[Thomas Taylor] He was here first, what was this the third week of the Tuesday Night Regulars? A little grin curls into the corner of his lips, partially because it was becoming almost like a ritual, and as all magi know ritual is part of the magic. There’s a half drunk beer in front of him, an empty glass and a couple of shot glasses. It would appear he has started early and has no issues drinking on his own.
He looked different today and not just by how he was dressed which was very much outside his normal look. Thomas had on a grey hoody, the zip only half way up his chest and under that was a white T-shirt that looked stained from maybe sweat or some kind of liquid? The hood was pulled over his face making only the bottom of his mouth visible to the casual observer. He had on black cargo pants, loose fitting with some unbranded pumps on his feet. Hanging from his waist were a set of braces the Union Jack Symbol plastered all over them adding a dash of colour to the otherwise black or white get up. One knee was up by the table lounging next to him the other leg went under the table to the other side of the booth as he pretty much kept this table off limits for any potential passers by. He also has bandages wrapped tightly around his hands and knuckles but these are rarely seen peeking out of the long sleeves of the coat. All in all Thomas looks like he has been busy, either trouble found him, he got into trouble or something else happened.
Still he was looking forward to the night drinking, Ashley was a ‘defo’ she’d be here as soon as she could, other people got an invite Thomas himself had passed the word along. He smiles hoping for a large turnout like before and a small raise of the brow when he thinks he might be drinking on his ‘todd’.
He ponders something, words come to his lips as he speaks only to himself “Steady mate you’ll get comfy an you know wen you do you’ll be push’d on, made to wander...” Sad thing was, he did not want to go, but you cannot fight your nature.
[Emily Littleton] It's colder, now. Cold enough to warrant the scarf twined around Emily's neck that trails brightly with her movements. Cold enough to warrant a brisker step. She's running a bit late, but doesn't expect to be among the late-comers to the Tuesday Night Regulars meeting at the Hung, Drawn and Quartered. With her schedule, and her houseguest, and her rounds, and all of the other niggling little things eating away at her time, reaching up with needy grubby hands to snag at whatever freetime she had, it was a wonder the Singer showed up at all.
She's in jeans, walking shoes, a plum colored cardigan that shows a cream camisole underneath. The scarf, which Emily unwinds from her neck as soon as she enters the establishment, is all chocolates through tawnies, pale cream, no true white. Her coat is a mid-weight, chocolate brown. It slides easily off her arms as she slips into the booth, cramming her messenger bag beside her.
"Hey," a broad smile for Thomas. Warm, even. No hint of other shadings. They're friends, right now, see, and Emily knows it. "Sorry I'm late. My El line was all buggered over some accident from mid-afternoon."
There's a wave, for the barkeep, or whatever server passes by, whenever Emily has a chance to catch their eye. And when they happen by, she orders a Newcastle and some pub chips to start off with. When her pint arrives, she chinks it against his and offers up: "Happy Tuesday, Southie."
Then pulls.
"I invited a friend along, but we'll have to see if he shows. Just got back to town a couple days ago."
[Thomas Taylor] He is in his own thoughts when Emily walks in, of times past his short life on the road and where it has lead him and where he is going. Eyes looking down at his pint as one hand turns it fingers dashing around the glass to keep it in motion.
Hey
He knew that voice of course and looks up, happy to hear it, it rang of home in some cases but more than that started to register as a voice he was willing to turn an ear towards. A few days ago she told him she would not be able to make it. Thomas smiles over to Emily, the top of his nose and eyes hidden by the hoody “Evenin’ pet, didn’t think you be on the tiddley, spankin’.” He moves both feet so she has a choice of where she would like to sit herself.
“You ain’t late, am early, rolled back into the town a few hours ago, thought he who dares an came straight ‘ere.” He goes silent as she orders, gets himself another pint on the back of hers, Larger this one however. As when they return he picks up his half drunk one, ‘chinks’ it against hers and sees’ it off in one go as the glass comes back down with a –bang-
“North, more the merrier, tis why I started the ‘hole thin’, like minded folks gettin’ together an gettin’ bloody wasted!, robin Tuesday pet!” A raise of the full glass in salute as he has a gulp putting it down.“So who’s the mate pet, he eyes open type or closed?”
[Emily Littleton] She's across from him at the table, makes it easier to have a conversation, makes it easier on whoever filters in next, but truth be told Emily wouldn't have minded a friendly, solid presence at her shoulder today. And if her first pull off the beer had anything to tell Thomas, it was that she'd had a right busy beginning to her week. There's a need underscoring tonight's mischief, a thing ignored that was threatening to bubble out in the worst possible places.
"Eyes open," she confirms, trailing her fingers down the side of the glass once it's steady on the table again. She wipes the condensation into small patterns, doodles on the dark table top that would evaporate in no time. It's an idle thing, but not her usual fidgeting pattern. "I wouldn't put the latter near Ash when she's been drinking."
Her mouth curls wryly, smirk-smile, just a smudge of dark amusement flashing in her eyes. It's laughter, but there's something a bit more wickedness to North tonight. It's not really the thing she wants loosed, but maybe it was nudged free with that toussel in another bar not far from here last week.
"Rolled back?" she parrots the phrase as a prelude. "Where were you off to, if I might ask?" It's just conversation. She shifts, settles into a comfortable cant. One that speaks to a relaxation she doesn't feel, hasn't known in months now. His wanderlust could feed or sate hers. Emily hadn't been out of the city in far, far too long.
[Thomas Taylor] At the moment they were just two people huddled at the back of the bar in their own private world. Thomas watches from underneath the hood his cheeky ever present grin speaks all the words his unseen eyes cannot. He is pleased to see her, glad she is up for some trouble and perhaps tonight was going to be one of those.
He nods at eyes open and a joyful snigger escapes his lips over Ashley drunk. “Fair play pet, see yer point...” He takes a moment to imagine a sleeper cornered by a drunk Ashley who was trying to expand their mind. “She is a casual drunk though is Ash, she will’s it that way.” The Hollow One and the Potter had shared more than one night here at this booth, spoken about some god weird things and also some home truths, in some ways spoke far more candidly than any Hollow one or Potter should...well Potter certainly.
The grin stays on his lips, a counter and match for her wry smirk-smile, Emily was very much a mirror even if she intended not to be, Thomas could not help but feel better, but that was her nature that reverence inside her that she projected.“Glad you came North.” Simple, short, honest.
There’s a moment right then where it looks like Thomas might clamp up, might withhold where he has been like a secret to be buried. He doesn’t, he lets enough loose to sate her question but you cannot but help there a bloody story behind it. “Madison pet, ‘ad to reach out an touch sum folk, found me the railroad...”It sounds so mysterious from his mouth, like a story that wants to be told but cannot, or perhaps not just yet his lips were not so loose from the drink
[Emily Littleton] Oh, so, a secret?
On another night, Emily might have pressed it. On another night, with another person, it might have become a game, a delicate word-play, a flirtation in verbage. Tonight, though, Emily nods whilst wearing an expression that spoke more to understanding than he might have expected. And that was that. She nodded, and left it be.
The Singer pulled a thin elastic out of her hair, letting the curls tumble free. She didn't pay much mind to her appearance; Emily was fairly average. It had never been looks that drew people to her, or pushed them away. Tonight there's a tarnish to that warmth and good-will, though. Could just be the time of year, the chill to the weather, the lengthening nights. She reaches up to rub at a knot in her shoulder, then drops that hand back to her lap as she tilts her head side-to-side.
When the chips come, she pushes them to the middle of the table for sharing. Thomas has gone drinking with Emily in recent times. He knows she can hold her own, despite her small size. He also know she's smart enough to eat while trying that. She prefers her with salt and malt vinegar, but doesn't subject him to the same.
"Sorry if I'm not much company tonight," she says, small smile, passing off the quiet with a shrug. "Didn't sleep so well last night."
[Thomas Taylor] You can only imagine them blue eyes watching her get comfortable, a hand goes into his hoody and pulls out a cigarette as it gets placed in his lips, the ashtray already contained half a dozen tab ends from his time spent alone. The other hand comes up with the zippo as he is careful not to light the bandages on fire that cover his knuckles and hand, with a happy sigh the cigarette is lit and the smoke calmly seems to be blown from his mouth and wander vertically to the roof with very little deviation.
Then the chips come and Thomas grumbles as only a few drags have been taken as he jabs the cigarette out so Emily can at least enjoy her food without a smoke invading her senses and enjoyment. You knew you were in the favoured when he started being unselfish.
“I’ll nick a few, but come on luv slap the salt an vinegar on ‘im don’t be bloody shy!” Apparently that’s how he likes them too, so makes a point for her to not exclude him. “Pet, silence can be golden, don’t fret you can be robin company with lil’ words, trust me Tommy can fill the void.” There’s that smirk again “Can I ask ‘ow cum you didn’t get yer full eight, sumthin’ pete?”
[Ashley McGowen] For the first time ever, Ashley has drinking buddies. It figures it would be the British expats. This is a good thing, really: it gives her company, it lets her indulge in an outlet while she has friends nearby, and as the resident Hollow One has already observed, their resident Potter is a good deal more relaxed and open once she's had a few stouts. That very thing is, in fact, what started the drinking habit in the first place.
Here's something a lot of people don't know about Ashley McGowen: she keeps friends of the eyes-closed variety. He's problematic, Justin, because Justin's a friendly sort and he likes to know all the little details about his friends. In anyone else (in anyone Awake), Ashley would find this to be an admirable quality.
The Awakened don't lie in wait outside her apartment door and fling an arm around her shoulders once she's emerged, determined to hang out on Tuesday night. The Awakened leave her well enough alone.
"Oh, no, I'm meeting..."
"Enigmatic McMystery down at the HD&Q?"
"Justin, seriously. I'm not trying to be a dick but - "
"But you're going to be a dick and go off and drink alone."
"I didn't even make plans with you!...They're work friends."
And thus prematurely end the evening adventures of Hermetic and Sweatervest Boy. Persistent he may be, but Justin can take a hint. So she's a little rattled when she makes her way into the bar, because she suspects that sooner or later the questioning is going to lead to some frank answers, and while they joke about her ambushing Sleepers to expand minds she's never truly done it.
Ashley looks rumpled when she makes her way in and back to the booth. But together. Which is to say, she looks like an average slightly harried graduate student. The cargo jacket she has over her jeans and T-shirt is a little damp from the ever-present autumn drizzle, and she has her black messenger bag slung at her side. She lifts a hand to the other two when she arrives and slides into the booth next to Thomas.
[Emily Littleton] She explains, loosely, while dressing the fries up.
"I've a houseguest," presumably the aforementioned invitee. "But beyond that just your average, run of the mill, college night out stupidi--"
Emily would know that resonance anywhere. Her gaze flicks up form the chips to Ashley, her smile widens into something broader and warmer. Less self-chastizing.
"--Hey, Ashley. Dig in. Chips are for the table."
Em's pint is only diminished by about a quarter at this point. The fries are still hot. Her messenger bag is beside her in the booth, with her jacket and scarf piled over it, but piled neatly because this was Emily Littleton, closet perfectionist.
[Thomas Taylor] The hood tilts as a hand reaches out and takes a chip, the wanderlust around them being replaced he felt a sudden and overwhelming response to eat, to consume he wolfs it down and takes another this one gets eaten as well as he tilts his head as Emily does and realises the source of his sudden need.
He waits until Emily speaks as Thomas hooded head nods “Evenin’ pet, thought you were gonna stand me up.” A grin, cheekily playing from his lips. He moves his ass from cheek to cheek as he shuffles himself further into the corner to give Ashley space as he was centre in the booth. His hand comes out and takes a gulp of his pint as he moves some of the empties to the side and makes a note to ask the waitress when she comes for Ashley’s drink to take them away.
Thomas nudges Ashley, like drinking buddies do (Or should do as Thomas thinks, hence the nudge) “Pet you still owe the TNR a few bloody rounds, get ‘im in an pay the piper!”
[Ashley McGowen] "No," Ashley says, when Thomas voices his worries about her standing him up, "my meeting with my professor just kind of ran late. And then I ran into a friend outside my apartment." They're inquisitive types, the Sleepers she knows, and if they keep company with her regularly they aren't put off by her resonance. Her rank carries no weight. It leaves her a bit unsure of how to extricate herself when being who she is isn't enough.
God forbid she should ever develop real social skills.
There's an appraising look at the table, at the chips Emily is offering, before she says, "I'll get the next couple of rounds, then," and asks the waitress for a stout for herself. She slides the jacket off of her shoulders with a look between Emily and Thomas. There are no warm smiles offered from her, but given that it's Ashley, that's not so unusual a thing.
"How are both of you?"
[Emily Littleton] Oh, so they're back to how's things of one variety or another. Emily shrugs a little and answers, "Tired."
That can't be a surprise. Emily is an undergraduate senior, a first year graduate student, a newly-ranked Initiate, and finishing her Catechumenate all at once. Even if Chicago were a quiet city, without any lingering stress or chaos, it would be a lot to handle.
"I invited Nico," she says, to Ashley. Very level of tone. In fact, almost as an aside as she's reaching for one of the fries and bringing it back to munch on. "He just got back a couple nights ago. I don't know if he'll show. He's got some things to sort out."
Like three months back rent. Like any of the other dozen things that should be creasing Emily's brow with concern just now. But the Manchester (is a Chestnut) girl is good at keeping things to herself, close to breast, out of the general know. So she munches on her chip and lets her eyes wander to see what games are playing on the tv screens.
[Thomas Taylor] Only the lower part of Thomas face can be seen, but a grin forms with Ashleys words, he snatches another chip and asks the waitress to take his empties when Ashley orders a stout. He goes silent letting Emily speak, taking note of the name of the other invite as this was his first mention. A name he had not heard of before, it would seem all wander back to Chicago.
“Am...robin pet.” As an answer to Ashley, hesitation there for a moment, he was good glad the TNR was taking off though the hollow one had been busy the last couple of days. Thomas had sleeper ‘friends’ and the term was applied loosely because the friends he kept were of a far more roguish nature. He tried not to let the two life styles mix, Never shit where you eat echos in his mind as his fingers remain around the pint and he has another gulp, cursing as he nearly drops the glass. He puts it down once he is sure he has hold of it and goes about tightening the bandages’.
“Lucky you came Ash, North ‘ere was eyin’ up yer spot...” He of course was referring to their drinking session a few nights hence; it would seem if you want to bond with the hollow one you have to be prepared to gets completely shit faced. A small nod to Emily as his lips quirk upwards at the side like he had something cheeky on his mind
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley might have had a playful rejoinder to Thomas - or, in the Hermetic's case, more likely something dry and vaguely sardonic - except that the name Emily just dropped has her full attention. Ashley blinks at her across the table, eyes round in her head like blue bulbs, and her hand pauses and hovers where it stopped near one of the chips.
"Nico?" she asks, as though she needed the clarification. Perhaps she too is wondering about Owen, but isn't going to ask, is going to let Emily volunteer that information herself if she chooses to. Or perhaps she already has her guesses by the fact that Emily hasn't mentioned it yet. "He's okay?" He's alive?
Her tone, too, is careful, because while she and Nico didn't know each other well enough to consider each other friends they were well on their way to a friendship. The young man was one of the three magi she mentioned her mother's death to, is one of the three magi in Chicago she has discussed the manner of her Awakening with. She warmed to him quickly. She warmed to several of the magi who came into town around that time rather quickly. Maybe it was just the summer.
She just picks up one of the fries and takes a thoughtful bite from it. Silent now.
[Jarod Nightingale] He was on the phone when he came in, speaking in what sounded like German, though God knows why anyone in Germany would want to call him at what was for them around 3 in the morning. His voice had a calm but authoritative edge to it (all business, this conversation), but he did laugh once, towards the end of the discussion, as he neared the bar. That was a good sign, as was the smile on his face when he bid the caller goodbye and hung up.
He knew by now to glance over at the booth. It was a trend, coming here and running into friends. (If one could call Jarod's relations such a word. He didn't seem to put much stock in friendship for its own accord.) So he wasn't surprised when he spotted Ashley and Thomas... and Emily. After sliding his phone into a pocket, he tapped gently on the bar and asked for... a glass of ice water. He left the bartender a tip to make up for the lack of a real purchase.
And then... gracefully and unabashedly, he slid into the booth next to Emily. His attire wasn't professional today, which suggested that he may have taken the day off, or at least not gone into the office. Jeans and a fitted black t-shirt (identical to the one he'd had on last night at the club, but not actually the same shirt), and once again that braided string bracelet circled his left wrist. With short sleeves, the whole of the tattoo on his right forearm was visible - an elegant, swirling design that extended down from his elbow to the back of his hand.
There was a bit of bruising on his neck, near where it met the shoulder. It might have been a bite mark.
"Up to no good again, I see."
[Emily Littleton] [Subterfuge: I am so buying this dice pool up. I am. Watch me put in that request right-the-hell-now.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Counter!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 5, 5, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] North was eyein' up yer spot... earns Thomas a cheeky eyeroll from the other Brit. North and South seemed to have ceased their hostilities, at least for the night, all in the name of good-natured fun and drinking buddies. Emily could be reasonable, particularly where drinking buddies were concerned. It seems the Cockney could, too.
"Nothing of the sort!" she demurs, scandalized by the suggestion! And quick to follow that mock indignation with a curl of her smile and another fry to snack on.
Oh, but Ashley has picked up on the undercurrents of what Emily has said quite quickly. So there is a second conversation going on beneath the first. Ashley doesn't ask about Owen, Emily doesn't offer. There's not enough genuine warmth to her smile for the answer to have been overtly good news anyway. The weariness is the clearest read, not the natural warmth she'd carreid -- albeit briefly -- following Midsummer.
He's okay?
"Mmm, more or less." The answer was qualified by the hesitence that pulled back her words. Left them sounding uncertain. Alive? Yes. Okay? No. "He asked pretty much the same of you. Said he'd ring you soon..."
The thought trails off when Jarod slides into the booth beside her. Emily looks over, smiles (warmly [darkly]) and lets that slightly lingering (wary) look stand as her hello. She reaches over to pull her pint a bit closer to her side of the table, to shift and make room even though there was plenty of space for them both in the booth. Even with her messenger bag pushing her closer to the middle (shared space) than she'd otherwise be.
Tension? What tension? Emily and Jarod were past all of that, right? Right.
[Thomas Taylor] Silence descends on Thomas, under his hood his eyes wander over the chips There’s only a few left, of course you can smoke, it will be robin and that’s all she wrote his hands both of them go into either side of the half zipped hoody and pull out a cigarette and light as it is placed in his lips then with a hungry need is lit as his head tilts back just a touch as the sigh is one of satisfaction. He takes a couple of deep drags and blows the smoke skywards letting the ladies speak but Emily does get a return grin.
He instead listened to them talk, watched their body language from hoody eyes and let them speak to each other about returning friends. Fingers come up and take the cigarette from his mouth, a smoke hoop blown in greeting from Thomas to Jarod as the hood nods but he does not speak over the ladies. Names, reactions it was all taken in, stored, remembered. The art to robin business is being a robin middleman, putting things together.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley came here, in part, to forget that within the next month she will likely be delivering an order for the execution of Basil Gillingson, if she isn't carrying out the execution herself. It's a heavy oath of silence to be bound to. It reminds her, unhappily, of being twenty-two years old and witnessing the tribunal of another Traditionmate she almost outright despised.
So the air of tension that breathes over the table when Jarod seats himself is a little unwelcome in her present state of mind. Ashley doesn't entirely blame either Emily or the Verbena. But there's a glance flicked between the two that is a touch irritable before Ashley says, "Hey, Jarod."
Unsure of how to break apart the quiet, Ashley takes a long swallow of her stout when it arrives. Small talk isn't her strong suit. Neither are groups of people or starting conversations with groups of people. There are no disasters going on right now, there is no business to attend to. And so from her there is a moment of quiet distress which she fills up with beer.
"I, um. Thanks for telling me about Nico. I don't even know where he went," she says, just to have said something.
[Jarod Nightingale] There was a slice of lime skewered on a plastic toothpick in his glass. Jarod pulled the toothpick out after taking a drink and popped it into his mouth. He chewed on it lazily and rolled it across his lower lip with his tongue.
He seemed... relaxed. Moreso than usual.
The two women were discussing someone he'd neither met nor heard of, and so he had no contributions to make to the conversation, but he watched Emily and made note of how she spoke. Despite having more than a few shots of tequila last night, he remembered how she'd looked then - the unspoken undertones of carefully-masked emotions. Like Thomas, he let the two talk without interruption. Also like Thomas, he made note.
Ashley... wasn't particularly happy about his arrival. His eyes swung slowly over to regard her when she greeted him. There was a moment of silence, and then: "I can leave if I'm interrupting." Not offended or irritated, more... carefully considerate.
[Emily Littleton] The best part of all of this was, truly, that Ashley hadn't even been there for the precipitating moment that catalyzed the Verbena-Chorister tension, well this particular bout of tension. This was all about what hadn't happened, those pesky and niggling things left unsaid.
Emily pulled a fry toward her and started dissecting it on her napkin rather than eating it. It wasn't a conscious thing, but it was definitely a nervous thing. She pulled it into small, equally sized pieces, and then ate those.
Jarod offers to leave, and that leaves her wearing a faint frown she doesn't recognize in herself. The girl glances from Jarod to Ashley, and then from Ashley to the hooded and inscrutable depths of Hollower's hoodie.
So she teases him, gently. "Oy, South'. Are you going to hide under your Pulli all night?" She nudged his foot with hers under the table. Unfortunately for Emily, she's slipped in a German word into her English sentence. The only one at the table who knows when she mixes languages is Jarod -- it happens when she's tired, when she's stressed, or when she's so comfortable with another person that she doesn't mind her own idiosyncrasies. It likely tells him more than her carefully schooled expression otherwise might.
[Thomas Taylor] The moment is not missed on Thomas either who hopes one or the other break it so TNR can carry on, he had a place for such things, but nothing that dominated a table completed, him and North spoke the other night, of waiting, of understanding that sometimes people need to get off. He hopes she takes one side of the fence or the other...or as he has picked up from the Americans: Lemon to shit or get off the crapper. Well, silence of the awkward variety on TNR night, not on Thomas watch. Emily and himself had the tales of woe, it was all laid out on the line, time to choose.
There’s a snort, it is loud and carries. “All welcome isle Ash?” His head tilts to the potter slightly, only his mouth and nose really visible though as his face turns into the light your sure he has one hell of a black eye as his head shifts slightly as he gets kicked “You can cut the tension in’ere with a bloody chainsaw.” There is was out there, it always helped when it was out there. The cigarette gets placed back in his lips “Welcome to thy show Catman, were gettin’ ready to do shots, so only go if you ain’t ‘ere to keep up...” A dare on his lips, consumption erupting like a wave from him as he turns towards Emily “Ain’t me usual charmin’ self isle now North.”...am takin’ it that’s wat yer meant by pulle, pulla...yer thingy!” His fingers gesture widely as he tries to get the word right. No this was not here for mystery, the hoody man in the corner! This was done because right now he was u-g-l-y.
He takes picks his pint already half empty (Was it his third or fourth) “To old mates on the return bounce, the frog always bring’s ya wat yer need, trust me.” He holds it up to the centre of the table for all parties to toast to.
[Thomas Taylor] ((He picks his pint up))
[Ashley McGowen] None of them, except perhaps Jarod, are the best company tonight. Thomas is bruised and battered and more secretive than is usually his wont, Emily is torn (in more than one sense) by Nico's return without Owen, and Ashley - well, let's be frank. Ashley's company can be a dubious thing even when she's in a good mood. Right now she's almost radiating anger.
It's not Emily's fault, or Jarod's fault. She doesn't even fully understand the situation beyond assumptions she's made (and perhaps someone better at understanding these things would have a better grasp, which only increases her frustration.) They just happen to be an unfortunate outlet for an aggression that's been building for weeks without a target, and Ashley doesn't shy away from a fight.
Her inclinations when she feels this way are usually to seek solitude, and so perhaps she has enough of an inkling, one that says that Emily and Jarod are not the real target of her anger (at least not most of it), to do just that. The glass of stout is slammed down even as she tugs her jacket over her shoulder with one hand, pulling it over the other arm once she's set the glass back down. "No. No interruption," she tells Jarod, even as she reaches into one of the many pockets of her coat to pull out a billfold and cast some bills down onto the table. Enough to pay for the promised rounds.
"I have a lot of shit on my mind. Good night."
She jerks the messenger bag back over her shoulder, and without a further glance back at the table, shoves her hands in her pockets and walks toward the door.
[Emily Littleton] Even if the anger isn't for her, even if it weren't at least partly about her, it's enough to push Emily past the middling grounds of okay and back to something a bit less darkly-amused, into something pale-faced and hollowed. Ashley bristles, then begins the process of extricating herself from the gathering. The Singer mirrors the behavior on her side of the table, going through many of the same motions.
"You know," she says, and her voice is tight, constrained and lilt-less. "I don't think I'm up for this tonight, either."
To say Emily was wounded would be to overlook a host of other reactions at play, here. It would still be valid, if superficial. She's not looking for sympathy in her departure either. So there's a set to her jaw as she lays down more than her fair share of bills for the evening; she trusts any overage will simply go to the next pot. Thomas is robin like that.
"Sorry."
There's a glance after Ashley, and then a truly apologetic look for Jarod and Thomas. Then North is the second to make her way toward the door, twisting her scarf around her neck as she goes, unless someone stops her.
[Jarod Nightingale] The last time that Thomas and Jarod had encountered each other, there'd been a fight. Not between the two men, but between Thomas and Emily. The two of them seemed to have patched things by now (thankfully) but tonight there were other discordant notes to be dealt with. Ashley was angry and stressed, and Emily was distressed for a number of reasons. Of course... Thomas was Thomas.
The party was doomed before it had even begun.
Jarod watched the scene unfold without exhibiting any readable emotion. He was, indeed, the one singularly calm element in this mix. he glanced at Ashley as she left, then Emily began to extricate herself from the booth, which required Jarod to stand up, since he was blocking the path. He did so without comment or complaint. Then he glanced at Thomas and let out an almost imperceptible sigh before looking at the ceiling. (As if something up there might strike him with a moment of patience and clarity.)
Then he took a final drink of his water and followed Emily outside, though whether he'd simply go on his own way or continue with her... was up to the Singer.
[Thomas Taylor] Ashley seethes’ with rage, anger. Thomas tilts his head as his mouth becomes taunt, without seeing the rest of his face it is hard to put that emotion down to any particular one, worried? Anger? Annoyance? It could any of them or more. The cigarette gets put out in the ashtray and if Thomas was affected by the angry hunger besides him it does not show, he does not shrink or hide or fold himself into the corner. Still Ashley was like his good right arm on TNR, this was not expected nor really to be accounted for.
Then like a house of cards it all comes crumbling down, the hood turns to North as she makes her excuses and gets up and leaves as well, there’s a deep sigh from the hollow one but he does not call out to either of them. It is in his nature to wander, he is wanderlust and though this was more anger driven than a choice he accepts both women’s excuses and leaves them be.
“These girls fall like dominos...” He mumbles more to himself than Jarod, though the hood turns to look at Catman to gauge his reaction to both women like he was some kind of catalyst that started a change reaction, and for once Thomas is thankful for the hood that shields his gaze as he wonders what the man had done to deserve such a reaction from Ashley, which in turn cascaded onto Emily.
He nods slightly when Jarod gets up much like the rest he does not question why he is leaving, out of all of them Jarod was perhaps the one that had to leave after the display and the last thing the man would see was another cigarette placed in Thomas’ lips as he called over the waitress and ordered another round.
“Guess you did end up on yer todd after all...” A mirthless chuckle escapes as he settles into a night of heavy drinking and wondesr perhaps if he should head back to Madison now, Halloween was not that far away and he was getting itch feet.
[Emily Littleton] Emily didn't really have any place in mind to go once she cleared the doors of the HD&Q. She did know better than to follow Ashley in the mood the Dean was wearing, so she set about in the opposite direction down the Mile, fighting with her jacket and her messenger bag as she walked.
But her footsteps don't carry her very far. Far enough that she's not immediately noticeable from the line of sight of the door. Far enough that there's a solid wall to lean her back against. She hasn't noticed, immediately, that Jarod followed her out. Emily tips her head back until it meets the wall, presses her eyes shut.
There's a lump in her throat that she can't swallow down. She can't name it. She can't put her finger on what little thing pushed this over from managing, from tolerable, to a point where the chill of an Autumn evening wasn't enough to pull her back. Emily sniffles, but surely that's just the cold, and her eyes are a little bright when they blink open again, but that's almost definitely the alcohol. There is nothing darkly amused about them, nothing wry and dancing, nothing warm.
All she needs is a moment, Emily tells herself, feeling the solidity of the wall behind her. Some grounding. Something that wasn't spinning just out of reach, or threatening to leave at any moment. The wall didn't have free will. It would hold her up as long as she needed -- barring obvious acts of God or other natural disasters.
[Jarod Nightingale] Ashley left, and for a moment as Jarod stood outside the pub, he glanced after her, watching the Hermetic as she walked away.
It was Emily who he followed, though. Because he knew her better, and the intricacies of her moods and motivations were more easily read and understood. When he found her, she was leaning against a wall, and her eyes gleamed in the street lights. It was getting a little colder as night progressed. It had been warm earlier, and he didn't have a jacket with him, so he noticed the bite in the air as the wind touched his bare arms, but it wasn't enough discomfort to be cause for distraction.
He approached slowly to give her time to herself, and when he arrived at Emily's side, he didn't say anything. Instead he caught her gaze for a moment, then reached out and pulled her gently away from the wall so that he might wrap his arms around her and hold her against him. It was comforting, this. The kind of embrace that one gave to a good friend who was obviously in pain.
[Emily Littleton] The night before, Emily had told Nico it'd been a damned long summer. Her statement hadn't been in reference to her own ills, but it might as well have been. There was a lot riding on the narrow shoulders of the Orphan-turned-Singer. And, in turn, a significant swath of her foundation, her grounding in this crazy Windy City had been eroded, swept away by change and circumstance. She's unsteady, uncentered. She's not honest enough to call it pain, just yet, but he sees it in her anyway.
Jarod pulls her into an embrace and, despite the tension between then, Emily follows into it without resistence. She wraps her arms around him and slips her chin over his shoulder -- she has to stand on tiptoe tonight, because she isn't wearing heels and he is taller than she is. There's a horrible emptiness, a loneliness, that communicates itself across the small space between them, through the whisper-cadence of her breathing or the tightness in her muscles. This is no longer a familiar thing; Emily has friends, and a cabalmate, and a Tradition now, but she's been alone a lot more in the past few months.
There are things that this hug will tell him that he never would have gotten her to say. They are qualitative, emotive, difficult to measure. But she holds on to him like a lifeline, like a thing to keep her tethered -- and she is, indeed, in danger of breaking away and setting herself free to wander. She has a permanent address here, but they both know it means nothing to her. She is at the edge of her hope and leaving is easier than persevering.
But there are things a hug cannot tell him. Things like why now this breaking. Things like how deep she's buried memories like the Labyrinth or Daiyu's death because there was always someone else's suffering to see to. Emily is not a caregiver, and she is not a survivor, but she tries not to borrow on another's grief. She is quick to turn that compassion towards people who need it more.
There is so much between them that goes unsaid. It's always how things have been for them. Emily doesn't say, but she also doesn't let him go just yet.
[Jarod Nightingale] These were unknown things to him: what it meant to let go and allow another person to hold you up, even if just for a moment. One would imagine that even if he desired such a thing, he would not be inclined to ask for it, nor to accept it if it were offered. Still, he seemed to have an instinctive awareness of the kind of emotional heaviness and instability that sapped so much strength from Emily now. For all his apparent and not-so-apparent selfishness, he could be capable of sudden and surprising acts of kindness.
Especially because it was Emily, and because he wanted to.
Jarod was a survivor. But he was also many other things, at different moments. People were complicated that way. Emily just as much so. When she leaned into him, he tightened his hold on her, as if he could draw her into the warmth and strength of his body and keep her there. A long time passed like that, without words, as the occasional car drove by. He could feel her heart beat reverberating against his chest. She could probably feel his too. When she rested her chin on his shoulder, he leaned his head against her own and closed his eyes.
"Do you want me to take you somewhere?" he finally said, quietly.
[Emily Littleton] There was a time, not so very long ago, when she held to him like this because the world was remade anew and it was wondrous and terrible and all-together too much. But these things, these heavy things that follow her and shadow her smile, are not made anew. They are not of wonder or terror, not truly. They're simple things, exaggerated and exacerbated, made caricatures of due to their proximity to the Awakened world. But Loneliness for a mage is no different that Loneliness for a Sleeper. And Loss is all the same. Despair. Heart-ache.
There was a time when they held to each other on the snowy front lawn of the college house where she sublet a room. There was a time when he found her at a club not far away, and Emily held to him a moment longer than necessary before they left for his flat. It's not that dissimilar, for all the time that's passed and all the subtle shifts to the people they've become.
His voice is soft in her ear and Emily nods her answer: yes. It causes a catch in her breathing, that admission. (I'm not strong enough to do this anymore. [I need somewhere to be...]) She blinks back tears.
Of course it is Jarod who's there when she finally breaks. In some small part of her mind she'd known it would be, or she imagines it so. There's no one else in the city who she'd trust with that. There's one other person she would trust with that, and he's nowhere to be found. He's okay but absent. All she knew could be summed up in three words: not dead yet. Which wasn't making it any easier.
"I don't know where," she tells him, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. There's a defeated tone to it that hurts her to hear.
[Jarod Nightingale] "I have a guest room... if you don't want to be alone. Ilana's at a friend's place."
Regardless of her answer (if she indeed did not want to be alone, or if she would prefer he simply take her back to her own bed), he was content to remain with her and take her where she needed to be. Jarod pulled back, but not entirely. There was a reluctance to break the contact (perhaps on both of their parts.) One of his arms remained wrapped around Emily's shoulders, and he kept her close to him as he started to walk toward the parking garage where he'd left his car. Unless Emily decided to speak, the remainder of that short trip would be made in silence.
She hadn't been in his car in months, but the black M3 looked exactly the same as it always had, sitting in the fluorescent glow of the parking garage as if it had been waiting for them. Despite having to carry around a child on a regular basis, the interior was clean and undamaged. One would imagine that even if accidents occurred, Jarod had the resources and motivation to make sure that no one would ever be the wiser for it.
When they got to the car, he touched the button on his key that made the alarm turn off, and the headlights flashed briefly with a pleasant chirping sound. Another touch, and the locks popped open. He opened the passenger door for Emily and stayed beside her until she was comfortably seated, then walked around and got in, starting up the engine.
When they pulled out of the lot, he'd take them in the direction of wherever Emily wanted to go - no questions asked.
[Emily Littleton] Jarod has a guest room. For some reason this draws a long and somewhat frustrated sigh out of Emily. She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose before explaining.
"I... have a... Nico." Pause. Emily's pretty sure that came out wrong in any of the dozen languages Jarod knows. She regroups somewhat clumsily, explaining instead that, "I mean, he's staying with me. Because I'm supposed to be --"
The words amble, they don't even reach their target. They fall away and Emily's left with this horrible, empty silence. She leans into him a bit more (I don't want you to go.) There aren't ready words for what she needs to say.
"I'm supposed to be that person, so he doesn't have to be alone," she tells him. Hopeless. "And I don't want to be alone, either," she tells him, as if this only compounds the problem. And somehow having Nico around, who needs someone around, isn't the same as what Jarod's offering her.
It's likely that what they sort out is heading back to her place. So that Nico isn't left in her apartment wondering. So that when Jarod goes, if Jarod goes, she doesn't have to resettle herself into a space where she's needed to be more than she can offer tonight.
In the time it takes to drive back to Lake View, she apologizes three, maybe four times. Emily is not as comfortable with the quiet between them just now. She is frayed around the edges. The world wanders by behind the windscreen, touched here and there with the distortion of rain on the glass. This building is better than the last she lived in, but he'd never seen that. It is a step up, indeed, from the house with college flat mates who tried to offer him Mystery Mixed Drink in a red solo cup.
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