Showing posts with label Lena. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lena. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Coffee is boring, drink gin.


Serafíne

I stumble into every open scene, but once again only for a flyby and I'm'a let someone else start. :)

Serafíne

or I might not pop in. because maybe sera's presence would be really distracting.

Grace

[Awareness!]

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

Ian

Bardo Coffee was one of the better coffee shops in the Denver area - or so the reviews claimed. The shop was on Broadway, a bit South of downtown proper and not terribly far from Washington Park. The coffee there was excellent, and the pastries weren't bad either. Both of these things were lost on Ian, who did not drink coffee or eat pastries. But he was there anyway, seated at a table by the wall beneath a large abstract painting. A Windows tablet was propped up on the table in front of him, and he sat back with one heel resting casually on the edge of his seat, his attention focused on the screen and on whatever audio was currently being fed through his bluetooth earbuds.

A cup of black tea sat curled in one hand, warming the skin of his palm. All in all, a very mundane pose to find him in.

Grace

There's better coffee at the office, because Kalen always manages to find the best of everything. But Grace was in the area, and the office is all the way across town. Besides, this way, someone else gets to make it for her.

She's wearing her coat today, and has yet to take it off as she strolls up to the register to order a large caramel frap thing, all ice and sweet, more of a desert than a drink.

Really, she wouldn't have to be open to the bend of magic in the air to notice Ian in the room. It's like a vision out of a menswear catalog wherever he shows up, like you could just cut a square out of the world with just him in it, and it wouldn't seem out of place. She stares. If he looks up, she'll give a little wave while waiting for her drink.

When it does, she strolls over to his table, wincing a bit at the Windows tablet. What is it with Clippy's minions infesting her life lately?

"Hey. What's up?"

Serafíne

Dan isn't especially, noticeable to mages. Blends in with the hipsters, just a tall, lanky guy with a nice, full, blond, hipster bear. Hard to tell the difference between hipster beards and Duck Dynasty beards but in Denver the nuances are obviously: he's in black skinny jeans and a red-blue-pink plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up, buttoned over a band t-shirt (someone you've never heard of, naturally. his tastes is probably better than yours) with tattoos visible on his arms, colorful, one blending into the other.

He's not getting a table and there's a line just then, staggered because it is just one of those things. People are not ants, marching neatly without stumbling into each other all over the forest floor.

And sometimes Dan sparks on awareness but tonight either that sense is turned off for him or he's just suppressing it.

See, that pile-up happens just after Grace retrieves her frap. There's something malfunctioning behind the counter, or too many special orders at once. Maybe he catches Grace's eye as she slips past him and gives her a quiet wave. You know: acquaintances passing each other in line, that kinda thing. He's intent on coffee and its ordering, is Dan.

For the nonce.

Ian

[Awareness]

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

Lena Reilly

[[Pre-emptive Magedar! Spec: Uncanny Instincts]]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ian

Grace's impression of Ian wasn't an inaccurate one. Today Ian's outfit consisted of skinny black deisel jeans, boots and a thin grey sweater that hugged his upper body and zipped up in an asymetrical L-shape. The high collar was left partly open, so that the edges of it fell away from his neck and collar bones.

As it happened, he was watching a movie. Depending on the angle at which Grace approached him, she might notice the lush colors and cinematography that were notable hallmarks of a Wong Kar Wai film. Either way, Ian paused it when she approached, glancing up from the screen as he pulled off his earbuds.

"Hey." He glanced over Grace's shoulder at the milling line, spotting Dan's familiar beard. If Dan happened to catch Ian's eyes, Ian would nod in his direction. A casual acknowledgment. Maybe he even glanced around a bit to see if Sera was in tow, but she wasn't, so a moment later his attention refocused on Grace.

"How are things over in Graceland?"

(Ha ha.)

Grace

As she headed back to Ian's table, her eye was caught by Dan and his waving. He got a smile, a little wave. She said hi. But then, she had a place to be.

She raises her eye at Ian, and his 'Graceland' comment, as though she hadn't heard that a million times in school. "I'm not a reincarnated Elvis. I think I'd know if I were."

She slides into a chair at the table, plopping her frappuwhatever down. "Graceland's good though. I met someone new recently. Jo. Kinda just ran into her at the DMV. New enough not to believe in fairy tales," she says, smirks.

Lena Reilly

It's not "cool" to like Taylor Swift these days. Hell, it hasn't ever really been cool to like her. But since when has Lena Reilly given a rat's ass about being cool? That's the best part of freeing yourself from the bounds of societal conventions and pushing your boundaries; you very quickly learn that what other people consider to be acceptable just doesn't matter. Be yourself, they say, and Lena's all about trying to do that. She doesn't always succeed, but she tries.

And that's why she's bopping her way down the street in a grey jacket that rests over a grey T-Shirt with an vaguely anime-like drawing of Rogue surrounded by glowing playing cards with a banner that reads "Can't Touch This." Her jeans are black, with her usual sandals dancing their way along the sidewalk. Her hair is falling free and waving around as she half-sings along with that most famous of current pop stars that echoes through her headphones.

"I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made, people like you always want back the love they pushed aside. But people like me are gone forever, when you say goodbye!"

Yep, that's what not being cool looks like. But she earns points for enthusiasm.

As she dances along toward the coffee, that feeling tickles its way down her brain and she smiles a little. With a little side shuffle she hip-checks the door open, slipping inside as she pulls the earbuds out. She gives a quick look around and gives a little smile and wave to Dan on her way toward Ian and Grace.

Serafíne

Ian catches Dan's eye okay and so does Grace. So: he is noticed. He is noticeable enough and the guy gives Ian the edge of a smile. One corner of his bearded mouth. There's some acoustic version of one of the new tracks from the new Decemberists' album and something about rhythm makes some part of Dan move unconsciously to it. Just a staccato tap of his forefinger against the meat of his thumb as he waits.

Sera isn't in tow: not then, not now, not yet, but that line is one of those things and she must be around, maybe they can feel her outside or coming closer, if they are Feeling Things. Her patience is far from legendary, particularly when she's still kinda coming down from whatever she was doing the night before, and she hasn't slept and she wants a drunk. Last night Sera was wearing a cocktail dress seamed with rhinestones, crystals, diamonds maybe. Tonight she's back to battered denim cutoffs, fishnets, combat boots. An olive green military-style jacket, ragged so it feels all authentic, swings open over a slice of her torso, the suggestion of her own tattoos just visible beneath a lacy black and lime green bra.

Sera carries a brushed nickel travel mug with her into the coffee shop. Gives Dan a Look because You Are Taking So Long, Dan and wanders over to Ian's table to wait. Kisses Grace on the crown of her head. Pulls up a chair without asking permission, gives Ian a look that is wry and hung over and still kinda rolling. Leans over to inhale his tea, because she likes tea, Sera.

Offers both Grace and Ian the chance to sip whatever is in her coffee mug, and if either one accepts, I'll tell you what heavenly concoction they find therein.

Serafíne

(The curse of posting at the same time: edit.)

Dan's turning around to glance at the door as Lena comes in and she gives him a smile and a little wave and he lifts his chin in acknowledgment, blue eyes tracking her progress through the coffee shop as she dances through it. Longer than he'd meant to. Sera slips in after Lena, still finds her way to the table and everything else. Offers everyone (Ian, Grace, Lena) a sip of her Drink, whatever it may be, but is also: still, pretty quiet.

Ian

"Mm, fresh meat," Ian teased lightly. "Don't send her my way."

(As if anyone in their right mind would actually think of him as a responsible mentor.)

There was a swirl of activity at the counter. The drinks were taking too long, and soon enough Sera appeared to check on the progress. But she wasn't the only familiar face to wander in through the front door, and when Ian caught sight (and sense) of Lena, his eyebrows went up.

"Hey you." This was offered to Lena with a broad, toothy smile. Ian had teeth that were too white and somehow a little too sharp and even when he was relaxed - even when he was smiling - the effect was subtly reminiscent of primal things. Sera offered everyone a sip of her drink, but Ian shook his head. He did, however, raise his own cup to his lips.

As the table began to feel crowded, he popped the stand on his tablet and put it away, sliding it neatly into the small messenger bag on the floor beside his chair. The headphones he left hanging around his neck, for now.

"Don't I feel popular." He winked at Grace. Half a flirtation.

Grace

She declines Sera's offer, even as she accepts her kiss. It probably doesn't have much coffee in it. Probably maybe it's straight whiskey or something. "Sera. Hey," she says, soft and quiet to match her friend. As Sera leans down, she'll likely feel that winged-ness that is new to Grace. Wings that are there thought they cannot be seen sprout from her back, passing straight through the real.

"She doesn't seem your type," Grace says, sighs. "I think I'm going to have to grab on to her and hold on tight before the Techs do."

Lena walks in, and that's a beat Grace hasn't felt in a while. Her head turns, and her eyes widen -- so many Mages in this place right now, even the sleepers must be feeling it -- this curiously thrumming cat with wings notion in the air. She waves at Lena, after a moment's concern.

And that concern? Why does this always happen? Mage convergences are weird like that.

"Lena! Hey!"

Lena Reilly

Serafine also gets a smile and a wave as she comes over to the table. She turns her attention to the whole of the table once they're all converged. "Hey, you guys. Been a while. How are things?"

She doesn't move to take a seat until Ian frees a seat, which is essentially a silent invitation. She politely waves off the offer of whatever Sera's drinking and settles in. "How have things been?"

Lena Reilly

[[Ack! Delete that first "How are things?" Lena isn't a broken record.]]

Serafíne

"A-Okay," Sera returns, when Lena asks how things have been. There's a drawl to her voice, like somehow the speed on the record player has been shifting lower, lengthening like there's a needle skipping the groove, but maybe that has something to do with Last Night or Tonight or whatever is in that coffee mug. Look closer.

Languid. That's the word for it. The demeanor of woman who has not slept in more than twenty-four hours and is returning, moment by moment, sensation by sensation, to the confines of her body.

She sips her coffee mug. Sips it with pleasure, sips it thoughtfully.

"I dunno," Sera interrupts, then, as Grace tells Ian that her new friend is Not His Type. "Maybe some folks need to be with someone who isn't their type. What the fuck's gonna happen to us if we don't challenge ourselves and everyone fucking else? Just sit around sliding into complacency.

"Sides. I bet Ian's great with lost little lambs. If you'd only give him half-a-chance."

Ian

Ian put a finger to his lips in a silent hushing gesture at Grace's mention of the Technocracy. (Speak of the devil, after all.) An echo of his smile remained when he pulled his hand away.

"And what is my type, exactly?"

The Decemberists were playing over the speakers, which was perhaps to be expected in a Denver coffee shop. Before Grace could answer his question, Sera interjected, and you could actually see the muscle in Ian's cheek twitch with the effort it took him to hold back his laughter.

"On second thought..." There was a sharp gleam in his eyes. Deliberately predatory. But he dropped the act a moment later. "To be fair, I don't really have a fucking type."

(Oh but see, that was actually not true. It just depended on what variety of the word type one meant to imply.)

He made a gesture toward Lena, as though to include her in the statement. (Not like that, mind. They'd never slept together, or been in a cabal together. But she knew his habits about as much as anyone else at the table did. Probably a bit more. Or at least, she had known them.) "Life gets boring without variety."

A moment later: "By the way, Justin says hi."

(How the fuck did Ian know Justin?)

Grace

"Things are," Grace says in response to Lena. "How they got there is a great mystery." This is obviously Grace being silly, but hey...

"That's true. I mean, I'd probably still be scoffing at fairy tales or thinking I was batshit if it weren't for you guys having been there. Jo, she's got boxes around her thinking habits. I keep thinking of how to break them. Thought to show her the parallel worlds if only I knew how."

Oh yeah, coffee. She has some. It'll all melt soon if she doesn't get at it. So she slurps up some caramel.

"Things have been amazing, though, Lena. I met someone else recently too."

Lena Reilly

She grins a little at Ian's response to the idea that he might have a type. She did rather anticipate a response like that.

"Having types makes for a dull way to go through life. My type was always 'has a pulse.' Everything else is negotiable, for the most part." Which isn't to say she was ever particularly promiscuous (except for that little bit of time, but we don't talk about it). But she never was one to think inside boxes, even before she Awakened.

"And I'm not gonna lie, Sera...I'd pay good money to see Ian mentor someone." It's said with the tone of a good-natured tease, a sidelong glance given to him.

She nods her head a little in time with the folk rock...not normally her jam, but again. She doesn't have a type and that goes to music, as well. She looks over at Grace when she says she met someone else, brows raising in interest.

"Oh really? Who?"

Jo Hamilton

[Do I know what yooou know...is there magic in the room?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Serafíne

Dan's line Started to Move and he moved with it. His order did not take long and as Ian is telling someone (Sera? Lena? both?) that Justin Says Hi Sera is giving him a briefly sharper look, the arc of her gaze defining a motion like a scythe, for all that not very much about her seems bladed.

But then Dan's behind her and he has a tray in hand and he's murmuring something about the match and she tips her head back and submits to being cosseted and cozened and cajoled out of her sprawl. She's walking slowly, s if the world were at once infinitely new and infinitely and there is that strange steadiness about her as she informs Ian, "I'd like to know how he's doing, sometime."

Low-voiced. Her gaze briefly caught on her reflection in the window, some strange echo, contained in her body. Some passing time.

Then she's up. Dan's slung an arm around her shoulders, rests his chin on the crown of her head, and off they go.

Serafíne

(Thanks guys. Bedtime for me!)

Friday, May 16, 2014

Quicksilver.


Quicksilver

Spring was an ephemeral season in places like Denver. It came and went with the flow of the weather's whim, bursting into vibrant bloom, only to be licked with winter's last bitter frost. It was not that long ago that these woods were blanketed in a dusting of snow, but by now the last traces of winter's breath were gone and the landscape was thriving with life. Up above, the sky was a cool wash of grey, but the air was a pleasant 57 degrees, and one could hardly blame the local mages (or anyone else, for that matter) for wanting to spend the end of a long week soaking up some of that life.

Maybe they'd all met at the chantry. Maybe somewhere along the line, someone had said: "Hey, let's go exploring." Because it was that kind of a day. The air outside felt charged with a kind of luminous anticipation. Like the beginning of a story.

(Anything could happen.)

(And perhaps anything would.)

Sera, in particular, would be feeling the prickle of it on the back of her neck. Not a proper vision this time, but a nagging instinct. Something was going to happen tonight in those woods. Something crawling along the edge of the periphery of he land - far out into the wilderness. Just beyond the reach of the chantry's effects.

So maybe they all came together. Or maybe they just happened to have the same idea at the same time. Either way, they were all there: Grace, Lena, Sid and Sera. Walking down a path that led through a grove of tall pines.

Sid

It's Lena who gets the first message sent from Sid's personal cell phone in over a month. It doesn't really sound like Sid much, but then Sid hasn't felt much like herself (who is that, anyway? who is she anymore?), and besides. There were anti-axiety medications coursing through her system for the hours and hours it took for to get from one side of the world to the other.

"Trapped in planes for too much time. Need go outside. See grass? Sunshine? Et cetera?"

That was last night. In the morning as Sid attempted to recover from jet lag, she fired off another message.

"I want to see how what I did at the house is doing."

She will get her sunshine, her lush green grass, her flowers caught in perpetual bloom. Maybe she spent some time in the Node first, letting the warmth of the water soak into her muscles, letting the magic flow through her.

No. No, as soon as her old blue-and-cream-and-rusty truck pulled into the drive, Sid spilled out and set off across the grounds, with Lena in tow or waiting to met along the way. Maybe Grace was there, too, waiting to be swept off toward the edge. Soon as she saw that house, soon as she saw the thick carpet of verdant grass, the corners of Sid's mouth relaxed. She was here, she was home, she was in a place where she belonged.

They walk the grounds for a little while, Sid heading for one of the edges. She felt how far she'd stretched her magic and now she wants to see it. See if it's still holding. The edge of the magic is a sharp and abrupt thing. There is one step left of a thick carpet of green. Then the next is out onto ordinary Denver grasses. These are paler, a little more parched. The ground is patchy in places where the clay of the earth is visible.

Do they talk along the way? Maybe. About travel and flight and Sid's need to stretch her legs. At the edge of the green Sid pauses. Closes her eyes. Let's her senses be open again in this place that is familiar.

[percept+awareness]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 6, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Lena Reilly

They didn't all come together, as it turned out. Lena was meeting up with Sid after she had landed in Denver, and the latter had suggested that they get out into the wilderness. The great wide forests of the world aren't Lena's bag but she completely understands Sid's want to get out into the fresh air and nature here in Denver, knowing how the Verbena appreciates it.

And so that's why they're out here. Lena is walking alongside Sid, dressed...not warmly, but not in summer clothes either. She's in a hunter green long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans with a bomber jacket for a little extra weather protection, sneakers on her feet and hair unbound. Out here she doesn't smoke out of respect for a side of the world she doesn't visit often. She is relatively at ease, despite being out of her element because she is with Sid and trusts her. Besides, pushing past your comfort zones is the lifeblood of a Cultist.

And so she's here, walking alongside Sid and Grace and letting the Verbena soak it in.

[[Per+Aware, Uncanny Instincts]]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Grace

Today Grace dresses as she usually does, in jeans and sneakers and that gray turtleneck jacket that is pretty much her ubiquitous outer shell. Also similarly routine is her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Even on a walk through the woods, yes, she has the laptop.

It had been a relatively peaceful day until Sid (Sid!) showed up at the Chantry with Lena, and Sid emphatically did not want to stay cooped up inside. It has been months since Grace saw Sid last. Months.

So, she agreed to be swept up in their rush to go explore outside, if only to catch up.

"Hey Sid, how was Russia? Did you do anything really cool? I quit school, did you know? Also, I went and had a Seeking while you were gone -- why did nobody tell me about that? Oh, but it was pretty cool though..."

And Grace, never quite one to go and chatter quite that much just goes on and on after seeing her friend for the first time in so long. If there is anything else out in these woods, they hear her -- unless she's told to shut it.

Serafíne

Sera follows the trail without thinking about; almost without noticing the change in the texture and color of the grass beneath her feet when she leaves the circle of the effect cast at the chantry. She is a slim figure against the landscape, but still somehow both dark and vivid. Wearing cut-off denim shorts over her thigh-high fishnets, with a black hoodie over that, zipped half-way up. Hands in her pockets, her shoulders forward, the hood drawn over the crown of her head, her blond curls all tangled around her face and neck as she climbs, following a feeling beneath her skin without ever quite knowing, precisely, where she is going or why she is going there, or what she might find when she gets there.

Somehow, she is only half-here. Somehow, she is then-and-now, where-and-when, each second staccato beneath her skin.

Breathing, just breathing, as she climbs.

Elsewise, neverwhen. No wonder she does not feel the other young women behind her as she climbs.

Sid

Sid, despite her desire to get out into the world, is not really dressed for a hike. She is wearing a bland, nondescript hooded sweatshirt (which number is this now?), jeans, and black and white Vaans. Unlike Grace she left her belongings behind. Her bag is still in the front seat of her truck, along with her only weapon.

Her only physical weapon, at any rate.

As they walk, Sid keeping the pace brisk but not going so fast that anyone must jog to keep up, she listens to Grace without interrupting. Does not tell her about Russia, or Shanghai, or Sydney, or the airports she's seen. Or the people she met. Or the things she's done. She merely listens quietly.

Until they get to the edge of her Working and she pauses and she stretches out her mind to feel the world, the universe that is in her, in the particles of her blood, the fabrics of her clothing, the wind in her hair. And then she feels-

Opening her eyes, she turns to look at Lena. That look is a wordless question as she lifts her hand to Grace for quiet. Does Lena sense that? Something moves and her eyes dart to the lone figure moving ahead of them. There is no question in her mind of who that willworker is. Sid frowns. And then she makes a quiet hmm, low enough for her ears only, a quiet but shifting single-note tune that seeks out and eventually finds a harmony that Sid can feel in her bones.

[Prime 1: Watch the Weaving, coincidental, practiced]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )

Lena Reilly

She picks up on several things, of course. There's the presence of her two fellows here: Sid's multiple Resonances, Grace's two. But there's something else out there; she feels Serafine and the sudden realization of these combined auras take her to a place that she had left behind recently...a place she'd rather forget. There would be a time later when she'll be more okay with it but this is the first time all of them have been on one spot and with that other, new feel permeating her senses, she freezes.

"There's something wrong here. And Sera, too." She's tense. Like any good Mage she believes in Fate, even if as a mutable quality. And there is something that doesn't seem right about this.

She begins to drum a beat against the side of her leg with her fingers. She concentrates until her eyes unfocus, letting that rhythm find her way. Sid's checking for Prime; Lena knows the Verbena's modus operandi by this point. Lena, for her part, starts scanning the area for Spiritual anomalies.

[[Spirit 1, Corr 1, WP]]

Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (2, 5) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Grace

[Awareness + Perception!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Grace

Grace is asking all those questions, and Sid is being silent until she lifts that hand to bring the quiet. Grace feels the tension in the air rise slightly, feels their surge of resonance as they begin to Work.

"Sera too?" she whispers, perhaps feeling a bit of the same unnerving that Lena does.

All of them, back again, with something wrong here.

Serafíne

So many things are lodged in Sera's throat. She lifts her face to the wind and finds herself in a grove of trees without quite understanding how or when she left the sunlight for the shadow.

Her head tips back, though, back and back and back and back, following the graceful lines of the evergreen all the way to its swaying top. The hood falls, unleashing the wind on her tangled blond hair, which whips across her face, filling her mouth as she opens it to take a breath. Stops, stills for a moment in the stippled shadows, rocking her left foot heel to toe, toe to heel, heel to toe, over the fulcrum of a rock that was here as before -

as now, as always.

Perception + awareness.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Quicksilver

There was something out there. They felt it already - those telltale notes of resonance drifting down on the breeze like an animal's scent. Sera was on her own, climbing a part of the trail that began to ascend a long sloping hill. As lost as she was in time (there and yet somewhere - somewhen - else) she may not have noticed the drawing presence of her friends behind her. But surely they noticed her.

And because Sera was in the lead, it was her who first saw the flash of brilliant red and the bob of a white-tipped tail as the fox bounded over a rocky outcropping and came to a stop just a few feet away, mouth agape as it panted for breath.

"Hello? Can you help me?"

The fox was... speaking?

Yes, it was. It was a talking fox.

(And this creature, see, this was the quicksilver flash of swift and clever resonance that Sid and Lena had felt approaching.)

The fox shifted its attention to the rest of the group, calling out with a loud, clear voice so they could all hear. "Hello! I need your help! It's quite urgent, I'm afraid!"

Sid and Lena began to open their senses, searching the nearby surroundings for signs of Willworking. As of yet, there was little for them to find, but still there was that draw of something... something... just beyond the edge of their awareness.

Serafíne

Oh, see. Sera can taste it on the tip of her tongue. Whatever it is. Whatever is uncertain or longing or strange inside her. Whatever has her caught between breaths and breaks and the stitched spaces the ordinary inhabit; whereever she holds herself, however she keeps herself in place.

Somehow, the presences behind her feel as much like hallucination as the fox in front of her, and Sera feels this brief ticking note of panic inside her - (not because the fox is speaking, no. because she does not quite remember something, some necessary doorway, some opening to the underworld) - even as she sinks to her haunches and opens her hand to the fox.

Of course it speaks.

She is on drugs, remember?

"What do you need?"

Even as she glances off beyond it, toward the horizon. This tangled awareness, almost-seeking.

Grace

Grace blinks at the fox. It's not like she doesn't believe in the impossible. Not after Thakinyan and the scarecrow and the mummy. It's just odd what the universe will throw your way, isn't it?

She walks up, because where the fox is, Sera is. It's not quite like leaping ahead of the others. Sera gets a little quirk of a smile, but it's obvious Grace is distracted. Well, who wouldn't be?

"Uhh. Right. Talking fox. Hi?" she asks, and looks around for... whatever.

Sid

Sera, too?

Sid does not turn her head to look at Grace, nor does she look to her other side to Lena. Her eyes are on Sera as she disappears beyond the line of the trees and begins her upward climb.

"I don't know," she says. Sera feels like Sera, but what is Sera doing out here all alone? There is something very, very strange going on here. She sensed that prickle of Paradox, but no working to cause it? Only the after-effect?

She would like to consider it, and if she had time she would. But Sera is moving on all alone and there is something quicksilver moving toward her, and there is something else out there as well.

"But we're not leaving her alone." Without another word, Sid carries forward. Either the others will follow her, or they won't. She is going after her...she's going after Sera. This time her steps are quicker, her long legs striding long. She does not break into a trot, but she does not slow herself for the others to keep pace - if they come with her.

Instead, as she walks she scratches at her arm, the fingernails of her right hand digging and digging at the flesh of her left wrist, just beneath the ink there. She scratches until the skin breaks and a bead of bright red blood oozes up, scarlet against the paper-whiteness of her skin. She is searching for something else now. As she nears she catches sight of the flash of red, low to the earth. Her brows furrow, but she does not slow, and she does not stop when the fox turns to look at her (at them) and speak.

She is reaching out, looking to see if maybe, just maybe, there are other signs of Life in this place. Something Other. Something unstable, but ardent and imaginative all the same. Something mad mad mad. Does it belong to a person, is it a resonance? Or is it something else?

[Life 1 scan, also practiced and such!: Looking for other life patterns]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (4, 5, 8) ( success x 3 )

Lena Reilly

[[Int+Occult: Do I know about these things?]]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5) ( fail )

Lena Reilly

"It's...a Bygone, maybe?" She hasn't encountered something like this before, but she does know about those. Most Mages with any level of experience are familiar with the concepts of Bygones, and certainly ones with Spirit.

She frowns and moves to head to the fox. She's not naively blundering ahead, but she's also not hesitant or wary either. This is a different Lena than the other three are likely used to. It's more like what Lena used to be.

Quicksilver

The fox's body shivered lightly as it stood there, muscles quaking with tension and energy. Its ears pricked forward when the others approached. Its eyes were a glow of brilliant amber as it took them all in - alive and intelligent. Something more than a simple fox, surely. (After all, it could speak.)

"Yes, a talking fox. Whatever will the universe throw at you next?" There was a hint of tired sarcasm in the creature's tone.

To Sera then, it said: "Henry, my friend. He was messing about with this book. And it summoned something. Ah... spiders, actually. It summoned spiders. Very big ones. Three of them. One of them bit him and wrapped him up for a snack and I'd really, really love it if we could do something about it before it decides to eat him."

And see, here. The fox? It was a clever creature. It gave them all such a wide-eyed, plaintive look... like a lost puppy begging for food. Surely a difficult thing to say no to. But for all that it may have been trying to play on their empathy, its desperate concern seemed quite genuine.

"Can you help us? Please?"

Serafíne

Sera reaches up to wrap her left hand around the length of her hair and pull it to one side, tugs up the hoodie again whilst she is crouched there, the diamonds of her fishnets digging in to the flesh of her thighs. Her weight is finely balanced on the balls of her Doc Marten's. From somewhere inside the pockets of her hoodie she fishes out a pack of kreteks and she's still playing with that idly, almost thoughtlessly, her body functioning on some level of automatic pilot.

A glance over her shoulder, at Grace and Sid and Lena. She may think they are as much hallucination as the talking fox.

"'That's what your friend gets for messing about with books. Course we can help. Let's go - " Not merely idly, with those cigarettes. Sera lights one. Inhales, see. " - how far is it?

Lena Reilly

Great. A snarky talking fox. That's all they need. She frowns, but not out of irritation. She couldn't give a shit less if the fox is sarcastic. It could talk in a British accent and wear a monacle for all she was concerned. What's important is that a friend was messing with a book and there are spiders.

"Which way?" she asks, without hesitation. If someone's in trouble, she's here to help. And when they get to the person they can assess the situation and see if help isn't quite an option.

Grace

Grace's eyes widen a bit. "Okay, a talking fox who can also read minds."

Perhaps not for real. She didn't exactly sense the thing digging into her brain or anything. But whatever.

She looks over at the others, "I have no giant boot with which to de-arachnid the forest. I can take a look maybe?"

With that, she unloads the laptop from her bag and sits down on the damp needles of the forest floor, to try to follow a fox's trail through the place.

[Corr 2, Life 1, diff 5 = Trace the fox back... to spiders? Spending WP!]

Dice: 2 d10 TN5 (3, 5) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Sid

Bygone. Sid's brow shadows, she's heard that word. She's read it somewhere. After the thing in the alley, the peryton Leonhard said. She looks at the fox and she understands now. Paradox with no effect, of course.

The fox is sarcastic and then pleading. His friend is hurt and Sera tells him that's what his friend gets for messing with books. Sid can't help but agree, but her concern really is with large spiders and a person who has been caught up by them, bitten by them, could right now be feeling his insides melting away in preparation for a spider's dinner.

Sid senses around them for other living creatures, but all she feels is them and the other things in the woods around them. Sera says let's go, Lena asks which way, Grace opens up her laptop and looks.

Sid is quiet, letting the sleeve of her sweatshirt fall back over her wrist.

Grace

She boots up her laptop and (quickly enough) gets to work. It's a fast machine, made to silently, suddenly start. And her fingers do fly over the keyboard once it's come to.

Wherever one goes, one leaves behind the chemicals of life. Some are apt to be dragged along with the wind, but where the fox has stepped across the pine needles, there Grace follows. Sweat gripping its paws, a hair here and there, it's all enough to track.

On her screen, the others can watch it like a camera attached to a heli-drone as she progresses, quicker than even the fox through the forest, retracing its steps, until...

There is the fox's friend, unconscious on the forest floor, guarded by a single, extremely large spider.

"Found it. It's about a half-mile away from here. That way," she says, and points. "There's only one spider, though, Mr. Fox."

Quicksilver

A wash of relief flooded the fox's expressive eyes. "Thank you, truly. If we get out of this I'll make Henry give you some of our stash."

It wasn't clear what, exactly, he meant by that. Who knew what sort of 'stash' a talking fox and his friend might have.

"It's this way." The fox turned and angled its head back in the direction it had come. The same direction that Grace's effect would inevitably lead her while she ran her calculations - finding that thread of connection that bound the fox to the unconscious mage it had left behind. The fox seemed about to elaborate further, but then Grace beat him to the punch, and he gave a quick little nod of his head to show that she was correct.

"Only one? Then the other two must have wandered off. Which is... both good and bad, I suspect. And my name is Red. Not 'Mr. Fox.'"

And then, because it was clearly in a hurry, the fox turned and began to trot back up the path, pausing only long enough to give the others time to catch up.

"I'm not a bygone either. But I believe they are."

(They: as in the spiders.)

Lena Reilly

She looks to the others and then pauses to grab a decent-sized branch off the ground...some sort of weapon against giant spiders...before she moves to follow. Lena doesn't come combat-ready...in fact, she's just about the opposite of combat-ready as a rule. But that's not going to stop her.

"Fair enough, Red. Let's go."

She makes to follow, keeping herself alert for the other spiders. She's mostly pointing her attention up to the trees...she knows enough about spiders to know that if there's an attack, it could well come from above. Luckily her shows are well-suited for moving quickly and she's walking along with the fox (and Sera, Sid and Grace, of course) as she does. She's keeping closer to Grace since she's paying attention to her laptop, so that nothing drops down on the Virtual Adept.

"So if not a Bygone, then...what are you, if I can ask?"

Sid

A half mile away, eh? Well, Sid does not simply seek out other Patterns and then release the search. She keeps feeling out as she follows along, the rote passive enough that she almost doesn't have to think about it at all as she goes. And though she's spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours cooped up in an airplane, Sid is athletic. For her part, she keeps to the rear of the company, though. She'll watch their backs, in case anything should happen to surprise them, or slip through her search.

Grace

Once she's found the spot, Grace packs up again and stands to follow the rest. Lena's got a good idea with that big stick, and Grace follows suit with her own improvised weaponry -- another big stick.

Hey, you do what you can, right? She hasn't the ability to do much else than see things.

She gives a glance to Sera. "I usually like spiders, you know? They usually eat bugs, not people though."

Serafíne

The fox, the feeling in the back of her throat, the then-and-now, which is strange and lovely and terrible in its own way - all of it feels hallucinatory to Sera. Imperfect, unreconciled, as if the edges of the moment has started to become frayed.

Perforated,

and something else is seeping in.

It isn't the talking fox that gives her that feeling of both strangeness and impermanence and absurdity, though. It is Grace with her laptop in the midst of it all, sitting on the pine needles -

- and she thinks, not, perhaps, absurdly, of a boy named Jake instead of spiders and where they might come from and how and why and all that. And Grace says that she usually likes spiders, they eat bugs, and Sera gives her a spare glance and the edge of a smile that is inexplicably on the verge of tears or maybe that is the wind in her eyes, the sharp edge of it, as she shadows the fox, striding rather than jogging, this surefooted ease about her.

Weapons?

None but her Will.

Quicksilver

"I'm a fox, clearly."

Red kept trotting up the path, leading them toward the source of the disturbance. Every now and then he'd have to slow his swift-footed steps in order to allow the others to keep pace with him, and this seemed to frustrate him a little, but he knew enough to be polite about it.

"I used to live on the other side of the Gauntlet, but then I met Henry, and he brought me back here. We have a sort of... partnership." He refused to use the word 'familiar.' Perhaps it offended him. "I'm a spirit given flesh, if you really want to look at it that way. But I prefer Red. Who I am is more important than what, wouldn't you say?"

He glanced back at Grace and Lena, eyeing their improvised weaponry. And then it gave this wearied little sigh. Like maybe it wished it had come upon a more well-armed group of mages. But then, beggers couldn't exactly be choosers, could they?

Besides, they had other weapons - the kind that did not require anything more than a waking mind.

(And cleverness, hopefully.)

They moved through the pine forest at a quick pace, drawing ever nearer their destination, and eventually the fox turned off of the trail and led them through the trees, its feet padding silently along the bed of needles. It wasn't long after this when Sid and Lena would begin to sense what was ahead.

Sid

Sid is quiet, bringing up the rear, listening to Lena carry on a conversation with a fox. A fox. There was a time when she would have found that strange. Then her eyes were opened to the wonders of the world around her.

Or maybe the part of her that used to wonder and that used to be amazed is crushed inside of her. Maybe it's gone altogether. She is not the person she was a year ago. Sometimes she wonders if she was ever the person she was before that.

Grace and Lena gather what they can for weapons. Sid and Sera do not. This is the lot that Red found, or that Fate drew together for Red to find. These four are stronger than they seem. They have their minds, their wills. They have their ability to alter reality on a whim.

Suddenly Sid's head comes up, sharp and somehow animal. The way her chin lifts, the way her neck stretches, the way her body seems to lenghen into something larger, something barely contained within the cloak of her skin.

"We're close," she says, and she pauses. "I can feel your...I can feel Henry. He's alive. If this thing. If these things were summoned," she continues. "Can they be sent back? Or do we have to end them?" She is asking all of them because she does not know. All that power at her disposal and there are still all those years when she was on her own, on the run, refusing the closeness of others, the friendship, the help. There is still so much left for her to learn, and among that is anything to do with the summoning of spirits and the like.

Quicksilver

[Edit: "And then he gave this wearied little sigh. Like maybe he wished he had come upon a more well-armed group of mages."]

Lena Reilly

She's not ever seen one before, so she wouldn't know what the deal is (and thus didn't), but she's heard stories at least and of course familiars are not some obscure part of wizard lore. So when Red makes it clear, she nods a little bit and accepts it. "Noted. Red you are."

The little familiar may have hoped for a martially-minded group of Awakened but that's just not this group. Not unless they have the ability to projectile vomit or bleed on people, anyway. Historically they've been better in that sense. Though whether any of them would be willing to do that again...yeah. That was a different, more desperate time. They do have magic of course, so that's something. They'll make do.

"Spiders eat whatever they're big enough to eat, I think." She's no naturist, she only knows what little she's read or seen. So she's probably wrong; just making conversation. "I'm less concerned about the eating than the poisoning. But yeah, either way."

And then she gets the sense thanks to her magic, and nods in response to Sid. "Something was summoned, yeah. The wall between us and the spirit side is very weak here. Someone ripped it open hard. And that's where the spiders came from. I don't have the ability to send them back, that's some pretty advanced magic. But if the spiders are indeed Bygones, and it seems like they are, they may have more than just your garden-variety spidery-things so be ready just in case."

Grace

Sera is still acting weird, still not speaking to her, but giving these tiny smiles that are as confusing as they are welcome. She sighs, but continues on, gripping that stick when Sid says that she can feel Henry.

"So they're spirity spiders? Demon spiders? Fuck my life," she says, and whacks the palm of her hand with her pine stick.

"Kalen's going to just love it. I face down demon spiders now. Brilliant," she says, but the sarcasm, it drips off of every word.

Serafíne

"I can't send it anywhere," Sera, quiet, hands in the pockets of her hoodie again, her breathing sliding into a deliberate sort of rhythm, matched to the beating of her heart, away of the beat of the universe all around them. She is looking out, away, beyond. Holding herself the smallest measure apart, isn't she. Somehow on the trot over here the surreality of the hallucination has given way to something else and she follows that changing sense of the moment with a perfect quickening in her heart.

"But I can stop time around it. Long enough for someone to get him out."

Serafíne

[Mind 2 Scan: General disposition of spider. Dif 5 -1 practiced.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Quicksilver

Red hopped up onto a dead log and looked out into the distance. They were close enough now to see movement between the trunks of the pines ahead, and the breeze carried echoes of some kind of... horrible shifting, liquid sound. Like something being drained. Whatever it was, it wasn't Henry (Sid would have sensed that.) Maybe the spider had caught itself some other prey.

"That's a tricky effect." Red spoke softly as he turned back to look at Sera. "But if you can manage it..."

He paused thoughtfully.

"The book. We need the book to send it back. If you deal with the spider, I'll find the book."

Lena Reilly

You deal with the spider, I'll find the book. Lena's come along to help without reservation, but there is a brief moment when her eyes narrow. That sounds almost a little fishy to her. But they really don't have a huge amount of options and so she hefts her stick, sighs.

"All right then, let's do this. I knew I should have brought some Deep Woods Off." Hey, she's got to keep her sense of humor up, right?

"I'll lure it out this way with a little mental gymnastics, get it out into the open and then we'll keep it busy?" She looks to the others to make sure they're in on the plan.

Sid

A book. It would be easy for Sid to locate the book if she had her knife, but it's back in her truck. She does not lament this. The fox will surely have his own senses that he can use to locate it, anyway.

Knowing that there will be a way to send these creatures away, back to where they came, it gives Sid the smallest sense of relief. Perhaps there won't be any death here today.

Sera will stop time, Lena will lure the spider out. Sid looks at Grace and the corners of her mouth, they flicker, just a touch. Grace can almost see the shadow formed as old, old laugh lines just barely begin to show. It does not resolve into a smile, or even a glimmer of a smile. This is a smile's ghost, a translucent, non-corporeal thing.

"That leaves us to grab Henry. Are you ready?"

Serafíne

"I can."

Spare and graceful, and this to the fox only, Sera unearths her hands from her pockets and reaches back to twist her hair back out of her face. Shakes her hands free then and gives Lena a glance that is quite nearly sharp.

"No. We don't need to lure it here if I do what I said I will do. And I will need time to make it work.

"Give them a hand with Henry, in case what I do goes wrong. You have to time this just right."

Grace

"Yeah, I can grab his feet if you grab his hands? Drag him out of here maybe?" Grace says, and she doesn't smile back. In concentration, she either looks extremely distracted or angry -- one of the two. Now, she just looks pissed off.

She drops the stick, because apparently it won't be needed. And besides, it might stand out to an angry spider. Attack the one waving around a weapon, right?

Instead, she slips behind the trees, trying to slip behind enemy lines, so to speak.

[Dex+Stealth = Sneaky sneak!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Sid

"Something like that," replies Sid. Her eyes are on the movement. If the spider has found itself another meal its life has already fled, she would have sensed it just like she would have sensed the other two spiders mentioned.

Grace drops her stick and Sid pulls up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, one after the other, revealing the ink on her left wrist as well as the scratch she already started. Digging her nail into the wound again, she draws up her blood again, just a droplet, and she smears it down her forearm until it fades.

[Life 3 coincidental, increase Dexterity for a boost o' speed, -2 Quint to lower the diff, +Wp because no time to extend]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 6, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serafíne

Distort Time. Time 3: Vulgar Without Witnesses. Difficulty: 7 -1 (focus). -1 (quint)3

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Lena Reilly

Lena is a musician, but people haven't ever really seen her perform. A few have seen her spin, but that's different. She sings, but only very rarely and those tracks are for her and her alone thus far.

It's not because she can't sing, though. Only because she's a perfectionist about her Passions, and if it's not the best it's not for her. Today though, she's making due as she relies on her own heartbeat to provide her internal rhythm, raising her voice in a melody that lacks words, but tries to beckon to the spiders:

Come

[[Mind 2, Impulse: Come This Way. -1 For specialty focus, -1 practiced. WP and Quint to lower diff to 3 and gief suxxessors]]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (3, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Lena Reilly

[[And while I'm not asking for Abilities Enhancing Magic, this is just for flavor and because I wanna see how good she does, Performancing!]]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 6 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

Grace had the right idea, and seconds after she slipped silently into the trees, Red followed her, the fluff of his white-tipped tail disappearing into the undergrowth as he crept away.

As Grace drew nearer to the clearing, she'd be able to make out a clearer picture of what lay before her. A giant grey-furred spider, as tall as a small horse (and much more dangerous,) feeding on a doe that it had caught in its webs. The deer looked as though its neck was broken, its head hanging at an odd angle with the whites of its eyes showing. The spider's fangs were sunken into the deer's shoulder, draining it of blood as it fed. The forest here looked like something out of a dream: darker somehow, and coated with thick, silken strands of webbing.

And off to the side, wrapped in a cocoon of gauze-like silk, lay a human body. Alive, but unconscious. Henry.

Behind Grace and Red (wherever he was,) the rest of the group began to work their effects. Sera began to manipulate the strands of Time, focusing on the spider, trying to slow it down to lessen the threat of its attack. Meanwhile, Sid felt her body surge with a new-found agility, and Lena...

That voice.

She could beckon the fucking stars with a song like that.

And oh, it worked. The spider stopped feeding and looked up, its eyes glistening black in the evening light. And then it moved, and oh... it was fast. Sera and Lena would barely have time to comprehend the danger they were in before it was on top of them.

[Ok, Init time folks!]

Lena Reilly

[[Init +5]]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )

Quicksilver

[Spider Init +6]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )

Grace

[Init + 6]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )

Quicksilver

[Red Init +8]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )

Sid

[+8]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )

Serafíne

+6

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )

Quicksilver

And the order is:

Grace 15

Spider 14 (base +6)

Lena 14 (base +5)

Sid 11

Red 10 (base +8)

Sera 10 (base +6)

Serafíne

Sera [Extending Distort Time]

Quicksilver

[Red is off doing sneaky things and hopefully finding the book]

Sid

[1a: Bolt to Henry, 1b: Heft him. Reflexive (think she notices Grace by Life alone at this point): "That way," with a nod of her head in some direction that is away so that she and Grace don't accidentally try to pull Henry in half]

Lena Reilly

[[No guts no glory! But Lena's not interested in glory so she's trying to dodge.]]

Quicksilver

[Spider Declare: Split action

1st split: Close distance to Lena

2nd split: Tackle Lena]

Grace

[Sneaky-bolt to Henry]

Grace

[Dex3 + Ath1 = No get caught in web!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 4, 7) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

[Spider closes distance to Lena, second split Dex+Brawl -3, diff 7 for tackle]

Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 5, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

Lena Reilly

[[Dodge!]]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5) ( fail )

Quicksilver

[Str+1 bashing damage from the tackle]

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

Lena Reilly

[[Soak]]

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

Sid

[dex+2+ath, -2 for split, diff 8, c'mon Sid you're a stag, be nimble!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )

Quicksilver

[Red does things]

Grace

As she swiftly slides her way to Henry, somehow always keeping a tree or log or what have you in between herself and the spider, Grace notes the webbing getting thicker and thicker until strong silk weaves its way in front of her.

And she almost gets wrapped up in it herself. It clings to her arms, and she wants to panic, but no, we must focus here. She powers through it instead, ripping at the sticky ropes of silk with her fingers until it releases. She has an unconscious person as her goal, and she's not going to let him go because of a spider's trap.

Serafíne

Extending. Vulgar Without Witness: 7 +1 (extending) (-1 resonance) (-1 focus). (-1 quint).

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

Quicksilver

[Spider is now operating at 1/3 speed and can only take his turn every 3rd round]

Quicksilver

Sid and Grace barely managed to avoid getting stuck in the spider's webbing, but they made it safely to Henry's side. From what they could make out, the man was old, and weighed comparatively little for his height. When they grabbed him, the spider-silk stuck uncomfortably to their hands and arms, but they were able to lift his unconscious body enough to move him.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the clearing, Lena found herself confronted with the sight of the spider's massive fangs, already dripping with venom in anticipation of its strike. It tackled her to the ground so fast the breath was knocked from her lungs, but the weight of its legs on her body weren't enough to cause any real damage (yet.) No, this was not the beast's intention. What it meant to do was immobilize her, and this it did rather effectively, but just before it could sink its fangs into her flesh, Sera's effect hit.

They'd all feel the surge as time warped around the creature. And it's movements slowed to a slow-motion crawl.

But it was still coming closer. Now Lena just had more time to watch the inevitability of her fate drawing near.

Quicksilver

[Also, Sera takes 3 Paradox]

Serafíne

[Extending. Spending one last quint.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (5, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

[Red continues to do things that no one can see]

Serafíne

[Declare: sera is extending her time effect one last time. But damn I wanna keep that roll.]

Sid

[Shuffle shuffle shuffle with Grace and Henry away from the dangerzone]

Lena Reilly

[[Try to get out from under Spider-Not-Man.]]

Quicksilver

[Spider cannot declare until two turns from now]

Grace

[Grab Henry's feet and moooove!]

Sid

[dex+ath, ALL THE DICE and a WP because that last time was scary]

Dice: 8 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Grace

[Dex3 + Ath1 = No get caught in web! And a WP!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 7, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

[Grace and Sid be like, "pff, what web?"]

Lena Reilly

[[Dex+Ath, I'll put WP in here]]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 8) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

[Lena wiggles free like a boss. Spider be like "waaaaaiiiit, come baaaaack...."]

Quicksilver

While Grace and Sid worked on moving Henry's body from the clearing, they'd be able to hear a sound coming from somewhere a few yards behind them. That sound? Was Red's voice.

He was... chanting something. The words sounded foreign. Nothing remotely like any mundane language they'd heard before. Something ancient and occult.

Either he was doing what he'd claimed, or he was doing something else entirely. Surely they'd find out soon enough, because as he chanted, a rush of coalescing energy began to wash over their skin.

Something was about to happen.

Serafíne

Extending Time 3 - Distort time effect. Dropping her last quint / WP.

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (4, 4, 6) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Grace

Grace grabs Henry's feet, as she promised earlier, and starts hauling him away with Sid's help. Between the sticky webbing and the dead weight of a man between them, they make slow progress, but it is progress at least.

The fox begins to chant in his strange tongue, and Grace raises her brows at Sid. "Hope he's telling the truth," she whispers, trying still to remain unseen and unheard.

Quicksilver

When Sera's effect went off, strengthening the power of her hold on the creature, it's movements almost seemed to freeze. It gave Lena enough time to wrench herself free from its grip and slide back along the ground. The plan had been a risky one, but they'd pulled it off in the end.

Beside them, the spider gave this slow, drawn-out hiss. The time distortion deepened it somehow - made it seem as though it came from some cavernous space.

Meanwhile, Grace and Sid managed to drag Henry's cocooned body free from the webbed clearing and onto the dry, clean pine needles of the forest floor. He lay slumped in their arms, unconscious but breathing steadily. Alive and reasonably well, all things considered. Sid would be able to feel the damage from the puncture wounds in his side and the paralytic venom that coursed through his body. It wasn't as bad as they might have suspected. She could heal him, if she tried.

And then - the air snapped. Everything warped for a moment. The very lines of reality blurred and dripped like the world around them was suddenly made of watercolors. Wind gusted around them, blowing pine needles and leaves and bits of rock and dirt and wood everywhere. The gauntlet opened up. And the spider? Vanished into it.

Then everything fell back into place. And the earth grew still and quiet.

Sid

Together, Sid and Grace manage to get the man out of the grip of the webbing. For some reason getting out of that place was easier than getting into it and getting to him. Something about desperation, the greater need to get the three of them to safety, perhaps.

Sid is trying very, very hard not to pay attention to what's going on behind her. It's not that she's any more afraid of a giant spider than a sane person should be, it's that something is attacking her friends. If she turns around she will act, just as she told Eleanor once that she would act. But in doing so she would break several promises that she made to herself.

One of which is helping others. That means getting Henry to the safety of the clean woodsy floor. When they're free of the webbing, bits of it stuck to their clothes, clinging to their hands where they hold onto Henry, some of it pinning a lock Sid's long hair down against her sweatshirt, Sid says, "Here."

Here is where she stops, and Here is where she crouches, lowering Henry and shifting her legs as she does so. Her body is still unnaturally agile, superhumanly nimble. It's not hard to shift so that the man is resting his head back against the cushion of her ample chest.

"Try to get the webbing off him," she says to Grace. She wraps her left arm around the man's shoulders, connecting herself to him by strength, and by that swath of blood that's dried to rust on her skin. Quietly she hums a melody to him, a lullaby from her youth. Something to soothe his Pattern and ease his injuries out of existence. Slowly, she starts building up the energy she needs to heal him of his injuries.

[Life 3+Prime 2: Vulgar as fuck, diff 7, will extend twice. WP all the way, baby.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (2, 5, 5) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Grace

Grace just stares around once the air snaps and reality shifts and melts like Dali painted the world. Sid says 'here' and she lets the burden of Henry's legs down slowly.

"Yeah, okay," she says in response to the request to get the webbing off, and she starts pulling away at the sticky mess. It ends up sticking to her, and she rolls it into a web ball in order to discard it. He'll be sticky for a while, anyway. She can't get it all. It's a horrible mess.

The earth shudders back to normality, and Grace looks around. No spider. Just forest. Forest, and a man, and a fox who is still hiding.

"Hey, looks like Red pulled through after all," she says, and manages for the first time since being shushed to smile for real. "I think he's going to make it."

He, and the rest of them too. But she doesn't dwell on the danger they all could have been in.

Lena Reilly

She was pretty sure she was--well, probably not die. She had less of a concern of that than she did of getting skewered, which would put her friends at risk because she'd be bleeding all over the place and THAT would not have been good. But luckily just as her magic had done its job, Sera's did its job and the book or someone made the spiders get sucked away as she skittered away (not un-spider-like herself in the way she back-crawled). Now they're all there without arachnid threats bearing down on them.

And then she gets up and brushes her off. She doesn't wait for the adrenaline to wear off; she revels in the feeling. She is an Ecstatic, and this is exactly the kind of thing that pushes her to her limit. She's not grinning like a madman or saying AGAIN! like an animatronic baby dinosaur, but that moment where endorphins are racing through her body is one that she doesn't dread or wait to wear off. She uses it to get into action, picking up her branch and keeping guard. We think the other spiders left, sure. But it pays to be sure.

"Everyone okay?"

Serafíne

Strange to come back to now when she is caught in the interstitial places between seconds; when she is multi-part and many-skinned and gleaming, when she is peeling the layers of the seconds apart to freeze them in place and -

- a breath, see, which is deep and sharp in the moment,

after.

--

The spider disappears before her eyes.

Sera makes a noise like a sob -

oh, yes, a sob, something short and wrench as she sags forward, the feeling the weight of what she did yawning behind her eyes. Hands on her thighs, shoulders hunched, she just - gathers herself for several long, spare seconds, remembering again how body and mind fit themselves together.

Then she glances up; this spare glance at Lena, finds the other woman fine, just fine, but her own her heart is pounding in her chest. Just pounding, see -

- and then Sera turns, rather blindly you see, and climbs away.

Sid

Just like that it's over. They helped like they said they would. Red helped as he said he would. But there is one more offering made without an exchange. Sid is not going to let this man be poisoned. She is not going to let him bleed out. She is focused on this task when reality trembles back into its proper place. Eyes closed, head dipped forward to press her cheek against the strange man's hair. An oddly intimate gesture from a woman who does not make contact with strangers. But Sid is going to stitch this man back together. She is Working around him and over him and through him. It doesn't get much more intimate than that.

Eyes closed, focused on this dangerous task, she does not see that Sera abruptly leaves. She wouldn't stop her even if she did. If Sera wants to go, Sera is free to go be elsewhere. Grace says something, Lena says something, but Sid isn't listening to them. She keeps pushing her Will onto the universe.

[extending: -1 Quint to reduce diff]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (2, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Quicksilver

And then, there came Red, dragging this huge, weathered old tome along the forest floor with his teeth (and surely somewhere some old, stuffy Hermetic was cringing at that image.) His fur was fluffed and prickled with tension, and as he drew near, the source of all that Unstable resonance would become clear.

This wasn't just a book. It was an artifact. (And likely not one that anyone would be advised to actually use.)

Red dropped it nearby and trotted toward his friend. Henry, who now lay in a sticky mess against Sid's chest, looking oddly innocent and peaceful in his slumber. And it was clear in that moment that, whatever the fox's outward disposition, he clearly loved the man he'd bonded himself to. There was a soft expression on his face - one of worry and relief and gentleness - as he touched his nose to Henry's prone hand and wuffled a delicate, warm breath against his skin.

On the other side of the clearing, Sera was already taking her leave. Perhaps later the two would get a chance to thank her for what she had done. But for now, Red's focus was on Henry.

Grace

Grace watches as Sera sobs, picks herself up and leaves. She wants to go with, to provide comfort or even a hug if necessary. But she also remembers the last time she tried that. It wipes away the smile from her face to see.

"I think so, Lena," she says, and her gaze shifts to Henry lying there with his body in Sid's embrace.

"Hey, Red. I think he'll be okay," she adds, to the... fox. Which is still a little strange, even after watching the world melt at his command.

Lena Reilly

Lena sees Sera sob, sees her have to pull herself together. The DJ doesn't despair at the sight, because she knows what it's like. She knows that for them, Sadness is as important, as necessary as Happiness or Wrath or Envy. They all serve different purposes and they are neither good nor bad. They just...

They just are. And they all have their own uses, none more important than the other. It is falling too far into one that you ignore the others. That is the trap.

So she lets Serafine go and she looks back to Red, to Henry, to Sid and to Grace. And, tired but not traumatized (not even with a giant spider on top of her moments ago), she finally drops her piece of wood.

"C'mon. Let's see if we can get him out of here." A pause, and she looks to Red. "Or wherever you want him to go."

Sid

[final extension! go sid go go go! uh, dropping her final quint for diff purposessess]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 5) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Sid

The magic builds all around Sid, and it's powerful stuff. It's nothing that these two haven't felt before, though. They've felt it at the Chantry, radiating slightly from the grass and the flowers the surround the house. A little piece of Sid even though she was away. They've felt it other places, too.

That desperation, that euphoria. The sense of fresh, vibrant, verdant growing things. The strength that holds the whole of her up, empowered. It twists around Sid until finally it releases, all at once, across the old man.

Who will feel the poison swept from his blood, and who will feel his injuries seal themselves up.

Sitting back, Sid sighs, relaxing her grip so that one hand drops to her side, hand falling into the drink. A blade of grass or two swell at the contact with her fingers, become a much brighter, newer shade of green. The other arm still supports Henry. Opening her eyes she looks up at those around her. She notices the absence of the other Disciple and a shadow forms between her brows but she doesn't ask after Sera.

Vaguely, she realizes what Lena said, like an echo of a memory from another lifetime. "He should be able to move himself," she says quietly. Shifting behind him, if he's mobile and awake at least, Sid will try to help him up.

That is, if reality doesn't crack her one and lay her low first.

Sid

[PARADOX GO]

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

Sid

[YOU CAN SOAK IT SID C'MON]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

Quicksilver

Sid's effect did its work well. She held the old man in her arms and pushed her will into the threads of his pattern, knitting his body back together until it was whole. Red kept his nose in the man's hand throughout - silently offering this comfort as though Henry would be able to sense him even in his paralyzed state. And perhaps he did, because moments after Sid finished her healing, the man's eyes fluttered open and he said, to the sky, "Red, your nose is wet."

And the fox sneezed with grateful amusement.

"Welcome back, Henry."

The old man gradually pulled himself to a sitting position, and it was then that he finally seemed to comprehend the other faces around him. He looked first at Grace, then Lena, blinking, and finally turned his head to regard Sid.

"Why hello. I seem to have gotten myself in a bit of trouble." He glanced at Red, who looked about as deadpan in that moment as fox was capable.

"Yes, Henry, you could say that."

But Henry? With all that Ardent and Imaginative resonance. He just smiled. Like he'd known all along that someone would come by and save him.

"Why, what marvelous creatures you all are. Thank you for saving me."

He got to his feet then, and attempted to brush some of the dirt and detritus from his clothes and skin, but it was a hopeless task and he soon abandoned it. The man was a proper mess, but nonetheless he affected a dignified pose and cleared his throat. "My name is Henry Alexander Calliergi, of House Jerbiton in the Order of Hermes. I owe you all a debt of gratitude. Are the spiders...?"

"I sent this one back where it came from," Red answered. "We need to go find the other two. I should think, probably, right this moment? You know, before they wreak havoc on the unsuspecting citizens of Morrison Colorado."

Henry's expression deepened into a grave look, and he nodded. "Very well then. Where is the book?"

"It's on the gods-damned ground where it fucking belongs," Red muttered.

And then goodbyes were made, and names were exchanged if those gathered wished to share them, and a promise was made to return soon with a reward - though who knew if it was a promise they intended to keep.

Then Henry and his talking fox named Red made their way into the woods with the sunset at their back, leaving the others to marvel at the fact that they were all still alive and relatively unscathed.

It was, as they say, a long, strange evening.

11:57 AM 5/18/2014

Friday, May 2, 2014

Call it art.


Lucy

Friday night. First Friday night. The sun has just dipped beyond the still snowy peaks of the mountains to the west, but the sky is still light, a dusky shadowed blue full of promise. The air is warm, the oncoming nightfall will be comfortable until the darkness finally leeches out the heat of the day. But now? Now. Now the night is comfortable. Pleasant, even.

And Santa Fe is packed because of it. It's the first night of the warm summer season of the art walk, and the masses have flooded from their homes in droves to pour down the street, into galleries, into the little half-hidden gardens between galleries. Somewhere there is music playing loudly, but all anyone can hear is the beat, thump-thump-thumping lightly in the veins of those who hear it at this distance.

Lucy feels alive. It's her time of day, that inbetween time when the sun gives way to the night. And there are so many people in this new city. It hadn't seemed this full before, but it feels almost like there are too many people. Too many bodies, too many lives crowded on this one-way street. She smiles, wide full lips painted a vibrant red just a shade off from the maroon-red of her hair. She's dressed in a black cardigan, unbuttoned to reveal the line of her milk-white cleavage and then the red of a tank top. Over her left breast, embroidered into the sweater are the words Be Still My Heart, along with the image of an ornate pair of silver scissors stabbing a heart. They look a little like Lucy's scissors, the ones she keeps in a dark and velvety bag inside her slouching canvas bag. Her pants are black, sit low on her hips, and are adorned with more zippers and straps than may be strictly necessary, along with a pair of black suspenders left hanging at her sides. There are boots beneath that, the same ones she always wears though their height is hidden by the legs of the pants. It's a warm outfit for a cold woman on a pleasant late spring/early summer evening.

They've been in the city for a little over a week now, and they've spent their time together of course, but this is the first time that Lucy and Delilah are out exploring together. Not running to the fast food place across the street from their motel, not running to the 7-11 down the block because fuck I ran out of deodorant should we get razors, too.

"Ooh," she says, pausing before the doorway to a gallery with stark white walls lined with large photographs. The people inside are milling about, shifting slowly from one picture to the next, some hmming, some pointing out some detail that caught their eye, but Lucy? Lucy spies a table spread with snacks. Brownies and carrots and cookies along with plastic champaigne flutes. "This place has food, Del."

Delilah

There are so many stories about sisters. These young women do not look like sisters but they look like sisters, don't they? Aren't they sisters in someody's heart, in some artist's eye? Lucy with her vibrant mouth and her vibrant hair and just now as the day weaves (threads, stitches, in and out, in and out, mingles) into night and night pulls the threads (mingles, out and in, out and in, stitches, threads) free so there's just this one tapestried space-between this gloaming-time twi-light time dusk settling soft as ash with its caressing light its promise of a pleasant spring night just a bit of a nip just now as all that Lucy in her element. Rose Red. Dusk Bright.

This time of day-night isn't Delilah's element. Delilah would mistrust it if she weren't so certain of herself and if she didn't feel comfortable in spite of her dislike of endings, in spite of a certain restlessness which works under her skin like a pebble or a pea yes a pea under how many mattresses or a lentils scattered in ashes.

Del: she's the other sister. Two young women and you want them to be sisters even if they don't look related. Delilah's hair is golden and in Santa Fe's uncertain and fading (tapestry) dusk-light it's a darker and more barbaric blond than it might otherwise seem. We say barbaric and we mean just that: it conjures up antiquities, wants to be sun-dappled, wants to be paler - would be in another light. Del: she has on a rush-woven black-and-white luma woven fedora with a broad black band. Around her throat, hanging negligently, is a scarf, which is as pink as a blush and almost as translucent (how translucent is that?), embroidered in white lacey designs. Her jacket is a light spring thing of a blazer, gray. Beneath it she's wearing a teeshirt with a design silkprinted across the chest. Her jeans ride low on her hips, are belted by a thick belt. Her shoes are ballet flats patterned like something out've the Arabian Nights, embroidered and dusty and so worn that the heels are unravelling.

She is looking around half-mistrustfully, but half again surprisedly and curiously and though she doesn't smile there is an open look to the smooth arches her eyebrows make and the heart of her mouth pursed in consideration and she is dreamily distracted or perhaps a bit discombobulated by all the clamor when

She turns so fast she almost gets whiplash; narrowly avoids hitting somebody with her hair.

"Food? An artful spread!" Her smile is sly or could be sly if she knew how to be sly, but she doesn't; her eyes are too telling. "We should look it over carefully. Wouldn't want the people who put it out to feel unappreciated."

Sail in. Abrupt pause; she reaches out to touch Lucy's hip or wrist or some part of her which is near. "What do you think about," a pause, as she stares at the photographs, "Do you think about, ah, here? I bet there are apartments. Be better than squatting in the motel."

Squatting, 'paying in theory,' it is the same thing: right?

Lucy

Sisters. They fit together like sisters, somehow, in some nameless way. They don't move in unison, but there's something about them that seems in synch, that seems like two halves, one whole. Two sides, one coin. Light and dark, oh but no, not quite. Lucy mentions food, Delilah whips, and Lucy seamlessly moves into a space, the chill frost of her presence pushing at the crowd moving around them. Not enough to force anyone off their path, but just enough to make someone cringe, someone twist, someone miss an eyeful of blonde hair. Like a dance, but not quite. There is no stage, after all, hasn't been for years.

Her smile is wide. It narrows her narrow slits of her bright green eyes. "No, we wouldn't," she replies. Slide in, then, into the gallery. Slip through the crowd. If Delilah is a bright, bold ship, Lucy is its shadow in the water. See how she stops quickly, alert to Delilah's sudden pause even though her eyes were on the spread. She steps to her sister's side like she belongs there, like there's no other place where it's right for her to be.

She turns, tilts her head, the fall of her hair shifting over her shoulders as she takes in the photographs. They are of people, some of them. Up so close that in some the depths of their pores, the grit in the creases of their face are clearly visible. Some are of places, things. The mountains frozen in a sunset in shades of grey.

"Here?" she echoes, turning back to look at Delilah, surprised and also hopeful (but trying not to be that last one). She's told Delilah about the people she's met here already. The coffee shops, the girl with the laptop, the place with the alert for other Awakened (other oracles, she put it, is how she always describes their kind). An impossibly tall man she ran into (literally) in a club the night her senses went haywire and then went quiet. He gave her an address that, given it's location at least, suggests it's the nearest Chantry. Maybe. Could be some other gathering place, of course. Of particular note was the boy she met when she and Auggie played a coffee shop somewhere. Tall and funny and a little weird. They seem cool, she said. He seems cool, she meant.

She shrugs. Unlike her sister, Lucy can lie. Lucy can shrug things off like she's actually shrugging them off. Sometimes. She's better at persuading, but if she needs to hide something (or push it down, stop it stop it, interest never ends well) she can.

"It'd be cheaper." In theory. "It'd be cool to have a place that's ours."

Delilah

And for a moment her smile is almost prim: a Valentine of a mouth it curls up with even more presentiment of sly (shy, but that's not right: careful, tremulous). Bold, yes, but at the whim of the waves beneath; get? All light-catching sails, all just-waking gold creeping across the ship's deck and - let's lay the metaphor to rest. For a moment her smile is almost prim at that Here? of an echo, though it's easy to read the sudden rearing of uncertainty in the dark flash of her eyes. Delilah doesn't straighten; her posture is excellent, often remarked upon by strangers - women of a certain age or young men who want to leer at a dancer's back. But she does lower her head like a bull about to spear the sky with its horns, her nostrils flare and she settles herself where she's standing - or would if there weren't fucking carrots and brownies right there. Lucy's hope. She doesn't want to dash it. She shouldn't dash it. She shouldn't have brought it up. But at the same time, shouldn't she have? Because -

"Mmn. Yeah. Though I guess," hint of a drawl, "that it might be more Auggie and December's if we really did find a place. A real place. A place to close the gate and hang the key - " - this shadow of confusion, she rubs her palm across her forehead. Her head is still bull-lowered, stubborn, "But who knew Denver had stuff to do huh?"

"This does seem cool. We should do a reading. Ask the needle and thread."

Lucy

Lucy knows that uncertainty. That uncertainty has kept them bits of dandelion fluff, barely settling in one place for longer than a breath before that breath sends them sailing on to some other place. It's not just Delilah's uncertainty. They share a good many things, these sisters, and one of those things is - for whatever reason, for good or for not so good - is more than a touch of uncertainty. It always seems to hit them strongest in the off-times. The morning will bring Lucy's turn, for instance.

Which is why the suggestion of a reading is met with a raising of Lucy's sweeping eyebrows and a widening of bright green eyes. Her eyes are not the jewel-bright green of emeralds. They're the green of fresh spring grass, of newly unfurled leaves and all those other green growing-type things that Lucy herself can never touch again.

"We could, yeah. Should, I mean." A place with a gate and key, wouldn't that be nice? Of course, Lucy's mind goes to overgrown gardens secreted away behind wrought-iron fence posts. The gate would take some kind of special sort of key, something old and rusted that - stop. Stop stop stop.

She looks around like she's casing the joint, when really she's just looking at the crowd of people. Too many to settle things in the here and now. But later, maybe, in the quite closeness of their current living situation. Picking up a brownie, she looks at the photographs all huge and too-real on the walls as someone bumps into her side.

"That guy," that guy. Lucy somehow manages to bring him up once (and only once) almost every single day. "He said he knows some musicians in the area. Somebody's an agent. I could play for..." she pauses, mouth hitching over to the side, nose scrunching. Because Lucy likes to sing and she likes to play guitar and she love love loves performing. But her body was trained to do other things. Her shoulders shrug, one after the other, like a wave through her body as she rolls them out. "I'd probably get paid more. Or at all."

Lena Reilly

Normally on Friday nights, Lena's working. DJ Halcyon has spent the last several months rebuilding her reputation after she had to no-show several gigs, and she's finally back to the point where she can set her own schedule a bit. She's secure enough in her position among Denver's deejay scene (high, for the record) that if she wants to take a night off she can without people figuring she's a flake and start thinking about booking her less.

And tonight, for whatever reason, she's decided it's a good night to take off. Maybe it was just a feeling she had, or maybe she was a little worn down. She does that sometimes; gets worn down. Not that she considers her job a monotony; far from it. But when you're a caffeine junkie there are nights that you get a little tired in the mind and soul, and some of her meds sometimes have energy-sapping side effects. She always makes sure to schedule some nights off so she can rest up a bit, go be around people (if not part of them) and get a life high off the energy.

And that's what brought her to this place. She loves Santa Fe; it's her favorite part of the city. It's free, creative, buzzing. It's her vibe. And that Withering Pules of her energy perhaps finds a bit more strength as she walks along, heading toward the same gallery that Lucy and Delilah are in. It's another twist of fate, perhaps, that they're heading to this place, and she slips inside wearing a little grey tank top and jeans, a couple tiny braids the only twists in her otherwise free-flowing hair.

Lucy

Lena walks into a gallery, following a small crowd, and even if she doesn't have her mind open to the presence of other Willworkers, she can feel something. Something different in the air. Something cold and softly creeping, threading, weaving. Whispering over bare skin and over the naked toes of the sandal-wearers.

A moment more and perhaps she sees its source. The tall woman with the brilliant (bottle) red hair stands out, as does the blonde beside her, and besides. They're standing near to a table covered in a black plastic tablecloth and boasting a spread of finger foods and little desserts.

"No," she says, correcting herself, turning to reaching behind Delilah to snag a bit of brownie, which she tears roughly in half. One piece is held out to Delilah, the other is brought up toward her mouth. "Manager, that's what he said. Somebody's a manager."

It's as she's turning back toward the conversation that she catches sight of the deejay making her way in with the crowd. Lucy's brows lift and then her chin, and with the motions she almost seems to grow. Like Delilah, Lucy's posture is excellent, straight and tall she is, and graceful is the arm (with fingers carefully holding onto that chocolate square) that rises up to signal to Lena that she's seen her.

"That's Lena," she says, and then louder, "Lena!"

Serafíne

'Course Sera's around. Of course she knows people. She knows people who know people who know people, and - in turn - she is known. The gallery with food is a hole in the wall sort of place. It is not precisely a side street but somehow it looks like it should be a sidestreet. It has that element, concrete and glass, all unfinished, that make it feel like it sprung up yesterday and will be gone tomorrow.

Some things are better that way.

There is food though and there is wine; cheap wine from a box but the better sort of cheap wine from a box and either way it'll get you drunk if you stick with it. Either way it'll get you drunk and the rest of it seems all haphazard. Canapés that have the exquisite delicacy of a well-worked miniature next to brownies next to a bowl of Lay's Garlic Bread Potato Chips and those chips taste like garlic bread, you want them to be bread, is how much like garlic bread they taste, and some clever bastard has left the bag nearby so that you know ahead of time that These Aren't Your Standard Chips.

Sera is around but not here yet.

Her friends are here, though.

They're normal. Dan, with a plastic glass of red wine leaning back against a support pillar beneath the largest piece in the room, a sweep of reds and grays that feels industrial without defining a single angle. He is talking to the artist and flirting with the artist with a certain degree of familiarity, and the flirting is intense but casual, like they might hook up tonight or some other night or maybe they've hooked up before, but it isn't and will never be a big thing.

But Dan, tall, surfing above the crowd. Dee with her black hair in a flouncy dress that is black with a cherries print and 1950s inspired with a liquid movement and a petticoat edged in eyelet lace beneath the skirt. Others, you know.

No one you'd notice.

Lena Reilly

She gets that little breath of cold tickling at her consciousness like the frayed ends of an icy cloth, and a little shiver runs down her spine at it. There's a furrowing of Lena's delicate brows, warm brown eyes seeking out the source of that cool sensensation and then...

She sees it. She remembers Lucy from that little place where they ran into each other along with Grace and Yun. And from the small but glowing smile that hits her expression, she came away with a good impression of the woman. She raises a hand to Lucy and begins walking forward in strapped sandals, making her way in that direction. Delilah is given a friendly smile, though a bit more reserved since of course they have not yet been introduced.

"Hey Lucy. Nice to see you again." She stops close enough to them to be with them, but not so close as to invade personal spaces. "You come down here often?" She means the Arts District.

Delilah

Delilah takes the brownie-half offered without thought; as if it's rote; as if it's some little swiss clock precision-timed habit right on the hour every hour or maybe right on the twenty minute mark every twenty minute mark although that doesn't seem very Swiss clock-ish or precise. Then she looks at the brownie and her expression turns from stubborn bull-lowered (she could hold the fading moons in her horns, couldn't she) something or other into something more guilt-touched. Considering. If she eats this brownie, then she can still eat later if she- Delilah nibbles on the edge and looks guilty as she does so guilty but with this frisson-edge of pleasure not at the rebellion oh no but at the taste at finding a certain balance or thinking she's found one. That guy, Lucy says.

That guy, that guy, that guy.

Does that guy have a name? Del smirks, but her smirks have no sharpness and dissolve before they're even half-formed because she'd rather smile even if the smile is rather demure and sly (coy?), because that's how she looks: syrup-sweet mouth and eyes that are dark but might as well be a shallow pool look right through them.

"This guy," she starts to say, but then that's Lena. LENA! There are good chips that taste like garlic bread. It's okay to have one, right?

Maybe two. Yes, two. Nibble on the brownie, fastidious, and there's a little smear of brownie on her front tooth when she smiles back at Lena, this flash of a quick smile that's a little nervous and a lot curious.

"Hi," she says, introducing herself, "I'm Del, Delilah, and we've never been here before ever. But it's kind of cool, yeah? Is it always this crowded?"

ooc: I am aghast that took so long; this post is typed in WIND!

Serafíne

Is it always this crowded? Delilah asks Lena and no it is not always this crowded. Sometimes it is more crowded than this. Sometimes the crowd dissolves into itself before it has entirely formed. There is something organic to it, some hidden movement that is defined by the cracks in the sidewalk and the brush-strokes on that collection of miniatures made to look like those stiff, cardboard-y 18th century portraits from rural and revolutionary American, with sugar-skulls substituted in the midst of those unnatural poses.

Those are on the other wall, so tiny you have to get up close to see them, so tiny that displayed on brick as they are, getting up close to see them is nearly the point.

Oh, hello. Here is Serafíne, inside the door see, and hugging several someones you-don't-know, and even though she has not yet managed to get anywhere close to the refreshments, she already has a glass of wine in hand, is how good she is at First Fridays and Gallery Openings and Drinking. She is holding that glass with a sort of careless care as she wraps her leather-clad arms around strangers and drws them in and exclaims and spins and is pulled in a half-dozen-directions because don't you want to pull her places, too.

She pulls herself toward those miniatures or perhaps she is so-steered by the artist, a middle-aged woman of moderate height with long, straight hair threaded with gray in a long tunic and a long skirt and some chunky jewelry, who is otherwise remarkable except: look at those things.

There are people in the place (most people in the place) who are unwilling to break that gallery barrier. Who stand back and sort of look because isn't a gallery like a museum and aren't you meant to stand like that in a museum and aren't the only people getting close occasionally art students talking about brush strokes who the fuck talks about brush strokes.

Sera is does not give a fuck about distance and holds her wine in both hands and slides right up to the miniatures and starts to peruse them, nearly nose-to-point.

There are others mounted too high for her to see.

She would hop but: wine.

Oh, clever girl, Sera pulls out her phone and starts texting.

Lucy

Delilah is health conscious. Truth is, Lucy is, too. That training, you know. That life before. Don't eat that, don't eat this, do this and you'll lose five pounds you don't need to lose five pounds but really if you want that part you need to lose five pounds. And there is the simple health of it. Carrots or a brownie, hm. Could have both. Could deny the short-term pleasure of the one for the long-term benefits of the other. Could could could. Which is part of why Lucy shares. A half for one and a half for the other, that's better, yeah?

This guy. That grabs her attention back from where she's watching Lena make her way through the crowd to get closer. This guy. Lucy gives Delilah this look from the corner of her eye, all yeah? Where is that going? To a tease? To a warning? To a reminder of what happens when Lucy gets her hopes up about boys?

But then Lena is there, and then it's the three of them making a little three-person island next to the snack table. There are others in the crowd, but even if they're noticeable Lucy doesn't notice them. She's standing next to her sister, the night is falling softly outside, and she is surrounded by people. Lifting so slightly toward the balls of her feet (hard to tell because those boots she wears are heeled), she practically vibrates with a quiet, intense but subdued excitement. The calm before a storm, or the last clear night before a snowstorm.

She does not take any chips that taste like garlic bread because fuck she's all out of gum and the nearest gas station is the Conoco down at 6th which is blocks and blocks from where they are.

"Hey," she says back. And did she ever mention to Lena in that brief encounter that she had a sister? If she did, well, here she is. Here they are. Two sisters like night and day, dawn and dusk. Light and dark.

Delilah tells the deejay that they've never been here before ever and Lucy gives a nod to that. "We're still pretty new around here."

Lena Reilly

Delilah says they haven't been here, and Lucy says they're new. Lena remembers that last bit from the last run-in they had; Lucy said that she hadn't been around here long. But there is still information here; THEY'RE pretty new around here, which means that the two of them are a unit of some sort. So she smiles to Delilah, the warmth behind that bit of reservation. There was a point that she was like this, long ago. It's been a long time since Sera's seen this side of her; in fact, maybe she never saw it. They didn't interact much before the Hydra thing (she can think the word now) and so she may have not seen the friendly woman that Lena was before. But wass there, and it is there now.

"Nice to meet you, Del." Delilah gave a nickname, and Lena uses it. Nicknames are how we want to be seen usually, at least when we offer it. "I'm Lena, like Lucy said. And hey, we were all knew around here once."

She gets a feel for that familiar Resonance of Serafine; it tickles on the back of her mind. And the friendliness falters, just briefly, before it comes back up. That's a conversation she hopes she doesn't have to have now, here in public. Because they're not going to be able to be around each other until they have a conversation. But she lets it go for now, because she's not going to get worked up about it before it's time.

"Sister?" It's a question to the two; Lucy had mentioned a sister before. "So did we maybe run into each other in New York too, or just you and I, Lucy?"

Delilah

There is a striking young woman with half of her head shaved and the other half's a gold wheat-sheath spill of oh just gold and more gold at least to Delilah's eye and, did Delilah know it, that striking woman is also named for an angel but in a way which is more glorious. Delilah's wide-set eyes (her eyes are wide-set, generous and large, the liquid measure of which are all too too open; there is an air of surprise even when she is not surprised, or there would be if that weren't a lie) wander that-a-way. She's so close to the wall. Delilah stares in spite of herself, abashed. A yokel, though she is not a yokel: still.

She stares, misses any faltering of friendliness (no nervousness kicking higher), and the nervousness in her greeting diminishes a little when she looks back at Lena. Delilah reaches one hand casually for another chip but they're a little out of her reach so she has to really stretch her arm and she doesn't want to lean because that would be rude or no leaning is okay but turning that is what she doesn't want to do so she is desperately not turning and reaching and the bowl why is it so far.

Another demure flash of a smile, lights a candle in her eyes though she looks briefly at Lucy before back at Lena. "I like being new," she says like a confession. "I would be new all the time if I could be old too. We maybe," and the nervousness is back. Because what if they did. What if she doesn't remember. What if Lena doesn't remember. What about that night at that one club and it was five seconds. Or maybe there was no night. Either way, she looks a bit stricken, like she's going to be thought rude.

Delilah stops just because the question was technically addressed to Lucy. Delilah's fingers wiggle just over the chips so close; she realizes she can innnnch. And knock the bowl off the table.

Great. Delilah drops to the floor, not like somebody just told her to do push-ups, but with a measured and rather weary (brief hitch, one moment leaning that-a-way) grace, to shame-facedly pick them up.

Lucy

The gallery space is a shared space, it seems. One half brick exposed, paintings tacked into the wall. The other white, so white, with large black and white photographs of people, things, places, animals. Some macro some not. They're big, too. There's a man's face right there, all shades of soft grey and white, and that face is near as tall as Lucy in her bare feet. Sera's side has one artist. Lena-Lucy-Del have a balding man with skin like fresh-turned earth, wearing a colorful linen shirt untucked from an old pair of jeans. One can imagine he and the woman on the other side don't get along well. One would be wrong.

The table is shared between the spaces, the one with the snacks and such that is. The two sides, they are usually divided by a partition (it's cheaper to rent together, see, cheaper to go in as a duo in a space so large instead of a solo in something smaller), but tonight that partition has been pushed along its track in the ceiling. The place is huge now. Spacious.

But not, because people. People sweep in and people disappear back out again. They crowd in close around Lucy and Lena and Delilah, such that when Delilah, reach-reach-reaching for the bowl of chips and instead upends it, someone nearly steps on her hands. Nearly.

Delilah is worried about being perceived as rude. Lucy? "I don't know, you know, I don't quite remember seeing you there. I mean, I do but I don't, you know? It was-" crash goes the bowl of chips and Lucy is sweeping downward, every bit as graceful as her sister, vibrant red hair lifting from her shoulders as she drifts down into a crouch. She grins upward at Lena. "It was a long time ago, after all."

Shoulder to shoulder, she starts gathering up the chips back into the bowl, angling so that no one else comes close to thoughtlessly trampling Del's fingers. And so, shoulder to shoulder, she leans in closer to Delilah.

Serafíne

Sera is texting Dan to come pick her ass up so she can see the miniatures she cannot see from way down here, and it is way down here tonight because Sera is wearing her battered old Doc Marten's rather than a pair of the ridiculous heels she always sports and Sera wants to see the miniatures that are higher than her head.

And Dan, poor bastard, gets the text and rolls his eyes and shoots her a look across the crowd but of course he's going to stop flirting with another of the evening's artist and cut through the crowd and go pick her up because that is what he does: whatever she wants. And he does't even fucking mind it.

So Dan's cutting through the crowd past Delilah and Lena and Lucy when Delilah knocks over the bowl of chips and then ducks down to start picking them up and god knows what it is, chivalry or resonance or just human fucking decency, but there's a tall, skinny, tattooed hipster crouching beside Delilah as she picks up the chips. He grabs the bowl from where it skidded beneath the table (he is tall and his arms are both: long and tattooed) and hands it to her and grins through his beard.

"Here," handing her the bowl. "Don't worry about 'em. Let people stomp on them, right? Call it art."

And he doesn't touch her but he's sort of urging her upright with his hands framed around her though if she insists on picking them up well he will let her and go. But: either way he straightens. Says, "Lena, good to see you," to the DJ, and there's no evidence of awkwardness on Dan's part, no awareness of it, just a quick and rather polite smile, the sort you pass out like Nerds on Halloween, and then he's off through the crowd.

Finds Sera. Comes up behind her and picks her up. She is probably going to insist on something absurd like sitting on his shoulders right? But whatever happens next is left for later and they don't linger long.