She does not come empty handed.

[Israel Cohen] Israel has never actually met Nico Brady. She's heard of him, but even then only vaugely in manner passing at best.

Up Monday night, that is. Monday night Ashley had called to talk about the same fellow - and somewhat of Owen Page as well - and now, some time later, Emily has called as well to speak of at least one of the same men. What she's heard has her concerned, of course. She's a feeling [empathic. intuitive. and, at the core of it all, softhearted] woman and hearing such things as 'may be Jhor tainted' and 'hospitalized for a motor vehicle accident' [though Ashley didn't seem to think it was a 'MVA' at all] was certainly reason for concern. Indeed, she's somewhat restless over the matter: She'd agreed to wait on checking the man out [for twofold reasons] to avoid suspect super-healing [even a sudden rapid recovery can cross the boundaries between 'Coincidental' and 'Vulgar']. As for the Jhor.. she wouldn't even have to be in the same room with him to check that... but it wouldn't do to Weave from afar and alarm the unknown Magi with the sense of alien, foreign Magic being Worked on [or against, he might think] him.

So she's been biding her time and Hoping [praying] for the best. Now this call and some part of her feels guilty for not having done something by now. No matter the logical reasons behind it; the safety measures, ethics and considerations... she is a patient woman, but loathe to know someone may be suffering while she waits for the right time.

Just because she knows, logically, that she cannot remotely heal everyone she'd like to doesn't always make it easier.
[less so when Sorrow crescendos within her: pain and drive all in one.]

Emily was no doubt punctual. And finding the home wasn't difficult: By the El it was only two blocks away from the last stop on the Red Line in Rogers Park. By car traffic wasn't so bad this time of night and this older neighbourhood was relatively quiet for the city. She's not all that far from the Chantry, Emily might note. Around the appointed time, Israel had waited for her out on the steps of the small porch. The blind woman's greeting was warm - she'd go so far as to place her hands on Emily's shoulders [hands that are noticeably full of warmth, the kind of rich, smooth, enveloping heat one might feel from sunbathing on a fine late Spring day] and touch her cheek to the taller womans. Fond and, yes... attentive. Concerned for more than one person at a time.

The house isn't overly large but it makes good use of its space. A split-level main floor. Stairs leading up to a fully converted attic space that serves as Library and study. She speaks of a basement as well as she ushers the younger woman in, guide-cane lightly in hand. She has the place memorized but she uses the tool anyway; comfortably. Second nature by now. In terms of decor the furniture and such are all quite nice: Contemporary in colour and style but comfortable. Matching canisters and dish sets and the like in the kitchen: Colours Israel approved but has never seen herself. There is a decided lack of visual decor outside of the basics. What exists in the home that make it her own are scents and textures and the like. Traces of the scented oils she favours - [honey and myrrh and soft notes of spice]. The split-level layout that helps to mark out the boundaries of the room for her. Variances in hard-wood floor and tile and rugs. Flowering plants [Emily can spot some orchids blooming splendidly among other things; a few fruit-bearing dwarf trees on either side of the split-level stairs that lead to the bedrooms and bath. it's not like walking into a garden but the plants make their impact on the senses: They thrive.] and somewhere the barest touch of pipe smoke [perhaps she notices some signs here and there of a male presence in the home, like running shoes near the front door].

There's a decided smell of decadent dessert in the air: Once she has Emily in the house she leads her to the kitchen area, beckoning for her to take a seat at the island counter where she is in the process of assembling a tiramizu: The scents of things like mascarpone cheese, coffee, well-aged rum and cocoa powder lace the air before she can make out the sight of the ingredients themselves [laid out just so, in bowls with custom ridges that help her keep ingredients marked; the home is very tidy, very organized].

"I made some a couple of hours ago that we can have now if you like," she's saying with a smile, her voice soft-spoken, just-slightly-breathy as ever. "Solomon and my family are fond of it so two seemed more prudent. Or, if you haven't had dinner, there's cold cuts and stuff in the 'fridge."

Hospitality is important to Israel, but her next question doesn't at all have the tone of 'just polite small talk' to it; she's too earnest for that if gently so, "How are you, Emily? It's been... what, a couple of weeks since Grant Park and, ah, 'Lord' Bedlam?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily does not come empty handed. She is a thoughtful girl, well-raised by parents who have dabbled in many world cultures. She is attentive, and shrewd, and kind-hearted -- though don't let the latter slip around anyone but close friends and particular acquaintances; it isn't something she admits to often. So she offers Israel a small but weighty package when they are done with greetings, and those greetings are warm if a little worn tonight.

Because Israel reminds Emily of Old World things, and because she cannot always bring baklava, she's brought a container of densely spiced cookies. They're only just so sweet, redolent, the sort of thing that delights a delicate palatte and warms the body from the inside out. There's also a clutch of small, sweet clementines. It's early in the year for them, but the weather has just begun to turn chill and even Emily needs a break from the ubiquitous apples and pumpkin. There is also a soft thing, a smooth and fine-spun shawl. If Israel asks, Emily will say she thought of Israel, up studying or speaking at work perhaps, and thought it might be nice to have something for her shoulders.

Emily always covers her shoulders and head at Church. She knows that Israel keeps to old customs as well. The color, if the Disciple could see it, is a natural cream. There is the faint scent of lanolin. It is wool blended with something softer. It will keep warm in the winter.

She does not come empty handed, and neither is she thoughtless in her comments about the house. She mentions how nice the trees are, how beautiful the orchids. She comments also on how clever the flooring is, to break it up like that -- does it help? You see, Emily does not know what it is like to go without seeing. She is curious, but not insensitive. She finds it remarkable the subtle and overt ways that Israel fashions her life into something more manageable. Emily has done the same with her own life, until now. She has made it more manageable, all the uncertainty and the restlessness. It worked until this last year. It is failing her now.

They are both restless about the Orphan who lies in a hospital bed. They both wish they could do more, do more now, do more sooner. Remedy things that have no solution but time and patience. It is hard to be patience when another suffers. It is harder when that suffering percolates out to the people who love him, who worry for him, who watch the watchful and sorrowful from afar.

"I would love some," she tells Israel. It's followed by an offer to help. "May I help put the kettle on?" This carries no expectation; if Israel wants to make tea on her own, Emily will not get into her workspace to confuse or distract.

"I've been well," she tells Israel. It is not a complete answer. It conceals, and imperfectly, and they both know this. "Well, as well as can be expected. Some things take time," she says, and the note of sorrow is evident. The Singer is still mending from this Summer; she has carried other worries forward into Fall. There are compounding worries now. For the most part, these are counterbalanced by Grace. In the last week or so, the balance has swung too far to one side.

She can only hope this means that the pendulum will swing the other way before it rights itself. That there will be joy in abundance as well.

"Perhaps the fairer answer is that I have kept busy. And in keeping busy, I have been well. enough. I hope you've faired better. Is the Autumn being kind to you?"

[Israel Cohen] Emily doesn't come empty handed: No, indeed, she comes with something of abundance. This doesn't exactly surprise Israel, because Emily has always struck her as thoughtful and perceptive. From what she knows of the younger woman [younger but taller; like the 'bigger little sibling'] she isn't taken aback that the newly formalized Singer knows something of the Old Ways; the old customs. This is rare, though -- rare for women of their generation, that is. Oh, the closest of friends might bring a trinket. Or if invited to dinner, something nice to drink; dessert or the like. To come with gifts though is rarer to come by these days.

She is pleased by them; genuinely so. Pleased and, if not surprised by the gift-giving itself, certainly not expecting quite the amount or loveliness. Oh, Israel is a foody -- it seems people have certainly caught on to that. So the cookies and the clementines are delighted in - "What heavenly spices," and "Oh, I adore clementines. We'll share a couple with the tiramisu -- the sweet-tang will lighten the richness of the dessert." - but the shawl is something unexpected. She does ask after the colour out of curiosity and pragmatism both; but it's the feel of it she draws on, rubbing the fabric gently between fingertips and over the smoothness of one cheek. She isn't an excitable person most of the time; even here her gratitude and pleasure are hushed things. But while her eyes are useless for seeing they express much and in them her sincerity is plain. "It's lovely, Emily... thank you so much."

Yes, she explains, the differences in flooring - from materials and texture to structural design - is very helpful. A sense of space is important to her: Since she cannot achieve it with sight she uses other means. Besides, she'll go on, it keeps things from getting boring... just as a Sighted person might grow tired of the same curtains or wall decor, she likes to cater to her remaining senses as she can.
The responses are devoid of embarrassment or chagrin: If anything she seems charmed when someone thinks to ask. To learn.

"Yes, please?" Regarding the kettle: Which is used often enough that it sits on a tile holder in the centre of the stove top. "The tea is in the cupboard to the left of the stove. There's a nice Rooibos there if you like or some other selections, too. Not so varied as yours or Ashley's I'm afraid." But just varied enough to have something like rooibos at all.

So they settle into companionable activity: Emily sees to the kettle and the brewing while Israel finishes constructing the second tiramisu after washing her hands thoroughly. Cleanliness is important for any cook, but for a blind one it's even more so -- she often has to use her fingertips to determine placement and boundaries and avoid spills, etcetera. While it goes on she listens... listens and, finally, nods.

"Keeping busy is good... but I hope not so busy you don't have time to think at all." The words are kindly spoken; considerate, not pushy. Little does she know that she'll be having quite an in depth conversation along those lines with Ashley in just a couple of nights. On the difference between keeping busy... and sheer avoidance. Then, "And it is... being kind to me. I'm still recovering as well but... I've had the Blessing of greater peace of mind and refreshed goals in the last few weeks. It's been good for me."

[Emily Littleton] There is a ritual to taking tea, just as there is a ritual to bringing gifts, just as there is a ritual to many of the small social graces that their contemporaries would rather look beyond, or skip over with some ready technological tweet or text or beamed bit of information. Israel, Solomon and Emily are relics each in their own way. The keep traditions that have fallen to the wayside. They force people to remember, to take time, to find the small treasured moments in their time with other people. Emily has not perfected this balance yet, but it easier to feel like herself (in some ways) around the Guardians.

She is ever in the middle, ever Other, even at her most settled and comfortable. Perhaps it isn't a bad thing after all.

There's a graceful thoughtlessness to the movements for setting the kettle to boil, preparing tea to steep. To be in a kitchen is comfortable to her; it is a lot like being Home. They move around each other with a certain awareness and respect for the other's space. They do not need to see to manage this; they do not need to speak. It is a quiet respect and regard for the other that fuels it. They are both thoughtful people.

Emily voice curls into a smile when she answers. It's wreathed with memory and amusement. "I was just telling Molly about red tea a couple weeks ago," she says. It's the sort of conversation that friends manage. It welcomes and invites reply, but does not assume to know overmuch of the other. "Just before she surprised me with a kitten."

"Who has a surprising amount of energy at two and three in the morning," Emily observes, with a growing fondness for her unexpected pet.

There's a shift here, that moment of candor leads to a pivot point that brings them back around to their original topic.

"I'm glad you've been well." There's a little pause here, and Israel can hear the girl's breath presage her next words. "I've purpose again, I mean, beyond studying and school and the Chantry." These are tighter, there's a subtle worry that underscores them. She's told Israel a little of what's happened with Nico, but the months of waiting and wondering are all but impossible to keep from Emily's tone around the more observant mages. "I envy you the peace of mind," she says, lightly enough but with an uncanny honesty.

"Though Ashley did tempt me into a game of football last night. So there's that." A smirk. It's audible in the twist of her tone. "We didn't do too poorly, for all it was pitch dark." She exaggerates a little, but it's not far from the truth. They played more by their magical senses than their native ones last night.

[Israel Cohen] Her laughter is mellow - a balmy thing - when Emily speaks of Molly and surprise pets. "A kitten? Yes, a very surprising amount of energy... then again, you are lucky: She could have given you a ferret like her Neil. They tend to make kittens look like layabouts."

Comfortable is suitable for the atmosphere between them. They are not especially close - perhaps something Israel regrets. Given the Summer and recovery of the Autumn so far, though, these chances for comfortable, informal companionship have been few and far between. Enjoying the company of fellow Magi - the chance to let agreeable acquaintanceship become genuine friendship - is a more recent development that, she Hopes, will continue.

That the conversation shifts into a more somber terrain when Emily speaks of purpose [with worry and the strains of waiting and wondering subtle but present in her tone, her feel] doesn't put a damper on companionship so far as Israel is concerned. While she has more of a sense of humour and love of simple fun than most might accredit her, she is undoubtedly a poignant, empathic woman, used to the merits of deeper levels of conversation. Concern flickers over her features again as she listens then, pausing slightly in dipping the fresh lady's fingers into the amber-glowing rum for bare second before laying out the last layer of them...
...then a twitch of her lips in amusement at the thought of Ashley and Emily playing football [she knows Emily means what Americans call soccer] in the dark. Contented to think that they enjoyed themselves.

"I think peace of mind is like happiness itself: It comes when you are ready to welcome acceptance." The turn of her lips now is sweet even with it's touch of wry humour. "Which is rarely easy to achieve and usually comes with a lot of turbulence along the way." Softer then, "But it'll come to you." Her Faith is her Hope and, like most else, neither are flashy things. It flows around and through and back again from some source within her but with a sense of firm foundation -- no less solid than her male counterparts if less hard-edged than his.

"What new purpose - or drive - have you found, then?"

[Emily Littleton] The young Singer is building up her own surety and firmament. It is solidifying around her, without becoming sediment and stifling. It is a weight and a gravity; it is almost a steadfast and solid foothold. She is more tangible, more real than she was this time last year when she Woke Up. There is Faith to her yet, and from that Faith comes Hope, and from that Hope springs Works because Emily's hands are not idle things. She is not content to res to her laurels. She does not stand by, is not content to merely observe. There is always movement to her, like the soft rustle of feathers in the wind. This movement is why she's happier in Fall and Spring than Summer or Winter; Emily cannot abide waiting.

It is easier to quiet than to keep still.

"Helping Nico," she declares. It will come as no surprise, either, that these words rush into, "And hopefully, in turn, by helping him to also help Owen." It will comes as no surprise, either, that these words do not follow but are implied and hopefully, in turn, by helping him to also help myself.

There is still a fondness to the way she shapes the other Singer's name, but it is now bittersweet. Riddled through with worry, with uncertainty, self-doubt. Emily is still young and, for all the deftness with which she can bend social situations when she wants to, there is a fragility to her relationship with him. An unsettled thing. A thing worn down by the months of waiting, and amplified by the circumstances surrounding his return. Israel will need no magic, no great feats of intuition to know this about the younger mage, who tends to the kettle with a preternatural awareness of the point just before boiling that is best for steeping tea.

"It makes me wish I had studied harder, though I have been busy. And I know, rationally, that its beyond me just now to have been able to help him when I found them on Saturday. And that I shouldn't have, even if I could have, because he's in the hospital and it's dangerous -- it would leave behind too many questions, and records."

There is the weight of memory, too, backing Emily's concern for the other Initiate. There's the empathy borne of similar experience. Standing in Nico's hospital room was the first time she'd walked into an ICU room since she'd spent so many months in one herself. This she does not speak to, will not acknowledge.

"There is always something just beyond my fingertips that seems so important, Israel. People I cannot help, things I cannot avert before they becoming undoings. Nico is like Owen's brother. He's the closest family I think Owen has left. I would do anything for my brother, even though we are not true siblings. I can only imagine he feels the same."

[Israel Cohen] [[paused at the kiddos demanding. :( ]]