Pete's Kitchen

Kalen Holliday

[How awake are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Kalen Holliday

[And how distracted by Resonance are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )

Serafíne

Awareness.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1

Serafíne

The signage on the old brick building is unassuming - Pete's Kitchen. Inside is a blast from the past. Old pleather booths line the walls, each framed by a tall hook from which customers can hang their coats. The sort of booths into which one can just - burrow. Formica-topped tables, old fashioned salt cellars. Sugar dispensers with a saltine cracker in the center to keep the sugar from getting too moist and caking up.

Coffee like whoa: well brewed and without pretense, served in a mug with a saucer.

Open all day, open all night. The late-night waitresses skew younger, but they still wear

orthopedic shoes to match their tattoos and piercings and they know the drill. Fill the coffee cups as often as possible. Push the pie.

At Pete's they're still boasting about the awards they won ten years ago: best late night eats, best breakfast, best burrito. Maybe there are better ones to be had in Denver but not at the strange hours the Awakened keep. And it is perhaps a strange hour now. Research has kept Kalen up. Life has kept Sera up.

The front door opens and a small group crowds in. Immediately, Kalen can feel Sera's resonance - gut-wrenching, enthralling, and that third strange sensation that feels like a threshold, like the point where old definitions are lost, and new ones not yet attached and everything is flux and possibility. Doesn't see her at first, but that group looks like her. Everyone has tattoos and a certain kind of leather-wrapped, denim-clad androgyny rules. Except for the beards. The guys are all sporting some degree of facial hair.

That group is being led to the big round booth in the corner and she is sort of going-along and when Kalen looks there she is, visible in a slice between two others, temple resting on a taller stranger's shoulder and she looks quite fucked up but also looks like she's looking up, hearing something, starting to awaken. Mutters something to someone or maybe she doesn't. Then:
heads toward Kalen.

She isn't really walking straight.

She's wearing a teeny tiny crimson dress with these thigh-high black lace stockings that alternate stripes: opaque and transparent and are seamed up the back and held up by sweet little garters. Has a shearing lined leather coat because it is fucking cold. Nevermind the snow she's wearing her combat boots so she's really rather small compared to her usual height. The strange catches her by her hip as she detaches from him and she pushes him away. Finds her way to Kalen's table instead of following the group over to the other corner and kind of crawls into the booth across from him. She's smiling but it's one of those smiles that only seems physical: she's drunk and her body feels good right now.

Hi Kalen, says Sera, without saying a word.

Inhales again. Leans her head back against the booth and just decides that she is supposed to be here.

Kalen Holliday

Vampires are not ruining his sleep the way calm does, apparently, because Kalen there are no traces of shadows under his eyes tonight. He looks up from his book as she approaches, sets a napkin in it to mark his page, and slips it to the side. It is not about vampires or magic laying siege to darkness. It is an older book, but there are none of the arcane sigils or Latin one might expect.

Kalen doesn't even speak Latin. Gallowglass has needled him about it since they met.

No, this is a book of poetry by Pablo Neruda and it is not, at least not observably, connected with anything that concerns the fate of the world or the city or the Mages in Denver. And Kalen, curled into the booth with his coffee and in a dark grey sweater and jeans, looks...surprisingly peaceful. There is a toning down of all that intensity, less razor-edged and delicate balance. Tranquility is a little bit odd on Kalen, but if Serafine had just seen him like this for the first time...unhaunted and calm would seem normal enough.

"Hey." He smiles. "How are you?"

Serafíne

(Perception + Empathy: to catch the surprising sense of peace about Kalen.)

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 3, 4, 8, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 2

Serafíne

The world around them fractures into pieces and reassembles itself in her imagination. Everything is both bright and also somehow compartmentalized. The solid planks of the wood paneling behind her head and the groove between two boards that bites and tugs a few strands of her long hair. The smell of the place: which at this hour is deliciously greasy breakfast, strong coffee, old cigarettes and alcohol fumes.

Maybe she's supplying that bit herself.

Kalen asks her how she is and Sera cracks her eyes open. Gives him this half-lashed glance, that meets his eyes and lingers there. Her own are - well, she isn't unreadable, but one does have to look. Mostly glassy but also something else that feels edgy and a bit reckless.

Maybe she always feels edgy and a bit reckless.

Her gaze drops to the spine of his book. Neruda.

The letters are swimming enough that she wonders, briefly, when they have to come up for air but she can read them well-enough. "He's even better in Spanish." Mmms around the thought of it but her fathomless eyes flick back up to him. "You look - " hook-and-line to the edge of her mouth as she searches for a word. Finds one, finds it simple but sometimes simple works. " - good. Solid. Like you were meant to be in your own skin. I like it."

Kalen Holliday

"I do appreciate the Spanish. This particular copy was a gift." He glances at it, smiles faintly. "And an invitation."

He looks back up to her and smiles. "Oh. Do I? I...figured out something. Everything changes. The world is fluid. Nothing will stay exactly the same. But for now I know who I want to be. It never lasts. But I do enjoy it, when it happens." He sounds rather unconcerned about the temporary nature of this calm.

"It isn't who I expected it to be."

Serafíne

Formica is a strange substance - faintly reflective, just enough to catch the shadow of movement over its surface as both a reflection and an absence of light. Sera's chin is down and her eyes are half-hooded and that's how she reads the moment when Kalen looks back up at her and smiles.

She meets his eyes a half-beat later, as if she were moving through molasses rather than air. The strangest of pangs in her chest that has nothing and everything to do with that smile.

It hurts, rather.

And still she returns his smile, her own smeary and tailing. "Who gave it to you? What was the invitation?"

Kalen's waitress interrupts their little conclave to refill his coffee and to give Sera the once-over. Smacks her gum and waits as Sera realizes she is meant to order, which she does: the hunter's breakfast and a root beer float.

And as the waitress is sauntering away, Sera asks him - "And who do you want to be?"

Kalen Holliday

"I don't know who he is yet." Kalen laughs. "But the invitation was to dinner. He says I have nice eyes. I stayed up until a bit past dawn and drank a lot of wine and read poems and eventually said yes. I think it might be complicated, but definitely interesting."

"Someone with something more than just a purpose." He takes a sip of his now warmer coffee.

"You ever study philosophy? Kant...well, Kant said a lot of things. But one of those things was to always never treat people as solely a means. You should remember that people are ends in themselves." He smiles a little. "Or, you know, to people who don't read complicated texts for fun, he said not to be a jerk and see people only as a function of what use they could be. And I wasn't terrible at that with other people, but I was really bad at it with me."

Serafíne

Sera never studied philosophy. Doesn't have the head for it, does she. Knows who Neruda is and not a goddamned thing about Kant and she's pretty drunk and aching more than a little but she also feels: so damned good right now. Her body, the way it floats in the air, because she has forgotten that she is curled up in a tiny little cocktail dress in the bench seat of a pleather diner booth and just imagines herself: floating.

Sera listens, holds so much of what Kalen tells her in her head. Thinks some words and then puts the words in her mouth. Oh, how surprising. They come out:

"I kinda agree with this Kant dude. So is he like - " she thinks that Kalen's guy's name is Kant? Kinda? But doesn't really know why. Breathes in, starts again. "I mean, it's weird that you don't know who he is yet. Where'd you - find this guy?"

Kalen Holliday

"Oh, in the customary manner. There was trouble, it caught my attention, I got someone's number." Kalen smiles a little again. "He owns a bookshop. And he seems nice enough, but this isn't really....

"He's caught up in something bad. I don't know how much a part of him it is. It's going to be complicated and it may end badly and I don't mean hurt feelings badly." He sighs, but it's a calm sound, really.

"I could do it less complicated, play by the scripts I've been given. But that ends badly too, and...it rests pretty heavily on assumptions I don't know are true. So...that's no way to to do this, I don't think. I'll see if I can figure out who he is. I'll see if he can help me save some people. And if the opportunity for mercy presents itself. I will take it."

He smiles again, and there is nothing radiant, he is too calm for radiance. Perhaps luminous. "And if I'm wrong, at least I'll have been wrong being someone I don't hate that I've become."

Serafíne

The waitress comes by again and gives Kalen this look and refills his coffee with one hand as she sets Sera's root beer float down on the table. Sera kinda sits up then, drops her legs from the booth and sets them under the booth, wonders, and finds herself upright, elbows braced against the edge of the table. She has a flask in her jacket pocket and she knows that and she intends to spike the float but she doesn't really remember how drunk she is, just how the night started to knit itself together and -

- a banked flash of her eyes back up, over the foaming rootbeer and ice cream that seems both poetical and absurd in this moment. Such a strange thing to be a thing unto itself.

"Kalen." Solidly and a little more soberly though it is not sober. She is just pushing herself upright and forcing herself to think when it is hard and it hurts and she - "I don't understand. no one gives you Neruda unless they want to fuck you. Now you're talking about bad stuff and scripts and mercy and it sounds fucking dangerous. Will you please tell me what is going on?"

Kalen Holliday

"I don't know yet," Kalen says quietly. "He was, in that moment, trying to protect himself too. But he did try to save Arionna, when he didn't have to." He shrugs. "I'll be careful, Serafine.

"This...I have been held at gunpoint while trying to get coffee. I've been to a lot of fucked up places, I've seen a lot of terrible things, met a lot of terrible people. And there was, in that place, at least one thing that was hunting. The one I'm sure of...he might help me stop. Not because of apple pie and kittens, but because we both want that guy stopped. Him, I think, even more than me."

There is a brief pause, and then he laughs. "Is that true? About Neruda."

Serafíne

"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes," Sera is looking at Kalen over the deflating surface of her float. She hasn't had a sip from it yet, but gradually the bubbles of the head are popping and sinking back into themselves, turning rich and foam-creamy. She is: in a diner at three a.m. drunk off her ass and a little bit sad and magick and reciting Pablo Neruda in the wrong fucking language but still reciting him: like a poem, like a prayer, like a song,

like an invocation,

"and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart."

Sighs after that, presses her mouth together, the faint smear of her lipstick long, long gone, tattoos flashing on her hands when she talks with them a bit, expressive.

"Of course it's fucking true. Where did you meet him? What's his name?"

Kalen Holliday

"In a bookstore," Kalen says, and his tone is gentle enough, for all that he really isn't answering her question. "I'll be fine, Serafine." And he seems remarkably clear about that. "It's not my first time doing something like this. Trust me. For right this second the less people involved in this one aspect the better. It is delicate. And even more so if he gets spooked. He needs to trust me, at least as much as he can trust me. You going to see him won't help with that.

"He really was terrified. I need him as calm as possible. Whatever is going on, he's already on edge. Precarious. Walking into these things, assessing them, turning them to my advantage when I had to...that's how I lived for years. I really will be fine."

Serafíne

She tries so very hard to watch him and listen to him and match his mouth to the words he utters and something about his gentle tone seems, to her, too gentle - right at the edge of patronizing and she breathes in sharply and shakes her lovely, golden head, as if she were shaking off a fog, eyes closed, feeling the world as it spins, feeling it close, strangely, around her heart.

Then another stutterstep though hitches something else and she opens her eyes - interrupts visceral "I don't even fucking understand what something like this means - " before she pulls it back, breathing harder now, and she doesn't want the rootbeer float, she doesn't want the hunter's breakfast, she doesn't want the boy she came in with, she doesn't want anything and if she hears the rest of it: Kalen's admonishment to her to stay out of it and his reassurance that he knows how to: what - deceive people until he gets what he wants, turn a situation to his advantage, it doesn't really register or at least: not the way he perhaps intends it to register: as calming reassurance, I've done this before, this is completely in my wheelhouse.

And she's snapping open her little clutch and pulling out some cash, hardly matters how much except: enough, more than.

"I never said I was gonna go see him. I asked - " a sharp breath out, her heart's beating so fast, "fuck it. I'm gonna go."

And so she does. Rising to one knee, half-crawling out of the booth to stumble into the aisle. She doesn't wait for her food, doesn't wait for the boy she walked in with: ignores that whole group, too. Heads straight for the door, and god only knows where, thereafter.

Shadows

Tenebrous

The Rules

1: I think by now everyone knows that I like to stick to an established posting order. So please only post once per round (unless you have a correction or something that you need to add quickly – that kind of thing is fine.) If I have nothing to add, I’ll tell you to skip me.

2: Try to be efficient when you post. I’m not going to set time limits on this scene, but keep in mind that we’ll need to wrap up at a reasonable hour. (This is less of a concern with just a couple of us, so you know. Don't stress. Just don't get up and go make a sandwich while it's your turn or something.)

3: Keep track of your own tempers (WP, Quint, etc.) and Health levels.

4: There is a high chance of combat in this scene, FYI.

5: As always, if anything in the scene makes you uncomfortable, please let me know.

6: House Rule…

“The Kiss” – Normal VtM rules state that mortals cannot resist the effects of the vampiric kiss (feeding bite) unless they have a WP rating of 9+. I am going to handle things differently for mages. If your mage’s WP is higher than the WP of the vampire biting them and they have reason to be frightened/suspicious of what is happening, then they may roll WP at diff 8 to attempt to shake off the effects. Mind shields will also protect against the effects of the kiss. If your character has an active Mind shield, the vampire must roll their WP at diff 8, with the shield countering 2 successes for each level of strength (so a level 3 mind barrier would remove 6 successes.) If the vampire is potent enough to overcome the shield, the above resistance rules still apply.

Regardless of other factors, if a vampire consumes enough blood to endanger the mage (5 or more blood points,) they may always spend a point of WP to attempt to break free.

7: Have fun! :)

Tenebrous

It was a properly chilly evening that night in Denver. For once, the landscape reflected the season. The air was crisp and cold, and the ground in Washington Park was blanketed with freshly fallen snow. The picture of it was actually quite lovely. Dreamlike and serene. The hour was late enough that most of the park's visitors had gone home. Only a few die-hard night runners could be seen traversing the trails, and they were few and far between. The area around the lake was silent and empty, the water frosted over with a paper-thin layer of ice. A few drifting snowflakes fell through the air, dancing around in the yellow-white glow of the flood-lamps.

Grace

[Awareness = Can we feel a Sera? (or whatever)]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Serafíne

Awareness because.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 6 )

Serafíne

There is a lake and the shore of the lake is wrapped 'round with snow. There is a bench on the shore of the lake. Ducks, beaks tucked beneath their wings, gliding, huddled on the shore, fluffed up for warmth.

There is a girl seated on the spine of a bench on the shore of the lake. Her footprints wander through the snow. She is drinking a Mexican hot chocolate from one of the nearby coffee shops, spiked with whiskey, and watching the reflection of the moon in the water. Has a bag with some churros in it and periodically picks one out, peels it apart, tosses it to the mallards.

She is: not well dressed for the weather and stopping here like this only magnifies the cold. Spikes and leather on her wrists and hands, more adornments punched through her ears, bright and bristling. The curling fringe of her hair-shorn head, the golden fall of the rest. Just there.

Grace

Grace is sitting on a bench under a tree by the lake, staring into her phone. She's been there for hours now, barely moving from the original cross-legged hunched stance she plonked herself in. The snow has decorated her hair by now, but she doesn't seem to be bothered. After all, she's got her hat, her pretty scarf, her red coat, her jacket, and she doubled up on jeans today just to be sure that the cold wouldn't attack her.

It's a valiant defense, in other words.

But there appears to be something that finally, finally budges in her aside from her fingers, and she perks up. Sera?

A figure feeds the ducks across the way, showing so much skin they're either a local skiing fanatic for whom 20 degrees might as well be summer, or Sera. So Grace waves to her, a big happy thing. Hi there, you.

Tenebrous

Sera and Grace were alone by the lake, apart from the huddled presence of those mallards. As usual, Sera's awareness of the landscape was a wide, expansive thing. Places had their own kind of resonance, subtle though it often was. A taste that lingered on the air. Impressions left by those who'd come before, and by that which was there now. The trees around her slumbered. The park felt... sleepy. Calm.

And then there was Grace. Shifting and Keen and Winged. And Grace - she felt Sera too. Sera with her Visceral, Enthralling, Liminal energy. They were both rather dynamic beings to be so still in this dreaming place.

The solitude wasn't likely to last. Even at night. Even in the cold. This was Denver, after all. And sure enough, not long after Grace spotted Sera (each of them perched on separate benches near the lake) they'd both be able to hear the subtle crunch of approaching footsteps in the snow. See (f they happened to look back) the shadows of two figures walking together, leaning into each other in this sweet, intimate way. A couple, perhaps. A man and a woman. The woman had soft blond hair. The man's was a darker shade. The pair of them kept a reasonable distance from the lake, stopping to lean against a large tree bathed in shadow, whereupon they disappeared from sight. The man gave a soft laugh, and then went quiet.

Serafíne

Sera is - so aware, right now. Her senses are bright and open and widely flung and she cannot help that: the world just seeps itself through the boundaries of her senses, some mechanism like osmosis, not that she knows what the fuck osmosis is, but there you are.

There she is, shivering a little bit, boots on the seat of her bench, her hot little ass on the spine-of-it, and it's not that she doesn't sense Grace, because she absolutely senses Grace, she cannot help but know that that peculiar combination of sensations is: Grace, Grace, Grace,

but she's not looking that direction. She doesn't really see except with her peripheral vision because she's not looking at anything. But movement or something: some shadow of it has her chin rising.

There's no wave back. Just a tip of her coffee cup.

--

Pays no attention to the strange couple behind except for a brief, sharp glance over her right shoulder. The fleeting impression of her profile sharp against the darkness. Unconsciously, she runs her right thumb over the band of a bronze ring she wears on her right index finger.

Strange. Tonight, she doesn't find it soothing.

Grace

Grace tucks her phone into one of the pockets of her coat, and takes to her feet, a little surprised at all the snow that falls off as a result. True, it isn't like a dynamic being to be still, but Grace's mind is an ever moving thing, and what she seeks inside her devices can span the globe in instants.

Of course, right then, she was playing Clash of Clans, but you know. The statement still stands.

It's Sera, the tip of the coffee cup says so, for all her lack of exuberance does not. So Grace starts making fresh prints in the snow over to her. A couple of people going off to kiss under the tree barely even makes it on her radar of things to care about right now.

Tenebrous

Sera feels... something. She doesn't know what it is, precisely. Possibly has never felt anything like it before. It isn't like Awakened magic, but there is a kind of will to it. This cold, slippery whisper. Dark like moving shadows. It's coming from behind her. From that tree about 20 yards back where the couple has disappeared.

Serafíne

Sera offers that little tip and then takes a draught of her alcohol laced coffee, feels the warmth spread through her body and somehow - strangely - it makes her feel all the colder. She -

shivers, visibly, physically and some piece of her psyche assumes that it is everything, everything, everything inside her.

Her shoulders hunch forward, bracing against the sensation but then no, no no. It is apart, it is external. She turns - Grace can see her turning, catches a glimpse of her face in the lamplight, which shines, damp cheeks. Maybe it's the snow.

The spark of her magic, then. As she wrenches something apart, inside her heart. Finds it well-nigh as effective as any other pain.

Prime Scan. Dif: 4 -1 (focus)

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Grace

Grace can feel that -- the way the universe seems to gut itself at Sera's twisting it. She tilts her head to the side, as if to question why, and looks around. But there's nothing, isn't there? Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe Sera's just being Sera. Something's not quite right about this, about Sera tonight, though.

She walks up at last, leaving a trail that curves around the frozen lake surface (oh, but Kalen would be horrified).

"Hey. What's up? Or down. Whatever."

Tenebrous

It's there - yes. Not a shadow within her heart, but something in the air. Something outside of herself. But if someone has willed it, then it is no kind of magic that she can understand. Hedge magic maybe? Some kind of dark sorcery? Or something altogether more alien?

The shadows around the tree look more solid than they ought to. Like a fog. Thick and impenetrable and otherworldly. From a distance, one would likely never notice, but with her Prime senses active Sera can feel the weight of the darkness and the cold press of the will behind it.

Tenebrous

[Mysterious dice roll]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Tenebrous

Sera knew that something was wrong, but couldn't quite parse out precisely what she was sensing. Grace approached her bench and the two converged. What's up? Or down. Whatever.

What's up was... the night was getting darker. Or at least, it seemed to be. Maybe Grace or Sera looked back. Maybe they saw the way the shadows crept in as though they were living things, enveloping a space of about 40 feet. The lakeshore (where Sera and Grace were) was still bathed in its soft glow, but everything behind them was... pitch black. They couldn't even see the trees anymore.

Serafíne

Mind 3: telepathic link to GRACE. Difficulty: 6. -1 (focus) .

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (4, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serafíne

This little shrug, that's what Sera offers Grace. A note of something that seems - yes, even to Grace - disconnected and strange from someone who is always so bright and affectionate. But god knows what Grace actually knows about Sera: right? We're all strangers beneath the skin.

Tonight anyway.

Sera reaches up and scrubs the tracks of the tears lingering on her cold cheeks away. She's not wearing gloves. The tips of her fingers are bright, bright red.

Her magic in the air again, stronger now.

Grace. Don't look. Just listen. Something behind us, in the trees. Dark dark dark. Turn around, walk back to your car. Act like you don't see it.. Just go.

I'll come next. But first: you go.

Grace

There's something clawing at the boundary that separates Grace from the rest of the world -- a porous thing to begin with. It's something that likes straddling boundaries, that likes to enthrall, but it's only after a moment's hesitation that Grace doesn't try to fight it off. She's no old hat at telepathy, but Sera is doing that. Pretty sure that's Sera at least.

I'll come next, but first: you go, Sera says in her mind, and Grace frowns at her. No coherent words follow, more of a mix of emotions and strategy concerns that hit bang bang bang bang -- like: to Hell with that plan. And: I'm not leaving her alone in danger. And: This is how They get you, divide and conquer. And: I am not a child. And: She is crying. And: Oh fuck, she can probably hear everything can't she.

"Why don't we both go home together, eh? You don't look so good," she says, out loud, nonchalant. Like, perfectly normal conversation going on here, nothing to see.

"Come on. I'll even drive you."

With that, she does turn, pulls out her phone, and pretends not to notice that the park's snow isn't glowing sodium yellow in the light pollution.

Grace

[Scanning stuff: Prime1/Entropy1/Forces1 -- Diff 4 = Why so dark?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (4, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Grace

[Extending...]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 3) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Tenebrous

Act like you don't see it.

Sage advice, when confronting a potential threat. Perhaps whatever force commanded those shadows had no real interest in them. Perhaps they might, as Sera suggested, continue on their way and leave the darkness to its alien appetites. There was a chance, certainly, that it might play out that way.

But it didn't.

Because that darkness? Was moving. And even if they didn't look, they'd feel it. Feel the cold clamminess of it as it crept up behind them. And then the lamp nearby flickered and died. And the shore got very, very cold. And the ducks gave a chorus of anxious warning-calls before they spread their wings and flapped away over the ice.

Then everything went black.

It was more than just a lack of light. The darkness was tangible. Blocking all sense of sight. Muffling sound. Crawling down their throats when they breathed. The sensation was suffocating. As though the very night itself meant to strangle them.

[Alright guys, I need some Init rolls.]

Grace

[Wits3 + Dex3 + roll!]

Dice: 1 d10 TN5 (4) ( fail )

Tenebrous

[+6]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )

Serafíne

+6

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (10) ( success x 1 )

Tenebrous

[And the order is:

Sera - 16

Grace - 10

? - 7]

Serafíne

WP

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Tenebrous

[Odds Grace evens Sera]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )

Grace

[WP]

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 4, 6) ( botch x 2 )

Tenebrous

[? closes distance to Grace while in stealth-mode]

Grace

[Runs screaming]

Serafíne

[Prime 2: Attack Thingy. At ?]

Serafíne

Prime 2: Vulgar Without Witness. Dif: 6. -1 (focus) -1 (quint)

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (4, 9, 9) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Tenebrous

[Sera hits ? with her Prime attack and does 6 agg (owwwww)]

Grace

She swipes away Clash of Clans and gets to work figuring out what's going on here. There's another 'game' on her phone now, one that pulses with different colors as they're slowly weeded out. There is a buzz of white (alterations to the Code, things that are not recorded in the normal background) and a purple sheen concentrated into a single phosphor of fuschia that... well, it's not good. There's an entropic sinkhole on her radar that reminds her of one thing.

Vampire. Pretty sure it's coming from a vampire. Shield your mind. If this connection helps let other things in, sever it.

Her thoughts are more focused once Grace figures out that Sera's probably listening in, but then, suddenly, the darkness crawls into her mouth. And all Sera can sense in Grace's mind after that is primal fear. It's a wild thing, disconnecting the higher order functions.

She tries to flee in the direction of 'out'.

[Dex + Ath - 1 = AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

Tenebrous

[? changes action to gtfo because ow? ow? the fuck was that? Dex+Ath running awaaaay]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Tenebrous

[er... Wound penalties. Forgot those. -5 and I don't think she can actually "run" per se. Re-do]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Tenebrous

Whatever was attacking them, it clearly did not expect Sera to hit back. At least, not in the manner that she did. The darkness descended. Grace screamed and ran, but Sera stayed where she was. Let the shadows fold over her while she focused her Will.

The blast of quintessential energy was bright enough to chase away the darkness for a few heartbeats, and in that brief flash, she'd see the face of her attacker coming at them: a young blond woman with blood smeared across her mouth and fangs bared. She screamed when the prime blast hit, crumpling over as the light lacerated her body. The sound of it was like a wailing ghost.

There was shock on her face, too. Confused incomprehension. But the blast took away all sense of aggression. She'd clearly attacked the wrong target, and now? Now she wanted to get the hell out of dodge. And that's exactly what she tried to do, turning to limp in a panicking shuffle in the opposite direction of the lake. And as she did, the shadows around them dissipated, crawling back into the night in much the same manner as their summoner.

Serafíne

Paradox!

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Serafíne

Soak!

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 6) ( success x 1 )

Serafíne

Soothe Grace: Mind 2. Coincidental. Difficulty: 5 -1 (practiced)

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 7, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serafíne

The connection is there; is not broken but is pulled back. Everything happens too-quickly. Grace goes screaming. Sera -

Sera does not run screaming. She focuses her Will and sends their attacker screaming, instead. Whatever was inside of her, torn apart, poured out into a blast of primal energy, the fabric of the universe ripped open by nothing more than a half-broken heart.

Grace is still running. The connection is broken, and it is for the best. A moment later, though - just enough magic to calm Grace, so that she can slow down, run - straight if she wishes to, not blindly, back to her car, to something like safety, wherever or however she will go.

The Hunter

radiant

The colorful chalkboard outside dripdenver promises LOCAL ORGANIC IN HOUSE APPLE CIDER in addition to the daily brew: Mexican Chiapas, the offering on the aeropress and the chemex.

Outside, the sun is starting to set. One of those strangely lovely winter sunsets, not quite arctic but still somehow bright and sharp, such clear, clear colors, dampening into darkness. As if the sky were slowly bleeding out its light.

The streetlights have come on, it's dinnertime. The place isn't as crowded now.

Or, the crowd's smaller, changing, different. More first-dates, fewer first-scripts that sort of thing. The rich scent of coffee in the air, TV on the Radio on the soundsystem. Local art on the walls. That kind of vibe.

Ian

For some people, coffee houses were more of a rest stop than a destination unto themselves. Ian spent a lot of time downtown, which sometimes left him migrating between spaces while he waited for an event to start or for someone to come by and meet him. Denver Drip was a quintessentially Denver coffee joint. When he stepped inside, the air was full of the scent of coffee beans accented with notes of milk and spices. The place wasn't as full as it might be later (as it might have been earlier.) Which was fine, really, because it meant less noise and fewer distractions. He had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, the strap pressed to his chest over his leather jacket. When he stepped up to the counter, he ignored the extensive drink menu and ordered a cup of black tea.

He probably ought to order something else. A danish or something (it would have been more polite,) but he didn't. He did, however, drop a pretty decent tip in the jar on the counter. And he smiled at the barista - relaxed and charming - before collecting his drink and migrating over to one of the empty tables. He picked one near the window, so that he could watch the sun set while he waited for time to pass, and once seated he pulled his tablet out of his bag.

radiant

(Awareness)

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Kalen Holliday

[How awake are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

Ian

[Oh, right, let's do this awareness thing]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

radiant

Resonance in the air. Another mage is somehow - god, this is one of those moments when the sense of it is naggingly at the edge of his perception and therefore hard to pin down. Like a radio signal half-obscured by static. He has this sense of: strength, though it is hard to tell whether that is the intonation of the resonance (even an apprentice could feel: strong), or its depth. Or some combination of the two.

Kalen Holliday

[And how distracted by Resonance are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8) ( success x 3 )

Kalen Holliday

Kalen, as he often tends to be, has embarked on a quest for coffee. He's been getting his coffee in places with less colored light, but those are also less likely to be painstakingly brewed or crazily flavored. Unless you count 'scorched' as a flavor. Whether or not scorched qualifies as a flavor, it isn't the one Kalen wants at the moment. So, this lovely coffee shop it is.

This coffee shop also may have one of his favorite people in it. Against...the better judgment of a few people. But not his. Not even for a damned second his.

Ian gets a quick wave, but that is all, before Kalen surveys the drink menu. Despite reading through the entire thing, he orders black coffee. Plain. No frothed milk or whipped cream or raspberry hazelnut madness.

And then, after a glance to be sure that no one has materialized to join Ian, because people joining Ian seems like a thing that people would do, he starts in his direction.

radiant

Ian walks in. There's no line just now, just one tattooed barista behind the bar, rearranging the pastries in the case. Consolidating them from a number of half-empty platters to a few full platters. Late enough on a weekday that they are starting to mark down the remaining items that sell best in the morning hours.

The tea isn't slow-poured, but it is properly infused, loose-leaf tea. Ian has a choice of Darjeeling, Keemum, Assam and Lapsang Souchan tonight. He does not receive simply a mug, but a single pot, clear glass, the infuser in the center, filled with enough hot water for perhaps two servings.

The barista gives Ian a quick, sure smile through his rather full beard - acknowledging that tip with a "Thanks, man. Have a great night."

That sense that Ian has is present, but without focus here and now. Maybe it was a stranger passing through. Maybe someone on the street. Sometimes the world brushes up against you, oddly, passing and never again.

The clear pot is perfect. He doesn't need to pour out a soupcon to see when the tea is ready, just watch the color develop. The mug's already warm, too. The barista tempered the interior with a hot-water rinse so it would keep Ian's tea hotter, longer.

The couple at the next table are clearly on a first date. Rise together and share a bloody awkward goodbye right in front of the doors. He wants to hug her, she wants to shake hands. Bet they won't see each other again.

Upstairs, someone rises. Starts to descend.

Here is an impression: the first tread of boot visible on the open stairs. Handmade, handstitched leather if one has an eye for it. The finest sort of work. Custom made.

radiant

Kalen finds the coffee shop by Ian's resonance: Cunning, Elegant.

Even as he walks in, though, he is arrested by another sensation: up the stairs:

molten. potent.

- feels like a volcano, doesn't it?

Whoever it is, he or she is coming down the stairs.

Ian

There was a hint of something on the air. This edge of strength that whispered frustratingly at the edge of Ian's senses. He glanced up when he felt it, eyes traveling the room in search of the source. But whatever (whoever) it was, there were no immediate clues. And then... there was Kalen, whose presence was enough of a distraction to shift Ian's focus away from the space at large. Kalen waved. Ian smiled softly, a light quirk at one edge of his mouth. While Kalen ordered his coffee, Ian poured a careful serving of tea. The steam curling off of the Keemun had subtle notes of malt and chocolate. Ian lifted the mug and breathed it in while he waited for Kalen to join him (assuming he wished to.)

Someone was on the stairs. The tread of a boot caught Ian's attention, and he lifted his eyes, the tea in his hand and the tablet on the table momentarily ignored. His attention was a passing thing. A brief spot of curiosity (still searching for wherever that unknown resonance was coming from.)

Kalen Holliday

Kalen does come to join Ian. His eyes travel slowly over the room, but he has become somewhat accustomed to Denver being a place to encounter a new Resonance and merely assume that it is a day upon which the sun has risen. Or will rise, though mostly Kalen isn't out at those hours encountering other Magi these days. He sets his coffee down and settles across from Ian with a smile. And, even now, alert for a new and interesting companion or enemy, that smile is real.

His eyes track Ian's to that boot, linger a second, and then return to Ian. He leans across the table to murmur, "Company we know?" His eyes do ease back to the stairs, not just to the boots but to the source of that new Resonance. Unless someone, or something, comes melting through the floor, if they are to appear it will be from those stairs.

radiant

Down the steps: not precisely a run but with a clipped precision that feels both sure and swift although in truth he is moving no faster than any other man of his height and his general build. Tall, yes, though not towering. He is spare enough, lanky enough that from a distance he seems taller than he is, but as one of those two handmade boots touches the ground at the bottom of the stairs he resolves into a man of a height with Kalen and Ian.

Blond hair, this messy wave of it. Pale hazel eye beneath blond brows, a crisp hint of scruff, this bit of a goatee. Strong shoulders in a dark, collared coat right down to the knees. Button-down shirt, crisp and white beneath, unbuttoned at the collar, the thread of a tie or perhaps a cravat hinted at as well: and left, undone.

He pauses at the foot of the stairs, surveys the first floor of the cafe and it is clear that he is precise, and it is clear that he is taking his time.

And it is clear that he is seeking them out.

Because when his gaze settles on them, he walks directly towards them. Drops a hand, open on the table between them, leans over, this tension in the fine muscles framing his eyes, which reads as: intensity.

(For Ian, at last, that vague sensation of strength resolves itself into resonance then. The stranger is molten, and - more than that - he is potent.)

"Brothers. I require your assistance."

His voice is low. There is an urgency to it.

Ian

Ian shook his head - a subtle, distracted motion. "Don't think so. I can't really tell."

Kalen's senses were more open tonight, more acutely aware of whatever it was that Ian was looking for. He likely had a better sense of it, but if so, it didn't seem to phase him. Ian glanced away from the stairs to meet Kalen's eyes. Focusing on him for a moment. He took a sip of his tea, mindful of the hot water on his tongue.

"You look nice."

There was time enough for that brief flicker of warmth between them before... ah. There it was. Clearer now and hotly potent in its intensity. Ian set his tea down and swung his gaze back toward the man with the boots in time to watch him approach those last few steps. He was silent as he waited, but there was a slight shift in his posture. Dawning alertness. (Readiness, maybe, but if so he hid the tension well.)

The man flattened his palm on the table. Ian glanced at it briefly before returning to his eyes. "With what, exactly?"

Kalen Holliday

Ian captures his attention during one of those glances back. There is a flickering of something. Embers. Kalen can practically taste them, hot smoke and cedar and sage. He takes a breath, and it isn't until he is breathing out that he entirely registers that the sense of being engulfed in something searing and endless isn't just a response to that.

He looks away, toward the stranger.

Kalen does not rise, but the instinct to be on his feet is there. Of all of the Mages in Denver, it may be best that this stranger has set his hand between Kalen and Ian. Kalen trusts Ian not to need him. He's fought alongside Ian before - in event of rescuing, it is not generally Kalen doing it.

Ian speaks first. That is hardly occasion for comment between them. Kalen continues to regard the stranger curiously. Being greeted with 'brothers' catches his attention in entirely different ways than Ian had a moment before.

radiant

"I am looking for someone." The stranger flashes a quick smile: all heat, no depth. Behind his fine mouth, the teeth are perfect.

One imagines he tolerates nothing less.

"A girl, perhaps so - " and he leans back then, lifts a hand to some middling height. " - tall. Dark hair, dark eyes. A certain quickness to her. She would seem out of place, and you would feel her were you close to her.

"Like a door, opening.

"I don't suppose - "

Ian

[Subterfuge]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ian

Perhaps in another world, the two of them (Ian and this man) would have been cut from similar cloth. All find tailored clothes and confident precision. Here though, Ian greeted the stranger's arrival not as though he were a friend (another Awakened soul in a sleeping world) but rather as an unknown entity - possibly deserving of suspicion.

The hand on the table did not earn him any favors.

Ian raised his eyebrows lightly, as though in interest, but shook his head. "Don't think I know her."

radiant

Perception + Subterfuge: Ian.

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 5, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Kalen Holliday

The stranger is looking for a girl. His description reminds Kalen of a girl he meant to find again, but he does not know what she looked like behind her mask. He remembers the taste of quick spring rain and mist heavy with presence. Another girl, longer ago, drowned. The ghost of a drowned girl, also possessed of a certain quickness and dark hair and dark eyes.

So much memory. He could drown in it. He could burn in it. Molten. Of course. It is no less true for that.

"Start perhaps," he says quietly, "With who you are and why you're searching. We can move if we must. But if not-" Kalen waves lazily at a chair. "Sit."

radiant

Ian is too spare. The casual admission, no further questions: who is she. What is she to you. Nothing more. The stranger's pale eyes fix on Ian for a long moment, this attention that feels like rearing back and can be nothing more than a closely scrutinized assessment.

"Hmm."

Then, the sparest of smiles brings his attention right over to Kalen. A different kind of scrutiny: a different weight to it.

A certain flicker that strikes one as -

"Names are power and I'll not share mine with strangers of uncertain intent. Call me what you will and see if I answer. As for the girl, she is in danger, and I am her Guardian.

"If you find her, you should not approach. You should notify me. I presume you have the means.

"And if you do not, I am certain that I can find you."

Then, a glance at the empty chair.

"The invitation is appreciated, but I will take my leave. Goodnight, brothers."

And he turns.

And he walks out the door.

Kalen Holliday

[Perception+Empathy | WP because reasons]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

radiant

Rolling to you because I want the clash to be a mystery and just the RP stuff to come out. Manipulation + Subterfuge:

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 5, 7, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )

Ian

At Kalen's proposal, Ian eyed the space around them as though he felt it were... inadequate for the sort of conversation they were likely to have. And there was a brief glance thrown Kalen's way, cool and unreadable but nonetheless lingering.

As it happened, the stranger chose not to take them up on the invitation. Would not even leave his name. Only a request... and a warning. Ian watched him go, but did not attempt to slow his passage.

"Good luck," he offered, casually enough that it might have been sincere.

[Per+Subterfuge - what are you hiding, hmm?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 7, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )

radiant

Kalen has a sense from the stranger of: urgency and concern. He does not seem to have any animosity to her. He seems to believe that: she is in danger, and he is her Guardian.

radiant

Kalen has a sense from the stranger of: urgency and concern. He does not seem to have any precise animosity towards her. He does absolutely see himself as a Guardian. Here is a supple, subtle shift though: she is a danger. His concern is not precisely for her so much as it is about her.

radiant

Make that Ian, not Kalen. Ian has a sense...

You're different.

Serafíne

Awareness?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 3

Serafíne

The door's open.

The door's always open, and maybe Elijah just walks in. Up the steps onto the porch, past the fucking unicycle and right on in. Maybe he knocks and if he knocks it takes someone a little while to head out front and open the door because the door's always open.

Saturday afternoon. Dee works in a bakery and Rick in a record shop and Saturday afternoon, both are off at work. Those liberal arts degrees are so worth the student debt, aren't they?

So, if he knocks Dan'll be the one to pad down the long corridor between the living room and the foyer to open the door because Sera is curled up on her green velvet couch and she's taking a nap or doodling in her songwriting notebook or taking a nap while doodling in her songwriting notebook, legs curled up, this green chenille blanket wrapped around her body, falling cross-wise from her left shoulder to her right shoulder.

Music in the room and not what you'd think. Satie, rather than the Pixies.

A fire in the fireplace. Curtains open to the backyard, the sharp brilliance of the February sun.

Hair mussed, red marks on her right cheek where she was resting her head on the arm of the chair but by the time Elijah makes it into the living room she's sitting up, the blanket falling, lean body warm and lovely beneath, dark eyes strangely sharp, for all that everything else about her says: sleep sleep sleep right now.

"Elijah. You're different."

And she knows how.

Elijah

The door is open.

The door is always open, and Elijah does walk right in. Though, as he usually does, he knocks. he knocks three times and enters anyway, as though knocking would announce his presence, as though knocking would make all the difference, but it didn't. It never made a difference because the door was always open and it was something he could really get behind. He liked that, the open door policy.

He walks in. Has a smile for Dan, something bright yet conspiratorial because there is always some conspiracy. Always something to smile about, and skiing did come easily. Maybe not always but, at that juncture, it came easily. Doesn't have to worry about student debt, or really anything aside from the mysteries of the universe and when his next final is. (He has no idea when his finals are. He just knows he will show up and take them. Will be able to gauge them by how little sleep Jenn is getting because one of them actually does care about their education).

So there he is, making his way into the living room, bag deposited somewhere out of the way ad shoes stay on because it took him an eternity to find them last time and you can't drive a motorcycle without shoes. It doesn't work.

But there is a feeling when he comes in. A feeling that is his typical unrest. That feeling of a storm coming, that feeling of the unrest in men's hearts before revolution but now, it's different. Now those hearts beat loud and push, they stretch, they reach for something. The hope, they plead, they traverse muck and mire and frigid, salty waters and strive for more. There is still that feeling, that push, that chaos in the world, but even chaos has a purpose, even if it isn't clear.

It is a lack of contentment, wherein he previously could have been aimless, shapeless form. Unrest without purpose, but now there is a drive there. Now there is intent, a ball rolling. Ideas moving. Potential swept up to kinetic and trying for more.

He's different, she informs him. He smiles, big and bright and pleased and he plops down on the floor beside her, not on the couch but adjacent to said couch.

"And I didn't die this time," he said. Not quite true. An eternity passed and time marched on and days and weeks and months ceased to matter. He could have died a thousand times for all he knows, all he cares. Maybe he did. It seems to have been for the better.

Serafíne

There is a tray on the coffee table, and on that tray is a white ceramic pot just visible beneath a knitted cozy (black and pink with the word IRONY knitted intarsia - a gift from one of the Derby Dolls) and a bottle of whiskey and a cup-and-saucer with a bit of cooling tea lightly dosed with whiskey. A little jam jar with sliced lemons, in case she wants some. The tea cup is a lovely little antique covered in pink roses, rimmed with gold that has been rubbed off here and there: time and use.

Elijah takes a seat on the floor and Sera inhales and bends down and kisses the crown of his head and inhales both his new scent and his new sensation. Smiles against his hair, her breath warm and steady.

"It's not always dying. For some people its never dying, and after the first its about - unlocking your soul, piece by piece I think. Last time I was scared that I was gonna be consumed by her, that I was going to become her? But I don't think that's it.

"You're happy, though. I'm glad. Wanna tell me what happened?

"That's a real question, by the way. You don't have to. I like the way you feel now. Like you're reaching."

Elijah

There is an art to tea. There is a flow to it, to the pouring of cups and doctoring the little beverages until they're personal and perfect.

"I'm not scared of my avatar anymore. I mean, I used to be. Gah, I used to be terrified of it but this… I mean, it was scary in its own way- and I totally want to talk about it," he perked up, his cheeks warm, his green eyes bright and pleased, "it was… okay, it started out that Jenn and I had a fight. I mean, it… it makes sense? That this would happen when I was at the apartment, because Jenn was there the first time, too. She was there and it was… something about our dynamic is like a push, and that was it. We'd had a fight, because I'd been kind of shady since I moved here. I don't remember a lot of it, because I remember being really… really drunk.

"I remember she'd cried, though. And I remember that it made my stomach hurt because I can't freaking lie to her, that's bullshit, and I'd been pretty closed lipped about, like, mage stuff. But I woke up and there was this mirror. And yeah, it all started with a mirror."

Serafíne

"The last time I went seeking, I fell off the stage in a bar or something and hit my head and had a seizure or something so like fifty million people called ambulances and they took me to the hospital.

"I fucking hate hospitals."

--

Dan's coming back into the living room, then. Hands Elijah a mug, in case he wants tea. Lifts up the cozy to check and see how much tea is left in the pot, then winks at Elijah and kinda withdraws. He wasn't really invited into the conversation, and its feels quiet and personal and hell, he has work to do.

On his MacBook, in the kitchen, where he can both keep guard and be handy if needed.

"What'd you see in the mirror?"

Elijah

"Me. Well, like, me if I were a dick. Me but not me- and fuck hospitals, by the way. I recognize that they're useful and helpful and shit for people but if I can avoid having to go to the hospital, I would like to."

Something tells him that he was getting off-topic. The thought meanders, sticks in his head, and Elijah, darling dove that he is, continues on.

"I remember thinking if I could tell you, you would think there was something wrong with me. But I heard that the if and the could were really just, like, excuses, ya know? It wasn't like I was physically incapable of spilling the metaphorical metaphysical beans. BUt... it wasn't me thinking it, it was something outside of me? If that makes sense? But I know that my soul's inside of me but it exists inside and outside, anyway... there's a mirror, and I was smiling, except the eyes weren't right.

"It was a push. And my reflection flipped me the fuck off and walked off. Move your ass, kid, was kind of the overarching feeling there and then this Voice-" oh, and ther is a capital in that. Something intent and purposeful. A Voice. A real, genuine voice. A Voice that spoke the world into existence, his own personal herald and that herald was not putting up with Elijah's shit voice, "that was like 'coward' but it wasn't, like, mean, but it would be like me saying Sera has a teacup.

"But once you name something. once you Name something, you give it a form and you give it a purpose and you've imbued it. You've created it, you've shaped it. It was what it was but I'm not a fucking coward-" a second passes.

"Except I can be. You know? I get fucking panicked and I get nervous and I just let things happen and react instead of doing and just fucking owning it? So, my reflection is walking away from me down this corridor that doesn't have a freaking real world analogue- because our apartment has no long, shady corridors. Dan can totally vouch for that-" he calls back "-right?-" he continues "- we don't pay enough rent to pay for a place that has room for fuckin' corridors, even if they are otherworldly ones.

"So I'm like fuck this, fuck your apprehension, you can't keep lying to Jenn, take the fucking dive. So she comes home later and I'm like we've got to talk so we talk and I pulled a Princess Elsa-" let it gooooo, let it gooooooo- "-and I show her the umbra because- have you seen it?"

Another sidebar, to both of them, a delight in his eyes and a smile, impish and filled with an innocent wonder written clear across his features. He straightens his posture, hands clasp in front of him, but he realizes this isn't the story, this isn't the important part, and he clears his throat and moves on, "anyway, it's... the view from the apartment is really what sells it. There are stars everywhere and you can see the little spiders holding the place together and there's electricity and light and it's like the world is becoming, and I show Jenn.

"And there's a mirror. Another mirror, but this mirror, this actual mirror, shows the same corridor I'd seen before and there's a light at the end and you can't touch things between the layers of the universe, at least I haven't figured out how to do that, at least I don't think I'd figured out how to do that. It... anyway, space is just kind of a thing. So we're talking and the world goes slow and I can push through the mirror, because there isn't anything there, and the mirror... themirror wasn't a mirror, but it was a doorway to a number of other doorways

"And aren't mirrors always doorways? I mean, reflections and whatnot... anyway, so I go through."

Serafíne

It's really just his story and Elijah's in the middle of the story and so it's Sera who accepts the mug and from Dan, reaching up and out to him, reaching with a half-smile that has her blanket spilling off her left shoulder to just pool around her waist. She's wearing an old Siouxsie Sioux t-shirt, found in some bargain bin at Buffalo Exchange, so worn that it has become threadbare in places.
And she sits up a bit. Lifts her head and reaches out for the teapot to pour Elijah a mug of tea. As the hot liquid fills the ceramic mug: the Cheshire Cat appears around his grin, which is always visible, when the mug is hot and when it is cold.

Sera gives Elijah's tea a bit of whiskey too, and a lemon wedge. Why not?

It's good that way. Not precisely magic, but better than loads of other not-magic things.

When the mug is on the coffee table in front of him she lays back down and nestles her golden head on the rolled arm of her velveteen sofa and listens.

Listens.

Her dark eyes on his profile, her left hand on his right shoulder.

"I never really think about names and words, you know? Or doorways, which is especially strange - " given that she feels, sometimes, like thresholds, like places-between. "But it makes sense, you know, that the mirror would be a doorway for you. What happened next?"

--

Sera has never seen the umbra.

Elijah

It does make sense that mirrors would be doorways for him. Lock and key. Roadmaps. Places he could be if he could allow himself to be there- Elijah is a creature whose world hinges on the sympathetic. As above, so below. Amusing, really, since he aligns the other worlds with smoke and suddenly finds himself accosted by mirrors. They go together, like some grand trick where you find out there was no trick at all.

He takes the cup in hand, holding it close so his hands can just take in the warmth. Savor the sensation, put a little whiskey and lemon in, because whiskey was just another flavor to add to the mix. He raises the drink to his lips, closes his eyes and just inhales. He likes it, doesn't have a drink yet, but knows he likes it because his senses are delighted at that juncture. He exhales and the air shifts. He continues with the story.

"So, I go through, and it's the corridor and there's all these doors, tons of them. They're all lined up at the end and the one at the very end, the one where the reflection went? It's still open. It's bright and I start to head that way and the door is closing and I'm like-

"Why am I even following this guy? I mean, it's me. It's my reflection, but what am I going to do when I get there? Look myself in the eye and tell me-that-isn't-me that I did it. That I told Jenn, that I was scared and nervous but I fucking did it? Like, I'm fucking beholden to some other person, like I owe an explanation when I don't owe anything. I needed the push but I'm not seven. This isn't like second grade when you have those reading logs and you tell your teacher that you finished Call of the Wild.

"That person might have looked like me, but that person wasn't me. Everything was going dark and all those doors were closed except the obvious one, but… it didn't mater. Doors are closed because we don't open them. Things are going out and I've got to move my ass because you don't always have the luxury of hemming and hawing about crap… and so, I pick a door, figure fuck chasing after someone who isn't there, and I take a doorknob.

"And it's weird, the things you remember. I remember taking it and it was one of those little egg-shaped oval doorknobs. I don't remember the handle, but I remember feeling it was warm, and warm became more-than-warm. Like, melting hot and it's giving way into being nothing and the door just gives, flies open and gives way into possibilities because… well, just because. For all I know, it could have been waiting lifetimes to be opened. Lifetimes of being passed over and it just gives.

"And all I can smell is sea salt and water and it's so dark, so very dark and all I can think is tidal waves and fucking Katrina and how that smell always… always sticks to things and how… looking back, I'm thankful for it, because…. I just go in, and there's no floor, no nothing, just water and-"

He inhales sharp and deep and the memory is stiff and he can feel water in his lungs again and this time it doesn't scare him. This time he can smell sea salt and water and can't think of a lifetime buried under the waves. He can think of something other than screaming and the worlds between being torn to pieces. Right now, his thoughts go to something different.

His world shifted. Built new associations. Kept the Name but changed definition.

"-there's water. And I just think I don't want to drown and it's fucking terrifying and the shore is there and I. Can't. Swim. I've never been able to swim, but all I can think about is that dead bodies float so if I go slack I shouldn't sink. Shouldn't get eaten by the tide but… it's not… it's not something I should be afraid of. And there aren't any walls and there aren't any physical barriers but I can hear the voice again- and…

"And it is like what the fuck is your problem? Because I'm just sitting there and I'm not going to the shore and I'm not going down and all I'm thinking about is that I don't want to drown… but… But there's a world to explore. There's so many things to see, and being afraid, letting the sea carry me wherever it wants to? That's… that's crap. No. Either move for the shore or go down under the waves but do it on your own time, do something. "

He laughs at this point, takes a drink of tea and actually tastes it. Doesn't feel salt in his lungs even though the mention of it makes his heart pound.

"So I'm sitting here having a fucking argument with my soul and, as it turns out, it's way fuckin' smarter than me. Like… if Socrates was a dude, and Socrates had no patience for bullshit.

"But I'm just sitting there being scared and I'm thinking I don't want to drown and it hits me that… if I do drown, I want to at least drown of my own freaking volition and not because I just sat on my ass and let the world happen. I had an opportunity, I was literally in a different freaking world, and the ocean is beyond vast and I just know that I'm not going to be fucking ruled by the fact that I'm scared. I'm not gonna pull a Hamlet, but conscience doth make cowards of us all doesn't quite apply here. It's my will, and I should fucking exercise it, you know?"

"This is an opportunity. Fear gives you a chance to test your metal and so I just… you know… kind of struggle down and take a deep breath because I figure I should explore. Go down, it's nothing but potential down there so… like… go for it.

"And time passes and it… It doesn't matter how long passed, because it just went, you know? So, I wake up and I'm on my couch again I'm not, like, pining over the doors I didn't open, or wondering what my asshead reflection is doing. I'm just, like, there. And it happened."

Serafíne

Sera listens.

And listens and listens and listens.

Her golden head slides down from the scrolled arm of the couch, and she scooches down and rearranges her body so she can cradle her head in her matched palms and watch him closer and closer still. Listen to him with her body as much as her mind. Feel the passion radiant off him. Feel the world slice itself open to him in a very different way than it has ever sliced itself open to her.

She's so close, then. Close enough that she can see the tendons in his temple, their attachment to his jaw, close enough that she can breathe in time with him, ride the waves of his wonder and his brilliance, the sudden verbosity, the surety, the revelation.

--

"You're amazing, Elijah. I'm so fucking proud of you."

Elijah

She listens. And listens and listens and she listens.

That's important, you see, because she listens. She doesn't wait for him to finish, doesn't wait for her turn to talk, she's actually listening, taking it in, feeling how close she is and he turns, adjusts because she's so close, leans forward and kisses her on the forehead like he wanted to, like it's an expression of joy. Like it's the only natural consequence to what she said.

He smiles, feels a different warmth creep over him.

"That means a lot to me, Sera, thank you," like it bleeds out. Like it's a gift, like he means it because he's not a liar, and he's not a coward. Even though he does lie, sometimes. Even though he is afraid, sometimes.

Dreams and disappointments.

Ian

The ambient temperature in Denver was just slightly above freezing. Cold enough to still feel like winter (or at least, the end of it,) but warm enough that the mass of dark clouds overhead was just as likely to mean rain as snow. When Ian arrived at Washington Park earlier in the evening, the air was still dry. But the threat of precipitation loomed over the city like a blanket. He was running, like he often did on this particular trail. It was becoming a habit.

The path took him on a loop around the park before he cut inward toward the lake, loping past a handful of slower runners on his way toward the gazebo (where the girl with the odd resonance had been two days earlier.) That, of course, was then the rain hit. Slow at first. Delicate pin-prick droplets that left specks of wetness on the ground. Soon it built into a light rain. When a drop of it managed to hit the back of his neck and crawl icily down his spine, he exhaled irritably and jogged into the cover of the open gazebo. Once there, he stopped to catch his breath, hands on his hips as he looked out at the darkened sky.

Light rain tended to come in sporadic shifts. Possibly, if he waited a few minutes, it might let up.

(Possibly he'd be running back to his car in the freezing rain.)

Alexander

[Because he's been trying stuff out, and because he had time to kill... Sensing heat, Arete 1. TN 4, -1 for taking time, 2 succs to last.]

Dice: 1 d10 TN3 (1) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Alexander

[Extending,

Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (4) ( success x 1 )

Alexander

There were a lot of reasons why people were in the park, and a lot of them tended to be shared. To exercise, running along the trails through the park. To meet, the occasional couple walking closely together through the early evening light. To walk the dog. Or just to pass through.

One figure, sat near the lake, is waiting for a friend. There are no plans to meet, no exchange of text messages or voicemails or phone calls. It’s just that this is the spot where they had met twice before, and it seemed like the most likely place for it to happen again. It had been months since that last time with no signs of a certain scarecrow appearing again. But, then, there hadn’t been any warning before. So he comes and he watches and he waits for his friend.

As he waits, he plays with a lighter. It flicks open, lights, close. Flicks open, lights closes. At one point, Alexander stops to feel the heat radiating off the flame before the same cycle restarts. Only afterwards he’s looking at more than just the lake. His vision glows with the sensation of heat – or the lack of it. So he sees the slight cooling in the air just before the rain starts and it suddenly seems like a good time to find cover. The single drops multiply into rain and he runs to the nearby gazebo. He’s not as prepared for weather today as usual – rain hadn’t been on the forecast – and so a little cover while the rain (hopefully) blows itself out seems to be a good idea. There was that gazebo not so far away.

So head ducked down, he runs under cover. And then he notices that he’s not alone. “Oh! Ian. Hi.” Awkward? Quite possibly.

Ian

[Awareness]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 2, 6, 6) ( success x 2 )

Ian

How long had it been since the last time they'd seen each other? Not since that night when Ian had played Kiara on the basketball court. He hadn't spoken to Alex then - nothing beyond a brief greeting. The truth is, they'd seldom spoken to each other at all. At least not about anything that wasn't some immediate threat that they were in the process of eliminating. They'd played soccer once. There hadn't been a lot of conversation then either.

But that was probably just as well, as far as Alexander was concerned. They hadn't exactly started things off on the right foot.

Ian hadn't really expected to see him. But then, it was a public park. And with the rain, there were bound to be other people heading for shelter. He didn't notice Alex's resonance right away. At first it was just this quiet note of winter lingering in the background. But when he caught the sound of approaching footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder toward the sensation and matched it with Alex's face. It took slightly longer for Alex to notice that he wasn't alone. Ian's mouth twitched with amusement at the sudden greeting.

"Hey."

He'd clearly been out for a run, judging by his clothes. Drawstring sweats and a sleek black windbreaker. His hair was a bit damp from the rain. Absently he ran a hand through it, pushing the wet strands off his forehead.

"Enjoying the weather?"

Alexander

[Awareness too]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Serafíne

AWARENESS!

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 6 )

Alexander

Alexander glances around the gazebo quickly, seeing if there was anyone else unexpected there, before returning his gaze to Ian. Their first meeting hadn’t been the best on record – Alexander coming away with an impression that he was being being played with in some kind of game that only Ian knew the rules to. But then there had been other times that they had encountered each other. Almost half of which involved fighting and shooting and, oh yes, someone getting decapitated.

It’s the little things that can make it hard to relate to someone, although the tide of chance had been remarkably reluctant in bringing the two of them together anyway. Who knows, maybe if they had gotten off on a better foot, maybe managed to be sociable a little more than the time stargazing outside the Chantry with Sera, maybe maybe maybe.

But that wasn’t the case, and Alexander still doesn’t quite get the other man. And so he steps back to lean against one of the rails running around the edge of the gazebo and crosses his arms across his chest. Maybe he’s cold? Or maybe it’s out of some unconscious statement of the barrier between them. But, then, our Alex isn’t all that metaphorical.

“It was better dryer. Cold I can handle. Wet when you’re not expecting it is just nasty. How about you? You don’t really look like you were expecting it either.”

He looks out into the darkening park, towards its closest edge, and nods in that direction. “Shame the sky isn’t clearer. The three of us could have looked tried to find those nuns on a carousel again.”

Ian

Ian made a low sound of agreement, following Alex's gaze across the landscape of the park. "I was hoping it'd be cold enough for snow."

Alex's posture was distant and protective. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the company. Either way, Ian let his eyes settle on him again, seemingly thoughtful for a moment. His own posture felt more relaxed, shoulders moving with the steady rise and fall of deep breaths. His pulse was still coming down from the run, beating a quick rhythm within his veins. He wet his lips as he settled next to Alex, leaning back against the railing with his palms propped up on either side. There was enough space left between them so as not to make Alex feel intruded upon.

He did smile though, tentatively, when Alex mentioned the night they'd spent stargazing.

"You left out the orgy." After a beat he asked, "How've you been?"

(Did he actually care, or was he just making conversation?)

Serafíne

The three of us?

Yeah, Sera's out there. She's not jogging in the park and she's not looking for the sending of a long-dead Archmage of the Celestial Chorus and she's not actually dashing to get in out of the rain and they can feel her: Alexander vaguely and Ian a little more sharply though neither can feel her as well as she can feel them. They are burning bright on the periphery of her senses, distinct enough that she shivers when her attention slips toward Alexander's chilly resonance, that the muscles flanking her spine tense when her heightened awareness slides to the sense of Ian in the air - bracing against the sensation of something - well, at the edge of the predatory.

--

See, ,there she is. Cresting this little knoll, which curves gently against the horizon, framing the view of the boathouse from the gazebo. The spare frame engulfed by a too-large leather jacket, cigarette a signal-flare in the gathering gloom, face turned up toward the sky as that light rain - that drove them both to seek shelter - continues to fall.

She's not really beelining in their direction, thought she is sort of wandering that way.

Alexander

“Maybe it will be, once the sun finishes setting.” Ahh, the weather. The nice, safe conversation topic used the whole world over when it’s not really clear what else should be discussed. Next up, so, any holidays planned this year?

Alex snorts, amused, when Ian reminds him about the missing orgy. “How could I have forgotten about the orgy? It would be a whole other constellation without that.” He looks Ian over, taking in the running gear and the slightly heavy breathing, and turns, still leaning on the railing but looking out – and up at the clouds and falling rain– instead of in. “I don’t think we’re going to be seeing any of that tonight though.”

How’ve you been? Now there’s a dangerous question. The answer starts, “I’ve been fine,” and is followed by a pause. Maybe a moment to consider whether to stick with that safe, stock phrase that lets the questioner gloss over things? He glances back to Ian, turning his head to do so. “I wasn’t. Now I’m ok. You?” His gaze returns to the park, looking to where a faint red glow – of the cigarette, or of Sera’s body heat – slowly comes into view.

“How’s Sky?”

Ian

I don’t think we’re going to be seeing any of that tonight though.

"Oh, speak for yourself." There was a wry lift to his tone, a cant of his head as he regarded Alex. And maybe he was being serious (it was Ian, after all - who the hell knew what he got up to on Friday evenings,) or maybe he was just playing to the obvious joke. He could feel the visceral pull of Sera's resonance moving steadily closer at his back, but he didn't turn to watch her approach. Waited instead for her to either pass them by or join them beneath the sheltering roof of the gazebo. For a moment the rain picked up, pattering more insistently against the wooden boards above their heads. It wasn't long before it lightened up again.

Alex answered his question with short, honest words. When he turned the question around by asking about Sky, Ian looked at him with what might have been surprise. He didn't immediately respond.

"I wouldn't know. Haven't seen him in a while."

(After all that? Interesting.)

"I'm doing fine though. Except when I'm not. I think that's true for all of us." After a beat he added, "Haven't had anyone try to kill me recently."

(Implied but not spoken: I haven't had to kill anyone either.)

Serafíne

I can intuit things about emotional states in this very gazebo!

Awareness-as-empathy?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )

Ian

[We shall see (subterfuge)]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1

Serafíne

The rain is light enough that it never endangers her cigarette. The odd droplet hits the dark blue paper and the splashback is enough to make the cherry hiss sometimes, but never comes close to putting it out. Makes her smile, the sound, this smile that is somehow both contained and outflung, open-armed, tinged with -

- well, what the fuck would they know what it is tinged with, two dozen yards away in the gloomy, cloud-banked twilight.

--

By the time Sera reaches the gazebo, her face is wet. The scattered spatter of raindrops streaks down her sharply drawn features. The high cheekbones, angular nose, the fine jaw - even her elfin ears. And smiling like she's remembering someone or something she loves. Her hair is a damp, tangled mass of curls that she has pulled away from her face, twisted over her left shoulder. She's allowed some of the shaved fringe to grow in a bit - so the usual fine dark fringe has a bit more texture, the beginnings of a bit of a pincurl, which makes her look softer even though she isn't - ever - soft.

Sleeves of her leather jacket are pushed a bit up her forearms, revealing the leading edge of the tattoo on her right forearm - the angular crow's skull - and all the dark ink on her hands.

She smells (more than) a little bit like pot. Beneath the leather jacket, a damp white t-shirt clings to her torso - this hint of a black lace bra so clear beneath. She's paired that with a crushed red velvet micromini thigh-high lace stockings, seamed up the back, garters and combat boots, as you do.

Gives Alexander a little finger-wave and Ian a much more contained smile.

Doesn't interrupt. Does put out the cigarette before she joins them beneath the shelter of the gazebo.

She smells so fragrantly of cloves.

Alexander

The awkwardness that Alexander’s been feeling is still there, but it does seem to be less than it was a few minutes ago. So far he’s not feeling like something to be toyed with by the man with the air of the feline around him.

Alexander smiles and gives another amused snort, looking over to Ian again as he does. “Oh? You’re off to the planetarium later?” He knows what Ian was suggesting – and it wasn’t stargazing – but he tries to keep the joke going a little longer anyway.

The moments stretch out before Ian answers the question about Sky. Alex studies his face but can’t read anything more into the words than their own, simple meaning. “Oh. Ok.” The reaction – after the effort than Ian had gone through to find Sky, and to free him – was indeed interesting. “I got the impression you guys were close?” Their precise relationship had never been discussed – it hadn’t really been any of Alex’s business at the time anyway.

I think that’s true for all of us. Alex nods, looking back into the rain again. Then his smile fades as Ian adds on the part about nobody trying to kill him. There’s a moment followed by a breath. “I have. It wasn’t personal though. Just some bastard who thought he should have some peace to beat up his wife objecting to being interrupted.” There’s another snort, without the amusement behind it this time. “He’s learning the error of his ways.”

He turns, leaning back on the railing again, as Sera arrives. She gets a smile, warm if restrained. “Hey. We were wondering if we’d get to see nuns having orgies again tonight.”

Ian

"Closeness is a fluctuating state," Ian replied, somewhat cryptically. "He was just a guy I slept with a few times. I didn't want him to die, and I'm glad he didn't. But we have different lives." It was an honest, if overly simplistic explanation. Probably more than he would have given Alex (or Sera) a few months ago.

Had anyone ever mentioned to Ian that Alex was a cop? Surely someone did, at some point. Maybe he saw something. Recognized the gun that Alex carried. Maybe not. Alex himself had never mentioned it. As he related his story, Ian watched him - taking in the way that he spoke. The details of the circumstances. He made a soft sound in his throat. Ambiguous enough that it could have meant a lot of things.

"Lucky you were there."

(Lucky that the man didn't succeed.)

And there was Sera. Softer and quieter than Ian often saw her. His gaze turned to survey her for a while, returning her contained smile with one of his own. "Rain suits you."

And then, to Alex, "I'm pretty sure that's the title of at least one porn film."

Serafíne

Sera isn't precisely keyed in to the memory Alexander and Ian had been riffing on - the night stargazing, her one-off comment about nuns and orgies. Maybe she was high then. Maybe she's high now. Maybe she's always high,

always fucked up,

always celebrating something, somehow, somewhere, somewhen.

And she's wandered into the middle of a conversation to which she was not wholly privy, the details are lost in her current haze and that's okay. She's lets the cold drizzle and its dampening noise swallow them. The air feels close and strange.

"If someone's still a nun in this day and age she probably takes her vows pretty fucking serious. Or she had the world's shittiest home life." This near little shrug, strung through with the tension she forces into her shoulders to keep herself from shivering. "I could probably find you something, though. An approximation, at least. If all you wanna do is watch."

Then Ian tells her that rain suits her and she flashes him another glance. This one is rather more seeking than the last, and just as easily deflected. Sera smiles, to herself this time, and closes her eyes.

He's right. The rain does suit her. Paints a damp, gilded light over her sharp angles, folds her back into her skin. "I'm just stoned," she counters, or perhaps demures. Which is also true. She is just stoned. "I have another joint if you want some."

Alexander

“Tides.” Alex pushes himself up so that he’s say on the railing rather than leaning against it, leaning forwards so that his elbows are resting on his knees, before continuing his own rather cryptic statement. “We’re pushed together, then we’re drawn apart until we’re push together again.” He shrugs. “I’m glad he’s ok though. If you do happen to bump into him, tell him I said hi.”

Lucky you were there. Alex shrugs. “The neighbour called. Turns out the noise was drowning out America’s Next Top Model and they wanted it stopping. I get there with my partner, no answer at the door and the fight still going on. One broken door, one broken arm and a fair bit of bruising later and suddenly trying to assault officers doesn’t seem like such a great idea.” There’s another shrug and he meets Ian’s gaze. “Shit happens.”

But then he’s cringing at the thought of a porn movie about… “That has got to be the biggest turn-off ever. Or clowns. Are nun clowns a thing? Drifting around silently in their big shoes and red noses, just waiting to pounce on the sinners?”

He smiles, laughing quietly and looking at Sera after her offer of a joint. “You think I need a joint if I’m coming up with ideas like this?“

Ian

"Sure, if you're offering."

He probably shouldn't be smoking anything so soon after running. When his body was humming with endorphins and his lungs still pulled in breath at a slightly elevated rate. But it was Friday, and he didn't have anywhere to be except here. In a fucking gazebo at twilight in February with two people whose feelings about him were ambivalent at best.

It could have been romantic, in a slightly different set of circumstances. Instead it was cold and wet and a bit awkward. But that was alright. Sometimes cold and wet and a bit awkward wasn't the worst thing.

"You know I was on that once. Not as a contestant. Just... in the background. But I remember them shooting while I was doing a thing in Shanghai."

Apparently Alex found nuns to be about the opposite of attractive, and Ian glanced at him with a laugh. "I'd totally fuck a nun. If she was hot. Hell, I'd probably do it for the story alone."

(Of course he would.)

Serafíne

Sera gives Ian this lovely, vague smile when he accepts, if she's offering. Of course, she's offering, she's always offering, she has a bag slung beneath her leather jacket and over her t-shirt and slings that around and digs inside and pulls out a pack of Kreteks and finds within the kreteks a single joint, tightly and expertly rolled. Taps it out and offers Ian both: the joint and her lighter unearthed not from the little bag, but from the right pocket of her leather jacket.

Glances back at Alex as he cringes over the thought of a porn movie about... and gives him a neat little shrug. Sera doesn't really watch porn. It's way to impersonal.

Then Ian announces that he would fuck a nun. If she was hot. Or just for the story, and Sera gives him a sharper glance, sidelong. "That's a shitty thing to say. Is it true?"

Glances back at Alex, then. "Who's Sky?" Quietly, and still unexpected.

Alexander

Alex doesn’t make any move when the joint comes out and if it does happen to head in his direction he’ll just pass it on.

“A thing? A dancing thing?” He’s not really expecting much detail, even if there is an answer. It’s something to ask, something to talk about. Something to… if not draw them together, maybe not keep them apart.

Ian talks about sleeping with a nun for the story. Sera’s not sounding happy about it, and Alex? He stays quiet and looks back down at the floor of the gazebo. He agrees with Sera, but isn’t quite sure whether Ian is cracking a tasteless joke or not. The guy is pretty hard to read, after all. So he lets it slide and doesn’t comment.

Who’s Sky? Alex takes a breath and looks up at Ian, wondering who should answer. He can, at least, start the story. The short version, at least. He looks down at the ground again as he starts. “You remember the thing with the spirit down at the reservoir last year? Sky was caught up in the whole thing. We – and Alyssa – got him out.”

Alex looks back up at Sera – not even glancing at Ian now – as the last part goes unsaid. The first time I saw Ian behead someone.

Ian

"I've done worse things," he offered in reply to Sera, though to his credit, he didn't sound especially proud of it. He took the joint and the lighter from her hand, putting the latter to his lips. There was a low gust of wind that swept past, and he used his hands to shelter the small flame of the lighter. When he was done he handed it back to her, pulling in a slow, shallow drag of smoke. It'd been awhile since the last time he'd gotten even remotely high, and for a moment the taste of it distracted him.

"I probably wouldn't tell, if I did," he admitted. "At least, not like that." He didn't know if that was the part Sera was objecting to, but it was the part he personally found the most distasteful (the idea of violating someone's privacy.) "But would I sleep with a nun if she offered? Yes. Theoretically."

He let Alex relate the beginning of the story about Sky, going quiet for a while. He took another drag off the joint and offered it to first Alex (who passed,) then Sera, if she wanted it.

"He's a Verbena I used to know. Someone we helped once."

Ian

[Edit: putting the former to his lips. (Really, I know english.)]

Serafíne

"I don't remember that," Sera tells Alexander quietly, and it's true. She doesn't remember the thing with the spirit down a tthe reservoir last year. Maybe she wasn't involved. Maybe she was never told the story. Strange how the things that are absolutely central to our lives can be so peripheral to those we are close to or at least tied in to. She's watching Alexander when he looks back up at her, something significant beneath the weight of his gaze that she cannot quiet absorb, which makes her want to go and kiss him on the temple and murmur to him that yes, yes, he'll be okay, except that she does remember his reaction to her touch so she swallows down that impulse. It is just a momentary tension in her left temple: the urge and its erasure, or at least its burial.

Ian takes a drag of the joint and offers it to Alexander and then to Sera. By now she's leaning back agains the railing, one hand wrapped around its frame, head tipped back so she can see the leading edge of the twilight sky and she takes a hit from the joint and hands it back. Neither of them understand why she thinks that Ian was pretty awful just now, but that's okay. Sera hardly understands. It was just a reaction she had: visceral, gut-formed.

"What's worse?" she asks Ian. Some things, a person just needs to know.

Ian

"It was a modeling gig. The thing in Shanghai. I used to be a model."

Alexander

The joint moves and Alex just passes it between the other two, if it makes the movement easier. Drugs aren’t his thing – even this – so it’s all theirs.

At least, not like that. Alex watches Ian again at that point in his reply. Whether the privacy violation or the thought that the woman would be used simply for the amusement value of the story is worse isn’t quite clear in Alex’s mind, but does it really matter. In Sera’s words, both are particularly shitty things to do to a person. But then it seems that Ian may well have just been telling a particularly tasteless joke.

Alex meets Sera’s gaze for a few seconds. He’s not a particularly hard person to read most of the time. There was a time that he wasn’t ok. But then everything he’d been holding in had exploded when Grace and Eleanor had tried introducing him to the existence of Ginger. And didn’t that go well. But now? He is alright about what happened. “Not everyone survived.” He shrugged, water under the bridge. They had their peace now.

His gaze moves from Sera back to Ian again. “Thank you, by the way. For the advice.”

Next time, don’t hesitate. He hadn’t.

Ian

Ian's eyes cut to Alex when he thanked him for the advice. His eyes had a distant expression. Remembering, maybe. (Or maybe it was just the pot.) And then he made this soft sound, and for a moment he almost looked... pensive? Sad?

"It's a shitty lesson to have to learn. I didn't want you to die. I don't want any of us to die."

When his attention traveled back to Sera, his mouth quirked into a slight grin. There was an edge to it that didn't feel entirely humorous, though perhaps that was a holdover from the other parts of their conversation.

"Would you like a list? Because I think that would take all night." After a moment he slid down to sit with his back against the gazebo wall.

"I cheated on my first girlfriend with my foster sister. That's a pretty shitty one."

Serafíne

"Alexander," Sera murmurs, voice quiet, her body language still and contained but away. There is a rhythm to the way she smokes the joint, the puff, puff pass is familiar and meaningful if one impbues it with meaning, like communion. Believe giving gravity to the ordinary.

The thought passes through her stoned head like a zipper and makes her smile. Her eyes close and threads her fine fingers through the slats of the railing framing the gazebo, leaning back and back and back until the rain hits her face aain. Long coils of damp blonde hair spill backwards.

When Ian offers her a list she straightens - stands upright, the end the elegant curl of her arched spine - and looks at him, this damp and quiet flicker of her eyes, dark in the rainsoft evening.

"When did you decide monogamy wasn't for you?"

Alexander

“We didn’t.” It seems a little strange to Alex being the one telling someone else the equivalent of it’ll be ok, but it was true. If he’d hesitated, maybe Victoria would have been able to hurt or kill her hostage, or any of the others who had been there to stop her. Much like the unknown Hermetics who had made their attempt not so long before theirs. “We’re all alive.” Had they known each other better – had Alex known whether Ian would appreciate touch or not – Alex might have moved to make contact.

But they don’t, and he doesn’t, so it ends with the words.

Something there may have been more of, except for a buzzing coming from one of his pockets as his phone springs into life. Mouth open, just on the brink of speaking again, it closes again as he pulls the phone out and checks the screen. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” With that, he steps out of the gazebo – resting a hand on Sera’s shoulder for a moment in passing – and finds cover behind one of the supports of the gazebo, under the overhanging roof, where he would keep relatively dry.

[And fades into the dark, as it’s early and I think I need to sleep.]

Serafíne

WAIT. IAN ARE YOU MAUDLIN!

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 6 ) [WP]

Ian

[Subterfuge +2 cause high and also depressing conversation topics]

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ian

There was so much more to that story that he'd left out. So much that would have made it sound... different. Sadder. Less callous. Sera, perceptive as she was, felt the weight of it hanging in the air. All of those things that he hadn't said.

Maybe he wanted to sound callous, though. Maybe that was why he said things like I'd fuck a nun if she was hot. Which had not been a joke at all, actually.

There was a heaviness to him that settled in. This deep, abyssal thing that he could not have opened up at that juncture even if he'd wanted to. He didn't have the stamina for it. But Sera noticed the way it pulled at him. The way it threatened to engulf him for a moment, the way that old memories sometimes do. The way it just made him so fucking sad. There was a stark note of guilt there, making his chest tight. (Making him want to say more callous things.) But he was high, and the mood didn't quite settle. Slid off of him a little - the way the rain beaded up and slid off of his jacket.

When did you decide monogamy wasn't for you?

Something about that question - maybe the way she'd phrased it, maybe the fact that it came so close on the heels of his last revelation, maybe just the fact that the pot was slowly starting to sink into his system - struck him as suddenly, strangely funny, and he uttered this odd little laugh. For a moment, it almost sounded like he was about to fucking unravel. But then the laugh mellowed - became this warm, amused thing. And he looked at her with softer eyes.

"I don't know, high school? I think relationships in general aren't for me."

Alex bid his goodbye. Offered that simple point of reassurance, which Ian accepted silently. If they'd known each other better, maybe a lot of things would have been different. But... they didn't. So Alex left to go answer his phone, leaving Ian and Sera to their own devices. Ian passed her the joint and leaned back against wooden beams again, resting his head as he listened to the sound of the rain on the roof.

"What about you?"

Serafíne

Sera makes this noise some noise behind her mouth, beneath her tongue. Wrapped up in her throat and it isn't anything, precisely, just a noise, like a click, like a lock, like a key. She's watching Ian through half-slitted eyes (he's below her now) but lifts her chin, tilts her head backwards ass Alexander has to take a call and has to take his leave, offering Ian reassurances she really does not understand either the eight or the gist of.

Strange how that happens. Strange strange strange.

The joint. She takes a hit, passes it back, and bends down briefly to offer Ian this drunken benediction, kissing him on the crown of his head. There's magic in the air: her own. Her awareness of place and heartbeats, of moving minds and they way they tangle. Nothing sharper, nothing directed at him no. Strange how someone who feels the way she feels can be so thoroughly, entirely tender: her hand curved behind his skull, her mouth tangled in his hair before she lets him go again.

Sets him free. Straightens and takes the joint and leans back, bracing the palms of her hands on the railings.

"I think relationships in general are absolutely for me. Just not way other people inhabit them, you know? I guess I think -

"I don't know what I think? I've never really had, a boyfriend though. Or a girlfriend. Not like that."

Ian

Sera bent over to kiss the crown of his head, tender and reverent. Ian closed his eyes and exhaled a long cloud of smoke. It dissipated into the cold air, curling up to wind its scent into the damp tendrils of Sera's hair. When she pulled back, he turned his head to look at her, neck craned at a slight angle.

"What would your version of a relationship be?"

Serafíne

"I dunno," she returns, with this quick, darting little smile that makes her cheeks curve, sure. She's feeling bright and flushed and open and that I dunno comes from the place in her that refuses definitions and refuses labels and perhaps even refuses language in favor of -

of -

of -

everything else there is.

"Mmmm." She inhales. She's stoned, the world's lovely. The rain falls, attuned, syncopated. Cars rush passed, all those strangers, all those kindled lives, all those living flames, each one blood and bone and muscle wrapped around a beating heart. "I have alot of them. Friends, who are lovers, who are family. Strangers who aren't strangers for a night. I don't like when it changes, sometimes -

"But it's gonna change. Sometimes that hurts.

"But I'd rather hurt than - " Stops. Arrests herself there. " - never open myself up in the first place."

Pause, quiet as she hands the joint back to Ian.

"Did your girlfriend every find out?"

Serafíne

Manipulation + Subterfuge, also. (To conceal tears.)

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Ian

"Yeah."

He didn't elaborate. Didn't say if she found out because someone told her or because she caught him or just because she was perceptive enough to know that something was wrong.

"I think that's a good way to be. Letting relationships just be these... organic things. People come and go. You relate differently to each. Everyone has something different to offer. And it's all constantly evolving. Trying to box it all up in these predefined categories... and all of the fucking rules and expectations that leads to... is so self-defeating. It's just a lot of people walking around trying to conjure up their dreams in another person and inevitably being disappointed."

Ian handed Sera the last of the joint, passing it off in a way that felt like he was done with it. "I probably don't know what the fuck I'm talking about though."

After all, he hadn't been in an official relationship since high school.

Serafíne

"That's not really what I mean, Ian."

Sera takes the joint back.

Pinches off the cherry and glances at the bit of pot left in the roach and decides to leave it somewhere, in some nice dry ashtray, a present for whoever combs through looking for half-smoked cigarettes to augment whatever they manage to bum or the loosiest they buy for a quarter.

She manages to hum, thoughtful, stoned, the words alive in her and the park too. Open, and it is gentle the way she corrects him. She's smiling around the words, though he cannot really see that. It's dusk maybe, or dark, and he's below her and she's standing, leaning back, rain on her face, in her lashes. That smile is rather immoderately sad.

"There are always expectations. And dreams, and disappointments. I wouldn't wanna be closed to any of those things.

"That's where love comes in."

Sera looks away. The rain hasn't lightened, it has intensified.

"I'm gonna go. It was nice getting high with you."

Ian

Ian hummed gently. This low, thoughtful sound. His eyes slid away from Sera to take in the exposed beams of the gazebo's roof. Briefly caught up in the way they fit together. The pattern of the wood. Noting the places where cobwebs formed.

"I don't know shit about love."

Because that was all he could say, really. It came out sounding gentler than usual - maybe just because he was stoned. But he didn't try to debate the matter, whether or not he agreed.

"Try to keep warm. You don't take care of yourself enough."

That part sounded gentle too. This flicker of worried affection that might not have showed if he'd been paying more attention to how he spoke. He watched her go with a little nod of goodbye. And after a while, he gave up on waiting out the rain and jogged back to his car.