Mazel tov

[Israel Cohen] [Dex+Ath. +2 Diff [blind], -1 Diff [acute sense: hearing] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7) [WP]

[Israel Cohen] It is not uncommon for one to accompany the other on their nights of Sentry Duty -- at least for a portion of the time spent at the Chantry. If nothing else they tend to share their evening meal together and tonight Israel had called him [wherever he was -- with Solomon who knows. The book store? The house boat? Her house? Working on the Ophelia house? Business meeting? Clandestine associations with various unknown contacts? Sorting out the latest rises and falls of the coffee market?] to ask if he would bring something for dinner. She was craving something hearty and savory tonight: Stuffed chicken Marsala [her favourite Italian bistro is, of course, owned by Jews of Italian descent: They serve all of their meals in Kosher variations when requested] which, of course, means tiramisu to enjoy afterwords.

So it is that she waits for him while, effectively, babysitting the empty Chantry house. And the truth of the connection between them - mystically bonded among other things - is that she has a sense of him when he turns onto the block in his car. Which affords her enough time to hastily grab her coat, gloves and cane [but not her hat and scarf] and slip out the front door. Some snow is grabbed from the banister, but she doesn't stray too far from the front door... after all: He can sense her just as easily. A feeling of her near the front door shouldn't go amiss. She's expecting him after all. And so he'll make his way up the front walk without concern [or, at least, more wary alertness [paranoia?] than usual], she hopes... affording her a moment to listen to the sound of his foot steps...

"Hullo, Sol," Is her greeting in that softspoken voice of hers. The warmth of it tender... though there's something just beneath it...

..a slight huff of effort and she hurls the snowball at him. And if perhaps it sounds as though she giggles while she does it, let us assume that was only his imagination.

[Solomon Ward] [Oh Shit?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Solomon Ward] It had been unexpected, of course. Not the phone call, nor the request for food. The girl could eat her way out of a situation, if it had involved food of some nature. The idea of 'eats like a bird' truly rang home with Israel. Not the idea that birds don't eat, but the fact that some eat their body weight, and then some, most days...

I'm going to have to look over her aunts and get an idea of what age to expect her to start plumping...

Perhaps the snowball was a sign that he was not being as cautious as he usually is (Solomon? Hardly. Wishful thinking). No, no, twould be better to say that for all the sparring and challenges and training he and Israel put in from time to time, the fact he is juggling still hot bags of chicken and sides while contemplating her potential future weight, as well as high stepping through the snow lest it wet his trouser hems or leak into his shoes, and then...

Snow.

Specifically, a snow ball.

He'd almost ducked, not at the huff or the ball itself, but at her very tone as she greeted him. That was her 'Watch me do this' tone, her surprise! tone. Not ducking kept the snow out of his face. A slight side step kept most out of the front of his coat, literally, and that was about it. It bursts along his right shoulder and neck line, sending flecks of cold and wet and iciness against his neck and cheek and along one arm, to near instantly melt with wet plops as it runs down the warm bag.

"I suppose that was not unexpected. No matter, little bird. I'll have you pay for it later" some what cheeky tone, but this Solomon. No, must have been her imagination. The small smile as well as he indicated the door with a tilt of his head, despite her blindness.

"Care to eat now, or shall I drag you through the lawn first?"

[Atlas Mason] You really wouldn't think that driving a motorcycle in the middle of december would be a very smart move, but for some it was a choice, the hardest of the hard riding because if was their life and no small amount of white stuff on the ground would stop them, even if it was covering black ice. For a rare few however it was not a choice, but a necessity a few people only had a motorcycle and Atlas found himself snugly in the latter category. Not because it was a choice to do so, but simply because he hadn't bothered getting around to putting together a car yet.

And so down the road the rumble of his motorcycles engine began and slowly but steadily built into the roar that was so characteristic of the ancient machine as it drew closer and closer to the chantry. By the time it reached the chantries driveway one might very well wonder how Atlas has any hearing left, or how he had managed to avoid noise violations for the vehicle, all that aside though Atlas began the slow crawl up the driveway angling to park the bike off the drive, just incase someone else with a car happened to come along.

The roar died away as Atlas shut the machine down and stepped up and off, his helmet coming free with a click of the helmet strap. He smiled in his amiable way and waved to Israel and Solomon as he tucked the helmet in the well of the sidecar. "Israel, Solomon this is an unprojected temporal occurrence, I had not projected that your physical chemical biological structures in conjunction with your noospheric actualizations would be located at this nexus at this particular juncture within space time."

He commented as he stepped towards them, his riding boots crunching in the snow.

[Israel Cohen] She cannot watch the explosion as the snowball makes direct contact: She can, however, hear the slight changes in his breathing and the sound of impact itself. The tone in which he response which - for the man - is plenty cheeky enough and elicits a rare grin from her. Israel smiles often: A true grin that reveals the shallow dimple at her right cheek, however, is distinctly less common. It brightens her countenance considerably. While she doesn't quite disgrace herself by clapping her hands and jumping up and down, she does bounce just slightly on the balls of her [untied] boot clad feet.

"Silly Easterner... absolutely no contest whatsoever up against a good Midwestern girl." Light; teasing and more besides, though her voice is made slightly hoarse in the night air. It doesn't take much to strain that breathy voice far. "Let's eat -- I'm starving. You can device sinister ways in which to make me pay while I consume the nutrients I'll need to fend you off."

Feeling for and finding the door handle she gives it a turn and lets the door swing open: In a rarity of events she is the one motioning him to go in ahead of her. Because he has the bags of course.. not because she doesn't want to expose her back to him. Not at all.

Though going in is delayed somewhat at the roar of Atlas's old motorbike, then the sudden quiet [relatively] when the engine is cut, to be broken by his characteristic and unique speech patterns. Israel smiles in his very general direction [he is moving and it'l take a moment for her to 'hone' in on him with hearing and Awareness alone] lifting her free hand in greeting... towards him. She hopes.
"Hello, Atlas. Not too cold driving around on that, are you?"

And, in an aside to Solomon before Atlas comes closer - a bit of concern [ah, Israel] in her voice, "I don't know why we never think to order enough food for ourselves and five others when we're eating here." Somewhere between worry at not being able to be generous to others... and sadness that she'll have to wait to eat as it would be rude to eat in front of others when there isn't enough to go around. As if in testimony of the last her stomach grumbles slightly.

[about in her early to mid 40's is when Solomon might expect her to start to 'plum up' if she follows the trends of the other women in her family. earlier if she stops her normal exercise routine but given her lifestyle that isn't likely]

[Emily Littleton] Winter has settled onto Chicago again, bringing with it a bundle of anniversaries to celebrate or let slip past like sand through fingertips. Emily has been Awake for over a year now. She's been frequenting this house of dreams and nightmares for almost a year now. She's been on God's green Earth for twenty-three years and that recently passed annum whas been fraught with periods of community-building and soulful separatism. She is in the trough of one of the latter lulls, tonight.

Her boot heels click on the pavement, where her footfalls connect directly with the solid ground. Emily's heavy winter coat is dark, and the pale scarf she wears stands out in contrast. Her hair is pulled up demurely, pinned in place. She visits the Chantry now, not as an Emissary or a full-fledged member, but as a guest. As the Diplomat's Daughter. It is a meeting house, but in many ways it is no longer her meeting house. This melancholy comes with her, swaddled and wrapped up behind her better behaviors, her careful presence.

There is a gathering on the porch, still, when she mounts the front stairs. The smiles she offers each of them are warm enough, well enough.
"Good evening, everyone," she says, and her voice is clear, unfettered with troubles or emotion, unwearied by worry. There is still and always her muddled accent, touched through with places not here and not now. Perhaps the oddest thing is that the Singer comes, tonight, empty handed.

[Solomon Ward] "Georgia is in the South, dear" he comments dryly, though there isn't a hint of Southern twang in his voice, nor never was for that matter. All the same its where he considers himself to be from, and his occasional lack of imagination shows through in his dry tone, though he does heft the bag slightly and shake it a bit, contents jostling plastic to make noise for her.

Never mind all he has ever said and done for her, the Tradition, Chicago, or his endless Crusade against...well, the world.

Given an option of being shit, and the cold, Solomon would rather be shot... .

The motorcycle is some what of a surprise. Not necessarily its presence, nor that of the man who rides it (ok, slightly, the man doesn't come to the Chantry often), but the fact that any one is driving such a thing out in this weather... . On the flipside, sane and Mason rarely go together in a sentence, so... yeah, not as surprised as he could be, though his general hatred of all things wet and snowy do impart some sympathy for the man.

A nod to Atlas, and another to Emily as she arrives.

"Good evening, both of you. How have you been?" a hand moving to push the door open wider than for merely himself at Israel's behest, indicating that they should proceed before him "Please, do go in out of the cold."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas smiles to each of the individuals in turn, first Israel wasted as it might be and then on to Solomon and at last Emily as she joins them all on the porch. Atlas is empty handed tonight much as Emily was but it was likely this had intended to simply be a quick layover, checking the boards, wander through the library and then off to god knows where once again, that plan only changed now because well..there was people.

"Such a convergence was deemed unlikely recieving a ration of only five percent, however it's formulation is not in the negative aspect of social convergences, greetings to all. Emily, it is of notable positivity to acknowledge your actuality, it has been several cycles, your's as well Solomon."

He says in that oh so chipper voice before stepping inside the chantry proper. As he does he removes his boots before stepping off to the side to allow others to enter, you had to be courteous afterall.

[Emily Littleton] There is a note on the Chantry board that proclaims the dissolution of Emily's former cabal, the House of Leaves. Miss Littleton has been less a fixture in the Chicago community over the past month, owing to personal obligations, and finals and her waningly brief political career. When Mr. Ward asks how they've been, her smile is a little warmer but no less carefully guarded.

"I've been well, thank you. And Happy Christmas." She directs this specifically to Solomon as she steps inside the Chantry and begins to unbutton her coat. Emily does not hesitate to get out of the cold, however little it appears to bother her.

"I hope you've all been well. It seems winter has found us," she says, offering a small, rueful smile at that as she unwinds her scarf from about her neck. Her gaze lands on Atlas for a moment, and the corners of her mouth flex into a slightly warmer smile (It is good to see you too), before they are all ushered deeper into the Chantry's warmth.

This is about the time when Emily might have reached out to touch Israel in greeting. That doesn't happen tonight. The Singer has pulled back a little, retreated into a more professional and reticent demeanor.

[Israel Cohen] Were they alone she might have a dry retort for her once mentor, always friend, now-much-more... as it stands there is not just one new comer but Emily arrives as well [and yes, she does wonder what you chances of success may be were she to order more food and attempt to cajole Solomon into going back out to get it. these seem slim: He is not a men easily cajoled and does, indeed, abhorr the cold].

"Hi, Emily," words spoken with warmth and something else, just a touch -- something searching? Not so much open concern as an underscore of connection, of I care enough that I wonder if you are well after things I have heard. "I'm glad you've come over tonight; it's been too long." Which echoes what has been said of course but doesn't make it any less true.

They are stepping in now - Atlas moving out of the way; she is careful with her guide cane so as not to inadvertently whack anyone [somewhat assured that Solomon won't try some kind of treacherous ambush in reprisal now that there are others present] - and she removes her loose boots as well, "Same with you, Atlas. Things get so busy, I don't see half as much of most people nearly as often anymore."

Then, "There's some tea steeping in the kettle in the kitchen if anyone is interested. And I set up the fireplace successfully..." At that she inclines an ear towards Atlas with a quiet smile, "A skill I finally managed to learn thanks to Atlas."

[Solomon Ward] "Merry Christmas to you as well, and you Mr. Mason" as they enter the warmer climate of the house. His coat, wet both from regular snow earlier and the attack by Israel is removed and shaken out the door for a moment before he closes it behind them all, then hangs the coat. He continues, per usual, to wear the suit jacket inside however. At least, tonight, he does unbutton for a bit more casual comfort. As casual as the stiff starched shirt and vest underneath it are, anyway.

After that is settled he picks up the bag once more and takes it towards the kitchen, settin git on the table and speaking up and down the passage way as he begins to prepare it.

"By all means, get some thing warm to drink. I usually order extra, as Israel tends to eat small villages dry this time of year, but between this and whats in the refrigerator I'm sure I can arrange some thing."

The disbanding of the House is hardly commented on. He'd never seen it as much of a cabal at all in all honesty, though to mention such verbally would be rude.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas had removed his own coat as well in the time it had taken the others to enter and remove any unwanted items such as shoes, hats, coats and the like. The coat was hung next to Solomon's and the man moved down the hallway towards the kitchen in his usual white shirt and suspenders combo, because every occasion is done best with suspenders.

"The inability to initiate a basic chemical oxidization reaction resulting in a ignition event resulting in a continual matter to heat combustion reaction is simply unacceptable, every personage should have the sufficient data to do so, Israel was quite proficient when suppiled with the prerequisite data packets." He comment's as he moves down the hallway.

Atlas was also aware of the situation with the house of leaves and its recent disbanding and he gives Emily a slightly wider smile inspite of himself, but it wasn't something to be discussed in public, it was more for quiet moments between two people and not aired publicly. "Those of you who do enjoy frequenting my vessel should do so at your nearest convienience." He says casually as he steps up to the coffee pot and starts prepping it to run. "As the exponential increase in aberrant factors within this cityscape have facilitated the necessity of relocating the vessel identified as the lafette to another locality not so easily obtained by standard means."

[Emily Littleton] She threads her scarf through her hands in an idle movement. Emily has always had more trouble with keeping still than she has with keeping quiet. There are echoes of angels and demons and deaths splattered among these walls for her that she feels more keenly in the chill of the year. She does not take off her boots; she will likely not go barefoot in this place for many years to come.

Under her open coat she's wearing dress slacks and a pale pink button down shirt. There's a glint of silver at her throat, as always, but the college kid persona has been neatly exchanged for something with a little more gravitas again. In many ways, Emily has grown up over the quiet of Autumn. She has struggled and not always triumphed, but her repose has returned at long last.

"Tea sounds lovely," she tells Israel, and there's a little warmth in her tone that wasn't there for the others. It's thin and fleeting, but present nonetheless. "Would you like me to pour for everyone?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows and scanning the others for yeas and nays before heading toward the kitchen.

The sight of a holiday tree in the living room draws the cadence of her footfalls to a slow, and then to a stop. She glances at it, then back at Solomon, and then heads on to the kitchen. This pointed look is all the commentary Emily has to offer on the holiday decor.

"I'd like to visit again, Atlas," she tells him, but he can already hear the conjunction creeping into her voice before she gets to: "But it will have to be when I get back from holiday. I'll be away for a couple weeks," she tells them. Then offers a weakly wry smile and says: "I suppose it's convenient that I do not need now to get my sentry shifts covered."

And the taboo conversation topic has been acknowledged, touched upon lightly, and put behind them. Just like that. Emily sets her scarf on the counter and pours out the prescribed number of mugs of tea. She holds on to her own while they talk. She doesn't take off her coat. She doesn't claim a seat as her own. (She does not intend to stay.)

[Israel Cohen] As Israel tends to eat small villages dry this time of year...

As is often the case when she finds herself pointed out in some manner, Israel still has the old tendency to colour slightly, hearkening back to a much younger woman who was painfully shy -- a young woman only Solomon remembers so far as the Magi in Chicago go. She doesn't seem distressed or discomfited, though, and smiles along with the mild blushing; even snorts slightly. "Like all of God's creatures do in the Winter, I am simply going about adding on a few healthful pounds for added warmth," is her vocal retort, gently wry.

Before leaving the door she hangs up her own coat and slips off her gloves to place them in her left coat pocket. Either Atlas or Emily may then - or at some point after - become aware of a new [and rather noticeable] piece of jewelry on her left ring finger: A round diamond solitaire, about three fourths of a carat in size; enough to be distinctive and lovely without overwhelming the finespun, delicate build of her hand. No, she doesn't wave it about; she doesn't spend her time caressing its newness on her person, but it is there for those who spot such things.

Moving in after the others, her head tilts slightly at Atlas' last comment, "Where have you moved it?" Where does one move a ship of that size is the unspoken curiosity.

Then, to Emily, "Please, would you?" In regards to the tea and there is, yes, a soft undercurrent of relief there. Israel tends to feel such responsibilities so far as playing a good hostess goes [and, being on sentry duty tonight, perhaps she feels the need] but pouring out steaming hot tea - while not at all impossible - is not precisely easy for her, either. There is gratitude in her response... and again that subdued undercurrent of concern [but not pushing it] when she asks, "When are you leaving? If you will still be in the city around the 20th there is something I've been meaning to ask of you."

[Emily Littleton] [Alertness: I notice things?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Israel Cohen

[Solomon Ward] Solomon goes through practiced motions. The sort of man that enjoys the continuity and discipline that are born of routine. The movement of hands that are some what rapid and yet well practiced, even here in another kitchen, of doing things himself. Grab this, pour that, set these to the side sorts of things. It isn't long before various glasses and mugs are poured and steeping and bits of honey or the milk or sugar are set aside for when they're ready. Chicken removed from bags, small stacks of fixings in Styrofoam, simple things.

"Yes, you taught the sight impaired to set things on fire. Thank you, Mr. Mason", though his tone his well humored, dry, but all the same. The hint of rough gravel in his damaged throats doesn't detract from the slight grin he wears, which only pull at his scarring slightly. "And no, Ms. Littleton, but thank you", he says.

Doubtless it won't be to British standards of the beverage, but Solomon doesn't half ass any thing either.

"I see. Mr. Mason, are you capable of placing far-viewing wards in the sphere commonly called Correspondence?"

[Atlas Mason] The women could have their tea but Atlas would have his coffee, regardless of how long he had spent in the United Kingdom Atlas was still very much a coffee man. He put the grounds into the coffee maker and nods in Solomon's direction. "The skills required to initiate actualization diffusion and metaphysical negation are within my noospheric and scientific capabilities Solomon, such defenses are already actualized aboard the Lafette in a variety of manner's." He says as he puts the pot back in its place and starts the coffee machine letting it percolate.

Atlas turns then and nods to Emily. "Your convergence upon my vessel will be eagerly anticipated and initial preparations for a suitable visitation shall be made prior to your arrival Emily. As well necessary arrangement's for suitable transportation to and from the vessels current locality will be necessary, given that it currently resides in the primary water body of the geographical feature identified currently as Lake Michigan, with its current security and privacy guidelines, the Lafette should be relativistically safe from intrusion until such a time as true submersion can be re-actualized."

Its as he talks in his long winded and scientific way that Atlas spots that nifty piece of jewelery upon Israel's finger, perhaps it was the shift of the light through the diamond, or maybe it was the distinctive color of the band that caught his eye, but the particulars and meaning of such a ring upon that finger stopped Atlas in his tracks, the man looking for a moment at Israel as if trying to piece something together, before he turned quickly back to the coffee maker.

[Emily Littleton] They've each noticed, in their own ways. Emily's gaze lingers on Israel's left hand for a moment, and then the edges of her mouth curls in a faint but pleased and sentimental smile. However difficult the close of the year has been for her, personally, there is always room for another's joy. Borrowed on, perhaps, but not beggared by the sharing.

"I was thinking of flying out tomorrow afternoon, but I can push that back," she says, as if changing her flight arrangements was hardly worthy of being even an afterthought. Emily handled travel quite differently than most people. Boarding a transatlantic flight was of little more consequence to her than taking the El was to most of them. "What did you have in mind?"

She brings a mug of tea to where Israel is standing or has settled. This she sets near the Orphan, and is clear enough about how she puts it down to leave an aural placement in Israel's mind. "I put your tea here," she says, out of kindness so that the unseeing one did not bump her hand into a mug of hot liquid. There is the scent of vanilla and clove to Emily tonight, faint but still warming against her skin, and the damp smell of melted snow against her wool coat.

Quiter then, she adds: "And mazel tov" before moving away to find a place to stand that is outside of the traffic flow. Unintentionally, she has taken up a stance not unlike Mr. Page's customary lean and scowl -- with a little less scowl, and a little more watchful inclusion.

[Solomon Ward] "Well, just be careful how they are.... actualized..." he says, though he chooses to ignore the differences in paradigm and theology and philosophy behind these things, for the time being. The general gist of what was needed was the same. "Apparently a satellite photo designed to look for such things noticed areas that couldn't be easily read, so they've been indicated as zones by our friends out there", though the meaning of thew word is not its definition, not in his tone at least.

"So either stay mobile, or, and I'm not insulting your skill or ability, go back over your weaves or formula or however you do it and make sure it isn't just a wall block but some thing subtle. They've noticed a lot of Wards around this city".

Then to Emily, turning about to lean against the counter now that he'd passed out all other mugs and prepared his own as well, sans sugar. "Going some where for the Holidays?"

[Israel Cohen] Solomon is moving about getting together plates and food servings; Atlas is making himself coffee as she can ascertain by the scent of the ground beans and then the sounds of the coffee maker in action [she has no means at the moment, however, to notice his pause when he notices the ring - or to notice that he sees it as reacts at all]; Emily moves in closer and places a mug of tea beside her, adding new aromas to her immediate awareness, all of them well received and contentedly inhaled. A Mazel tov is spoken and Israel responds instinctively in Hebrew, "B'Karov Etzlecha," Emily may or may not know that this literally means 'Soon so shall it be by you' though it does not necessarily mean she wishes Emily to be engaged to be married soon, but rather that soon a similar depth of blessing and good fortune should find the other woman as well.

She says it in quiet earnest, reaching out a hand to lightly brush over the younger woman's arm - a brief squeeze of her hand - and then, before she moves away, "It is something of a private matter. I'll talk to you about it a little later?"

Then, to Atlas after Solomon speaks of the need to be more careful - and clever - with Wards, "If you need any help with tweaking or adjusting the Lafette's Wards I'll be happy to offer whatever help I can," spoken with easy candor, quite oblivious - at the moment - that anything might have taken the man briefly amiss.

[Atlas Mason] Atlas had been staring quite intently at the coffee maker as the conversation had continued around him. He nodded in regards to Solomon's suggestions but made no vocal confirmation of plans to do so or not do so. He was waiting diligently for a cup of coffee yes...coffee would make things better, much better.

But then Israel offers aid, it is a direct statement, one that requires an answer more then Solomon's words and he pried his eyes from the machine before him and turned to face the Orphan, his face twisted slightly as he opened his mouth to speak. "I..." He pauses and he shakes his head for a moment. "I will return to this locality within one or two temporal unit's." He manages as his composure shifts once more. He turns briefly to Solomon as if to distract himself. "Disengage the liquid-vegetation amalgamation device within the next forty five standard seconds would you?" He says quickly, before equally quick paces carry him out of the room.

[Emily Littleton] Emily sips at her tea while this discussion over the artful use and subtle disguising of wards unfolds. Her attention flicks back and forth between her Mentor (for all intents and purposes, though they do not draw that relationship out formally for all to see) and the Etherite. Whatever she thinks or feels about this, though, is keep carefully concealed behind her own social camouflage. One imagines that Emily, with her art for verbal misdirection and her intellect, might tuck this conversation away in memory for another date, whereon she may practice ward making on her own. That was still ever so slightly beyond her grasp.

"Certainly, Israel," she says, in answer to the other woman's aside. Then her attention flicks back to Solomon. "I'm visiting Miss Carraway, and then going on to see my family in Provence. I should be back in the city around the New Year."

The region's name is said with the proper inflection, a thing learned but not quite understood. Emily speaks a few words of French, and most of those are please and thank yous or impolite invectives. Solomon can surmise why she might be visiting the other Knight. Emily has made her interest in the Guardian Orders clear during their on-going training.

She looks over in the direction Atlas went, then drops her gaze back to her tea and sips from it again.

[Solomon Ward] Emily isn't the only one to spare a glance to Atlas, though Solomon's lingers a moment longer than her own... . He didn't quite understand it. Not really. After all, the man was rather intelligent, despite his oddities and obvious insanity. Astute was an understatement. He had to have known, it was rather obvious... .

...so how does a man who dabbles in awkward sciences and complex theories study a coffee maker so hard?

Surely he knows how it works... .

"&+1502;&+1492; &+1492;&+1489;&+1506;&+1497;&+1492; &+1513;&+1500;&+1493;?" to Israel, lightly, before he turning back to finish the plates and set them on the table, all the while addressing Emily. "I see. Well, be careful and safe travels. I do hope you enjoy your visits. Do stop by before you go, however. I have some books for you to take"

Because if you're leaving town, you're still not leaving the man's rather rigorous regime of study and theory and theology. Nope... it isn't that easy.

[Atlas Mason] [Pass Atlas this turn]

[Solomon Ward] (is 1 am and I have baby duty in the morning, so Im gonna have to cut Solomon out soonish)

[Israel Cohen] She may have missed the sudden stop or Atlas starring so intently at the coffee maker; but she certainly doesn't miss the way his words catch, the halting quality to them; almost a stammer. As soon as he begins to speak that way she begins to pay more attention, head tilting to one side in that supple feline manner she has; a slight frown furrowing her eyebrows vaugely with surprise and concern and...

...he wanders off; excuses himself. Solomon speaks to her lowly in Hebrew - a query - and Emily sips her tea [keeping what is private blessedly private]. Israel's neck and cheeks drain of colour just slightly, like someone who receives something of a shock. Then colour builds again, now in excess and to Solomon's question she responds - almost absently - "&+1488;&+1504;&+1497; &+1500;&+1488; ... &+1500;&+1488; &+1497;&+1493;&+1491;&+1506;" And there is, yes, a point in which she speaks one word then changes it... her lips twist slightly and Sorrow spikes in her; Sorrow and an expression that speaks of not really knowing what to do at the moment. A rarity when it comes to trying to help people but there it is... she is, there and then, at a real loss of how to proceed.

In the end she stands rather lamely... clears her throat; blinks slightly and speaks again at normal [for her] levels, "Provence? I've heard it's lovely there.. I hope you have a happy Christmas with your family." The right words; a good attempt to move back into the conversation but the attempt is pale.

[Emily Littleton] [I sort of need to go soonish, too. My head's hurting with all this conversation within a conversation stuff. Maybe Em should go get her study books from Sol and pack for going away?]

[Israel Cohen] [[Yeah, it's late here all around so *laughs* I guess we can all wrap up? Er.. somehow?]]

[Emily Littleton] [Let me try to wrap us!]

[Atlas Mason] [sure!]

[Emily Littleton] Emily's not emotionally unseeing, she just keeps a rather clear line between her feelings and everyone else's. One could imagine that she is overly aware of the repercussions of muddying that division, just now. Still there is an awareness in her of whatever spikes in Israel, and her gaze follows to the hollow that Atlas has left behind once more, even as she speaks to the Orphan.

"I'll bring you some lavender." There's a gentleness to her voice, it's meant to help soothe the awkwardness of the moment. "The French are excellent at indulging all of their senses. I'm sure I'll find a few good things to brighten up your winter spice rack, too."

She glances down at her tea and finds it nearing to empty. Emily places a hand on Israel's arm, briefly. Her fingers are warm to the touch from holding fast her mug.

"I'll ring you about the twentieth. I should get going though, and give you two some time yourselves." Now that smile is shared with Solomon, however briefly, before it turns into a nod as his continued (constant) admonishments over her studies. In truth, Emily is a diligent student, despite the other claims that her mortal life holds to her. "I'll stop by before I go, and I'm sure we'll find a way to keep in touch while I'm away."

She washes her mug and sets it aside, then winds her scarf around her neck and buttons up her coat. Emily bids them a good night, and wherever she finds Atlas on her way out of the Chantry, she wishes him a Happy Christmas, and offers him a small and sympathetic smile.

This is Emily, herald of holiday cheer, wishing Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. It's an odd role for her to fill, perhaps, but also fitting given her return to the ranks of the openly Faithful.

[Emily Littleton] [Jessiah says their net dropped, so they're not going to be back on AIM or in chat tonight to wrap their characters. And to tell you thank you for the scene!]
to Atlas Mason

[Atlas Mason] [Sounds good, we can call it with your post. so thank you for the scene Syll and ill catch ya later!]