[Emily] Emily is fluent in goodbye, with all of its nuances, with all of its finality. She knows the things you don't do, and the things you must. She knows how to bite back tears until it's over. To find a brave face. To weather the sea-change. To solider on. She knows, too, that leaving is the easier role. To pack up and head off for new adventures is easier than being the person left behind. For much of her life, she's been the one going away. This year, it's all been catching up with her in a rush.
Jarod left.
Owen left.
Declan left.
Charlie left.
Daiyu died.
James left.
Alex and Riley left, together, to go happily toward warmer climes.
There are more, but she's not really in the mood to find and name them. Emily has witnessed so many goodbyes that she's starting to go numb (a lie). They've been so tightly packed that she can't tell where one ends and the next begins. The sea of friendship is running to low tide and she's stuck on some damned rock and unable to break free.
She's got a year long lease on a new apartment. She's the Emissary for a dwindling cabal. She has a Catechumenate to finish, and graduate school to begin. It's all so very heavy. The things in her apartment no longer fit into the backseat and trunk of her car. She owns a bedframe, of all the ridiculous symbols of permenance. But build as she might, she can't make the things that feel like Home stay.
She can't keep them from leaving.
And she can't keep them from promising, in stupid, subtle ways, that they might come back. She's thinking of a postcard on a kitchen table elsewhere in Lake View when she calls Ashley and explains she's thinking of going out for a pint. She doesn't say, outright, that she's planning to get pissed. She's not planning on. She's just not planning against it either.
This place on the Mile is Ashley's haunt, and Emily doesn't ask after a dresscode or atmosphere. She takes what she knows of the Hermetic, throws in a nod to the weather, and shows up in a light-weight leather jacket, a thin sweater and jeans. The sweater's an aubergine color, deep enough to bring the blue forward in her eyes as much out of contrast as anything else. She's hale enough now to let her messenger bag's strap hang across her torso again. She doesn't favor any side as she moves. She looks a little tired -- what graduate student doesn't look tired, mid-term -- and hungry -- again, she's just beginning her years-long quest for free food that is not pizza.
"Hey, Ashley," is all the greeting she tosses the Hermetic as she slips the messenger bag's strap over head head with one hand as she slides into a booth, or a chair, or onto a barstool (wherever they may be sitting). It's practiced. Easy. She's a little pulled back, once more. A little more together. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."
[Ashley] Ashley has not been as haunted by the sea of leavings, even though there were others too: Ashton. Gregor. Rene. Nico. Carter. These are things she shrugs off, even though she was closer to them than the more recently departed. People go, people are impermanent. She doesn't really get attached to them, most of the time. She believes in a life of conflict, believes that life will frequently drive her into conflict with those around her - how could she?
Daiyu's death is the first time that she's been left behind, in a sense. Like Emily she's always been the one to leave. She left her mother. She left her father for Julliard. She left new friends and a new girlfriend at Julliard after Awakening. People came and went during three years in Europe. She left Bran, even if it hurt her to do it; she left Boston. Even if it hurt her to do it. But that wasn't the way this went, and today marks a month, and today is also important for another reason: she woke up ten years ago.
Needless to say, she's not handling it well.
But everyone else might think that the Hermetic has gotten herself together, by now. Or at least, most of them might think it. She seems happier. Last Tuesday she was out drinking with a lot of them. They've spied her grinning and laughing and doing her work.
"Hi, Em," she says. There's already a glass of stout in front of her on the tabletop. There's a dark booth in the back, and some aspects of this place would speak of English pubs to Emily: it's been decorated to look like one. Dark wood, heavy and pitted in some places. When she sees the Chorister, Ashley shuts the notebook she was writing in, a slim volume bound in plain brown leather.
She waves off Emily's apology and takes a sip from her glass of beer. Emily guessed right. Ashley's in a fitted black buttondown, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pair of jeans. Her own messenger bag has been shuffled off toward the back of the booth. "Want to split something? I'm kind of hungry and Janine gives me a discount."
[Emily] Ashley was good at seeming like she had her shit together. It was something Emily admired in the Hermetic; it was occasionally something she borrowed on. Tonight, though, the Chorister was not calling on the Chantry Dean but rather a friend. There are things that happen that require observances. There are observances that ought not be undertaken alone. And then there's just being right irritated at the turn things have taken and needing a pint and some time in a place of low expectations to recoup.
"I'd love some chips," she says, as her messenger bag gets pushed toward the back of the booth as well. And by chips she means -- "Ah, pub fries? Fuckery. It's been such a long day, I'm mixing my Englishes."
There's a little self-effacing roll of her eyes as she settles herself, pushes the clump of dark curls over her shoulder. Her hair has gotten too long. The ponytail no longer keeps her locks sufficiently corraled. They tangle on one another at any hint of moisture (hello Mid-western Weather) and drive her to frustration.
"And a red," she tells whatever server comes by. When they inevitably ask after her ID, she fishes it out of her bag with a little annoyance. It's a cultural thing, this being carded as a college student, and while she appreciates the motivation behind it she also finds it rather annoying.
At least she has an Illinois ID these days. It hastens the process.
[Ashley] Ashley, too, took a while to get rid of her Massachusetts ID. It's not as important; she doesn't drive, and having an ID on her is for drinking and for on the rare occasion someone requires it. Not for the hospital. She avoids hospitals and doctor's offices. It's useful to have the process hastened: she might be turning twenty-nine in a few weeks, but she barely looks old enough to drink.
"I knew what you meant," Ashley says. The Hermetic handles Brit-isms well; when it comes to Emily and Thomas she almost doesn't have to think at all when it comes to translating what they're asking for. She deals equally well with Atlas; hers is simply a mind that works easily past alternate vocabulary. "I'll get a sandwich, you can have my chips."
She's used to striking these sorts of bargains at restaurants. It reminds her of another more distant time, getting food with Bran and Justine: they stopped keeping track of who owed who what. The pragmatism drops, once in a while. With certain people.
"Everything okay?" she asks, once Emily has ordered her drink and once she's ordered her sandwich - a vegetable panini of some sort. "You sounded over the phone like you kind of wanted to get drunk." Which is one hint. The use of 'fuckery' is another; Ashley can count the number of times she's heard Emily really swear on one hand.
[Emily] Ashley asks if Emily's okay, and the girl waits until she has her pint to answer. (Point of protocol [no, Little, that's just habit]). She belatedly asks for a glass of water, as well. Possibly because Ashley pointed out that she wants to get drunk, and partly because Emily really utterly despises being hung over.
"Ah, well, it's Monday, isn't it?" is her first reply. This offer with a lift of her pint and a loft of an eyebrow and the weight of an expressive charisma that has grown in her time in the city. It's not just something enigmatic and foreign, now. There's a warmth, and with that warmth there's a communicative diminished note whenever she was less than usual.
"I've a ton of work to do for my regular classes, and I need to have a prospective to my advisor for my graduate research, and Mr. Ward seems intent to fill any remaining waking hour I have with Enlightened studies. I tried running again -- not so much a good. And Riley's left; she took Alex with her."
Ah, there, there's something that might lend Emily the necessary impetus for drinking and swearing. She pulls now, from her drink. Sets it down precisely in the ring it wore against the table before she'd hefted it.
"I got a postcard."
The way that sentence stands on its own makes it resonant. So does the faintly distant and displeased (hurt [coping]) expression that covers her features for a moment.
"Other than that, you know, thing's are good." Deadpan. The deadpan gives way to a wry smile that edges up one side of her face more than the other. "How about you? I may have sounded like I'd like to get pissed, but you've a head start on me already..."
[Ashley] "She emailed me," Ashley says - so the Hermetic did, at least, know that Riley was gone. She'd suspected that Alex would go with her, but she hadn't known for certain, and when told this she just shakes her head and reaches for her beer. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Maybe people are starting to figure out that this city's a death trap."
Ashley takes a long sip from her glass, considering all of Emily's work; graduate school, after all, is a large adjustment. She remembers making it last year, and she remembers trying to do it while she was working a job at the firm at the same time. (After that, she'd taken on Enid.)
"Well, your apprenticeship won't last for too long," she offers. Emily's an Initiate, after all. Ashley can't imagine that her Catechumenate will take very long. There's a moment where she pauses before asking, "What are you going to do about your cabal?" Chuck: she knows Chuck is still around, but she sees him only rarely, and last she'd heard he was with Molly. Wondering, perhaps, if they intend to recruit the Cultist, or if he intends to leave to go elsewhere with Molly.
When Emily mentions that Ashley has a head start, the Hermetic just shrugs. Reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, ostensibly to straighten it or to smooth down some of the runaway tufts. It doesn't work that well. "Drinking to some unhappy anniversaries," is the answer.
[Emily] When Ashley says why she's drinking, Emily's expression softens somewhat. It's a moment of empathy; this is to be clearly distinguished from pity. Emily never offers the Hermetic pity (it's pointless). She nods, slowly, and lifts her pint again.
"May they pass quickly and grow duller with time."
There's weight to that, as Emily knows all about uhappy anniversaries. She doesn't insert hers into the moment, but she does pull a bit more soundly off her beer than before. Drink a little deeper, wash the thoughts back down her throat where they belong.
"I think Chuck and I are going to hang together, just now. But it's more symbolic than anything. He doesn't even want access to the House, from what I can tell. Never goes. Doesn't want anything to do with the politics. Would rather stay 'ranged DPS' whenever anything comes up on the radar." It's not criticism of the Vdept. Emily is aware that they are not similarly committed to the community. She's considering her commitment to the same very carefully just now.
"Besides, if we disbanded, you'd kick me out of all the lovely meetings. Can't have that, now, can we?" A smirk. It's not warm or wry enough to be quite teasing.
[Ashley] Ashley would have thought, by now, that she would have stopped mourning the day of her Awakening and what it meant. She has not: the passage of a decade has driven it home that she probably never will. It's less sharp, of course. That's really what she can hope for.
She doesn't speak further on it, though, and tries not to dwell on it overlong. When Emily lifts her glass so does she, and she takes another long swallow of stout.
"Ranged DPS?" Ashley asks, a little mystified. Then again, a lot of Chuck's slang (and Riley's, and Molly's) has gone over her head. She's not a gamer, has next to no familiarity with the culture or the lingo. Then she shakes her head and shrugs; it isn't too important. "That has to wear, though. Not having a cabal mate to support you."
Sometimes it rankles, when she sees how close the Guardians are. She hardly sees Wharil, and having Gregor back is something she's had to put off now, even though he's in the city. Daiyu is gone.
"I'd be grateful for a reason to keep out of meetings, personally," Ashley says with a wry smile. She reaches up and rubs at the corner of her jaw after a moment, as though there were tension in the muscle at the hinge. "But good. You're helpful to have there."
[Emily] "In games, they're the guys that stand in the back, behind the big burly guys, and throw rocks or spells or arrows from a seemingly safe distance." She shrugs a bit. She didn't expect Ashley to know gamer parlance. Emily's hardly had time to play since she Awakened. She was probably behind the times by a bit herself. "They can do a lot to help, but if you so much as sucker punch them they're pretty much done."
It fits the geek boy better than she'd imagined, at first blush. Emily's expression shows that, for a moment, and then she's waving it off with one hand and looking over at the kitchen to see when that sandwich and chips might be coming their way. It's just a sidelong glance, nothing that lingers.
"Eh. It's a bit like it's always been," she answers, with a shrug. "They're good friends, but Chuck and Riley never really got into the thick of things. Alex might have; Alex was going to be a nice addition." But... she shrugs again, runs her fingertips around the mouth of her pint glass.
"I do more with you and Kage, and Solomon and Israel than I've ever done with my cabal. It was a good thought, you know, but it just didn't pan out the way I'd hoped it would."
[Ashley] "Alex could have gotten to be pretty capable, with some time and direction," Ashley says, finishing off the glass of beer. When Emily's gaze wanders toward the back, so does Ashley's; she wants another stout. Given the fact that she hasn't been eating as much as she should, it might be the only thing that's kept her weight from sinking to the levels it was much earlier in the year. "He got his act together after Daiyu left her note."
After Wharil and Ashton started to turn an eye to the boy and see to it that he became more than a killer. Ashley had thought it good for the two disciples, too: it kept Ashton from distancing herself, it gave Wharil a project.
When Emily mentions having more interaction with the other four magi then her cabal, Ashley's lower lip draws in a little. Her mouth forms a thin line, and she reaches for her glass, brushes her fingertips over the smooth outer surface before she remembers it's empty. "Yeah," she says. "Wharil used to do more, but I've hardly seen him since...March or so. Only when I hunt him down. I guess I thought it'd be more like my old cabal."
She still misses Bran and Justine, but she misses the idea of them more: the closeness and unity of it. Then again, she supposes, it's a thing possible to rose-tint. She and Bran were growing distant and fighting often two years before they eventually broke away from each other. "Daiyu did a lot," she says.
[Emily] "It sounds like you all were quite close," she says, of the Boston cabal. What little she's heard of it has been all good and while Emily is wary of rose-tinting, she doesn't think Ashley is particularly prone to it.
"I'm sorry things haven't worked out for you like that, here." She takes another long pull off her beer and it's nearing the dregs already. With the schedule Emily keeps and the long lines of her frame, she's toeing the same dangerous line that Ashley is tonight: Not enough food, plenty of alcohol, course set for Bad Idea central.
"It was nice to see you happy, for a bit," she says. This is most likely in regard to Daiyu, but Emily turns away from explaining her remark to flag down a passing server. "I've got this round," she tells the Hermetic, before they both order their refills and settle back into the black quiet around their table.
[Ashley] "We were," Ashley says, of her old cabal. "I met Justine a couple of weeks after I started going to the chantry in Boston, and she introduced me to Bran. So I've known both of them for most of the time I've been Awake, minus a couple of months."
A beat. "I mean, things weren't always great. But I never had to track them down in a seedy hotel where there's a guy watching a BDSM video in front of all the guests." A vague gesture; apparently she's still a little irritated with Wharil. "Speaking of, you don't seem the type, but don't recommend the Travelodge near the Park to anybody. Ever."
Ashley blatantly ignores the comment about her being happy. She's not going to start again here, now, while she's drinking. So she just accepts the glass when it arrives, and the plate when it arrives shortly thereafter. She scoots it toward the middle of the table, turning it so Emily can access the fries, and picks up one of the sandwich slices.
"It was good for me. I've sort of regretted the fact that a lot of the apprentices here haven't really gotten the same thing. But there were a ton of Hermetics in Boston, so I guess it was easier."
[Emily] [WP: Emily. That's not a nice reaction. Don't share with the class.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod] [Awareness - how quick am I on the uptake tonight?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 5, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Jarod] [>.< .... +1]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 7)
[Jarod] [...*dies*]
[Ashley] [But am I fast on the uptake?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Emily] "Travelodge?" she asks. The word is awkward on her tongue. She is not feigning unfamiliarity with it. It tastes like... like... low budget family holidays, or road trips, or, oh wait, she can place that now: motels where the doors open to the parking lot.
Her nose wrinkles, faintly, just before Emily kills the beer to drive the taste of that word off her tongue.
"I..." She starts, and then she stops. When she starts to speak again, there's a finger pointed at Ashley in a vaguely accusatory way. "I'll have you no I make no such recommendations." A little frown. Really, what did Ashley think of her taste? Emily exhales, a little haughtily. She can't help it, her Embassy brat roots are showing.
"Besides, there's absolutely no point in my recommending a hotel where I don't get points for it. And Travelodge," she sneers the word as surely as she does Hot Dogs, "Has a crap loyalty programme."
There's a pause, and then she can't help herself so she asks.
"Who on Earth sent you there? I wouldn't send Molly there." Emily couldn't stand the Cultist, most days. All talk of Apprenticeships and Boston was lost, for a moment, in getting to the bottom of this nightmare-ish travel experience of Ashley's.
[Ashley] The Hermetic's hands raise, palms up in front of her as though to deflect a blow, when that accusing finger is pointed in her direction. "It wasn't my idea," she says.
"Wharil was hiding in one," she says, with a shake of her head. "He panicked about somebody coming after the Euthanatos here, back in July, and decided it was a good place to hide." Ashley, daughter of a fisherman and a secretary, has no class-based reasons to sneer at the place. Her distaste seems to have been borne of experience.
"I stayed in a few youth hostels when I was in Europe, though, and they weren't much better," she reflects. In fact, she thinks many of them might have been a good deal worse, but at the age of twenty-two she cared less. Less, apparently, than the twenty-two year old sharing the booth with her.
"But yeah. Wharil was there for...about a month. Shit. Two months," she says, her eyebrows tilting as she thinks further on it. Ashley takes a bite of her sandwich.
[Emily] Emily had her reasons to feel the way she did about accomodations. And there was someone lingering just at the margins of this scene who could attest that her college quarters had not always been that much better than the Travelodge in question. She has memories of hotels that served as homes for months on end and when she thinks on that, she would never wish the worst of them on anyone.
The transience gives her some odd perspectives; the circumstance surrounding her impermanence even more. And Emily, the seemingly average college student across the board from her, could have picked up her phone and remedied Wharil's predicament if she'd only known.
"I wish I'd known. We could have at least gotten him a week at a Hilton," she says, with a shake of her head. The pints come back and Emily's already sipping from hers, even before she reaches across to nab one of the fries.
"Living in hotels? It's kind of fun for the first week or so. Novel. Then it gets old fast. There were months where the whole of our kitchen was a microwave, two-cup coffee maker and the bathroom sink."
"He's not still doing that," she asks, her brow furrowing as she considers it. Considers strongly offering the Euthanatos some other shelter. Reins in the idea of offering any part of her flat -- a space that is still predominantly her own.
"It's been a shite summer for everyone, hasn't it?" she asks, darkly, when the mention of July triggers other memories. And then the darkness softens, somewhat, at a fleeting memory and Emily ducks her head a bit to see about dressing the fries with salt and brown vinegar.
[Ashley] There's salt and malt vinegar to be had: Emily can find a bottle of it on the table next to the napkin holder and ketchup. By now more people are beginning to filter into the pub, which seems to get an odd amount of traffic for a Monday night. Many of them are graduate students; perhaps that offers some explanation for their numbers.
Ashley is sharp on the lookout tonight. Justin knows that she comes here, and she's been avoiding Justin of late: he keeps trying to convince her that she should see a therapist. It's bad enough living next to the man without him hunting her down in her (all too frequent) haunts.
"I've never lived in one," she tells Emily. "It doesn't sound too exciting to me. I like having one place to go back to." Particularly, she likes having a library; anyone would only need to set foot in Ashley's apartment to know that she likes having a Home, and likes to feel comfortable there.
"And no. He's not still doing that. He'd taken care of the problem when I went to tell him about Daiyu last month," Ashley says. She hasn't seen Wharil since, or heard from him. There's another long sip from her glass. And then, to be fair, she adds, "The summer had its good points."
[Jarod] The last time he was here, it had been an accident of coincidence. Forces at large in the universe had converged to cause a necessary diversion in the evening's plans, and he'd taken the first promising door that he'd seen. That door happened to belong to the Hung Drawn and Quartered, which, all told, was probably one of the better pubs in the city. It was clean, relaxing, and unpretentious. More importantly, it had a nice drink selection. Good scotch wasn't always easy to come by, and having picked up a taste for the stuff while living in the UK, Jarod tended to frequent the places that he knew would have a reliably good selection.
Ilana was at home, with the sitter (with Nick.) Probably getting ready for bed right about now. Occasionally he missed those moments with her, when he stayed late at work. There were certain things about becoming a parent that tended to catch one by surprise, and one of those things was how much you missed the silly little routines when you weren't around for them.
He needed a drink, though, after the day he'd had. Office work didn't sit well with him. It instilled a strong sense of being caged (trapped) - like a big cat pacing around in an enclosure at the zoo.
It was colder tonight than it had been lately. Something much more like proper autumn weather. He didn't have an umbrella with him tonight, but otherwise he was dressed in similar attire - an expensive business suit, black with a white shirt and dark green tie. (This one was Armani, not Prada.) At first, when he walked in, he didn't seem to notice the two women in the booth. (And unlike last time, it wasn't because he was pretending.) He sat down on one of the stools at the bar and gestured with his hand to get the bartender's attention. When the woman walked over, he smiled and talked to her for a couple of moments. The usual idle pleasantry - how's the evening been, how're classes, you're pretty when you smile. He ordered Aberlour A’bunadh, neat, because he liked it better when it wasn't watered down.
And then the woman leaned in a bit and whispered conspiratorially that he might want to turn around and check out the booth in the back. The same one he'd found Ashley and a handful of others in not too long ago. A glance over his shoulder, and... why, yes. He did want to check out the booth in the back.
So he stood up, picked up his drink, and walked over.
[Emily] [Aware? Who me? I am most definitely aware of my pint. But that guy picking up the bartender? Do I notice him? Better yet, do I recognize him by resonance alone? +1 booze on an empty stomach]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 8, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)
[Emily] People say that drinking numbs your senses, somewhat. Makes you a little less aware of the world around you. People say it lowers inhibitions, contributes to bad decision making. People say a lot of stuff, but tonight? Oh, no, tonight drinking makes Emily all the more aware of the world around her, especially a particularly familiar slide of Winter and Sensuality that skims across her skin.
She sits a little straighter, for a moment. It's not at all dissimilar to the way a prey animal reacts when they scent a predator, save that Emily's reaction is not to bolt or hide or shift her way toward the edge of the booth to make a hasty escape. No! Remember that boozahol contributes to poor decision making, even if it's perception numbing powers were up for debate after the evening.
It make look a little precognisant when she slides further into the booth to make a seat beside her for the Verbena, before he even turns to check their table out. She slides her beer, and her water (untouched [tsk tsk]) with her. This position makes it easier for her to grab fries off Ashley's plate, after all.
Summer had its good points, Ashley said. Emily begrudgingly agrees.
"Hey, stranger." This for Jarod when he approaches. By now the chip on her shoulder has softened, somewhat, and the sting of the Apprentices' hasty retreat from the city is numbed a little. There's familiarity between her and the Verbena, that's easy for Ashley to see, but the extent of that former friendship (or current) is hard to judge. "Would you like to join us?"
She glances, belatedly, to Ashley for an okay.
[Ashley] Ashley is so familiar with scenting out resonance at this point in her life that it would take a particularly hard night to dull her senses entirely. It's second nature, sizing up other Willworkers, the feel of them, whether they could hold their own against her if she were to challenge them. It's subconscious.
She isn't as attuned to Jarod's presence as Emily is - she, after all, is not quite as familiar with the man - but after he's been at the bar for a moment or two, her gaze slides in his direction. Maybe it's that notice of him that makes the bartender gesture him back toward Ashley; Janine and company know that she's prominent in the city, and she's here a lot. By now they assume that Awakened individuals who walk into the Hung Drawn and Quartered are here to meet with her.
Besides, it's good business. They've noticed that a lot of the city's Awakened members are moderate to heavy drinkers.
"Hey, Jarod," she says. There's a glance, quick, from Emily to the Verbena and then back again, as Ashley sizes up the amount of awkward that is likely to occur here tonight. But it's too late to make any kind of graceful escape. The Hermetic edges a little farther back into the booth. "Go ahead and sit."
Beat. "A couple of Emily's cabalmates left, so..." A shrug. An explanation for the drinking. As if Ashley needed one.
[Jarod] For what it was worth, there was nothing at all awkward about the way that Jarod greeted either Emily or Ashley. Perhaps, at another time, this particular combination of forces might have been less comfortable (or perhaps not - Jarod was probably the kind of person who was used to getting into potentially awkward situations like having a drink with two women he'd slept with), but if so, that wasn't the case now. Frankly, Emily and Ashley were probably the two magi who he preferred to run into like this, if given the choice. One, because she was important to him (she was a friend, and he didn't have many friends - not real ones.) The other, because she was someone who he had a certain amount of respect for. (Not that he was likely to say so.)
Emily had anticipated his arrival (evidently more tuned in to him than he had been to her, but they all have their off days) and shifted to leave an open place for him on the bench beside her. When he approached their table, she looked up at him and said: Hey, stranger. Would you like to join us? He just... smiled. And this was an entirely different smile than he'd given the bartender. It spoke of wry familiarity and even a little affection. He slid in beside the once-apprentice as if he belonged there, and offered a greeting to Ashley. "Evening."
A couple of Emily's cabalmates left, so...
He glanced again at Emily, was quiet for a moment, then just... nodded. (I'm sorry.) This wasn't a situation he had any experience with (cabals in general were something he'd managed to avoid - and intentionally so), but he knew it wasn't easy to be left behind.
"Good excuse as any to grab a drink, I suppose." Though in truth, they hardly needed one.
[Emily] [Subterfuge: What? No. People leaving does not make me sad. +1 diff for having Ashley along, spilling my secrets.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 4, 7, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Emily] And that, right there, is why Emily didn't tell other people things as a general rule. Ashley oh-so-easily throws it out there that some of her friends have moved and Jarod gets to cast her the apologetic look and Emily, who likes to play these things close to breast, to bring them out when she's good and ready, just looks down at her beer for a moment to escape the weight of that unspoken apology.
"Yeah, well, people go when they need to," she says, perhaps not as easily as she wanted to. It's not as effortless to shrug off tonight, in present company. Maybe because of the relationship she'd had with the man sitting beside her, and how that had come to an end. "There's just been a lot of it lately."
Emily nabbed another fry and nibbled on that before she could keep talking. Or turn about with a remark on Ashley's motivations for imbibing this evening. Her woes were excuse enough, Jarod had said.
She starts to ask after Ilana, gets the question just to the tip of her tongue and then bites it back. Buries it with a swallow of ale. Turns her attention to the dark wood of the table.
"How's your Monday been?" she asks him, instead. Emily doesn't particularily want to go abck to talking about Travelodges or grim anniversaries or missing friends or defunct cabals. Surely Jarod has something more to offer than that, or at least something more distracting to offer.
[Ashley] [Uh oh. Was I not supposed to say that? +1 for tipsy, +2.]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 9)
[Ashley] Ashley is honest to a fault, it's been said. Repeatedly, by many people. Without regard for sensitivity or for whether or not something she says is something one would want other people to know. In her mind, people should be able to deal with the truth as it is. Still, that doesn't mean that, on the rare occasion the realization dawns, she doesn't feel a little bad about it.
Emily looks down at the table and Ashley grimaces and raises a hand to the back of her neck, roughing a hand through the short hair there. It's surprising that she noticed at all: Emily's facial expression is ambivalent, there's no real show of emotion there that is easy for her to gauge. What she understands is less based in empathy with Emily and more in an understanding that she made a misstep.
Still, there are no apologies. She's sorry, but in passing; she doesn't apologize for truth even if it's a small thing.
Ashley takes a bite of her sandwich and glances over Jarod's suit. He was working somewhere, apparently. She takes a moment to chew and swallow and take a sip of stout before she says, "I read about your project."
[Jarod] Distraction. He could be good at that. Jarod had embodied distraction on more than one occasion in the past, for both of these women. Being around him was a little like taking a vacation. He was his own world, for better or worse. (Just don't venture past the tourist-friendly zone.)
Emily didn't seem inclined to discuss her problems, and Jarod didn't inquire, either because he didn't see the need, or because he didn't think that she'd want him to. Her response (people go when they need to) was very much something that he would have said. All at once pragmatic and dismissive. He followed suit, and moved on.
"Truthfully? It's been mind-numbingly boring." He sighed a little, a twinge of something that looked vaguely like disgust showing in his expression. (Boring was not a word that he liked to apply to his life, in any capacity.) "And I will not torture the two of you with a rendition of the day's events." He glanced at Ashley when she mentioned the business, raised his glass, and said, "To saving the world, one solar cell at a time." Then he took a drink, savoring the familiar woody taste on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. This particular scotch had a bit of a spiced note to it, and a sherry aftertaste. It reminded him of fall in London.
"Anyway, the evening seems to be taking a more pleasant turn. Just precisely what the doctor ordered."
After setting his drink down, he reached up and loosened the tie at his neck, slipping the knot free and unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt.
[Emily] Emily stares at the table, Ashley has a rare flash of empathy and grimaces (as close to an apology as she gets) and it is high time for that topic to die, to get buried under a cascade of pub fries or drowned in a few more pints. Jarod, thankfully, leaves off of it and the conversation turns away.
"Half my lab wants me to try and get them internships with your firm," Emily says, idly. She's steadily working her way through Ashley's fries, but hasn't touched her water yet -- against her own better judgement and advice. There's a wry smirk to her comment, but not a lot of weight behind it.
She's gotten quieter since he joined them, a little more reclusive with her body language. Emily's limbs are all angles tonight, arms folded lazily on the table, shifting only to lift her pint or a bit of food toward her face. There's no pain in her carriage, now, and that's a pleasant improvement. There's just a lot of not caring, even in present company, about her posture or how she's perceived. Ashley's seen this once before, but far more pronounced. In June.
Jarod found her in a club once, lazily chatting up her own glass of gin. She's flirting with the same bad ideas tonight, but his presence has (perhaps ironically) made it less likely she'll follow through.
[Ashley] Ashley has not yet given up on bad ideas, perhaps evidenced by the fact that she's already finished another glass. She has a tendency to drink while someone else is talking, to fill up pauses in conversation when she herself is, to give herself a moment to think before she speaks: Emily's seen this on many an occasion, but with the Chorister it's usually been with cups of tea. (Food goes in the mouth, foot stays out of it.)
She finishes one of the halves of her sandwich. It smells spicy, whatever it is: looks like it's filled with tofu and some kind of sauce and vegetables. It's the sort of thing one would only find in this sort of neighborhood.
There's a smirk when Jarod says that his day has been boring - commiserating, maybe. "I'm kind of glad I escaped the office," she says, which she would not have done had it not been for the Jhor episode on the first of the year. She suspects she'll be going back, though.
It's the way to fight the War on her terms, and whether she's a member of his cabal or not, whether they're still together or not, she's been quite influenced by Bran Summers' vision. Remains so.
Jarod, to her, hadn't seemed like the type to get into that kind of business, and the slightly raised eyebrows say so. Then again, he makes a regular habit of confusing her.
[Jarod] He laughed a little at Emily's confession, and gave a light shake of his head. "The pay really isn't what I'd like it to be right now. We're barely breaking even. But if the trend continues, that'll change. There's a lot of competition for the internships, from what I hear. I can give you the number for the woman who does most of the hiring, if you want to pass it along."
He fished his iPhone out of the inside pocket of his suit-jacket and searched through his address book until he found what he was looking for. A moment later, Emily's own phone would receive a text with the aforementioned name and number of the head of HR. When he put his phone away, he glanced up at Ashley.
"I used to think I'd escaped it too," he mused with an expression that was subtly wistful and a little ironic. "I don't really need to be there, but I don't like to invest that much money into something that I don't have a direct hand in." In truth, he had a habit of micromanaging. It irritated his partners on occasion, but his PR skills came in handy, so they mostly let him have his way.
[Emily] Emily hadn't really expected Jarod to act on this idle comment. She lofted an eyebrow and studied him out of the corner of her eye when he pulled for an iPhone and sent her a text. Curious, she pulled her own phone out of the messenger bag beside her, verified the info and nodded.
Huh.
Name and number.
"I'll refer them to your website," Emily says, gently pushing a few things out of the HR directors voicemail box with that suggestion. Most hiring managers and departments prefered email submissions, especially in technical fields. Getting the geeks to talk pretty on the phone could be painful. "Unless someone's really worth her time."
They're talking about being office-bound and she says, easily, with the frivolity and surety of youth (and a certain amount of wry self-besmirchment), "Oh, well, I'm going to graduate and be fantastic, and land a job at Google and wear jeans to work every day and spend ten percent of my time on personal projects..."
Nope. She couldn't keep that line up long enough to finish it. She's smirking now, and offers them a little wink. The suits, the office, the particular social dance therein. In truth, Emily doesn't worry about its eventual ingress into her life. Though she'll hate the meetings when she gets there.
"If you hate the office, though, I can help you set up teleconferencing from you flat. Then you can oversee without having to step on-site." It's a bit like being the glowing eye of Sauron, but Emily does not embarass herself by saying so. Instead she drinks down her pint, and belatedly starts in on her water.
[Ashley] "I just hope I never have to copywrite again," Ashley says, with a sort of grim expression that suggests that the environment was as soul-sucking as it sounds. One might have difficulty imagining her in a corporate environment, with as introverted and awkward as she can be at times. "I mean, having control of a project is different from being marketing's bitch, I would figure."
Then again, given that she can be aggressive too, perhaps it wasn't that bad a fit.
She doesn't start in on water, but asks the waitress for another glass when the woman returns. She checks in often: she's quite used to having Ashley as a customer.
The Hermetic picks up the other half of her sandwich, chewing quietly while she listens to the talk of HR, of Emily's offer to set Jarod up so that he can work remotely from his flat. She looks thoughtfully at the Verbena, after a moment. She doesn't think it's something he got into for profit, by any means.
[Jarod] There were reasons why Jarod held ambivalent feelings about offices and business meetings, and not all of them were so cut-and-dry as a simple hatred for tedium. The corporate world would always be inescapably tied, in his subconscious, with some very deep-running childhood neurosis. It was money and power. It was also the abuse of power.
Ashley had described him on occasion as a social darwinist, which was only partially correct. Believing in something didn't necessarily mean that he agreed with it.
Emily suggested teleconferencing, and he took a drink before responding. "I actually do that, most days. But I like to go in a few times a week, if I can manage." This confession was a little telling. It spoke to his level of dedication. That this company was not just another way to make money. (After all, an investor need not do anything but write a big check and then sit back and wait for a return.)
Ashley mentioned copywriting, and Jarod made a face. (Another one of those cat-about-to-jump-in-a-puddle-of-cold-mud expressions.) "I used to want to be an actor, when I was a teenager. It never would have worked, though. Paparazzi would have driven me batshit."
(Yet another thing he had ambivalent feelings about - fame.)
[Emily] She nods a bit, and goes back to drinking. And if Emily drinks a bit more this round than others, perhaps that's to cover up the quiet on her end of the conversation. She doesn't have any employment history to speak of, not as anything more than a contractor here or there, or an undergraduate member of her lab. She doesn't even have summer jobs to reminisce about (I'll never go back to food service...). She does have a pint, and she's almost done with it. That's the end of her second, and paired with a mere handful of chips it's not enough to counterbalance given her small form.
There's a light flush to her cheeks, and a slightly loose shape to her smile -- when she smiles. She's not quite smiling now. Emily sets the empty pint down and leans her head into one upturned hand and just listens to them. She's learned how to fade into the background over many years of being seen but not heard as a child. She borrows on that now, being unintrusive, being present without being more than that.
The problem with this quiet is that it's necessarily solitary. In a room full of people, at a table with friends, it was entirely possible to feel alone and adrift on that loneliness. Not feeling the loneliness was why she'd gone out in the first place, but it wasn't working the way she'd hoped.
When the server wanders by next, Emily will place her fingertips atop her pint glass (no mas [not just now]) and give herself time to consider how much she wants to go over that edge tonight.
[Ashley] When the server returns he has Ashley's glass and the Hermetic takes it, taking a long swallow. The sandwich is gone and there are just fries on the plate, but she doesn't touch them: she'd offered them to Emily, didn't particularly want to eat them. It's unusual not to see her devouring everything in sight. There are days when she just doesn't feel like it.
She's less tightly wound while she sits there with the two of them, though it has nothing to do with their presence. She's leaned the sharp points of her shoulderblades back into the booth now. Alcohol forces upon her body what she doesn't manage in day-to-day living: a sense of relaxation, a sort of ease in the muscles of her shoulders and back.
Ashley grins when Jarod mentions being an actor, and if it's a touch hesitant, a touch slow to appear, it's because she doesn't mention what she wanted to do, when she was a teenager. And had to think about it, and decide not to voice it. "I could see it," she says.
"I never really figured I'd go into writing. It was just easy to get a job in marketing with my degree, and there were ways to work against the Technocracy in that kind of environment, so I took it," she says with a shrug. "But I went to college kind of late."
[Jarod] "Very pragmatic of you," he said, with a smile that suggested a subtle kind of approval.
But Emily wasn't talking, and he'd noticed that. Had this been another time, he might have done something coy and flirtatious to try and draw her out of her shell. There was reservation in this respect, though. Tonight, he glanced at her, and contemplated silently for a moment. He finished off the last of his scotch a bit earlier than he'd planned, and set the empty tumbler on the table. He put a hand on the small of Emily's back, tracing there gently with his thumb. (A subtle gesture, but an intimate one. Meant to be relaxing.)
"I was never terribly responsible. I'm still not terribly responsible, truthfully."
[Emily] [... ohlooksomedice, +1 tipsy]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)
[Jarod] [Ohlookmoredice...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Emily] Jarod puts his hand on Emily's back, and she doesn't pull away. She's waiting for someone, but that doesn't seem to keep her from accepting that comfort, just now, however intimate it is. It doesn't keep her from glancing over and letting that look linger thoughtfully for a moment before she turns her attention back to the table, and Ashley's fries.
"My dad wants me to go into Embassy work when I graduate," Emily says, idly. It may be the first time she's mentioned her father (the one she was born to) in conversation. There'd been once, at Chuck's, when she'd answered the phone in surprise and stepped out on the patio in the dead of Winter.
"And my mom wants me to do something in humanitarian work. I told her I'm the wrong kind of engineer for building homes in Africa, but that doesn't seem to matter..." She shrugs a bit, and Jarod can feel the tension in her frame all the way down to where his hand rests. She's been drinking, but she hasn't relaxed. She hasn't found a way to unwind, really, since they'd all come out of the Labyrinth.
Oh, look, yet another thing she's not talking about.
"I'm pretty sure learning that we're fighting the forces of evil with our super-powered friends would disappoint them both." This is said lightly, wryly, with just enough mirth to lighten the corners of her eyes a little.
[Emily] They know each other well. In some ways, they know each other too well for this. His hand smooths over the soft fabric of her sweater, making small movements with his thumb. It's intimate, and not something she shies away from. It helps, slowly, to ease away the tension she carries. The readiness that is misplaced, has become a taut singing thing against her bones. He can feel her breathe out, just so, carefully meted to not give anything away to the Hermetic sitting across the table.
There's longing in that. A need she hasn't sated. Schooled and kept back, pushed aside, denied. Its in the way her eyes close, just before she looks over at him, and it's in the something she can't pull back enough to keep him from seeing it if their eyes met.
If she wasn't waiting...
If things had gone differently...
Then she's talking about her family, and future employment, and anything but the closeness they've kept.
to Jarod
[Ashley] Jarod puts his hand on Emily's back, and Emily's glancing look lingers, and Ashley's eyebrows raise. She doesn't know what Emily's thinking; she doesn't have to. They spoke on the phone shortly after Emily got the news. The flicker of anger she suppresses isn't jealousy.
Still, she isn't the sort to make a scene and honest as she is, isn't the sort to interfere with a friend's own decisions, not when it's not going to affect her, really; let them fuck up as they will. She just observes, and she minds, and quietly alters her own responses accordingly.
Ashley takes a sip from her glass, chooses to let her focus sway back toward the conversation. "I'm sure they wouldn't be disappointed, if you could tell them," she tells Emily. She knows, after all, that Gregory talked about an Order of knights, even if they weren't Choristers.
"My dad was pissed that I didn't join the Akashic Brotherhood," she says, with a shrug. Or, perhaps, pissed that she turned down the Akashic Brotherhood for the Order of Hermes; Ashley has never really been sure. Jim Novotny is not an easy man to talk to. "I don't think he cares much about my mundane career."
[Jarod] [Oh-ho, do I notice that flicker of anger?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Jarod] [Hmm...subterfuge?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Jarod] There was little that was missed in the nuances of this exchange. The stress present in the muscles of Emily's back, and the subtle longing in her breath. To his credit, he didn't try to push the issue, but neither did he pull back and refrain from touching her. His hand remained where it was. No more, no less. And he behaved as if there wasn't any underlying subtext. It stood to reason, though, (and Ashley herself had proof of this) that Jarod was one of those people who tended to speak more with actions (and with touch) than he did with words.
He laughed a little, quietly, when Emily got to that last bit. "You know, I have a hard time imagining you being considered a disappointment." (Though his perception of this matter was, admittedly, skewed.) "Besides, what parent wouldn't love to know that they'd birthed a super-hero?"
They could have turned this into a competition of one-upmanship, between the three of them, of precisely how many ways they'd disappointed their parents. Jarod, though... he didn't contribute much. (Though he certainly could have.) Instead he just shrugged, a little dismissively, and said, "I haven't given half a shit about my family's approval since I was a kid. It isn't their business." What he didn't say, but implied slightly in his tone, was that their opinions didn't deserve that kind of respect. (At least, not his parents.)
But speaking of disapproval...
Just as he hadn't missed the way that his touch had affected Emily, neither did he miss the look that Ashley gave the both of them. He looked at the Hermetic for a long, silent moment. Then he slowly let his hand fall away from Emily's back... and stood up.
"I don't give half a shit about anyone's approval."
And that could have been spoken with a sharper tone, but he let it fall matter-of-factly. (Do with it what you will.) A glance back to Emily, and a soft smile that might have been a little apologetic. "I should go. It's late."
And, assuming he wasn't stopped, he'd turn and make his way out - adjusting his shirt and tie as he did so.
[Emily] [Aware as Empathy: The hell just happened... Ashley? +1 dif, tipsy]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)
[Ashley] Ashley does seem to be a bit disapproving. It's hard for Emily to put her finger on, precisely, but she knows that Ashley is both very loyal and places a lot of importance on keeping promises, either to oneself or others.
to Emily
[Emily] Jarod can't imagine her being a disappointment, because Jarod hasn't heard her brother figure tell the One Time, In Vienna story about royalty and underage drinking. Or because he wasn't around at 3am in several different cities while she acted out her post-Prague angst and hostility. She had disappointed plenty of people in her time; coming to Chicago was supposed to have meant she'd put that era of her life behind her.
By the expression Ashley was wearing, she was failing miserably at putting that behind her. There was something going on between the other two magi that Emily had only caught the tail end of, but that tail end was enough to draw her brows together worriedly and pull her arms away from the table as Jarod stood up to leave.
She said nothing to keep him there; did nothing to keep him from walking away. (This lapse in judgment goes only so far tonight.)
"Mmm, me too, probably," she says, somewhere in the middle of her goodbye to Jarod and her quizzical look at Ashley (no doubt met with the unverbalized equivalent of "You know what, Emily"). The Singer takes the time to dig out her wallet, and leave her part of the bill for food and drinks. She's got money enough for that, and a decent tip.
"Class in the morning and all that." Her voice is quieter, faintly sad (frustrated) despite the smile she's wearing. It's a mismatch, but maybe one the others won't pick up on too keenly just now.
[Ashley] It's not so unusual a thing, really. Ashley expects to be disappointed by people, and it's hard not to find affirmation when it's what one looks for in the first place.
They all have their childhood neuroses, after all.
Jarod's stare is met in kind. It's not cold: there's no way Ashley could manage detachment if she tried. This is the kind of stare animals give each other when challenged, when one's made a breach. But for all that she doesn't seem precisely angry at him, or didn't until his parting shot, and then her jaw tightens, the muscles bunching there at the hinge. She doesn't stop him when he gets up to go.
Or Emily, for that matter. Awkward was achieved - and they were doing so well. "Good night, Emily," she says.
And it's only after the Chorister leaves too that she sighs, and anger fades and uncertainty sets in, and she remembers what she was out here drinking for in the first place. So she shuffles Emily's money off to the side to pay for the bill later, when she leaves. Then she slides her notebook out, sets it back on the table, and leans over it again to write.
It's late. She doesn't have class in the morning.
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