Spent and sublime

Kalen Holliday

[Nightmares!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Proclus

[[Awareness+Perception - Spec not applicable - General unspecific sensing of area]]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 6, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Kalen Holliday

Kalen has left Grace alone for awhile so that she can work on her new puzzle. He has acquired a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone, because she seemed to think he should read it and because her opponent chose it and one should always know the opponents of one's psuedoapprentices.

One day he might stop referring to that playfully and admit he's basically taken on an apprentice. Who believes in eBooks.

He does not care for eBooks. The book in his hands is hardcover. The mug on the table, now mostly empty of coffee is over-sized hand-crafted ceramic. Heavy. Textured. Kalen is tactile. He has a golden sweater and jeans on, and while the jeans are not begging to be touched the sweater is, all soft thick yarn with cabled patterns. His feet are up on the couch, hiking boots tucked next to it. His cane is lying in the space between the couch and coffee table, close by but not easily visible. Hardly the picture of a brooding Flambeau today.

[Perception+Awareness on Leonhard for once he enters. Mostly because he has to know everyone's intentions.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Proclus

The blandly functional Ford strolls to a halt out front - high on its chassis and broad by belly, and without a working heater. The driver, the Jerbiton, the Magus, does not much care for needless tinkering where a scarf suffices.Ah, somebody's in, the Jerbiton notes of the Chantry... the Resonance. Unfamiliar but... oh. Stormy. Quite stormy. Stormy. He kills the engine and steps out, wondering who might be the Storm's host...The scarf is drawn momentarily tighter against the gust that finds his neck as he draws towards the door. Thoughts of simply meditating at the Node drift away, between hints of Resonance and... yes... a hopeful smile. Somebody new to meet. Stormy. Perhaps even a fellow Magus...

He knocks, but cannot resist trying the door. It opens, he steps in, though not too far and closes it behind himself. He tugs the scarf loose, there, in the doorway. "Ah, hello?"

Proclus

His intention, it would seem from the tone, is merely... friendly, a little cautious. Exploratory.

Kalen Holliday

"Living room," Kalen calls. Because even if this new person does not know where the living room is they have ears. They can find him. He sets the book down gently taking a deep breath and reaching for the sense of the Words at the heart of creation. Just in case. Props himself up on his elbows on the arm of the couch so he can see over it.

His eyes are so pale that on entry into the room it is impossible to tell what color they are, you have to get close enough for that, close enough to be within reach. Likewise his hair is so pale a blonde as to practically be white and his skin is pale...still, he isn't in all black today so there is not the severe contrast to make him look even more ghostly.

Proclus

The moleskin jacket is unbuttoned as he moves towards the voice, the woollen scarf now loose as some casual vestment about his neck and down along his lapels. A ripple of life, of the passing of air from the motion, sets the vague curls atop his head momentarily a-jitter, and he comes to his halt at the doorway.

His is not a pose of conflict, of aggressive presence. Indeed, he actually leans lightly to the frame he stands just within. And smiles to Kalen, though his eyes flitter for half a breath as he takes in the room as much as its once-reading occupant. Then, more formally, much more formally, he stands upright and takes a step, two steps into the room. Formally. Composed. But pleasantly.

"Proclus Vaduz bani Jerbiton. I've, ah, been here before but only the once. (Went well, I think.) Came with Adam Gallowglass bani Bonisagus." His introduction rolls forth with a degree of charm, especially when it progresses to mention that he had been invited that night by Shoshannah and Sid. "I had hoped to meet more of the Fellowship, so... lucky me." And a breath. Not a stare but a steady look to Kalen. (Harry Potter? Providence forfend... With that library downstairs?)

Kalen Holliday

The set of Kalen's shoulders relaxes a little. "Kalen Michael Holliday, bani Flambeau." There is even a slight smile, though his eyes remain wary. "It's not quite as densely populated here as it was for a bit. Some people moved out and some just aren't here as often. Still...you may meet a few of us this way.

"Come. Sit." The smile widens, just a little. "Or, if you like, there is coffee in the kitchen." He waves one hand in a lazy arc to indicate the location of the kitchen. "Look for the French press, not that drip contraption."

Serafíne

Sera loves Harry Potter, not the books because she doesn't read anything except poetry - but the movies, all that ornate wonder, all those strange words, all those stupid wands - and essentially every Hermetic she will ever meet is likely to hear some joke about the houses, (Slytherin or Griffindor! Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff!) except it isn't a joke. She knows what the Potter houses stand for; the inner workings of an entirely alien Tradition though -

Proclus (Liechtenstein!) will sense her arrival outside. This time, Dan stays in the car. She insists. She kisses him on the cheek and inhales him and insists. Inhales the pulse at his temple and smiles all mouth-and-teeth against his skin and opens the passenger door of the battered old Econoline van and slips down to the ground, grabbing Natalee's battered, and rather dusty cooler as she goes.

The garage and then the kitchen door open. They can feel her in there, up there, rummaging around. No need to worry. Sera breathes in the currents of their resonance the way other people inhale oxygen.

Give her a few. She'll be there soon.

(Sera, for the record, is a Hufflepuff. So very clearly a Hufflepuff.)

Serafíne

Awareness, aka does she really know they are there?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 7 ) Re-rolls: 2

Serafíne

(So: yes. yes she does, is the answer.)

Kalen Holliday

[I'm pretty sure she can sense Kalen's Resonance on the fucking coffee or something equally ridiculous with that roll! *L*]

Proclus

Oh, the brightness! Not so much of the teeth, though the smile reveals them. Not so much of the eyes, though they catch more light in the opening, as he so warmly steps closer to Kalen. No, the brightness of the tone, the expression.

"Kalen Michael Holliday bani Flambeau," he repeats, clearly pleased to have heard the name from the owner. He sits, oh, yes, he certainly sits, loosely, comfortably. (Though the coffee doesn't interest him anywhere near so much as the seat. And, indeed, though he takes it in the talk of occupancy is quite the secondary interest to him beyond the occupancy of the living room itself...) Sat, he continues, "I've been looking forward to meeting you since Kyriakos first mentioned you. Excellent. I, ah, suppose you might have heard that the Interdicted Jerbiton was doing the rounds."

He mentions this not as fishing for news of himself, there being something of a lack of such vanity in his comment, but more as a preamble, though his voice is smooth and not too hurried. Yes, he's clearly pleased to meet Kalen.

"I'd heard about your project, the library project. What I suppose I'd thought of as some sort of Librum Ephemera. Interesting endeavour, Frere. Very much so. Oh, it is good to..." And there, the Resonance, the heralding of a Serafinian Someone... but he doesn't let his notation of it too long mar his sentence, turning back from his glance away from the direction of the impending arrival, he concludes, "So good to meet you, Kalen, though I suppose some who don't care for Craftnames might refer to me as Leonhard."

Kalen Holliday

He takes in a breath when he hears Sera come in. Smiles, and this smile is not guarded or wary.

"I had heard you were here in town, yes. I...very rarely use anyone's given name. At least not when I address them. As a reference...well, it gets confusing to other people, my using different names for everyone."

His eyes track toward the sounds of Sera in the kitchen again. "Oh," he says softly, returning his attention to Proclus. "Did Adam tell you?"

Serafíne

So there's a brief bit of bustle in the kitchen upstairs and Sera would like tea and she prefers whiskey-laced Darjeeling but tea seems like such a bother without someone around to sense her want and prepare it for her and she just sent Dan off to relieve Dee-who-isn't-quite-there-yet and sit with a mage who just awakened.

Which makes her smile enough right? All ear to ear that she forgets her wish for tea and alights instead of rather stormy coffee and pours herself a mug and douses it with Stranahan's a spoonful or two of sugar and the faintest hint of cream, and that is her interlude up the steps through the kitchen.

Through the dining room, down into the living room, the small cooler in one hand, bouncing against her right thigh as she wanders down the steps, coffee in the other.

Sera is exhausted and rather looks it. All dissheveled, right? Dusty Doc Marten's and the suggestion of a bit of dried blood rimming her right nostril. Cut-off denim shorts over torn thigh-high fishnets held up by garters. What is (for a Sera) a rather practical cotton halter, the shape more or less of a sports bra, printed with a: skull, an alligator, and a flying house, white ink on black cotton, beneath an unzipped black hoodie. Blond hair a tangle of curls and she has been casting and casting and casting and casting so there's the lick of her resonance heavy in the air around her but a simmering sort of pleasure too. This lovely and inherent wonder-at-the-world.

And her pupils are still fucking blown and she's still coming down from something and she's here to strip down and soak herself in the node and sleep for an age. And she's here carrying the remnants of Natalee's picnic: tamales and grape leaves and hummus in a small cooler covered with band stickers, and she's here. She's just here.

Sera circles the couch and sets the cooler down on the coffee table and keeps walking and sets her coffee mug down on a side table and sinks into an armchair, and these are their hellos, the two Hermetics, just this rather remarkable smile, equal parts spent and sublime, that slides from Kalen to Proclus and back again as she lifts up her booted feet and sets them down on the coffee table, like she fucking owns the place.

"Tamales in the cooler," remarks Sera, with an offhand nod toward the Thing Itself as she takes up her alcohol laced coffee.

Inhales it.

Delicious, god. Like everything else in the whole wide world.

Serafíne

(correction: these are their hellos. homonyms do not phase me, I do grammar good! :) )

Proclus

"Adam? Yes. We had quite the chat in the car coming to and from dinner here. (Oh! Yes... reminds me...) Here," he says, producing a card for his creative retreat up near Nederland for Kalen. Pasaran by name, secluded hotbed of the arts by nature it would appear from the picture on it. "I've floated the idea of those magi of the Order resident hereabouts getting together. I've yet to meet, ah, Hawksley but the others were welcoming of the idea. Nothing so formal as an official tribunal, but a chance to... you know... Social. Attend to some light business. Catch up on faces together."

The talk of not using given names had piqued a note of curiosity in his expression as he'd listened. Yet, for all the hint of curiosity it is not sharp or with prejudice. He simply guesses that he'll find out what the Flambeau means at some inevitable juncture. He has, after all, he could ruminate, been all-but labelled Liechtenstein! by the liminal Ecstatic. Yes, if anything, his curiosity is warm, comfortable. Supportive, in fact, of Kalen's comment upon the quirk.And Sera's entry is as warmly regarded, of course.

"Could it be you? Could it be you?" He turns to sing, and not badly at all for its physical humour in so quoting the lyric from the song he had seen her invasion-perform so recently. There's a much milder salute than last he acknowledged her entry into his comings and goings. (Or is it more sharing his trajectory in some intersecting moments? Something to meditate upon during his compact with Adam upon the Ars Temporis.) Quite casual, the salute forms as two fingers pressed together as they depart his temple, towards the Ecstatic. "Sera. (Oh, no Dan?) Good to see you."That the Ecstatic appears so spent compared to the frenetic outburst on legs he had last seen gives rise to an understanding sympathy from the Jerbiton. Although he is playful in greeting her, he is not too loud, not too imposing. (Well, not tooooo imposing on her comparatively deflated presence.)

Kalen Holliday

"Sera," he murmurs. And it is a greeting. Perhaps you could go so far to call it an expression of concern, but mostly the extent of expressed concern is only in the way his eyes trace over her, evaluating. But she is walking. Drinking coffee. Offering them tamales. She is probably not dying. Greeting her does turn his voice into something warmer, and it stays warmed even when he turns his attention back to Proclus.

He leans over to take the card, which he promptly uses to mark the page in his book. "You've met Garrett and Adam. Have you met Trent?" He smiles faintly. "I still haven't met Hawksley. But it sounds like it will be an adventure."

He glances back to Sera. "Do I need to shoot anyone, or are you good?"

Proclus

"Gin's not my usual, ah, tipple, but yet I've met Trent," he reports, somewhere between businesslike and idly. "But, no, no Hawksley for me yet, either. Adam knows how to contact him, I believe. Perhaps he's busy with research, but even if so I hope he can join the rest of us."

Kalen's query to Sera prompts him to lean towards any forthcoming answer, silently joining with the Flambeau's query.

Serafíne

Oh, hee. Sera actually hees at Leonhard as he sings back to her the query - plaintitive sometimes, playful others - from the old Violent Femmes' song he heard her perform a few nights past. Hees quite overtly, this spreading smile that shows her teeth as she passes by him, which settles into a slow-sublime curve of her mouth, and a "Liechtenstein," by way of personal greeting, because again, who is there that does not like saying that word. It makes the tongue roll; it makes the tongue do some fucking calisthenics. "Kalen!"

"Hawksley is awesome. You'll fucking love him." Said lazily, with a bit of a slurred smile, and the latter part may or may not be true. Hawksley is rich and privileged and generally does not give a fuck and Sera adores him, adores him, her voice all rich with affection and awe, " - he has this fucking library. I bet it takes Collins a whole month to clean it and then it's time to start again."

A brief shake of her head, and this is also rather lazy; this tests the limits of her physical motion in the way of all drunks.

"I'm good," the liminal creature assures them both. The assurance is deeply felt; inherent in her body. She is spent; she is exhausted. She is, absolutely, 100%, good. Even the faint residue of Paradox does not diminish her good-ness. She flashes them both a left-handed peace sign, which shows off the absurd tattoo on the palm, fingers, and inner wrist of her left hand. A glance more for Leonhard than Kalen, " - remember Seattle Alexander?"

The query hangs briefly in the air. Sera actually manages to arch a winged eyebrow. She holds the thought of it on her tongue and then her smeary gaze slides to pull the pair of Hermetics back in together. She's still kinda stoned. God knows what she's seeing. Given that awareness roll, senses blown open, she's probably seeing everywhere, everywhen, everything.

"Dan's hanging with him, back at his apartment. He woke the fuck up."

Proclus

[[Sorry for the posting-out-of-order shenanagins there. Will be more careful.]]

Serafíne

(PFFT. I think that post-out-of-order was perfectly appropriate. Seriously, no need to stand on formality, I think that keeps the conversation naturally flowing. The back and forth. :) )

Proclus

[[I didn't think it was too jarring but it just didn't sit well not apologising after I realised I'd got carried away and gone done it!]]

Kalen Holliday

Kalen laughs softly at Sera's assurances about Hawksley. "Well, then. With references like that I suppose I shall bear in mind how I must not propose to him within mere seconds of meeting him." He is teasing, all the wariness about meeting Proclus apparently dissolved.

There is a little flicker of surprise at her next statement. "Another newly Awakened Mage in Denver?" His expression shifts from playful to thoughtful.

Kalen Holliday

[As long as no one is getting buried, I don't think you should worry too much about post order for a social scene. :) We sometimes have people who need more time and such, but right now...I think you're good.]

Proclus

The Jerbiton appears reliev... no, not relieved. Comfortab... no, not comfortable. What the Jerbiton appears to be in the realisation that the Flambeau appears less guarded in his presence now is: warmed. The Stormy resonance has no effect upon his warmth. Perhaps the opposite...

"There in the grass goes the green, and there in the world goes one light upon the sun." The Jerbiton mentions this in response to talk of Alexander Seattle. Alexander Brandt. Awakened. Epiphany. Orphan... or Ecstatic under wing... Alexander Brandt all the same. His eyes dip closed as he says the phrase, almost poetry, almost wisdom, but offered as neither. Offered as recollection. He does no more to qualify the phrase than open his eyes. They see the exhaustion in the Ecstatic and the penny has dropped. He plumbs his pocket for his cell phone, though does not dial it, only seeking the number. "Herr Alexander Brandt," he reads, quoting the number attached in the digital innards of the phone.

Just as his earlier mention of himself as 'The Interdicted Jerbiton' had been without vanity or the puff of some twisted pride, so too is his quoting of the telephone number of the newly Awakened mage in question. It is not a proprietary comment. It is not a brownie points request. It is a locus being fathomed. A conjecture of (of all things!) Serendipity. It is not a tattoo, it is a fact.

Having read the number, he does not dial. Alexander is with Dan. That's good. Good. The phone is returned to its place. There are hiking items afoot in both the living room and his mind's eye. "I was going to call him about going hiking. Supportive. Supportive. Seems he might need it more than he thought. You must have had quite the ordeal of tutelage, Sera. Better you than... ah, well, somebody less apt to gentleness, I guess."

Gentleness. Is that what he sees? Apparently, yes. Gentleness and need, though not in the same person. A confluence. A timeliness.

Proclus

[[Ha, oops. He didn't say Supportive, Supportive. Please read that as being out of speech marks. (Though I'm guessing you already sussed that.) Oops.]]

Serafíne

Sera would be quite happy to enthuse about Hawksley for rather a long time; her will is depleted enough now that anything that virtually the whole of her conversation with the pair of Hermetics this - afternoon? evening? morning? Sera hardly remembers because she does not need to remember. She just skims through the hours, hovering not alighting, like a dragonfly at the edge of a pond. So, virtually the whole of her conversation is stream-of-consciousness. Hawksley. Awakening. Tamales. Natalee, curled in the bed of her truck on an unrolled sleeping back, picnic blanket tucked around her shoulders, the fine threads of her inky hair a kind of spiral-armed galaxy of her own.

They never got to see the stars; or maybe they did, winking into existance overhead. There must have been a phone call or several or something. Now she's here, with this knowledge bright in her skin.

A nod for Kalen, confirming. Oh yes. Another newly Awakened mage. Which does not make Sera think about anything; she just swims through the moment, all bright, and smiles around the idea-of-it, equally bright, and given the weight of her exhaustion, doesn't she just look like a candle burned at every possible end and spent and spent and spent again, and yet:

still burning.

Leonhard earns himself finger guns from Sera, Jesus Christ, and it is the first time in the history of the world that Sera has ever finger-gunned anyone, when he quotes Alexander's number.

"You should still ask him hiking. He's pretty fucked up. Thought he was going insane and was somehow like, fuck. Ready to throw himself into oblivion or what the fuck ever to make it stop. I mean, I guess I got in the way so." A hitch of a smile, simmering. "That was good.

"I don't know what he's gonna be. Doesn't feel much like me, after. He's like ice, you know? Locked in. All glacial. Hardly wanted me to touch him." Which made healing his ass so much fucking harder.

Frozen.

And Sera: who is anything but.

Kalen Holliday

"Are you sure that was about not wanting you to touch him or not letting you touch him? Those are different." Of course that distinction is the first thing that occurs to Kalen. Of course.

He sighs. "He can come hang out with me a and Grace. The office is secure enough. Perhaps he'll be easier to work with if he feels safer...? And she, at least, knows how he's feeling. I had less concerns about my sanity. There were immediate pressing problems with fangs. And then I literally ran into Kharisma. She is...." The most beautiful thing he has ever seen. "Very distracting. But I remember this as a good thing. Grace...it was very different."

Proclus

Hiking. Mountains. Glacial. Change. Mountains. He thinks of Trianoma and glances to Kalen with that thought, the image of the maga who forged the Order as much as any Founder firmly in his mind. The Precipice Experience of Trianoma. He wonders, for less than a breath, if that is still taught to Apprentices. Ten years, could that most timeless of fashions have changed?

"I shall. Call him about hiking, that is. But I rather suspect that he'd be best back in his own home as soon as possible. Grounded, you know. (Not that he's been there long; only in Denver a week and he Awakens.) I think I could help him but... Glacial, you say? That's markedly Static. Well, perhaps."

They don't 'do' Orphans, most Hermetics, and most don't even think twice about them either - and Orphans don't tend to fit well with the Order. Why learn so much after Awakening just to... uh... be ready to Awaken? Catch 22 embedded in the often intractable crannies of Hermetic stricture. But things have been changing, haven't they?

"Most of my experience with the newly-Awakened is with fellow magi. Apprenticeship, Epiphany, Gauntlet... it's quite standardised, for want of a better phrase. But... my impression of the man? I think I might be able to take up some of the strain from you and Dan, Sera. Help him. Maybe counsel him, even if he's got a lot to decide that counsel can't help with. Yes, I'd be happy to, if I'm honest. Unless he proves to be... you know, I'm not trying to be a party-pooper and I'm, well, bloody-well hoping to be proven wrong for all the best reasons... But Orphans... Orphans. Glacial Orphans. Couldn't they be as likely to be of a Technocratic bent? Actually, forget I said that. You wouldn't have him at Dan's. Still, I'm going to have to put my thinking hat on with my hiking boots for this."

Mention of Kharisma is... beyond him, and it shows, but he is also devoid of any mannerism that suggests he should be told. Not his business.

Serafíne

This dark flicker of her eyes from Kalen to Leonhard; and back again. The irises mostly devoured by her dilated pupils make them seem all devouring, and she is always hungry. Isn't she? For something. Still now: spent, calm, this light and perhaps perceptive edge to the flash of her glance over Kalen's face as he distinguishes between possibilities and her eyes linger there, nearly thoughtful though really she's too far gone for much in the way of thought. Light plays havoc over him; over the whole of the room. The edges of it are suffused in a sort of drifting fog. The dear thing won't be long for this world. But Kalen: have a shimmering, simmering sort of smile. Which is full of both this edge and this rather profligate empathy.

"It'd be cool if you could both give him a call; just. Yeah." Sera smiles again, exhausted, lazy. She hardly knows where to start. A warm glance to Leonhard, then. "He is back at his place, that's where Dan was going. I figured - " a small shrug but yes, familiar, immediate. The things-you-own.

Then Leonhard describes the standardized Hermetic experience: apprenticeship, epiphany and believe it or not Serafíne, who knows fuck all about them and still probably types Jerbiton as Gerbal Tron, favors him with a small and rather knowing sort of nod. Hawksley told her a bit about his apprenticeship, and his awakening: enough for Sera to understand, quite clearly and quite keenly, how very different it was from her own experience.

Whatever that was.

"I'd heard that - how structured, you know? Maybe he's not Order of Hermes bound but I'll be fucked if I let the techs get a hold of him. Or fucking worse, no matter how static he is. And you guys are both fucking geniuses and I'm -

"Well, I'm a fucking lush. Bet there's a reason we both saw him that night at the bar though, you know? Bet there's a reason you're both here today. I could give him Pan's number, you know, but he didn't seem like a believer, and I haven't seen Jim in a long-ass time.

"I think he kinda tore open the Gauntlet. When he Woke. Things were calling to him, that I couldn't hear. Trying to lure him through, all Seattle Alexander in fucking Wonderland style. Maybe get him some time with Shoshannah too? I don't know anyone else who fucks around with that shit."

For all these talk, they can tell, both of them, that Sera's fading. Exhaustion just mantles her; she'll head out to the node soon.

Then she'll sleep for an age.

Serafíne

(grins) apologies for taking so long with that one. I do need to vamoose shortly, so on the next round I'll be posting Sera out. but thank you for letting me crash. and adding Alexander's awakening to the agenda!

Proclus

[[Fair play, luv. It's been enjoyable seeing the 'after-down' side of Serafine. :)]]

Kalen Holliday

"Alyssa might be able to help with that particular part. I may see if she's in, depending on how our next conversation goes." He smiles a little. "But, regardless of how much she'd love to hit me, she'll likely help if she can."

"I didn't have the structure for the first couple of years after I Awakened. I was-" He smiles, though it fades a little. "We could also call Eleanor. If the Order doesn't suit him, the Euthanatos might. For now, I don't think the most important thing is which Tradition he'll fall into. It sounds like he needs...."

"Pan...." Kalen shrugs. "Pan might not be a bad person to call. He's...probably the most stable presence of any of us in the city I can think of. Well...Eleanor. But the drowning is very unsettling. Granted, Pan might be difficult if he doesn't believe. Still, I wasn't at all religious until I met people who conversed with angels. Everything he believed about the world is changing. Some people lose faith and some find it."

Proclus

Genius. Not a description Leonhard's particularly prone to hearing. He usually leaves that to the Bonisagi or others. Genius thoughts? Not so often. Thoughts regularly free of dishonesty? That he can do, and he silently expresses it by listening to Kalen's running through of options.He knows enough of the options (by way of mages) that Kalen explores and hits upon that he isn't lost. A little behind, yes, but not lost - so there is clear deferral in him eyes as they regard the Flambeau.Umbrood. Brilliant. Why would it have to be Umbrood and Ars Manes? If Leonhard isn't a genius in regular terms, he qualifies as pure dunce in matters Spirit...He's certainly got things to meditate upon, has the Jerbiton, before he can present practicable assistance and support to Alexander but it's not all going to be about what lies in the Umbra. Or so he might be telling himself as he listens.But then he speaks: "And some people wouldn't know Faith it if it sat on their shoulder and lied to them. What Alexander's finding has, for him, I rather doubt, little to relate to Faith but I do concede that you make a good point, Kalen. Those things beyond ourselves evident in this world nonetheless. Which (thankyou) gives me an idea as to how I might be of use to Alexander."Yes, an idea is forming, all the more informed by Kalen's comments and exploration of options. He certainly can talk, can the Jerbiton, but he listens very well indeed...His head dips into that thought, that consultation with options inside his own skull, and then he stands."I'd better get back to my Sanctum. I have an idea."Although he is standing, his manner expresses a regret to Kalen that their meeting was curtailed by other events, but not that it was curtailed (or at least any privacy was curtailed) by others needs. "While the iron's hot, and all that."

Serafíne

Ahh, well. Sera accedes to Kalen's suggestion: Pan. There's a light in her eyes, but there's always a light in her eyes, and there's a particular light in her eyes for the priest. Her mouth seals, seams, and hums around it. Sera is already standing - swaying a bit from exhaustion, see - while Leonhard starts to run through the options, considering how he may be Of Use to the newest member of their remarkably loose and agile association.

"Thank you both." Slips between armchair and side table and behind the couch and she's smiling and there's no mistaking Serafíne's thank you both for anything close to rote. God, there's so much feeling it it. She is already shedding things, in the living room, though no one's modesty is yet threatened because what she leaves behind here is her cooler and her whiskey-laced coffee and her scent, which is honestly a little bit ripe after a day and a night and a day again, and smokey and spiced and spiked from the last clove cigarette she smoked; and on and on.

Hello Kalen; Hello Leonhard. Sera is loose enough and unfettered enough and Sera enough right now that as she skims behind the couch she sort of kind of reaches out to ruffle their hair, the way she always seems to be greeting grace.

Leonhard almost receives another chaste kiss, this time on the crown of his head, but no, no. He is moving; he is movement. He is the hammer striking the anvil-and-blade while the iron is hot; while it is molten, while it is malleable and he is already in motion, so. Just a thank you and a hair ruffle, one each, by way of farewell.

She takes herself outside, Sera. Into the chill March afternoon. The sun, out now, feels so goddamned warm against the skin, but the air is cold and when the wind comes out, it just bites. Steam billows from the hot spring, great clouds of it, and out there Sera strips down, with neither shame nor modesty nor display. Starts with unlacing and toeing off her boots. Then the hoodie, then the halter. Then the shorts, then the garters, then the stockings, peeling them off her legs, all in quick succession. She strips down to her skivvies, and only the bottom half of those, arms folded over her chest for warmth rather than modesty, shivering, just shivering as she plunges into the hot spring and settles in for a good long, restorative, meditative soak.

Serafíne

(Thank you both for the scene. :) )

Proclus

[[Thanks yerself.]]