] Somewhere in the middle of the monologue, Emily's eyes begin to cross. She sighs. She stands. It's nothing abrupt or rude, just an innate need to be moving. An inability to keep still, just now. She takes a few steps in one direction, then comes back her point of origin: swings like a pendulum, this or that, yes or no, do or don't.

"Solomon is Israel's cabal-mate and close friend," Emily says, filling in that gap easily while she muses over the rest. The Singer-to-be sets down her juice, folds her hands in front of her. Tries to keep still.

"I..." She starts, faulters, begins again. "I don't rightly know what to say to that." Emily's expression is grave, a little pulled. "If Israel knows, the other Emissaries will shortly. I'm sorry, Molly, I know that's not a helpful answer. I'm still wrapping my head around some of the mayhem this Awakened world creates. It's so violent."

The Apprentice frowns.

[Molly Quincannon] That gets a snort. "Oh, tell me about it. I need to learn Spirit magic, once I'm done Mind. For the record? Beating someone unconscious? Not a long-term solution to the problem of possession. We had ... Wharil called them grief-mongers. They got Thomas. He was going to, like, walk into traffic or something, so ... well, I knocked him out. That was less than fun. But that's fixed, at least for now, and also there's the total lack of man-eating garbage now. So at least there's a little less violence?" She shrugs with a sympathetic look. "Sorry to rain on your out-of-the-fray-ness. I mean, from what you were saying about the Edom thing, you earned the rest break. This one, though? This one's probably going to suck us all in, one way or another. Probably best you hear about it in the early stages, so it doesn't blindside you in worse ways later."

[Emily Littleton] "Thomas is one of the warring cabals?" she asks, having gotten a little lost in the influx of new information. Of course he was one of the bad guys if Molly was beating him senseless. "The woo-woo guy?" Emily even waves her fingertips a bit to emphasize the sound effect.

"And don't worry about it. My out-of-the-fray-ness never lasts." A pause. "I do think Solomon's a recognized exorcist. I mean, by the Catholic Church and all of that," she adds, thoughtfullly, as if it's the sort of thing they might talk about every day.

"I do appreicate the head's up, really I do. It just gets a little overwhelming at times, that's all." The girl rolls her shoulders, forces the tension out of her frame. "I just wish it was all shared around a little better. You asked if it's always like this? I woke up last November, just before Thanksgiving break. July was the first real break I had, but only because I stuck my head in the sand, dealt with some new people, and attended the world's longest polite-but-seething meeting of doom. I think the G8 has an easier go of things, than this Emissary council; at least they're not all awake and pushing a handful of agendas each!"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly blinks in ... well, it's not quite astonishment; there's a little more to it than that, but she does laugh. "No! That was an entirely different thing. Just ... my intro to the first Dreamspeaker I've met in Chicago and no Spirit magic used. It was such a clusterfuck. But at least it's over now, so Solomon's talents, however awesome they may be, shouldn't be necessary in the case of griefmongers. Okay. Totally different subject, moving on."

Swig of soda, as if for punctuation. "You remember how I said a few sentences - paragraphs - whatever, ago how we got approached by this guy who ... somehow manages to elude the memory? I've met some people like that but most of them? Most of them I hang onto better. Photographic memory and all. But he had it cranked. So that ... y'know, even I can't remember much more than vague face details and a first name. It's infuriating. And kind of queasy-inducing, because forgetting ... isn't ... a sensation I'm used to."

To the last, more sympathetic smile. "As to the rest of it ... well, if you've only been up for a few months, I guess all I can do is regretfully tell you that it doesn't get easier after nine years. 'Cos that's how long I've been awaken and I've had more clusterfuck this month than I had in the previous nine years." She raises her can in salute. "At least it has compensations, right?"

[Emily Littleton] At least it has its compensations, right?

"Being Awake, or politics?"

Beat. Sigh. "Wait, don't answer that." Smile.

"Wharil's like that, slippery in the mind. The first few times I met him, I only really remembered that I'd met a him. Nothing about him that stuck. I'm not like you, no photographic memory, but I'm bright enough. I don't forget too much either."

She reclaims her juice. Sips at it thoughtfully.

"I think Chicago's harder on people than some other places; at least that's the impression I get. Aside from the constant influx of insanity, how are you settling in? I noticed you and Chuck seemed friendly; he's a good guy."

It's a safer topic, this, and Emily needs a break. She needs to mull over everything Mollly's said, interleave it with what she knows, and figure out what to run up the many flagpoles she answers to these days. It's enough to make a girl long for a leisurely apprentice year somewhere quiet.

[Molly Quincannon] Mention of Chuck? Gets a blush and a bashful, slightly dreamy-eyed smile. It's the sort of expression Emily would give when Owen gets mentioned, were she not so self-contained. "Chuck is awesome." She seems to consider going on from there, but decides against it. Maybe she caught 'friendly ex' vibe and doesn't want to go into it. Maybe she figures Emily would scream and flee at too much detail. Either way. "So are the other people I've been meeting, for the most part. And I saw the Lafette." Bright-eyed glee, there. "They have a robot armadillo! And Atlas gave me desk chairs." She gestures to the brass and velvet chairs behind the customer service counter. "So there have definitely been compensations. Good new friends, and never dull."

Then she looks over at Emily, curious. "What about you? I guess I mean more Awakened Chicago, really. How're you settling into the whole deal?"

[Emily Littleton] Molly may be surprised at the warmth Emily feels toward anyone who makes her 'friendly ex' happy. There's no rancor there, no odd loose ends. In fact, the blush softens Emily's smile and gentles the agitation in her eyes. It is a good thing; a warm thing.

"The Lafette is striking," she concurs, and this thought carries forward the quieter warmth. They're getting back to that centered, happy place Emily had been in when she entered.

"I think I'm doing well enough," Emily says, when that question is turned around her way. "You'd really have to ask someone with some perspective, though, if you want an objective answer. Some things are easier now, and many things are so very much more complicated." There's a knowing little chuckle, and it is not without its edge of ache.

"Can you keep a secret, Molly?" she asks, eyeing the Cultist seriously for a moment. Molly is not known for her ability to keep mum, but Isabel has wandered off and it's just the two of them. Emily needs to tell someone, who is without investment in the whole thing. If she nods, then Emily will share her secret news. It's not so very secret, but for a girl who keeps everything so contained and obscured, it's a precious thing.

"This thing, with Owen? It actually makes me happy." There is a measure of great wonder here. Of quiet awe that calls forward the grace and reverence of her resonance. It is a powerful thing on Emily's lips, if an unassuming quiet one as well. She says it makes her happy, as if she'd forgotten what that might be like.

"I never would have met him, if I hadn't woken up. Nothing would have gotten me to walk into that Church," she knows this, with certainty. "There's compensation, indeed, but most of that in awe and clever little twists of Fate."

[Molly Quincannon] "If I'd wanted an objective answer rather than a subjective one from your point of view," Molly tells her with a bit of a grin, "I'd do a survey. But the happy ... well, that's all the answer I need. It's an important thing, happy. I try to keep mine going and spread it wherever I go. And don't worry," she adds with a chuckle. "That kind of secret, I can keep." It's clear she can, and it's clear she respects the wonder and quiet awe. "That kind of thing is hard to really find, and when you find it ... best to nurture it quietly if that's how it's comfortable growing."

Then she sighs. "Maybe it's just me, I dunno, but ... things seem way easier to me now then they did before I woke up. Well ... okay, not easier, but ... weirdly, more comforable. Like, however insane it gets, this is where I ought to be. What I ought to be. So the complications don't seem as complicated as ... I dunno, high school."

[Emily Littleton] "I don't get a lot of happiness," Emily says, and she says it in a free and easy voice that belittles the seriousness there. It may catch Molly by surprise, because Emily can be the sort of person things seem effortless for. She can be that smiling nonchalant conversationalist that does well enough for herself (but is never truly striking), doesn't quail at new social situations. People always assume that girl is happy, because she's smiling. Emily's smiling now, but it fades a bit as she says, "Neither does Owen."

So then, perhaps, is what they've found in one another. Kinship. Understanding. It's a firm footing for whatever they are building, and those ties already dig deep.

"I feel protective of it," she says, and shakes her head a little because it sounds so foolish to say aloud. "Of him." When Owen can clearly take care of himself. Molly has met him; the man is quite capabale and Emily's ability to protect is a poor shadow of Owen's own.

"I don't know much about high school, but it sounds dreadful by everyone's accounts." Emily's mouth purses with some quiet amusement. "But I think I take your meaning. I am certain, now, in ways, that this is precisely where I belong. Or what I'm meant to be. It's brought me Home."

She sips at her juice again, finishes it. It's a good capstone to that thought. Finality.

"I can pretend that the complications are meaningful," she says, with the implication that sometimes they are no more meaningful than mundane complications. "Even when I can't quite see where I am going."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly has met Owen once. Molly offered Owen a cupcake. Owen had a quiet freak-out and ran. There are many different levels of protection and yes, she can see the appeal. But as to the comment about not getting a lot of happiness? No. It does not surprise Molly at all. That whole thing? About Owen and protectiveness? That gets a smile, and that's all. It's a smile that very much understands but is disinclined to preach. Sometimes, watching someone find a path to what she might refer to as Ananda (because it's not all about the sex, oh no) is a lot more important than blabbing about it.

Instead, after that little smile, she laughs. "You never went to high school? Heh. I don't know whether to pity or envy you. For some people, it's glorious - that whole 'golden years' thing. Mostly the guys who were into sports or the girls who did the cheerleading; the 'popular' kids. But if you don't fit for some reason, high school is a long-running nightmare of bitterness, recriminations and some of the worst mental and emotional abuse you're ever going to see outside a bad marriage. 'Til diploma do you part. But I kind of think you'd have fit in with the quiet intellectual crowd at my old school." Then she blinks. "So ... what did you do instead of high school? Home schooling? Foreign exchange?"

[Emily Littleton] Foreign exchange gets a true chuckle out of Emily, something mirthful and genuine. It's bright enough to touch her eyes, to lift from them some of the veil she uses to separate herself from others.

"Ah, you could say that." The corner of her mouth quirks. This is a moment of Emily, the root of Emily, the essence of her truer self, peeking out. Mirthful and playful; mischevious and warm. "Until I came here, I was on perpetual foreign exchange, really."

Then the inside-joke relents and she lets Molly in on the cause for laughter. "My father's with the Foreign Service. We've traveled my whole life. I've not been on an airplane for all of three months -- no, four," oh, that upsets her. Emily's mouth purses and then relents on that minor scowl. "This is forever to me. I can't even tell you how many countries I've lived in, without looking some of them up. So it was Embassy schools, and private tutors, or small groups, or attempting local schools and failing at the language courses for me. I did my A-levels from abroad, though, and some IB exams when they were available. I almost have an acceptable secondary school course-load, on paper."

"Sometimes I wonder what it might have been like to go to high school, but really I'm rather glad I didn't. I'm getting a taste of it, though, in all this Awakened stuff. People don't just segue neatly off stage after a month or two, and I'm less likely to move a handful of times each year. I'm learning there's some consequence to permanence, but it can be a nice thing, too."

[Molly Quincannon] "Permanence has its distinct advantages. Names, faces, relationships ... that kind of stuff. Homes. I did the wandering thing for awhile; it didn't take." There's weight behind that one; Emily's showing mischief and warmth, but Molly's letting out a glimpse of something nostalgic and painful-tender. "I guess I found I needed a place to put my feet after all. Not just where I lay my laptop, home. But yeah, there's consequences too, and disadvantages. You take the bad with the good. And believe me," she adds, with a bit of a chuckle, "however bad it all seems sometimes, the politics and all? It's still nothing like high school. The only thing more hubris-riddled than someone who can bend reality to their will on occasion? Is a prom queen."

Then she stretches, and grins. "Okay, now I feel old," she says, patently not meaning it. "One day I might show you my old yearbook and feel old and ludicrous. That'd be fun. And you'd see the hair." (The question might be, 'your hair once looked worse?!?' - she does look like she cuts it with hedge clippers.) "But for now, I'll just try to satisfy my curiosity by asking what you're up to for the rest of the day, and if my babbling's keeping you from anything."