June 26th, 2016 - Enough Trouble [William]

Margot
Life as a Mage seemed to consist of a lot of arranged meetings over text message.  Healthy paranoia was like a regular drop of cream in your morning coffee.  Nobody wanted to talk about anything over the phone or text or email.  Conversations had to be in person because anything else could be too easily monitored or could trigger flags to bring attention onto them.

William suggested a park, and Margot agreed since it wouldn't be too severe a drive for her to make.  Around the agreed time in late afternoon/early evening, Margot parked her car against the curb of the street that ran alongside the park and stepped outside.  She was dressed in a pair of old 1970's-style jogging shorts, in forest green with white piping, and a white tank top that had a design on the front that declared something about empowered womanhood.  She had her brown shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail to keep it off her neck (the day was hot with no clouds and little wind) and wore a pair of dark plastic sunglasses over her eyes to shield them from the sun while she peered around.

There, on the swingset, she spied William.  Upon the approach she waved, and when near enough she spoke.

"Where do you even find these places?"

William
Life as a mage was full of in person meetings. It was a little like meeting your pot dealer, or your friend who was just paranoid enough that they were convinced that everyone and anyone was going to get them busted and they were freakin' out, man! Except, of course, this was Colorado and nobody had to deal with your standard squirrelly por dealer. Will didn't do much of anything harder than anything club related anymore, and even then there wasn't a point because magick made it entirely possible to replicate the results without having to worry about the weird chemical reactions.

If he wanted to flood his brain with serotonin and dopamine, he could just do it and not experience the hangover from depleting the supply. Thing was: he didn't want to anymore. Not really. Not regularly. There wasn't anything from the world that he was trying to escape that was a small problem. He got his rocks off meeting them head on and surviving to tell the tale.

He's on a swingset, and for once in a great while he isn't wearing a vest. Basketball shorts and a white tee shirt. He's got a hoodie that's dumped in a pile with a motorcycle helmet.

"Admit it, everyone loves singsets," he replies with a grin.

"Glad you made it back."

Margot
[I'm totally cool with being reminded about the trip, don't you even worry.  Charisma 2 + Subterfuge 2]

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

William
[Do I catch this? Per+empathy?]

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

Margot
There was a pause where Margot's face was a blank processing slate.  Glad you made it back, he'd said.  Maybe she was trying to remember what trip he was referring to?  It was difficult to say really, but the moment passed and Margot shrugged dismissively with a simple "Yeah."

Everyone loved swingsets, he proclaimed, but Margot was the kind of girl that must have acted like a thirty year old when she was twelve.  The fact that she wore worry like a favorite and worn out ballcap suggested that a lot of growing up had to be done fast.  The humor was tapped from her, and she stood instead just outside the ruts in the earth that marked the track of the swings and planted her feet so her weight would divide comfortably, looking like she was stancing herself to stand for a while.  Her arms folded over her chest to hide any urge that her fingers may have to fidget (why do so many clothes come without pockets??).

"What've you been up to?  What's going on?"

William
Yeah, she says. Seems okay with the reminder but doesn't seem to think it's an issue. The passing along tells him that this is something not to push on, not because it's bad but because it's unimportant. Faced her ghosts and let it lay, wasn't his thing to push on since the ghost wasn't a ghost (well, maybe now. Possibly not. He has no idea). She does a good job of seeming fine; Margot's got him fooled.

"I've been hitting up estate sales," he said, "looking for books and trying to build my own library because I'm sort of borrowing one right now until my mentor gets back. Which may or may not happen, but not the point- point is: my library isn't mine so I'm making one that is mine.

"Got a tip about some guy who apparently has some Hella rare pieces though. Feel like pulling some Ocean's Eleven crap with me?"

Margot
The face that Margot made when William proposed a heist to her was comical.  Will might remember it for some time to come.  Her dark brow stitched together in serious thought and she analyzed his face carefully as though waiting for him to continue or reveal the punchline.  She pursed her lips and opened her mouth as though a word was formed upon them ready to be spoken, but the breath caught in her throat and she stopped, instead folded her hand over her mouth and scowled thoughtfully in reconsideration.

At last, she moved her hand down over and past her chin and held her fingers in a gesture toward the young Hermetic between them.

"So... you've heard about a fellow who has some very rare magickal tomes on his hands.  And your plan is to go steal from the man who's got enough know-how to own some old rare magickal tomes?

"Don't you think your risk of getting cursed to death is a little high for that?  Have you considered asking instead?"

William
"Borrow," he corrects, "I plan on borrowing books. Old scary magickal tome collectors aren't keen on that either, though. The more mystical stuff you have, the more likely you are to  try and nuke anyone who has any knowledge that you even have the stuff in the first place.

"Borrowing it at least gives us a chance to see the stuff."

His mouth quirked to the side, and he has this look on his face like he may or may not have stolen the last cookie from the cookie jar and is trying to figure out if he is going to say anything about it.

"Also... uh... the lady who told me about it said she'd pay thirty grand to pick up a silver dagger while we're there. I may or may not do it, because that's actually stealing. But still. Thirty grand."

Margot
Thirty thousand dollars.  That amount was spoken and Margot was suddenly staring very sharply at William, looking slightly agawk without her mouth actually hanging open.  A few moments of staring, then something that almost looked like exhaustion, or maybe cautious conceding, adjusted her posture to something slightly heavier, slightly slower.

Her arms unfolded and she walked on white sneakered feet (white socks beneath, cut off at the ankles) to the swing to his left.  Sat down and held loose the chains the swing dangled from.

After a breath, she began to recite a list of facts that she would either have to know now or research with him as a next step in positioning for how viable this plan actually was.

"....Okay, Will, what are you going to do, photocopy the guy's books and then put them back another time?  Who is this guy?  Why can't you just talk to him directly, get to know him you know?  I mean, I know nothing about breaking in to places that I shouldn't be."  A pause, then-- "I bet this guy's library is locked up tighter than a nun's underpant drawer, too."

She turned her head to look at him seriously, and when she did she just looked so damn tired.  Not the kind of tired that came from only getting four hours of sleep a night, but the kind of tired that came from being stressed and unhappy for too long.  It was a good thing that she was young and able to pour herself into studies and books.  She was advancing in her magickal grasp like a steamroller, chewing through books and pestering her mentor persistently, and the fact that she was intentionally keeping herself busy probably had very much to do with it indeed.

"It sounds like so much trouble.  I've had enough trouble already."

William
"You don't have to photocopy it. The human mind has the capacity to retain information and process it easily enough. Ars Mentis, man- the ideas behind the Mentats from Dune isn't that far-fetched."

He seems to stop himself, realizing that he sounds absolutely crazy. Realizing that this sounds absolutely crazy. William regards her, adjusts his hands on the chains holding the swingset up, moves up and leans back enough that he can stretch out his sholders.

"It is going to be trouble. And it is going to be dangerous. And there is a chance that the risk does not outweigh the reward- but I'm going to find out more about who this guy is specifically or if he even exists.

"In order to minimize the risk we'd need floorplans, intel on what the place looks like in terms of wards. A knowledge of how the house looks umbrally and physically- you don't have to come. There's no pressure, and I can keep you in the loop when I have this information so in case you want to get in later you can make a better informed descision.

"I wouldn't ask you to go in blind, and I don't want to fuck you over. No hard feelings if you don't want to."

Margot
For a moment longer Margot regarded Will, then something shifted in her expression and she appeared apologetic.  Not being particularly affectionate a person, though, Margot didn't reach out for his hand to apologize, but instead grasped the chains of the swing more firmly and looked down at her bare knees.

"I'm sorry, Will.  I appreciate your thinking of me.  I could totally use some of that money and maybe some other time I might have considered it, but..."  She shook her head and frowned.

"I've still got to unwind and recover from the last adventure."

William
He smiles anyway, seems reassuring anyway, like he'd meant what he'd said- like he really wasn't possessing of any hard feelings.

There was, however, a moment where he had to think. There was silence there, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Perhaps not uncomfortable for him, but he slowly rocked backwards a little.

"You seem like you've always got a lot of stuff on your mind that doesn't ever get better," he says, "I don't envy you."

Margot
Margot looked a little surprised at William's sympathy.  Not that he was sympathetic for her apparent plight, but because of the actual choice of words he'd used.  What that had implied to her.

"Isn't that just the way things go?"

She blinked big eyes at him, then glanced quickly away when she heard a dog suddenly start barking in a yard not too far from the park, spurred on by a jogger passing by with another dog on a leash.

"I mean, once you leave the world of Sleepers, there's more Nightmares than Dreams."

William
"I'm kind of ill-equipped to be able to understand that," he says, admits like it's an actual admission, "the world was always a little nightmarish, awakening just made it different."

"What was it like before you awakened?" he says.

What was it like to be normal? he says without saying.

Margot
[Perception 3 + Empathy 2: How about I stop being wrapped up in myself for a second, how are you doing buddy?  that was an equally heavy thing to say]

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

William
It's a strange thing to come forth, and he seems to be okay but there is the understanding in him that things are going to go bottoms up. He knows it, expects it, doesn't know how to interact with the world if it isn't in a state of upheaval because it's how he seems to thrive but it isn't the nightmarish statement that sticks out for him: it's the admission that he's not normal. That he's always been an other.

Sure, they're all awakened. Sure, they're all a little strange, and perhaps he's mentioned some of the quirks of his upbringing or perhaps not. He may be okay with this, or he may not. That part is a little hard to tell

Margot
The question rang a bell in the back of Margot's mind, and she looked back to Will once again.  This time her gaze stayed on him.  It would be the side of his face, but Will was a rather forward man.  Chances were pretty good that he'd be staring right back, open as can be.  Margot was always just the tiniest bit off balance by how up front Will could be.  But now there was something telling about him-- he wanted to know about normal because he'd never known it himself.  But didn't he say he was an Orphan?  He wasn't one of those old bloods born into Magick and growing up knowing.  That meant that there was something else, a different supernatural circumstance...?

She'd been quiet too long.  Margot cleared her throat some and answered slowly.

"Simple and gray.  I went to school, mom always worked, Luke wasn't home much.  I spent a lot of time alone, so I read a lot and spent a lot of time at the beach too.  Things were scary but in the way that things are scary for someone living in the closed-eyed world of mortal men.  Concerns about how I'm going to make enough money and what I'm going to do with my life in, like, a career sense.  Now the scariest things in the world that I know aren't even in this world, not all the time.

"To clarify, I wouldn't want to go back if I could.  This sense of purpose, of ability and power and significance.... I wouldn't trade it in for much, really.  But things were simple then, and the scary things were way less dangerous."

William
BUt he wasn't, though, Not at first, at least. Rocked back a little on the swing and watched joggers and let his attention wander for a second from joggers to distant car alarms to crickets trying to find some purpose to a conversation going on somewhere in the distance to birds to Margot.

Stays there because it's grounding to look at another person.

"I think the weird thing is that those things don't go away, either. It's just all compounded with a knowing tyhat you could get shot in a drive by or you could have your spine ripped out by an extradimensional being, you just know now that the other one is an option... doesn't make the drive by less comforting," William says with a shrug, "was awakening jarring for you?"

Margot
[PTSD +1 diff (recent events)]

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

Margot
Conversations naturally came with many pauses, and this was no different in that regard.  This particular pause was poignant, for the question that preceded it was a very heavy one.  One that stirred up memories that had a particularly recent addition of wounds added to still-scarring injuries on her psyche from before.  The events of her Awakening played over in memory, but rather than dissolve into tears as she truthfully expected herself to do she felt something of a breeze at her back and in her lungs, and she felt capable of sitting more straight.  The breath in her lungs seemed to bolster her heart and steel her ability to stare a horrible thing in the face and name it for what it is.

Her feet pushed into the dirt under her swing then tucked up and under so she would sway slowly forward and backward again as she answered.

"It was so jarring that it displaced me from my home and life entirely.  Not only was reality torn apart by it, but my family was too.  I fled to the first college that offered me a livable scholarship, and that was Denver U.  That's the whole reason I'm here-- escaping the consequences of my Awakening.

"I ripped my brother's arm from his body and this world altogether.  My mom died and I revived her body, but not her soul and mind.  I'd only just graduated high school a month earlier.  In one night we'd fucked up my entire life and I had absolutely nowhere to go, and then on top of that I realized that I was able to feel somebody's pulse and somehow just know moments before when a socket sparked an electrical fire.  Not only was my own world upheaved, but the world that I was thrown into was entirely different to boot."

William
He's quiet.

He shouldn't be quiet, he should probably say something, but he's digesting. William has done a good job at keeping his mouth shut, keeping from saying something flippant and he draws in a slow breath, like the air needed to fill his lungs and push out whatever was lingering there. A heaviness that comes in hearing and knowing something intensely painful and personal about a person.

William does not envy her.

"The fact that you're here, and alive, and functional is pretty damned impressive... but saying that feels hollow, doesn't do anything and sounds like I'm brushing away the severity of it and telling you that suffering and pain from it isn't real.

"It is real. And you're entitled to it."

Exhales.

"I guess learning how to bring those two things back to her is the only way you can help her without strings attached."

Margot
Margot nodded and added quietly to what he'd offered following what he had to say in support-- his suggestion of how to put the pieces back together.

"Knowing what I know now, I'm working with Doc and when he's studied a little more on the matter we're going to go back to try and... ah, reawaken her, so to speak.  I'm also trying to study the spirit and soul just in case the mind can somehow awaken without that being there too."  She frowned heavily and muttered.  "I can only hope that having a mind with no sould would just make you boring, and not a monster."  She'd had more than enough of her family members turning into monsters.  Hers was a small family, after all, they couldn't keep losing each other.

"I, ah...  appreciate what you said.  Y'know, I don't really feel like I'm passing it off like I've got my shit together.  I still have my breakdowns every here and there, but..."  Toes of her sneakers pressed into the dirt again, this time with a little more force so the swinging took her a little further, lasted a little longer.

"Well, being introduced to Mage society opened my eyes to a lot of dangers and a lot of stresses.  It's made me almost feel like... there's a responsibility at play here.  We have the potential to change and control everything, so we can't just stand idly by when things start to go sour in creepy and supernatural ways, and sometimes even more mundane ways too.  But having all of that added on is still worth the exchange of knowing others like me.  Like us.  Pooled resources, pooled magick, a lot can get done with that."

William
"It probably just makes you boring. Or not even that boring, maybe more like AI?" he thinks, "I've heard there's some AI out there that's pretty cool... and who knows, maybe you could track down her soul via some giant quest instead of creating a new one from scratch. Finding it seems easier, and it seems like it wasn't quite ready to, y'know, skip down the cycle so I'd say it's possible."

A beat. A playful smile tinged by a morbid sense of humor.

"Your mom not having a soul could just be like what would happen if your mom worked in a call center for seven years. I'm pretty sure it could be fine."

Margot
At first the humor didn't really seem to tickle the blood witch at all.  She continued to sway on the swing, pushing herself gently back with her toes when they came close to the ground again.  Back and forth, back and forth.  But she did glance sideways at William and offered a small grin, like she was sympathetic to his attempts to joke with such a serious person, and maybe even a little humored by the fact that he still tried if nothing else at all.

"Nah, she waitressed double shifts pretty much as long as I can ever remember.  One of those career waitress women, you know?"

But she didn't go on about her one-armed brother.  She was doing too good of a job of keeping her calm, she didn't want to go knocking down the jenga tower that she'd worked so hard to build up.

"....Will, I hope that you're very careful when you go looking through this guy's books.  I worry about knowledge wrongfully gained, it just seems like it would be destined to lead to something bad happening when you try applying it."

William
"Jenn's mom was a career waitress- Jenn used to be my room mate before she started being a personal assistant for a Euthanatos. Waitresses are hardcore, that actually makes me want to meet your mom when you make her okay again," provided, of course, he's allowed to. William seems pretty convinced that Margot is going to do it. That there is no question that she will do whast she wants to do and achieve success and all things will be well again. Maybe it's wishful thinking on his part, though.

We digress.

There was a second when he had to think again. It provokes will into standing, putting his hands over his head and jumping to reach the top bar. He actually can reach it if he tries- what with being nearly six feet tall and all. It's a wonder his knees weren't at his chest when he was on the swing (duh, of course not, because he looped the swing over the top bar enough that he actually could use it if he wanted.)

"I want it to be worth the risk," he tells her, "we've lost too much knowledge in the world from people burning books and dying and failing to bring something about through more than oral tradition. Even if I can't use anything that I got, it would exist...

"I think I will honestly get more out of trying than anything I find in those books."

Margot
"True," Margot agreed with parts (clearly parts, not the whole, because there was an argument coming on even in that truthfully conceding tone alone) of what William had said.  She nodded her head appropriately and her eyes followed along watchfully as he rose from his swing then decided to stretch and leap to hang from the supporting bar of the play structure instead of use it as it was designed.  It was easy to picture Margot as a disapproving seven year old with a stern headband, shaking her head and scolding little Williams for playing on the equipment and how they're gonna get hurt and she's gonna go tell teacher.

Since they were young adults she sufficed for watching in a vaguely disapproving manner and continuing conversation as though otherwise unphased.

"But it doesn't sound like these books run the risk of actually burning anytime soon.  It sounds like they belong to an old guy who is still very much alive and probably has a will where somebody will rightfully inheret them.  If this guy didn't do something wrong, like-- like, I don't know, steal them from your mentor first or something?  I just don't really know that it's right to go snooping through somebody's stuff without their go ahead.  If you're looking for something to read just ask around, man."  She could think of half a dozen people that she could text to ask for borrowed books or super incrypted text files, or possibly even scrolls, who knew with Hermetics.

"A guy as friendly as you?  Surely you have any number of people that you could ask."  A beat, and a small grin.  "Or charm."

William
{I can totally do a pull up, +1 diff because pull ups are hard)

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (2, 10) ( success x 1 )

William
Yep.

There is Margot's disapproval. He can feel it at about crotch-height.

It doesn't stop him from trying to get a little bit of exercise. Now, let's just say this: pull ups are hard and William isn't very strong. Sure, he tries, but it is a stretch for him to get up here let alone heft his meager bodyweight into the air without kipping or doing something else stupid. But he starts the arduous climb up anyway because he's always had a tendency to misuse playground equipment.

"Would it make you feel better if-" nyeh! "-I asked him first?"

Margot
A small laugh was surpressed for the sake of William's pride when he tried so hard and, in his defense, accomplished a chin-up on the swing set bar.

"....Yes.  It really would."

She paused, then added.  "Thanks.  I know that asking first makes you more of a blip on his radar, but it just seems more the right thing to do, you know?"

William
"Okay, I'll try to ask him. But if I don't come back, presume that the answer was no, William, you can not look at my toys."

He drops down, puts his hands on his hips like he's Super Man and beams because he successfully did one whole chin up.

"Wanna go get lunch or something? I'm trying to learn to turn lead into gold and I could really use the break and I haven't made a pass at you since you left. I'm getting out of practice."

Margot
The quip about making passes was met with a raised eyebrow, but the small grin that had earlier bloomed onto Margot's face did not die out.  She stood and rubbed her hands at the hips of her shorts (to dull the sharp smell of metal from clinging to chains for such a time).  "I'm alright with lunch if it's light and so long as that's about as strong as the passes get."

She liked William, but the guy could see a red light from a mile away.  Margot's door didn't have a welcome mat anywhere near it in that regard.

Sorry buddy.

June 26th, 2016 - A Good Student [Doc]

Sepúlveda
Come over tomorrow.

That had been the missive yesterday, the Etherite having apparently had enough socialization the last two days that he needed to retreat back to his own temporary territory. Either that or he had other plans that necessitated a break in the partying.

Either way, here they are, at Union Station. Sepúlveda meets his younger student downstairs in the lobby, which connects with the terminal of the train station, and guides her through the crowds of departing weekend tourists to the elevator that takes them up to his suite on the north side of the property.

Don't ask how much a suite is costing him a night. He has ways of getting around it, and besides, he has more money than he knows what to do with now that his son and wife are dead and his daughter refuses to have anything to do with him.

"Alright," he says, tossing his wallet onto the counter by the door as they enter. The suite gets plenty of natural light in through the windows, and the mahogany sucks it up. His bed does not appear slept in, and the sitting area where he ought to take breakfast and read the paper is overflowing with books. "What are you looking for, again?"

Margot
This was the third or fourth time that Margot had been to the Union Station now, and she was still just a little taken aback by how large the lobby was each time she arrived and looked up.  Sepúlveda was not difficult to pick out of a crowd, the sense of some mystic visions told on a sheet of ice familiar enough that she could more or less just gravitate toward the essense and end up finding him anyways.

Through the busy shared space of hotel and train station and up an elevator, they soon arrived in the room that Sepúlveda had been calling his temporary home for some time now.  Margot hadn't been up this far before, and looked around at the high ceilings and natural light and dark mahogany accents and felt her stomach turn just a little.  She'd lived the whole of her life under a sparse budget, first her mother's and now her own.

"Uhh...  I want to understand Prime more."  She paused, then added.  "I've got a few books about Spirit and Dimensions already, but if there's something there that stands out could I borrow it too?"  She'd sounded distracted initially, needed to pull her attention away from the large suite and how expensive it all had to be and focus instead on the discussion of knowledge and Spheres.  She'd brought a simple fabric tote bag along, rolled up into a tube of fabric that had been clutched in one fist.  This was unrolled now and smoothed out, showing a black decal of two arrows crossed on the side.  In anticipation of being loaded up with books, no doubt.

Sepúlveda
If there is any order to the books, Margot is going to have to give the piles a good looking through to make sense of it.

He has arranged them in four piles near hip-height, so that they almost but don't quite reach the windowsill. They do not appear to adhere to subject or reading level. A few of them have titles that aren't English. More than a few of them look more like thick academic texts than esoteric tomes. Hands on hips, he considers the array before them, then drops into a crouch and starts reading the spines.

"Tell me what you know about Prime already."

Margot
The day was tremendously hot and Margot had dressed accordingly in a pair of dark green jogging shorts (a tribute to the 1970's, a time she knew nothing about) and a white tank-top declaring 'empowered women empower women' within the design of a female silohetted head bust.  She wore ankle-height socks and white sneakers and smelled like a whole lot of sunblock, for the sky outside was harsh sun, bright blue, and not a cloud in sight.

She looked curiously on at the books, leaned forward with her head tipped sideways to read spines as well, but not crouching or kneeling down to join him in sorting through.  Her voice was quietly distant, for she spoke while reading as well when she answered.

"It is the building block of everything.  A particle, if you want to look at it scientifically, or an essence if you want to look at it more mystically.  It's an energy as well.  It makes up Magick and Quintessence, too."  Remembering when he'd summoned up pure quintessence to show them, she added:  "White-gold molten plasma."

Sepúlveda
He picks up a book that looks like it has more to do with Matter than with Prime. Flips it over and hums as he flips through it. Humming doesn't mean he isn't listening. By now Margot knows even if he were doing something else he could repeat back everything she'd said since she stepped off the elevator.

"How does it relate to, say, natural forces or nonhuman entities?"

Nonhuman entities. Spirits. Same difference.

Margot
She raised an eyebrow skeptically at him to hear 'nonhuman entities' as his substitute for spirits.  Gradually went back to skimming spines before answering.

"They're a part of the everything I mentioned," she stated obviously.  "Just because they live on a different dimension doesn't mean we aren't all made of the same stuff.  I mean, they manage to exist in our world and we in theirs."  As for natural forces, she shrugged.  "The planet is made of everything and the planet causes the natural forces based on its gravity and magnetism and geothermal activity and pull of tides."

She paused, then shook her head.  "I'll suffice to say that this applies to the rest of the universe, too.  I don't want to start trying to speculate about alien life."

Sepúlveda
In order to extricate the book he's got his eye on, the Doc has to hold onto the top of a stack with one hand and wriggle it free with the other. He is more dextrous than he looks, with his skinny fingers and general unruliness, but by the time Margot has finished with her explanation he's got the stack returned to rights and is standing again.

"Why not?" he asks.

The book he hands her is called The Disappearance of the Universe. Its cover is tattered and its pages yellowed. Like as not someone lent this to him and he never gave it back.

Margot
Margot accepted the book and turned it over in her hands.  Exampined front and back cover and the inside front pages as well.

"Because I don't really have the mental energy for that right now.  I figure anything could reasonably happen out there so I'll just assume anything is possible and let that be well enough."

Sepúlveda
With his hands offloaded for the moment, he tucks his arms around his ribs and chews on the inside of his lip. Her professed lack of mental energy has him frowning. Doesn't have to ask why not, though she might expect or want him to. They went to Chicago to deal with her brother, she didn't want him involved, Ned got hurt. That's as involved as he had gotten in that period of her life without her speaking up.

It goes without saying she and Ned aren't of the same mind when it comes to cataloguing the universe. Margot has been a cautious explorer while Ned strikes the Doc as a forager.

Abrupt change of subject, complete with unhooking his hands from his elbows and beginning to pace towards the one white wall in the entire room:

"Okay, so thus far you've figured out how to sense the ether, yeah? You've got perception down, and you know you can infuse your Quintessence into objects. Consecration, I'm talking. You're talking about, now, channeling Quintessence into--where the fuck..."

He removes a marker from his briefcase and turns the wall into a dry erase board.

"On its own, infusion of Quintessence into a weapon causes it to injure not only the flesh but the Pattern, you understand, the raw stuff you were just talking about, and you can attack without a weapon. It's my understanding that this is the only way to harm incorporeal entities--" Circles and lines and some squiggly thing that may or may not be a ghost. He turns away from the wall, marker still uncapped. "Have you ever seen a body of light?"

Margot
The Doc stood and launched himself into a full professor-esque lecture on the subject of Prime, complete with plucking up a dry erase marker and taking advantage of a clear swatch of portable white board that he had set up (she didn't bother to ask why, this was a scientist, he needed a place to write formulas and lists and shit like this down).  Margot glanced about, then found a chair near enough that she could sit while listening and observing still.  Tucked the book into the tote bag and set it on the floor by the side of the chair before leaning forward to follow along with the strokes of marker on the board.

"So, reasonably, I could just tear away at it with my hands.  But if I wanted I could, say, infuse a knife and give it to someone else to use?"  She pondered this thoughtfully for a moment, then shook her head in response to the Doc's question.

"You mean like the sun, or like a god or spirit or something?"  Arguably the same thing, depending on the culture, but still.

Sepúlveda
[prime 2: making a... uh... hologram. yeah. +1 diff for fast-casting.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Sepúlveda
Here comes one of his slapped-together-junk devices. It looks from where she's sitting like he's using the same doppler/calculator contraption from yesterday, but there's a trigger on it where there wasn't yesterday.

As he plugs instructions into the device, Sepúlveda says, "Yeah, you could do that. It's not going to do you any good if you're up against a spirit and the person you give the knife to can't, you know, sense spirits."

Spoken like someone who used to be friends with a Kha'vadi and then fucked that up.

Like a kid trying to take a selfie, Sepúlveda holds the device out at arm's length and points it at herself. An orange glow like a retail scanner hits his forehead, and he sweeps it down his form before aiming the dancing line at the carpet and sweeping it back up.

An ephemeral, almost idealized version of Sepúlveda appears there. The device goes back into his pocket.

"This comes in handy if you're trying to distract someone. Look how handsome it is." Anyway: "Now, if you want to consecrate another person, that other person will take on your resonance and be able to, I don't know, cross the gauntlet with you, even if he doesn't know dick about the Umbra."

Margot
A good student was a quiet and observant one.  Margot found herself wishing desparately that she had come prepared with her notebook and pen, but was sitting still and absorbing without writing instead.  She could transcribe what they were discussing later.

Curiosity piqued in her face when the device's orange light started scanning over the doctor from head to toe.  Eyebrows hopped up on her forehead in surprise when a duplicate of his exact image was left behind in the air after he stepped away.  She stared at it and nodded while applications for such a trick were beginning to print themselves in a list in her mind.  She had a pretty good picture in her mind of setting up a decoy in her bed when expecting an attack, letting it serve as a trap.

"I suppose if you're trying to make a quick escape that could be a good plan.  Gotta be careful about that, though," she said with an air of caution-- "sometimes what you could run into on the other side is way worse than being caught by what's chasing you."

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda goes from looking somewhat engaged in the exchange of information that's occurring to an absolute deadpan. This is what it looks like when he isn't saying the first dickhead retort to come into his head.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and kills the holograph.

"Live another twenty years," he says, "and then come talk to me about being careful."

Cap back on the marker, he drops it back in his briefcase.

Margot
"Will do, Doc," Margot said compliantly enough, and let her eyes and head drop to follow the marker's path into the briefcase.  Taking this as a cue that the diagram session of this lesson was over, the blood witchling found her feet and roamed her way closer to the book tower and the window once more.  This time she leaned toward the glass to peer out onto the street below.

"Hey," she says abruptly.  "Can I ask you a question?"

She probably gets something sarcastic, perhaps even a negatory in response, but Margot pushed ahead with the second stage of the question all the same.

"How long are you going to stay here?  I mean, it's not really the most sustainable place to be, is it?"

Sepúlveda
This is what Margot gets for having a confirmation bias: not only does she not get a sarcastic response, but he actually sounds as if the prospects of answering another question was filling him with good feelings.

"Of course," he says as he lights a cigarette.

And then she asks that question. He exhales so hard she can practically hear the appeal to a Messiah in whom he does not believe, and he rubs at his temple with the ring finger of the hand holding the cigarette.

"They do my laundry for me," he says, "and food comes right to the door, and if they don't see me at the front desk for a couple days, they call my phone. I can make it sustainable."

Margot
"Yeah, but..."

Margot looked a little... what?  Sick?  It was some kind of worry-sick look, like her stomach turned just a little when she looked around at the ammenities clearly laid into the very walls and appliances and furnishings supplied.

"It's just flushing all of that money away..."

He's probably been there to recognize it-- a poor person being offended by a rich man's waste.

Sepúlveda
[empathy!]

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

Sepúlveda
"Money is just a token the Mesopotamians came up with to show how much grain they had in their silos," he says. "It doesn't--"

Oh. Wait a second. Sigh.

"If it's any consolation, I transubstantiated toilet paper into currency when I booked the room. It's not real."

Margot
The confession that he was paying in counterfeit toilet square bills had Margot staring at the Doc in a very curious way.  She seemed torn on where she stood on the matter of morality and practicality and outright absurdity.

"Oh," she said simply.  Then, after a moment or two, nodded her head.  "That's actually not a bad trick."

She lifted a hand to scrub at the back of her neck and slick little loose wisps of hair off of it and back up toward the ponytail it was supposed to be secured into.  After a dozen awkward moments of quiet or so, the girl glanced back down at the pile of books.  Started skimming again, and this time even crouched down to investigate more closely (eyes peeled for something about warding or banishing or exorcising).

In the nature of students and children around the world, Margot piped up with another apropos of nothing question from the quiet.

"Doc, do you have a gadget that protects your room?  Like, from anything getting in or being taken out?"

Sepúlveda
It's going to take a bit of bravery to start going through the books with less obvious titles - or no titles at all - if Margot hopes to find anything concerning the nature of spirits in Sepúlveda's library. They're there. Even if he can't get Margot or anyone else to explain the rudimentary steps to sensing the spirit world, there are books in the piles he can crack open.

He plucks up the room's ashtray and flops down on the tightly-made king-sized bed. Feet dangle off the end and he ashes into the glass receptacle without taking care not to get gray on the white duvet.

"Yeah," he says. "It's called a keycard."

Margot
"I'm not worried about anyone getting into your room, I said anything."  Margot frowned up and over to where she saw Doc's legs and feet dangling from the edge of the bed (from her vantage point on the floor by the book stacks).  Shook her head and looked back to the books-- even if she couldn't determine what each of them were about she had a bibliophile's sense of just browsing to see what was there in general.

"Don't you have any wards in place?  Enchantments to protect yourself and your belongings?  You're living in a public place, those key cards can be accessed by anyone who can get back behind that desk.  You took something from the Technocracy recently and seem entirely unworried about precautions."

He wasn't looking to see her face, but he could hear the worry spreading across her tone to picture that heavy brow knitting together in concern.

"It's a bit reckless, isn't it?"

Sepúlveda
[perc + aware: you haven't been using prime 1, have you?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Sepúlveda
Not so long ago, a girl about Margot's age stood in the kitchen of her father's two-bedroom apartment, appalled at the spartan furnishings before she felt her sanity slipping with the realization that not only had her mother died, but her father had attempted to reanimate and had had to kill her a second time. She had been prepared to yell at her parents for not keeping in communication after her mother left Tokyo to return to Miami. She had left prepared to never speak to the man again.

Naomi and Margot are two different people, but they share the distinction of being the only people who have been inside his living space and thought of his safety.

He blows out another breath and takes off his glasses.

"Don't you think you ought to be sure I don't have any wards in place before you start slinging accusations around?"

Margot
Doc's question brought a quick look of muted embarassment to Margot's face.  Her cheeks started to flush and she bit the center of her lower lip, then frowned in a way that wrinkled up the bridge of her nose and glanced down when she confessed:

"I considered it, but didn't want to let any blood or burn anything to do it."

Sepúlveda
Her consternation is announced in the blood gone to her face and truth be told he doesn't derive enjoyment from putting down his students. They make it easy, sometimes, but he doesn't enjoy it. Blame it on the generation gap or the alienness of his intelligence or the chafe come from ill-fitting paradigms. Loads of reasons why they sometimes wind up in situations like this.

Sepúlveda doesn't sit up even now. He's comfortable the way he is and he can practically hear her blushing from across the room.

"What am I going to do with you two?" he asks.

Margot
After voicing the question, the Doc would feel the sheets tugging and the mattress shifting-- subtly, though, not enough impact or repetitive motion to suggest she was climbing up onto the bed as well.  Rather, when he turned his head he'd find that Margot was kneeling at the bedside, arms folded onto the mattress's edge and her face tucked behind them so only the top of her nose and everything above was visible.

Wide owlish hazel-brown eyes staring watchfully at him from bare arms still pale-pink though they were so many weeks into summer (sunscreen diligence) greeted him.  Before she spoke, she lifted her head enough that her mouth and chin cleared her arms at least.

"Give us shelter and guidance?"

She tipped her chin and mouth back into hiding once more, watched him for a second, then added quietly from behind her arms:

"I won't call it a cabal if you won't."

Sepúlveda
With that, he stubs out the cigarette and picks up the ashtray and sets it down on the bedside table with a thunk. Only then does he swing his feet to the floor, mindful of Margot's skull.

"Come here."

He intends to give her a side hug. She has to heed his command first. Either she does or she doesn't. Regardless, he goes on:

"I'll start calling it a cabal when you two stop being stupid."

June 25th, 2016 - A Dysfunctional Cabal [Doc, Ned, Grace]

Margot
It was midday Saturday with pleasant weather in June, you had better bet your ass that the park was crowded as hell today.  Clouds passed quickly across the sky in bunches, offering relief from the bright sun and bringing a summer-hot wind along with it.  No rain, though, not in the immediate forecast, so the park was not denied its typical weekend burst of life.

The good news about being surrounded by a sea of joggers with their dogs, clutches of friends playing volleyball or frisbee, and families with their kids picnicing and playing on the playgrounds?

Food trucks.  Plenty of them, parked in a line in the parking lot for the lunchtime push.  There were a couple of stands on the other end of the park, too-- mobile, smaller, one offering tacos, one offering falafels, and a third offering drinks and ice cream and other summertime confections.  It was at the last cart that Margot was standing in conversation with Dr. Sepúlveda while handing a couple of dollar bills to the mustached man running the cart, accepting an iced coffee drink in a plastic to-go cup in return.

They were in a middle of a conversation turned on a more mundane hinge thanks to the ears (and mustache) right in front of them.

"I'm thinking maybe I'll switch jobs and work at a bookstore instead, to keep an eye out for things to add to my Library all the better.  The dispensary's probably not going to have any curious tomes passing over its counter anytime soon."

Sepúlveda
Between the strip club, the Verbena's abode, and the brunch place up on Colfax - where the waitress was glad to see him actually interacting with other people and not just yelling at the two kids who, as far as she can tell, are his parolees or probates or foster kids or god knows what people think when they see Margot and Ned getting chewed out by Dr. Sepúlveda - the Etherite has been having an awful lot of outside time the last twenty-four hours.

Before he goes home, he extracts the kids from their respective places of dwelling with like 15 anchor emojis and a question mark.

And now here we are.

Despite the heat of the day, the Doc is wearing jeans, loafers, and a yellow button-down work shirt underneath a cardigan. His hair is a mess and his glasses could use a polish, but he seems to be in a decent enough mood.

As they wait for Ned to show up, he considers Margot's observations. His eyebrows lift up as if to ask if he's supposed to respond, then sucks an answer out of an eyetooth and says, "If it does, run."

Very funny.

"What sort of 'things' are you looking for?"

Margot
Today Margot was dressed in a china-blue-and-white printed sundress, capped sleeves with a low back and skirt that was loose enough for the breeze to tug but not lift from where it hunt above her knees.  Her hair was down, a straw sunhat on her head in lieu of sunglasses.  Flip flops, though, simple and broken in for park strolling.  Her face wore its standard amount of make-up, which is to say minimal, and she found time somewhere in the mix to paint her short fingernails a bright sunshiney yellow.

She sipped her coffee and wandered idle away from the concessions cart, but didn't walk with direction or purpose so as not to lose the designated meet point and thereby lose or miss Ned.  The game of 'where are you?' text tag was not one of her favorites.

"I don't really know.  I'm hoping to add more things on Prime and Entropy to my shelves, right now they're pretty heavy with medical texts and Spirits and other dimensions.  That stuff is easy enough to pick up, is the more insightful stuff that I want a chance to find."

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda scratches at the crook of his jaw, short nails singing against the growth of beard. Thinking. His own library is expansive. The reason he's renting a suite instead of a room at the Crawford is twofold: he wants to be able to put the kids up if they get into trouble, and he has too many damned books to crash at a bedbug motel by the highway.

Besides. There's a bar downstairs. He might never leave the Crawford.

"You planning on becoming the initiate of a tradition any time soon?"

Ned
Ned shows up with a careful layer of avoidance in his gait and demeanour. His brow has been permanently furrowed for the last week and a bit and one might think this a normal state of affairs. He's taken to t-shirts, blacks, navy blues and the occasional white, with pairs of loose fitting jeans. His converse have been traded in for a nice pair of firm cross-trainers. He's sporting a belt and something like a small harness at his hip, cinched to the belt via a loop. It looks long and slender and empty.

He weaves around various bodies, taking little notice of their brief glances or Saturday afternoon 'pardons' that are few and far between. The careful steps and easy motions came more comfortably now, given he was starting to actively pursue the odd 'anonymity' that hovered around him like a second skin.

Spying the Doc and Margot wasn't difficult. A week ago (not long after The Incident) Ned had opted to download an app onto Margot's phone that tracked Friend locations. She could glance at her phone and know where he was, so long as it was on and vice versa.

"...Working on it." Was his reply to the Doc, a scattered glance cast at the man before eyeballing the Verbena-to-be. "Last I checked though, the options for who to talk to were...limited. Didn't you say you had a line on someone who could make you an offer?"

Margot
Perhaps the question about traditions had been aimed at Margot, but it was Ned's voice that had answered.  He'd come up from the side, and Margot startled just enough to turn her head sharply to find him.  For a moment she eyeballed Ned back (something different there, the Doc may pick up-- a tension, not caution not anger, not the kind of tense that came from fighting but it was something), then let her gaze get pulled away as a particularly young and fluffy puppy ran by with its human on a leash.

"....I'm still going through some formalities, but I've spoken to a couple of Verbena.  I think that's going to work."

She sipped her coffee and wished that she wasn't wearing a dress so that she had a place to tuck her other hand away.

Sepúlveda
[i love rolling empathy so much]

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

Sepúlveda
And the Doc does pick up on the exaggerated startle reflex in his younger pupil. It isn't a proper panic attack, but she just jump enough that he can tell it was Ned's arrive and the suddenness of it that spooked her.

Rather than drawing attention to it, Sepúlveda does something that will either betray the depths of his capacity for giving a shit, or will make it seem as if he didn't even notice. He does nothing. Just keeps his hands in the pockets of his jeans and heaves a heavy sigh when Ned asks his question.

"If you think it will, it will," he says, to the matter of the Verbenae working for Margot. Out of one of his pockets comes the flask, from which he takes a hard pull. Points at Ned with the finger of the hand holding the flask and frowns, pointed, before putting away the flask. "I said what?"

Ned
"Was talking to Margot."

Ned corrected himself and the Doc together, head bobbing toward her momentarily.

"She mentioned someone that Nick and Pen were going to introduce her to. A while ago..." A pause. Frowning. "I think..." Shaking his head. "I need to have a sit down with Nick. Once I'm sure he doesn't try to convert me to love all the animals and disney princess' damselling, I'm going to apply for the Euthanatos." If Ned seems at all disturbed, cautious or afraid of their surroundings and who might be overhearing them he doesn't let on. This conversation seems to be happening at a careful pace, wandering in no particular direction at all.

His hands jam into his pockets.

"...We need a place to live." Switching lanes with the fluidity of the abrupt. "...And I put in my two weeks notice."

Margot
Margot's eyebrows hopped up in mild surprise when Ned said he was talking to her, like she was under the impression that the question had been for Doc as well.  Then she blinked and nodded her head.  Popped the coffee drink straw from her mouth to answer.

"Yeah, Thane.  And Thane introduced me to this Kat woman, who's a real insightful badass.  She's a disciple of War, too."

Ambling onward, she listened while Ned explained that he was going to apply for the Euthanatos (in a move that no one saw coming).  Her gaze cast forward and to the side, like she was fly fishing for anything else to pay attention to in that moment.  Coffee straw went back into her mouth and she found some geese on the pond to watch paddling instead.  She only had enough time to watch them paddle a dozen meters before the subject of quitting ones job cropped up.

"Shit, already?"  She asked Ned, sounding surprised and looking (as usual) worried.

Sepúlveda
Overtop Margot:

"The fuck'd you do that for?" He rubs his temple with the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, like he's got a headache brewing. Before Ned can answer he goes on: "Good to hear you two have plans."

Because they didn't get a chance to talk about it the night he patched up Ned's collapsed lung, bitching the entire time but not asking too many questions.

Ned
"Makes sense. I don't want to be there anymore and...Well after learning Entropy...I didn't think hospitals could get anymore depressing, really." Ned's frown is deeper, thicker at the mention of this and his head rocks to one side as if to physically clear the expression from his face.

"Doing things officially, means I can maybe look into another area that isn't so time intensive. Pay will be less and really, most of my money goes towards takeout and transportation anyway." A pause. Abruptness: "I gotta start riding my bike more."

Then around at the people they are passing by, as if he'd only just noticed where they are and what normal folks do in situations like this.

"I've got a plan for the near future. Distant is another story..." That frown threatens again. "I want to know how 'safe' we are here and how much or many threats I need to learn about."

Sepúlveda
With the most long-suffering sighs in the history of long-suffering sighs, Andrés takes a few steps away from the kids, wanders off to the shade of an oak tree, and sits down. Or... flops, is more like it, since he ends up on his back.

"The Choir was right," he says, to himself and knowing full well they can still hear him. "The One is punishing me."

Margot
The point about the hospital being all the more depressing with Entropy in the picture was accepted with a nod and Margot contented herself with watching geese and ducks and puppy dogs again.  She got several steps away after Doc veered to the side and Ned no doubt lagged to continue the conversation with him.  Stopped after she realized she was walking alone, turned around, frowned a little, and walked back to stand on the edge of the shadow-splot of the tree that Doc had flopped beneath.

"The Distant Future could range anywhere from dead in the dirt to Ascension, there's no sense in planning it in much detail," she offered over to Ned, then glanced down to where Doc was laying in the grass.

"I think with what we know we're safest here... Just here, in Denver, where we know people and have help.  Outside of that, we're just going to need to learn to ward and banish to stay safe."

Sepúlveda
The Doc peels his glasses off his face and lets them lie bridge-down across his chest, showing no intention or sign of getting back up just yet. Grass gets in his hair and the daylight brings out the green in his eyes and something about the far-off sounds of laughing children and chirping birds and splashing fountains really brings out the surreality of their existences.

This is the reality into which they have Awakened. It doesn't have to be like this. If Sepúlveda decided he wanted to turn the grass purple, he could. One would have to ask why, though, given the backlash bitch-slap he recently absorbed.

"Edward," he says, "based on my own anecdotal evidence, you're safer here than you are in any of the major coastal cities. You're definitely safer here than you are in Chicago. Never go to Mexico. Not because of the drug cartels, sabes, because of the vampires."

Ned
"I hear punishment with God often comes with lessons yet to be learned."

Like it was read off the back of a fortune cookie. Ned veers clear of the other people pushing and shoving past, doing his level best to remain out of their radar which isn't difficult. Arcane made him the 'third member' of this little party, folks would pay less attention to over someone like the Doc (loud and shit givingless) or Margot (Pretty and Expressive).

"I don't want to move cities or pack up and be elsewhere. I want to be better at protecting myself and others. Distant future is all robots and skynet for all I know. I'm more concerned about Localized Distant, as opposed to global. How to make home..." A hand thrown around at the park "...Denver, safe for us. That includes resisting kidnappings, hostages, eavesdropping and ugliness cropping up on repeat." A pause, Ned's purposefully keeping out of the shade of the tree, to one side, face turned up into the sun.

"...Or at least learn how to anticipate." A hand rises to scrub at his chin. "Entropy's helping with that, though."

Margot
The comment about vampires in Mexico piqued some interest in Margot.  Certainly she'd heard about the Mexican plauge of vampirism before, and she was starting to piece together that some of the monsters and fairy tale creatures she'd read about throughout her youth were actually real.  Nobody needed to tell her directly that fairies were real.  Nobody had to tell her that werewolves were either.  Now, of course, she knew nothing of their mechanics societies or politics just yet, but the 'just yet' was the emphasized point in that sentence.  Margot was a smart little student.  She'd figure all this out given the chance and a point in the right direction.

Ned expressed that he wanted to be able to set up a shop, a home, and keep it safe and protected.  She nodded her agreement, and mused quiet and somber.

"I'm reading about the spirits in particular.  The Gauntlet's just.... there's too much come and go, spirits crossing over and bringing things back.  I'm going to learn to..."  She searched for the right word, and even went so far as to reach into the air in front of her with her palm up, fingers curled, like she could pluck what she was trying to say from the very air.

"...To calcify the Gauntlet.  Shove things back across and then seal off the door they came in through.  I'm close.  I'm pretty sure I'm close."

Then she looked down to Doc and tipped her head aside.  Moved the hand that had been word-hunting to stop her hat from slipping off her head when she did.  "Doc, I think what Ned's getting at is that all of this would be easier, keeping each other safe, if we didn't all go to sleep in different places at night.  The salt on my window sill still only does as much good as my prayers and a rosary would right now.  I can't ward up my home, Ned can't his."

Ned
"...And given your history of 'volatile relations' I would think having outside perspectives around to keep an eye on you, would ultimately be better..."

Ned offers on the tail end of Margot's words. Unapologetic, expectant almost.

Sepúlveda
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

He's going to stick to his contention that the volatile relation in question wouldn't have gone so bad if it weren't for the kids antagonizing the Kha'vadi woman, thank you very much.

For this next bit he sits up, using his core muscles rather than his appendages, more graceful than he looks, and takes another swig once he's upright again. His glasses topple to the grass. He leaves them there a moment.

"The odds of you two doing anything of any use to keep me safe is so small I can't--" He puts on his glasses. Squints. "Nope. Still can't... still can't see it. The odds. Because of how small they are. Your outside perspective means precisely dick to me, Ned." He stifles a burp. "If you two want to come play Sleepover at my hotel room, that's... that's fine, but the first time I hear you two... making out, or whatever it is you do in your spare time, through the wall, no more Sleepover."

Grace
She doesn't pick up on the entire conversation, does Grace. Only Margot's worries about wards, and Ned's about volatile relations. She knows what he means by that, she thinks.

Now, Grace, today, is not the most reassuring sort of person to bump into. Mike makes sure that she sleeps, at least, so she doesn't quite look like she's been pulling so many all-nighters it must be finals season. But she's taut -- tense like perhaps there is something to be worried about out there.

"You guys... Hey."

Margot
"Making out?"  Margot cast a look at the Doc that was all incredulity.  "I'm beginning to suspect that you really do think we're fourteen year olds...."

Then, suddenly, a wild Grace appeared.  For a second time that midday there in the park a voice announced a presence prior to the face and body doing so, and for a second time Margot startled with a small bodily jerk and sloshed the ice of her coffee around when she did so.  Had there been no lid then there's a chance it would've spilled down her arm, but bless to-go cups and their foresight for clumsy spills.

"Oh," she said, sounding relieved when she found Grace to be the person who had broken from the crowd of park-goers to say hello.

"Grace, hey.  How are ya?"

Margot?  She looked okay.  That was really the best word for it-- like somebody who didn't sleep enough and worried way too much but still had enough give-a-shit about perceptions that she stood in the sun and pretended that neither of those were the case.

Ned
"A house, Doc. With many layers of walls between me and whatever pervy nonsense you get up to-"

Ned pauses those words when Grace arrives. He isn't so much surprised as he is changing gears, body moving around in a tight circle to grant Grace a bit more surface area beneath the shade of the tree they are 'lounging' under. His smile is tight, tiny and his attention brief, catching her gaze should she throw it at him, momentarily before lifting his face back into the sun.

"...Suns out. Should put any lingering worries you may have about my undeadness to rest." His smile is a bit needling, though the tone doesn't have enough bite to make it sarcasm. "You need more sleep, Lady." Abruptly delivered, eyes peeling open to scan over Grace's features and frame.

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda stares at Ned for a good three beats of silence, his brain flooded with so many one-liners that they gum up the entire works. He chases down the remnants with a wash of tequila or whatever the hell he actually has in his flask.

"Gracia!" he says. "How's that OCR scan coming?"

To his students: "A bunch of apprentices have gone missing in Colorado Springs, two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is paying off the El Paso ME's office, because there's, like, no evidence from either of the crime scenes." A pause. "Oh, shit, did I forget to tell you guys about that? I can't think of what was going on a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't--"

Grace
She can do that, at times -- pop out of nowhere, like the crowd or the background just ejected a person you know. Sometimes, she'll announce her presence by doing something strange in the distance, but that's only if she remembers. It's hard to notice that you are hard to notice.

"I sleep plenty," she replies to Ned. "I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me."

But there, an admission: she needs someone to make sure she sleeps instead of just losing herself in the chase.

"OCRing it, I don't know. I was just going to grab the real deal. I can't stand printouts."

She gives Margot a smile. Don't worry, dear. It'll be fine. "You guys looking for a place to live?"

Margot
If Margot seemed a little solemn earlier (despite the bright sunny summery outfit), that was nothing compared to how very grim she became when Doc began to speak of Apprentices going missing and how some of them had been murdered.  Grace's arrival had been a welcome one, given how a touch of the worry in the corners of Margot's eyes and mouth had faded away, but what good the Virtual Adept's appearance had served to the would-be Verbena's sense of calm was quickly washed away.

"We were out of town."  She said this quick and sharp at the end of Sepúlveda's open-ended musing about what was happening in the past few weeks that may have caused this news to escape his pupils/cabalmates/kids/whatever-the-fuck-that-relationship-was.

Grace's question was absorbed with a brief flutter of hazel eyes back in her direction.  "More like hammering out details for cohabitation," she explained, and then looked back to Doc again with a serious weight to her expression, and dragging her shoulders down as well.

"Isn't anyone besides some paid-off police looking into the matter?  You know, someone like us?"

Sepúlveda
I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me.

"Gross," he says, and takes another drink.

Ned
"...And that never stopped you from Text bombing us before..."

Ned chimes in after Margot, murmuring it with little to no force. If anything, Ned's own concern and worry suddenly goes inward and he seems to pull his attention back from the conversation, allowing Margot to take the first steps in the matter by asking questions.

Sepúlveda
"What never stopped me from text bombing you before?"

Margot
"Distance," Margot sounded clipped and anxious and heard it in her own voice as soon as the word snapped out off her tongue.  She closed her eyes, took a breath in through her nose, then tried again.

"I'm sorry.  Please, though, come on.  What's happening with the apprentices?"

Grace
Grace gives Dr. Sepúlveda the look of pure confusion. "What's gross about sleeping?"

She stops, considers the tree. Still can't figure it out. Decides to drop that thread, because whenever she gets confused like this, it doesn't bode well.

"I am looking into it. Though, I just found out about it, and don't have a whole lot to go on," she says. "Apparently, there were a lot of new Mages in Colorado Springs. There aren't anymore. And whoever's doing it is sweeping their tracks."

Sepúlveda
"There's a Chorister on the CSPD who caught wind of what was happening, she mentioned it to me, I scraped up what little evidence the perp or whoever was helping the perp left behind, I gave it to Grace. We're handling it."

That said: "Hey, Grace, that hitman you're shacking up with, I want to sell him an initiate. You think you can get me an estimate?"

Ned
"Sweeping how? Cleaning kill sites? Bodies missing?"

Ned pauses to stare around at the Normals that are haunting the area. His voice is purposefully low and he takes that moment to step a little closer so as to allow his voice to lower.

"...And how far outside of the Springs do the murders go? Is it just that area so far?"

Sepúlveda
"It's just that area. If you want to help, do nothing. I need to have to rescue you two from a serial killer like I need a hole in my head."

Margot
Grace explained what she knew and what she was doing, and the Doc followed up by cutting to the meat of the topic by explaining the situation in an overview.  It must have become apparent that Margot wasn't handling the toying around very well.

Do you see the tandem at play here?  Margot had begun voicing questions and finding information initially and Ned had fallen quiet.  Now here, where he was inquiring about the murder radius, Margot had discovered silence in turn.  Doc spoke of rescuing them from a serial killer and Margot's jaw clenched, lips pressed thin, and brow furrowed heavily-- a hard scowl at a fresh and horrible memory.

Following that she found a spot in the distance behind the tree to stare into unfocused, and took to slowly sipping the rest of her iced coffee through the straw.  A perfect excuse not to speak as any.  That hard frowning moment disconnected her from the discussion and now she seemed to be tuned out and waiting for it to end.

Or grappling with something in her mind and heart on the spot and trying not to lapse into a panicked state.

Maybe all of the above.

Grace
"He's not... exactly a hit man, and you..." Know that. It's just Andrés Sepúlveda being himself. Right. "Want to sell him an initiate?"

She sighs. The man is incomprehensible at best.

"And yeah. As far as anyone can tell, the murderer left only a partial fingerprint and a single hair behind, in five murders. Something fishy's going on, definitely."

She turns her attentions back toward the actual people, notices the discomfort in the area. "Look, after this investigation shit is over, I have a project you guys might be interested in. I've got some money burning a hole in multiple bank accounts just waiting to be spent on some real estate. An apartment complex, you know? For people like us. You'd be able to 'cohabitate' with a lot more ease, maybe?"

Ned
"You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims? I can't imagine awakened dead, being horribly murdered is going to leave a particularly restful spirit."

Ned and Margot both had some experience dealing with that. Well...once. Unpleasantly. It nearly got them killed by Zombies. That had been....fun? No, wrong word. Regardless, Ned seems almost to ignore the Doc's mention of Serial Killers and rescuing them, directing the question toward Grace....which of course, was probably more to do with Doc's irreverent take on Ghosts and the Spirit Sphere in general.

"Relax, Doc." Ned finally turns to look at Andres. "Margot and I are taking a hiatus from 'rushing in to Scooby Doo things'. The more questions I have answers for though, the more likely I can take precautions going to and from home, incase whoever or whatever this is, decides Colorado Springs is all dried up and wants to make a move to bigger pastures."

Then back toward Grace at mention of 'Money' and 'Apartment Complex'.

"Isn't that sort of putting all our eggs in one basket? And wouldn't the multitudes of conflicting Paradigms make for a Paradox buffet of epic proportions?"

Sepúlveda
Want to sell him an initiate?

At least Andrés thinks Andrés is funny. He takes a swallow from the flask instead of answering and looks over his shoulder to make sure Margot hasn't gone too far away. No remorse in his gaze, though it's hard to tell with the glare over his glasses and the fact that he tries to keep his emotional range between Excited and Annoyed.

You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims?

He flicks his eyebrows and cants his head to one side. No. No he did not try that. Because he has no training in Spirit. Still, it's not a bad idea.

Drink.

Margot
[Get out of your head, Margot]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Margot
Margot's silence stretched out long enough that she came back in around talk of moving on from Colorado Springs and into bigger, greener pastures.  Her eyes had been out of focus and she was drifting nearer and nearer to the middle distance that she stared at, and thusly further and further inward (rescue you from a serial killer.... we don't need rescuing, we just proved that... how'd you handle the serial killer, Margot?  what did you do?  what did you do?  what did you--).

With a sudden sniff Margot came back to, ducked her head and lifted her hand.  The wide brim of her hat hid her face from view so that she could more effectively pretend to be catching a bug or bit of pollen out of her eye.  In reality she was brushing away tears and scrubbing at her eyelids fiercely with her fingertips and coaching herself to get it the fuck together.

When she lifted her head to show her face again she looked like she was about ready to cry, or like she had only just recovered from crying perhaps.  She sniffed a little again, swallowed, but her voice was clear enough and steady enough (after the very first syllable) to pass.

"I don't know... I mean, there would be plenty of wards and watches there, but that sounds like a beacon of magick too.  A big old target."

Grace
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Ned," she says, but the smile on her face takes a bit of punch out of the language. "Paradigms making a Paradox buffet? Paradox happens if you screw up or do something wildly out of bounds, but I've never heard of it happening just because people are living together. Besides, you were the ones just talking about cohabitation -- and you're thinking about doing it with him," she says, pointing at Dr. Sepúlveda.

"I can see the wisdom in not putting our eggs in one basket, but I can also see the wisdom of strength in numbers, and having a place with wards and robot dragon security guards... I mean, that sounds so amazingly wise to me," she says, grinning like she might have a touch of mad scientist to her herself.

She shrugs at Margot. "We're always a target. Anyway, it was just a thought. It'll be there, if you guys change your mind. Or even if you just need a place to go for a week or whatever."

Sepúlveda
[http://i.imgur.com/aMgG2jh.gif]

Ned
"....Nevermind how you even police privacy or respect or courtesy...most of us can barely interact without some sort of friction, tension or sarcasm...and that's just us saying hello..."

Ned climbs down the length of the Tree the Doc is stationed under, settling onto his ass with a grunt. His eyes trail towards Margot briefly at the sniff, perceptions catching the downturn of her mood and the silence that had preceded it but he doesn't comment or mention. Simply listens to Grace's commentary and returns to the conversation.

"Difference between a Cabal and a Commune....appreciate the offer though. We'll keep it in mind." Ned's wiping his hands down the length of his jeans, brow furrowing together. "Back up though. You just started the investigation? All you got was a hair and a partial fingerprint. How many did you say have died so far?"

Sepúlveda
[corr 1/time 2: hang on, doing stuff]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 2 )

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda sighs when Ned starts asking more questions. Rather than repeat himself, he rummages through his pocket to remove a device that looks like a GPS and a calculator had a rough night and starts to punch in... coordinates? Time signatures? It's hard to tell even if you're watching him closely.

From the machine comes the garbled noise associated with a tape rewinding. It's the moment they all just shared together, going backwards on the screen. Ned returns to the tree, Margot goes and comes back. He tilts it so Ned can see the screen when the activity starts to move forward again.

--gone missing in Colorado Springs, the image of Sepúlveda is saying.

He then proceeds to talk over himself, saying, "Damn, my hair looks good today."

--and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

"Whoops."

Rewind.

--two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

Yeah he could have just repeated himself with, like, words, but that takes all the fun out of it.

Ned
"....I can do that to...It's called an Iphone, grandpa..."

Sepúlveda
"I'll show you an iPhone, you little shit."

Margot
Margot didn't sit to join the rest of her cabal that they wouldn't outright call one but instead remained standing in the shade that the tree cast.  She glanced down to watch Doc fiddle with some device that literally went back in time and pulled his voice from it to explain to Ned that two out of five missing apprentices were found murdered.  Then they bickered about iPhones.

Margot just sighed and rested her forehead and eyes in one hand, supported the elbow in her other hand.

This moment right here could be the snapshot that their cabal sigil was built off of.  Just take it in for a second.

"Grace," she said to interrupt the two after a second.  "Will you keep me in the loop, please?  I'd like to know how many times a minute I need to check over my shoulder and if that should change."

Grace
It's like watching a dysfunctional family dysfunction, isn't it? Grace's eyes go a little wider, like maybe she's just not ready to appropriately handle Ned and Andrés right now, but then Margot saves her.

Keep her in the loop, she says.

"Of course. Absolutely."

"Um. Also, I'll tell Mike you wanted to sell him an initiate, though I don't know exactly what you mean by that," she says to Sepúlveda.

Ned
"....Wait a minute how many initiates do you know?" Pause. "...Margot's not for sale..." Pause. "Fuck you."

June 17th, 2016 - The Only Good Choice [Penelope]

Margot
The night prior, Pen and Nick received the same text message from Margot.  It was a brief apology combined with thanks for keeping watch over Yorick for so long and an explanation that all was cleared and she was home.  She could be by and pick him up tomorrow?

A response from one senior Mage or the other dismissed and explained that he could be dropped off instead.  That would be just fine.  Plus it could serve as an excuse for curious eyes to see into the world that the recently-Initiated disparate lived within.

Turns out, that world wasn't particularly impressive.  Margot Travers lived in a four story square building made of red brick with paint chipping from the wood that built the short stairs and stubby awning at the front door.  The building didn't have a sign to name the apartment, it was just marked with its proper number for the street.  Student housing, off campus, the rent helped along with scholarship and tuition funds.  Margot herself lived on the third floor, and the door to enter the building wasn't locked, required no pin to enter.  Pen was able to get as far as the third floor, the apartment marked as Margot's, all without trouble.  It was only once she reached that door that she would need to knock.

Of course, Pen would knock, it was only polite.  It was when she heard Margot undoing a couple of locks that she learned there was certainly no open door policy in this apartment.  Just two, though, she hadn't gone through the trouble of installing extra locks.  She was just utilizing both that had been built in.

When the door opened it revealed Margot standing in the doorway in a pair of denim shorts and a black T-shirt, her feet bare and hair down to hang framing her face.  She wore no make-up and had the faint hint of bruises under her eyes that suggested lack of sleep-- far from abnormal for their sort.  The smile that the petite young woman offered was tired but rooted in genuine pleasure at seeing the red-haired knight woman and the bunny that she brought for delivery.

"Pen, hi.  Come on in."

Penelope
Margot opens the door;

The (ardent, and daring) woman on the other side smiles a hello. The smile is a deft one; a mystery, light on the surface of water in a silver cup; the moon, floating; firelight, dancing - the archaic form of the word 'ardent.' Pen's red curls are riotous and still somewhat damp, caught at the nape of her neck by a (wand) silver-tipped slender piece of wood. Her bangs are sleek, but long again; they curl around the bottom of her ears, pushed to the side. Her mouth is red, and her eyes are gray and calm and bright, and she wears a dress of attractive color, and there's a box with a bunny inside under one arm.

From the box under Pen's arm one can perhaps hear the quiet sounds of a rabbit chewing on something; the box? No; Yorick has treats much more interesting than a box to nibble on.

There is also a bag over Pen's shoulder; as soon as she is invited inside, she explains the bag - a tote bag, clearly not her purse, which hangs at her hip - this way: "Yorick has rather luxuriated at our home; these are all his toys and treats."

She holds the box out to Margot, says as she does, "It's so good to see you!" Vibrant lick of enthusiasm.

Echoed by Yorick, maybe. The sound of chewing stops.

Margot
In through the door, and Margot nudged it closed after Pen had entered.  The fire mage found herself standing in the entrance-kitchen combo of a small square studio apartment.  to the immediate right was the kitchen counter, sink, stove and fridge.  Straight ahead, a couch and a door that was propped open for air circulation, with the screen door still closed but a small balcony visible on the other side.  There was a standing screen blocking off the opposite corner of the room, so one would assume her bed was there.  A door near the kitchen had to be the bathroom.

In front of the couch was a coffee table, upon which five books were stacked with one left open and flipped over to hold the page-- Margot must have been in the middle of reading when the door opened.  Some pocket book with theories about spiritual energies and manifestations contained within, advertised on the visible cover.

With the box presented, Margot reached out and opened up the top flap, then smiled faintly at the wriggling pink nose and sleek pelt of red upon the head that poked out.

"Hey, Yorick," she greeted the bunny, then took the box and lowered it to the floor to allow the rabbit to hop out and re-acclimated itself with home.  The tote bag was glanced at, and Margot grinned a little.  "Nick really enjoyed having a temporary pet, huh?  You guys really didn't need to spoil him so much."  Margot straightened back up from where she had been crouched after depositing the box on the floor.  Put her hands in her front pockets and looked up at the taller, older woman's face.

"It's good to see you too."  The enthusiasm wasn't shared, but that didn't give any impression that Margot was displeased or disenchanted with the woman.  It just seemed that the capability for enthusiasm was tapped dry along with her overall energy.  "I'm sorry that went longer than planned.  I appreciate your holding onto him all that time."

Penelope
"He was as charming a guest as any bunny that never laid a chocolate egg might be," Penelope says, and she leans down (it is an elegance, this leaning; see how the curls loose from the rest swing downward; caress the edge of her cheekbone, are fire bound by solid shape against her collar. The collar of her dress shifts; her collar bone is naked, her skin untouched by summer) to stroke Yorick's ears. There were more than a couple afternoons when Yorick kept her company as she went over her notes, and one time when she had to catch him from certain doom of the forge: fortunately, Pen is quick. She has been accused by both Arianna and Nicholas of having fondness for the rabbit; she refuses to admit it, but she is gentle when she strokes his ears, one after the other.

"But all of the spoiling you may blame on Nick." And Yorick is a bit fatter than he was when Margot dropped him off. "I may need to agree to a pet; and I hope you will let him visit."

Now Pen straightens, tucking her hair behind her ear. Today her earrings are long, metal, hand-made; there are mystic symbols carved on them; they are pieces of artistry, but potent. Could be. Pen's collar is naked, but her fingers are be-ringed, and her waist is cinched by an embroidered belt -- colorful, folksy -- with a buckle that is also a rich symbol, should one only know the way to read it. She has something written on her forearm: see the flash of blue ink against pale skin?

"I want to ask. How did your adventure go? Or was it a misadventure, Margot? How are you feeling, home again after such an unexpected time away? And how is Ned?"



Margot
[Charisma 2 + Subterfuge 2: I'm so awesome that adventure was so awesome I'm great we're great it's not even worth talking about really]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Penelope
[Perc + Emp! I do not believe you, do I? I do like to trust people. But we'll WP this, because you were gone a long time and worried Ari so. O_O -2 for acute sight.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (2, 4, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 5 ) [WP]

Margot
Before Margot had gone on her trip, Arianna may have brought home details of a conversation she'd had with her and the Doc.  Margot had some kind of a misadventure up her sleeve that involved her brother (because she was afraid that Doc would kill him for some unexplained reason), that involved tying up loose ends and was quite serious and grim but Margot didn't really want to talk about it much.  Arianna had offered a lodestone of protetion and connection, something to alert the Hermetic if the little would-be Verbena was in any trouble.  The Disparate Blood Witch had declined.  She'd gone off without a lifeline.

So, Penelope was curious to know how everything had gone.  She wanted to know about the adventure, about how Margot felt about her return, about how Ned was doing, as she understood that Ned had accompanied her on whatever this adventure was.

Were it not for the keen eye and the focused scrutiny, then the moment might have been missed and Margot's otherwise well-executed dismissal would have seemed so easy, so true, so simple that it would have worked.  But Margot's already big eyes had widened some and there was just the smallest twinge of something in them, along her brow and in the corners of her mouth.  What was it?

Sorrow.  Grief.  Surprise.  Horror.  Nausea.  Conflict.  Worry.  Anxiety.  Shame.

She looked down to Yorick and shrugged her shoulders, hiding what her eyes had already betrayed by focusing in on the pet she'd missed.  Nudged a toy turned loose from the tote toward him with a toe.  "Misadventure's probably the better word, but it went fine.  We were in and out within 48 hours, not even that big of an event after all."

Hey, look, a shiny change of subject!

"Hey, I was wondering...  Do you... Are you versed with the Spirits?  I've been doing a lot of reading but talking to someone that already knows, seeing a demonstration...  It helps a lot."

Penelope
"May I have a cup of water? Or iced tea, if you have it?" Pen asks, after Margot lowers her eyes. Pen's gaze was steady, clear-eyed; isn't it luminous too, that tarnished gray? That chalice grey? A sword in water; glass filled with light. Her eyelashes are dark; she adds, conversational -- she doesn't want to push Margot.

"That was one of the first things my master taught me. He said: Penelope, not everybody cleaves to the old ways, but there are some who will guest you according to whether or not you've offered them water or accepted water from them. For a while I read all I could on fairies, too, for their gifts were the most loaded. And interesting. Fairies and spirits: you need to be careful bargaining with both."

"I know my cosmology, but I don't have the Art of seeing the other side. What do you want to know about them, or what do you want to do with them, if I can ask?"

Margot
"It would be stupid to leave an entirely different dimension untapped and unexplored."

Margot's answer was blunt and logical, and it spoke to how her mind worked.  She was a sweet-faced thing, awkward and socially anxious but she'd managed to come across as likable if nothing more to the majority of the Mages that she'd met here in Denver.  As Ned had pointed out, they weren't human anymore, so it wasn't human regard that she had to worry about.  Let the professors and classmates continue to look past her or consider her odd.  Their opinions weren't the ones that carried sway anymore.  Despite that impression that she'd left, Margot was still by far and large more of an intellectual thing than she was a social or empathic one.

She didn't have iced tea, apparently, but she did take a glass from a cupboard and fill it with filtered water and ice from her aged fridge-freezer duo.  "I want to be able to see what power is there.  What knowledge the spirits can impart.  I want to know how to open that door, but I want to know how to close and lock and barricade it if I need to as well."

The glass of iced water was offered out when Margot returned from the kitchen-space to the entry/living space.  An advantage of such a small home is that you didn't need to take many steps to get where you needed, and didn't need to interrupt conversations for movement either.

"I'm not strong enough to bargain with them yet.  That comes later."

Penelope
"Unless they want to bargain with you," Pen replies. "Some can strike deals with sleepers, those who wouldn't feel so much as a shiver of the uncanny standing in the middle of a well-spring."

"Nick [listen, that tell-tale tenderness; ardent-warmth] knows the spirit world. He has always had a knack for it; it is in his bones and his blood. And so he's become skilled enough. Kiara, too; you know Kiara, don't you? She is also savvy when it comes to the spirit world, and the Art of manipulating it."

Margot
"Yeah, I know," Margot said, in particular to the fact that spirits could broker the deals instead, even with sleepers.  Her words were simple, not sharp, not out of the ordinary, but the tone that carried them was dark and hollowed.  The mention of deals and sleepers tied in too close to whatever happened on this misadventure, or perhaps something similarly distressing that had occurred prior to then.  The girl was addled with psychological landmines, who would be surprised if it was something previously uncovered still?

She sucked a tooth and looked back down to Yorick.  Leaned down to scoop the bunny up and cradle him to her chest.  Pet his bold red side absently and comfortingly after she'd handed the glass off and stood with her weight canted dominantly to one hip.

"I've met Kiara.  I don't really know her, though."  She frowned a little, trying to find words for a feeling she had.  "She seems... I don't know.  I'm sure she's nice.  I'll maybe ask."  Nick knew of the spirits too, but she didn't make mention of going straight to him instead.  She held insight that he may be preoccupied by mentoring another sphere to another freshly-initiated mage sometime soon.

"Doc's library has some pretty good books in it too, though.  That's where I found that one," she said, nodding toward the one open on the table.

Penelope
The water glass is cupped in both hands, graceful; it is held to Pen's red mouth, and she leaves behind a lipstick imprint, a perfect shard of heart, after she takes a judicious sip. She thinks about how Nicholas is going to miss Yorick, as Margot sweeps him against her chest; that is a surface thought. The thought beneath that is more visceral; a reaction to Margot's reaction; and Pen is an honest woman, and she cannot the restrained care or the compassion; this is what happens when one, once given to impulse, becomes tempered. Economical.

"I do the greater part of my learning from books," Pen admits. "And, well... if Kiara doesn't have time, or you decide you don't want to ask, I know Nicholas would enjoy discussing the spirit world. I think he misses having other spirit mages to talk shop with. It's nearly enough to cause me to study that Art now, rather than later."

"Have you begun building your own library yet?"

Margot
"If Nick has the time, perhaps...," Margot agreed absently.  The next question, regarding libraries and the building thereof, was answered with another nod, this one more of an affirmation than a gesture in any particular direction.

"Two of the other books on the table there are mine.  I've got a bookshelf next to my bed, it's getting close to full.  Books about spirits and other realms are actually pretty easy to come across.  Spirit I'm not quite so worried about, I guess, since there's so many books for it.  Things like Prime or Entropy are a little trickier, though.  Harder to take knowledge as... insightful and particular as that and have it printed out by an observant or thoughtful Sleeper."

A few moments of thoughtful quiet passed while Pen sipped water and Margot pet the rabbit, then she added quietly:  "Maybe getting a part time gig at a bookstore would be helpful to that.  It's not like the dispensary pays me especially well anyways."

Penelope
The Order of Hermes is an Order jealous of its secrets; possessive of its Mysteries. Penelope is an Adept of one of its proudest and oldest Houses. Here with Margot the older woman considers for a moment; pensive, muse. Look at her: she is a Muse; long neck, easy stance, skirt which hangs from her with water: liquefaction of movement; see how the shoulders want to slip off, too, but never do? They just give an impression: it is a comfortable, vaguely archaic, utterly modern piece of fashion; look at her, though, really: the expression is sweet, the passion is restrained but forceful/real, and there is no one who would ever dream to doubt her self-possession. Self-possession and assurance is in every bone in her body; it is the blood in her veins. So it seems.

"There are books, and then there are books. They come in different calibers, and the best are written by other Traditionalists; other Mages, I should say, because the authors needn't belong to a Tradition to know something about what they are talking about, although mostly they do. Those books are harder to come by, for obvious reasons. But sometimes you get lucky at an estate sale, or in an antique shop. You just have to keep an eye out for cursed items."

Something in her tone says this is not idle speculation.

Pen is an avid hunter of libraries; she misses hers.

Beat. Then, "Margot. I would be remiss, I would be dishonest, if I did not say I want to know what happened to you; that I mark a shadow in your eyes; that I wonder if dealings with spirits cast that shadow on you. I -- " see, she hesitates: self-assured, but compassionate. "If I can be a friend, let me. It's not opening a door that can't be closed again."

Margot
Slow nodding showed that Margot was listening well as Pen spoke of books penned by other Mages becoming lost to time and generations, how they sometimes turn up in estate sales which meant they could just as easily turn up at a yard sale or on some internet sales website or even in a small business bookshop twenty miles away.  Of course she was listening, though, seldom was there doubt of that.  She always listened when there was something to be learned.  Whether she always heeded what she heard was another story.

She was contemplating the caution against curses when her name was stated solemnly, and Margot's eyes jumped from the coffee table where they'd landed to Pen's regal face.  She looked cornered, caught and uncovered at first.  Then half-frantic while her mind raced to try and find an acceptable deflection, a way to brush the subject aside again.

At last came a kind of steeling.  Sort of like resignation but without the sag of defeat that came with.  Margot breathed in through flared nostrils, then sighed on the exhale and turned her gaze out through the screen of her door and into the open air above the street beyond.  Spoke solemnly and quietly when she was ready.

"A spirit has something to do with it but not everything.  I don't..."  She swallowed, continued.  "I'm still processing what happened, I suppose.  How I do feel versus how I'm supposed to feel versus how I want to feel.  I didn't find what I expected...  I couldn't have anticipated what I did find.  I should have known how it would end, though."  Her jaw set into place with molars clenched and she hugged Yorick just a little higher and closer to her chest.

"......Ned had to kill him.  And I don't know how to look him in the eye the same now."

PenelopePen had rested her hand over her chest, thumb at the notch of her collar; her hand stays there while the student studio is quiet; it stays there, though her fingers curl inward, until Margot begins to speak. Then it slides down a spare half-an-inch; it is over her heart. Pen is otherwise content to wait; even if Margot tells her to fuck off; shuts down; so it would go.

Ned had to kill him, and.

Echoes. here; Pen feels, at least, as if there are Echoes; as if she is listening to one, silvered by the distance, and now it has come back as a wave will if kept in a cage; with more force.

This true thing: Pen recognizes Margot's dilemma. It is clear; the way she listens; the way she accepts. The poise of it, which is not aloof. Penelope is never really aloof; she only manages to be restrained, most of the time; restrained, and terribly/beautifully focused.

"It's hard." Beat. "It's hard to look into a friend's face and know that they are as dear as ever, but that they did this hard thing which comes up against your memories, even if you know they had to do it, it was the only good choice." Pause. "Perhaps it will not help now, but I do not believe that you should have known how it would end; how should you have? The future isn't immutable."

Beat. Simply: "I'm sorry, Margot."

MargotPen spoke, and her words and voice were beautiful as many other things about her were.  It was at precisely the words dear as ever that Margot closed her eyes.  When she did tears began to roll down her cheeks and continued to do so through the whole of it.  Margot was quiet, though, breathing foggy from what crying will do to one's nose and throat.  She didn't dissolve, but silently wept and tried to maintain herself as steady as she could.

I'm sorry, Margot.  The girl nodded her head quickly and pressed her lips together tight.  Opened her eyes just enough to see exactly how wet her lashes were, then promptly stooped to set Yorick back down on the floor.  This freed up her hands to hastily wipe her eyes and face with her hands and forearms.  Another sniff, and she cleared her throat and hitched her elbows onto her knees, tangled her fingers together into a worried knot that came to float before her mouth.  It was moved far enough away to allow her to speak, at least.

"I know..."  Her voice was still thick with tears.  She pulled in a shaky breath of air, deep and full, then exhaled slowly before trying again.  "He told me he would, if he needed.  I know he did it only because there was no other choice.  But... but it was so easy.  And it happened because I left Luke.  Not exclusively because, but it was one of the factors in the sequence of events that led to...  what he became."  Her hands pressed against her lips and teeth to stop the trembling feeling in her teeth and wrists and arms.  She breathed through her nostrils for a few moments, then turned her eyes to regard Pen with an almost cautious question.

"How do you know...?  I mean, Nick's a Chakravanti, he's a killer too, I get it.  But Luke's... he's my brother."

PenelopeMargot is crying; Pen's eyes are full of the earnest desire to help; they are opaque with it, even; grey as grave-stones, grey as water-light with all its mysteries. The woman reaches into her book-bag, leather, many-pocketed, a messenger, which hangs at her hip; does not need to dig around. Pen is a Mage who is [Hermetically] Adept at the Art of Correspondence. There are certain things Correspondence Mages are good at; finding things in purses is one of them. Natural sympathy. She pulls out a travel pack of kleenex, and offers one white piece of tissue to Margot. Against Pen's fingers, it is white as snow.

The messenger bag bumps against the ground when Pen crouches, too, a reflection; her back straight, and her mouth expressive. The glass of water finds its place on the floor, where it will leave a ring if the floor is hardwood or tile; will shiver with light if the floor is carpet or rug.

After the kleenex, Pen holds out her hand: it is Daring, this - offering. Holds out her hand to give Margot a place to put hers.

"Easy? What do you mean? Do you mean simple, or easily accomplished?"

Margot wants to know how Pen can know; how she can speak with such ready (true) sympathy; how she can recognize. Pen's gaze shifts to the side for a contemplative moment; it is gloam-bright, it is lake-lady silver; her eyebrows are drawn together, a slash, her lower lip tucked in; it is only a moment of thought.

"I've lost friends to the hands of other friends; I have wished it otherwise; I have wished that it was me, instead, who did it - it feels easier to live with, to know exactly the weight of the choice, to be able to measure it out - or at least it has to me sometimes. I believe in personal responsibility," a faint smile; humorless; gentle. Beat.

"And I had a brother, too. He made a bad bargain; I think he made it, in part, because of my leaving; a brace of Chakravanti gave him the Good Death."

MargotThe tissue was accepted and Margot mopped and scrubbed her eyes with it before blowing her nose vigorously.  When she resurfaced from the kleenex (wadded, tucked aside for now) her breathing was less occluded.

The first explanation of common ground was met with a slow nodding of the head.  That made sense.  But speaking of a brother whose life was taken by Chakravanti-- the Good Death, with clear capital lettering present... well, that parallel was uncanny to say the least.  It had Margot staring with a significant wonder, like this discovery was incredibly important and could mean something much more in the broader scheme of things but her range of vision was still just much too narrow and not nearly powerful enough to grasp it just yet.

A few moments passed, and the intensity of the stare lessened across that time until finally the young initiate was looking back across the floor to her rabbit, who had rediscovered his favorite place on the couch and was happily nibbling a toy he'd brought on up along with.

"It was easy for Ned, I meant.  He didn't hesitate, didn't flinch or pause or even blink.  He just did what he needed to do.  The fight itself wasn't easy, not at all...."

PenelopeThe look Margot gives Penelope is one that Penelope can imagine that she feels; it is molten glass, shaping itself; it would brand; it would score; it would lace itself, stitch itself; that sense of recognition - of stories touching other stories. Pen is clearly touched; moved; affected. During the silence: well, she accepts it; will bear it, as well as she can. But she is a human woman, and her heart is beating faster, and it is an old sorrow. Her gaze shifts to the side again, a thoughtful cant (distant [we remember]), then returns.

"I do not often speak about my brother. I remember him."

This wistfulness; it is like the first taste of smoke in a smooth whiskey.

"How did he know -- well. How do you believe he knew what he needed to do? Were your lives obviously endangered? I'm not trying to make excuses, or build reasons, I'm only only trying to understand. I suppose the more important question is: what do you think of when you look at him now?"

Penelopeooc: Make that 'How did he know -- well.' into 'How did Ned know -- ...well.'

MargotPenelope confessed that she didn't often speak of her brother, and Margot nodded and was quiet.  There, that moment, they were both silent and in the younger girl's mind at least it was a moment of quiet for siblings fallen to dark deals and Good Deaths.  Then Penelope spoke up again, broke the silence when it was appropriate, and inquired about the moment.

"There was clearly no other choice.  We could try to run, but Luke would just follow us and hunt me down in particular, and he'd have left a path of so much more death in his wake.  It was the right thing to do, I know that.  It's just..."

There it was again, that hanging 'just'.  Something that Margot couldn't put into words but Penelope ceretainly understood.  The loss of a family member was hard enough as it was, and this incident was one that she had less than a week to process so far.  She wouldn't get past that 'just' until she'd had more time, and that was okay.  Margot seemed fine to leave that thought incomplete, hanging and understood, and moved on to the next with a small shake of her head.

"When I look at--?  ...I don't know.  I see what he did, and I see that he knows and that he's worried about it too.  Not, like, regretting or thinking that he did wrong, but it's worried him.  I think having blood on your hands is a big deal, and then he sees how I'm looking at him and it's a reminder of what he did and..."  She sighed and shook her head and raked her fingers through her hair a couple of times.  "I don't know.  I'm still close, we're still close.  I don't begrudge him.  It's just the reminder, is all."

PenelopeWe could try to run, Margot says, and if Margot has not taken Pen's hand, this is when Penelope takes Margot's hand: an impulsive, unconstrained gesture; it is accompanied by a (fervent) squeeze; she lets Margot's hand stay or leave after as it would.

When Margot rakes her fingers through her hair, Penelope settles so she is sitting weight on one flank and reaches out to stroke the nibbling dowsing bunny's long silky ears, lifting one higher than the other, touching the skull of him.

"Having blood on your hands is a big deal." Agreement. And then, "I hope you find yourself stronger in the end, for all this. Truly, if you ever want to just spin your wheels and talk, I will listen. I cannot offer timelines or equations, this plus this equals all better. But I'll offer whatever I may."

Grave, see.

And thoughtful; pensive.

MargotThe taking of Margot's hand caught her by surprise, and she faltered momentarily with the gesture but continued to speak all the same.  She'd returned the squeeze of fingers feebly and let the woman hold onto her hand up until the point that she'd shaken it free specifically to brush at her hair.

Pen had offered to be an ear to listen if Margot ever needed to talk, and Margot nodded and seemed to consider this before looking the woman in the face.  Margot's eyes were still red and puffy from all the tears that had fallen from them, just previously and over the course of the past 72 hours as well.  She was serious and sincere as the grave when she made her request (one that seemed invited by the offer to be a listening ear):

"Please don't tell his story."

Luke's story?  Ned's?  It was hard to say.  They'd kind of mingled and become one in this particular chapter of life.  Clearly, though, Margot's motivation for asking wasn't one of shame or embarassment for herself.  She seemed more worried about the 'him' in the equation.  That he'd end up in trouble.  She'd be lying if she said she didn't get the sense that there was some kind of a trial or judgment in the answers she gave surrounding the circumstance of the death-- a deeming of whether it was Good or Not.  She couldn't have her cabalmates hunted down as marauders, after all.

Penelope"It's your story, and Ned's," Penelope says, and perhaps there is an implication to the ownership granted by that remark.

She says, after a hesitation, "I hope Ned reaches out to somebody about killing. It's a hard thing, especially when one has magick at one's disposal; it can wear you down. If you used magick to help. Even if you didn't."

Margot"He didn't," she said hurriedly in his defense, then frowned softly and nodded a little.  Pushed herself out of the crouch, finally, and up to her feet.  She bustled momentarily through the tiny apartment to get rid of the tissue she'd used and to fetch herself a glass of water as well.

The hesitation was picked up on, and Margot paused in her glance back to Pen before she went about dropping ice cubes into her glass.

"He will.  I'm sure of it.  But in time.  It was.... hard.  Eye opening, but like trying to open them only after they swelled shut when you got the shit kicked out of you."

Penelope"I bet it was. If you think he'd talk to me about it, feel free to pass on an offer to him as well."

Pen leans back against the chair Yorick has claimed as his rightful fluffsome throne; hares belong to the moon, and rabbits too. Also, to Spring, and their bones are good in certain spells. Even alchemy. Penelope teased Nicholas about this, but she seems unconcerned when the rabbit begins to sniff toward her earrings. They are dangling ones, tempting in their gleaming straight-fall.

"I think Andres missed having you two around."

MargotYorick was a largely placid bunny, a large and healthy male specimen that's always been big and handsome and admired and favored.  His was an easy life, and he was easy and laid back for it.  It was only with half-hearted effort that the bunny may try to thieve earrings away, and he was easily deterred by other suggestions instead.  Margot almost mustered a small smile when the bunny sneezed in a way she found particularly cute (pet owners, man), then nodded and turned back about to face the Penelope, but remained hovering dominantly in the kitchen space.

"Good," she said in response to the posibility that she and Ned were missed by their mutual mentor.  She sounded reflexively self-righteous on the matter.  There was just something about being able to say 'I told you so' to a guy like Andrés Sepúlveda.  After a sip of water, her tone was a little softer and sincere.

"Every so often I worry that he really has decided he's better off without us.  But twice as often I find myself thinking exactly the opposite, so I should know better by now."  That was a product of the anxiety, sweet Margot.  Maybe she'd figure that out one day.  She took another sip from her glass, this one longer and more contemplative, before she continued with a tone of confession.

"I shouldn't have shut him out from this.  Things would have gone so much better if I'd just asked for his help.  If he'd been there."

Penelope"I definitely believe you two are good for him," Penelope says, and of course she means it: she never says things she doesn't mean (or if she does, so rare that one wouldn't catch it). It's a confirmation; a sharp cant upward of her chin, quick flash of a smile; it is still touched by wistfulness, light under water or shadow under water (difficult to tell one from the other; either way, clean: pure). "He's a touchy one, but," a shrug, expressive.

That, while Margot is sipping from her glass.

And then, the confession.

Pen says: "You wanted to do it yourself, or yourself with somebody you think of as an equal; isn't that so, Margot? Perhaps it would have been different with Andres' help, but that isn't necessarily better."

MargotMargot swallowed because she felt her throat going thick with the urge to cry again.  It felt sudden as a need to vomit, just a sick sense of sorrow that rose at a moment's notice and she had to consciously focus on reeling it back in and taking a few deep breaths.  In and out.  In and out.

There, composure (largely) regained.  She even managed to not look apologetic over it when she spoke up next.

"We're not his Apprentices anymore.  I didn't want him to come hold my hand through everything.  I figured that it would just be Luke... Just Luke, just being an asshole like he always is, but that's not what we found.  We had no way of knowing."  Ambiguous, and that no doubt had to scrape nails down the chalkboard of curiosity that Penelope must hold somewhere in her heart.  Connections could be put together without details, though.  Didn't Margot mention something about spirits earlier?

She tapped her blunt fingernails against the side of her glass anxiously a few times, then started drinking again just to cover up her lack of anything else to say.

PenelopeThe woman's eyebrows rise, surprised, when Margot asserts that she and Ned are no longer Andres' apprentices. She does not comment on Margot's need to gather herself; does not give any indication she saw it. These things are easy to roll with. They had no way of knowing; Pen nods, slowly.

"But you survived. I am glad." Brief pause, and then:

"I will be gladder if you come out with me now, for some food. And a drink, perhaps. Cuban food? Chinese? Scotch?"

Pen's choice is always Scotch; it is known. She is: a beguiling woman; beguiles now, maybe, rising from the ground smoothly, settling her bag on her shoulder again: look, even clumsily, catching her finger under the strap.

"Let's get--"

MargotLet's get-- what?  It had the potential to be the cliffhanger of the century, but we won't do that to you folks.

It turned out that they would agree upon Cuban.  Margot had never tried Cuban food before, and was a little surprised to learn that there was enough of a Cuban population to find any in Denver.  She had to be reminded that Denver was an actual city and therefore housed a population of every variety, no matter how small.  Young Margot had it in her head that you wouldn't find a Cuban joint outside of a really big city or somewhere further southeast.

Margot had taken a moment before they left to move the screens in her apartment up against the wall to open the studio up enough for the bunny to lope and flop and roll around at his leisure.  This revealed a twin bed set up against the wall with a bookshelf at its foot and a cat tower converted into a bunny tree near the head.  A lamp hanging from the wall, bent at the neck to serve as an obvious book reading light.  Multiple pillows and cleanly tucked linens.  A few pictures hung up on the walls but only interesting art sketches that she'd probably purchased from the student art department and put in frames bought at discount stores.  Understandably, not a trace of her family to be found.

"Okay," she'd said after snatching up her small purse (keys, wallet, phone intact within) and a pair of sunglasses (great for the bright summer sunshine and hiding puffy crying eyes).  "Let's go."