March 10th, 2016 - What Plans Are Made [William, Grace]

William
So, after a few days, it would seem that the young blond man makes use of the phone number.

It would have probably been easier to send her a text message but, instead, he had actually called Margot. Asked if she wanted to go have lunch and talk about modern artistic movements and the potential for parallel planes of existence. He might have been joking, he might have been serious, but who cared because there was stuff to be done and discussions to be had.

William isn't entirely sure why she said yes, or even if she was going to show up at all but he was prepared otherwise.

He was at some place that served artisan grilled cheese sandwiches and craft beer and duck fat french fries. Truth be told, he was usually just drinking when he showed up at this particular restaurant- which opened and closed pretty regularly so today it was artisan grilled cheese and next week who knew/cared what it would be because the beer list always stayed the same. But there was a beer at his table and a messenger bag full of books. Say what one will about the Order, it's made William a lot more of an avid reader.

There's paper in front of him, notes are in French. He looks comfortable- khakis, shirt, vest. Same bracelets as before, and same necklace he can't bring himself to cut off.



Grace
Elijah has recently become the Mayor of a tiny restaurant in the arts district. It's really the only reason why Grace keeps Foursquare around -- is to keep tabs on him. "Chilling on the patio" it says. Yep, that is him.

There are some things he should know. And again, she might want to warn him not to fucking broadcast his location on social media. It's just... no, Elijah. No.

William. Ugh, his name is William now, and that is never going to be not-weird. Whatever.

She rocks up in jeans, sneakers, and her springtime grey turtleneck jacket -- not comfortable at all. Restless. Looking for someone. Looking for...

"El... William. Dude," she says, stepping over the little fence the restaurant had up to cordon off the patio.

Margot
[Aware?]

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

Margot
There was surprise in the young witch's voice when William had called her up.  She sounded worried (a trademark Margot sound, he would probably come to learn) when she answered-- usually people only called directly to ask for help or give bad news.  Lunch and philosophical debate about planes of existance?  There was some waffling (Oh, I don't know...) before she confessed to having nothing else going on.

"I could use a distraction anyways," she would've said at some point.  A time and place were set, and the call didn't linger much longer than that.

She pulled into the parking lot around the same time that Grace greeted him by name (correcting herself on habit of old name, switching to new).  Margot drove a little dark sedan, built to be entirely forgettable and okay on gas too.  When she climbed out of the driver's seat, she didn't carry with her a purse but instead tucked her wallet, phone, and keys into her sweater pockets before stepping up onto the sidewalk.

For imagery's sake, to spy Margot was to see a young woman (was she even old enough to drink?) of short stature and brunette hair to her shoulders, light skin and wide hazel eyes with a dark and expressive set of eyebrows above.  She had a silver hoop in her nostril and simple studs in her ears, but nothing more in the way of jewelry.  Black boots, a black zip-up hoodie, mustard-yellow jeans and a dark gray T-shirt.

She spied William soon enough, but hesitated and stood on the sidewalk with a furrow of doubt in her brow when the lady with dark hair rolled up to the table.  Margot was pretty sure that she sensed something, and had really only met William the one time before.  Unsure if she was trusting of Magickal Friends of Acquaintances just yet, she stood on the sidewalk and frowned doubtfully with her keys in her fist, perhaps considering whether she should heed the siren in her mind yelling bail! bail! bail!

William
He is the Mayor of this particular establishment. And a 24 hour pho place. And a laundromat in a part of town that nobody actually wants to go to, which is a weird thing to be proud of but he has all but warded the shit out of that location saying this is mine and you can just deal. He lives a very loud life. He lives a very loud, very public life. Instagram followers he's never met. Twitter followers and a Facebook feed that is so full of fucking notifications that he's turned them off in his email.

Every detail of his life seems to be for plain view so it's a wonder he has privacy at all. It's a wonder he has secrets at all.

Grace has probably noticed him checking in to some strange places as of late. He spent a couple days in New Mexico. A layover in Kansas. Pictures with some redhead from Boston who referred to him as a brother-in-arms at a bar that was supposedly in Antarctica.

And, yes, he's checked in to Antarcica twice. GPS position said so any everything. He's practicing, you see. Putting things together with that very public life and inserting the ridiculous; give him a few months and he'll learn to fuck with the GPS features on his phone a little more regularly. "Someone gave you the run down," he told Grace, looked up from his notes and his beer at her with her restless posture, "who told you?"

William Charles Faolán Holmes. Not Elijah Renee Poirot.

Technically, neither of these things, just facets of a larger whole that ke keeps to himself. For someone who lives so privately, he does keep some secrets. Catches a look at Margot with her furrowed brow of doubt, raises a hand and waves. Smiles like he's genuinely pleased to see her.

It's probably real.

"I'm meeting a girl here, are you gonna be my wing man here?" as if William needed Grace to be his wingman.

Grace
"Kalen, although it's weird. I mean, you are Elijah to me still," she says, shakes her head.

He says he's meeting a girl here, and her eyebrows go up. There was a time when Grace wouldn't have felt the need to leave him and a girl alone at lunch -- when she wouldn't have totally understood the concept. But now? Well. She would want to have a private lunch with Mike, wouldn't she? Space to be weird with each other?

"Oh. I'll make this quick then. I don't know what a wingman is. But really, that's... There's some things you need to know, man. Alex has been captured by the Techs. I don't know if you know that."

William
[I am one stone-faced and unshockable motherfucker. Manip+sub]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 7, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]

Margot
William had waved to gesture the girl he was meeting on over, so Grace was going to make it quick.  Perhaps there was quick glance over her shoulder in Margot's direction to pick up the small wave in return, but no recognition or reason to do anything more than just that-- a quick glance.  She had to fill William in about Alex and the Technocracy.

She didn't reach the table in time to hear what Grace had said, but came within earshot as she finished and William did the Worlds Most Commendable Job in not looking ready to shit his pants with the news he just received.  So, of course, she had no idea what the subject was or how grim it could be when she approached the table with a hair of uncertainty that almost inperceptively tipped her body away from Grace's direction.  Like a subconscious lean to make room for a wingspan that wasn't actually there.

"Hey," she greeted with the originality of the young.  Looked cautiously at Grace, but pulled her mouth into a polite smile to greet her as well.

Hey, we can't all be social butterflies.  Surely a techie would get that.

Grace
[Awareness!]

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

William
"I mean, she's right there, and she's cool," said in the fashion that one would say when exchanging questionable materials and implying that Margot is not, in fact, an undercover cop that is going to bust him for peddling occult knowledge over beer.

But Grace gives him the run down, and he looks at her, stays calm and unflappable to the point that one has to wonder if he actually understands the entirety of what Grace said. If he truly grasped the gravity of it all and understood how horrible this was and How Incredibly Fucked they must all be.

Exhales, looks at his paper and puts his pen down. "Okay," he starts, takes a look around, "I'd love to keep talking about this but given that it's a matter of city security we're going to need for people to give precisely zero fucks about the fact that we're talking about it here. Can you make that happen?"

Because a master of Mind William is not.

"Hey, Margot," he then addresses once she's there, stands up because it's polite to stand even if it is kind of antiquated, "this is my friend Grace, she's cool. Grace? This is Margot, Reader of Things, Seeker of Knowledge, Keeper of Bad Company." Grins just a little, as though the bad company was an obvious reference to himself.

A second, "I promise, I'm really not trying to spring the entire weird world on you. It just kinda happens."

Grace
Grace has watched a man melt from the outside in. There is a rather sudden reminder of that horrible memory, just as Margot arrives, says a greeting. Grace can't help but imagine the young woman's lips being torn away from her face, such is the strength with which she's sixth-sensing today.

"Hey," she says back to Margot, looks a bit... unnerved? The things she brings to mind are not pleasant ones.

"I might be able to... keep the noise down," Grace says, to William's complaint. Pulls her phone out of her pocket, and starts Working.

[Forces 2 -- Cone of Silence. Diff 5 - 1 = taking time]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Margot
While one stood and smiled to greet her (William, the boy that paradoxically reminded her of a massive storm and a sunshiney beach at the same time), the other almost seemed to recoil from her in return.  There was a particular look in Grace's eyes when she offered up the greeting that Margot would learn to recognize and understand well enough to ignore but for now appeared a little puzzled by it.

It was understandable, though, Grace's reaction.  Margot was like hanging out under hanging cages with the recently dead and nearly dead rattling pained bones within them.  Or like cleaning up a butcher house.

"Grace?"  She asked the name like she was going to follow up with another question, but was sidetracked by the number of titles she was given.  That had her blinking at William for a second, hovering someplace between bewildered, impressed, and unsure.

Anyways.

"Have you met Dr. Sepulveda?"  She expected this may be the same woman Ned was telling her about a short while ago.  And then, easing herself into a seat and looking all the more uncertain once she realized the woman was Working on that device, she looked to William.  "Um, is everything okay?"

Grace
A quality of the air changes, in a tight seam around them all. It stills, along the boundary. The vibrations caused by everything take a bit more to have an effect, like the outside is muted to them (and the inside muted to everything else).

It feels, almost as if those wings that Margot tried to give room to, have descended over the table -- are shielding them all in feathery silence.

"I have met Dr. Sepúlveda," she says, making a good attempt at actually getting his name right, inflections and all. "And uh... not really okay? I was just telling Eli... William about how one of our friends was kidnapped. So."

She sighs into the phone, checking to make sure everything's going well.

"Also, don't call Ginger, and don't come by the Office. Both are compromised. I'm using Ginger as basically just a misinformation feed at this point."

Margot
"Oh.  The Brandt Man."

Apparently Margot was already aware of this-- word travelled fast.  She sat at the table with her knees together and hands in her hoodie pockets, looking curiously around as the world around them muted out.  She's been in circles of silence cast about her once before, but it felt different that time.  Like icy mist separated her from the world then.  Now it seemed almost... feathery.  Was this woman associated with angels somehow?

Don't call Ginger...  She supposed it was a good thing that she didn't know what that was in the first place.  This was noted all the same.  That information, as well as 'The Office', wherever that may be.

"....How much longer could he possibly last there?  With Them?  He's been missing."

William
"Ginger was a mass-messaging system that was set up so people could relay information across the city in a  more secure fashion," he explains for Margot's sake. Still seems calm, still seems unshaken by the news he's received because of course he's going to be calm. Why wouldn't he be? Either feckless and irreverant or actually aware and competent. It's hard to tell, could be the former or the latter or a combination.

"Alexander is pretty stalwart, I think he could last awhile. People are actually going to do something about it, right?" he asked, looked at Grace and it was almost pointed, almost insistent because... well, who knew why. He was doing a good job of keeping it close to his chest.

"Do we need an army?"

He's not joking.

Grace
How much longer could he possibly last there? It's a question Grace has been asking herself, lately. But at least, she has a glimmer of hope that he will. She sighs at Margot. Remember -- this man was their friend.

"I hacked into their systems a few days ago," she says. "He's being kept in a really intense prison cell, so that's good. They're still afraid of him. He's also suffered some, physically, but they went to a great deal of effort to keep him alive and functioning, so that's good too.

"William, of course there's plans. And if we brought an army, that would mean out-and-out war. Nobody wants that."

She looks down and sighs again, lots of sighing these days.

"We're trying to see if we can't either get some help on the inside, or go infiltrating, or something. We're not going to leave him to rot. There's a sweet spot here in a few days -- a moment of weakness you might say. We're sending in a team."

Margot
"A team."

Surprisingly, Margot's response sounded like a scoff.  There was bitterness there, a tinge of it just right at the tip of the tongue.  "Doc told me it's him and one other person they're planning to send in.  I don't know if I'd call that much of a team either."

She wasn't looking directly at Grace or William now.  Not challenging the plan Grace spoke of with fire in her eyes and the righteousness of the young that know better.  Rather, she was looking at the tabletop with a light scowl that was well-practiced.  It was the frown of somebody who wassmart beyond her age and inexperience but already knew that input or advice she may have would be shelved.  Perspective may be considered, because who didn't like fresh eyes, but actual plans or suggestions would certainly not float alone.

"Has anybody stopped to wonder what happens after Brandt's been rescued?  You say you don't want a war, but do you suppose the Technocracy will just snap their fingers and stop on their hats over losing their captive but nothing else?  Have we considered their return strike?"

William"William, of course there's plans. And if we brought an army, that would mean out-and-out war. Nobody wants that." Grace says.

"Any act of infiltration is going to be seen as out-and-out war, nobody wants it but it's going to happen. Things are already there in Boston and in some other, larger cities. Denver is a potential hotspot as is because of the presence of Amaranthine labs."

Because he does seem to know what is going on in this regard. Will reaches for his beer, pulls it to his lips and takes a drink, possibly an indication that he does, in fact, have feelings on this and isn't a complete ball of calm and rational like he's presenting because he downs about a fourth of the damned thing before he puts it back down and exhales.

"The Order had talked about setting up a secondary location and dealing with the potential for heavy conflict, but given that the Office is compromised and we weren't aware that Alexander was gone at the time, it kinda throws some kinks in our brainstorming there,"  he replies, "but I was out making friends by the time Sera had the meeting."

Reduces all the prepwork for potential conflict and building of allies to bolster the presence of questionable resources in Denver to just making friends.

"What happened there? I'm missing some pretty vital shit here."


GraceGrace squints at Margot. "Well, Kiara -- the other half of their team -- has faced down a Nephandus Adept and lived. Walking into a Technocratic laboratory is not the worst thing she's ever had to do. As for 'Doc' well. He does know how to talk science."

That may be the only thing he has in his favor, from Grace's perspective.

"And, I guess, he was very willing. I don't stand in the way of other people doing what they want."

So. Not quite as confident in him.

And not even very confident in William either. Her sharp gaze turns on him, next. "Going to happen? How sure are you of that? We know the Technocrats here in Denver are divided. A lot of them don't want war. We're counting on that modicum of sense they have not to start shit -- hoping that the one guy who attacked Alex might be in trouble for what he did? The other piece to the plan is finding a sympathizer on the inside who will help us pull this off."

MargotWhen William spoke up, Margot turned her gaze upon him and looked pleasantly surprised and relieved all at once.  "Thank you," she told him.  Then the conversation moved on around her.

There was a lot of new information to take in, so the petite young lady sat silently in her chair.  Hazel-colored eyes were half-focused and lost somewhere on the surface of the table while she listened in, taking notes in her mind (wishing she could just take out a notebook and start scrawling down-- so much to know!).

When she did speak up again, it was in a quiet tone (for Margot was a relatively soft-spoken thing [speak softly; carry a big stick]).  Directed at the both of them, since they both seemed to have a firm grasp on the State Of Things.

"If many of them do not want war, then why would they kidnap one of us and torment them in the first place?  That says one of two things:  this was an official operation and the majority of them do want to Start Some Shit, in which case Shit will still Go  Down when the dominoes continue to tip.  Perhaps the sympathizers side with us and we do get Brandt back, but then what?  That question's still hanging.

"Or, otherwise, this was a splinter operation itself, happening without the help of the Technocracy officially.  But it's happening at a location that seems to have a lot of official activity, so that's doubtful."

Her brow furrowed.  They didn't realize it, but she was channeling a particular smothering presence that she was in a would-be cabal with, being so blunt.

"So.  What plans are made for after the rescue?"

William"You are walking into a secured facility, taking one guy that they have taken precautions to not lose. You hacked their systems and took classified data-" he stops himself. William runs his hands through his hair and picks up his pen. "I'm not helping right now, and it's irrelevant for me to argue about the potential for aggression when we very clearly have bigger, concrete issues to actually tackle right now."

"At the meeting, did people discuss what the exit strategy was and how we're going to handle this. The reason that the chantry in Morrison stayed safe the first time all of this went down was because it did a very good job of staying off the radar and bringing a person of interest there will necessitate a huge bump in security.

"Do you want my help with the aftermath of all of this, and do you want help with the planning for what we are going to do next?"

GraceShe again stares down William. "Of course we want your help. We need everyone's help," she says, rubs her eyes.

Was he planning on abandoning them just because they weren't keen on doing things exactly his way? When he didn't even show up to the meeting to make his case?

"Look. Maybe I'm not in the best of mindframes right now to argue with people. I don't think anybody, especially Alex, has the time for us to call another meeting. The bullets are in the air. It's too late now to worry about aiming. You want to help, you help. You don't, you get out. I can't help you decide that."

With that, she turns to Margot, with all her worries, her fears the ones of Apprentices. They always have such fear, don't they? "What happens when we get Brandt back, we'll take care of him. We'll find him a safe place to stay. We'll protect him if he wants it, give him money and accept him, even if he's a total wreck. That's what we do."

Margot"No," said Margot to Grace, and it was her turn to reach up to her face.  She didn't exactly mirror the older woman and rub her eyes, but she did pinch the corners of them and rub.

"No, I'm not worried about him.  I'm worried about everyone else."

William[This is my willpower. Look at my willpower]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

WilliamHe isn't phased by her staring. Isn't cowed by her obvious displeasure, isn't shaking in his boots and clamoring to apologize or tuck his tail between his legs. No, William is sitting straight, looks her in the eyes, and doesn't waver when he speaks.

It may be a ruse. It may be something that hides the fact that he does have feelings about this but whatever very unmagickal facade he put up, it is fucking believable.

"I asked if you wanted my help because, over the course of the last couple of years, you've made it abundantly clear that you do not view me as competent nor do you respect me in matters both mundane and magickal. In other matters of city wide importance, you've asked that I not get involved and I've come to respect that because I look at you as an actual leader in Denver. I have a history of reckless behavior and I am asking you this because I do not want to jeopardize a mission either because those involved can't trust me or because there is too much of an inherent risk for there to be an abundance of moving parts."

He seems, for a second, like he might say more but he inhales again, and continues on.

"If we need a plan to maintain a place of safety for both Alexander and the rest of the city, we set him up with a new identity as well as teach him the appropriate rotes to mask his resonance and his physical presence. City wide, we set up warded safe houses and see who we can get ahold of for emergency escape routes in the event that we get raided.

"Guard our locations, keep on the move, and for the love of all things Holy don't act like we're cowering in fucking holes and let the prospect of an out-and-out war steal our autonomy and tinge everything we build here with fear."

GraceOkay. Now, both of these people are starting to royally piss her off. Margot's being new doesn't exactly protect her. Maybe she's taking asshole lessons from Doctor Sepúlveda?

"Fuck off, then. I'm worried about him," she says, her voice cracking.

"That sounds good, Elijah," she says, eyes going to the sky, not willing to say anything else about his other statements. The lack of self-confidence, the seeing her as a leader, all that emotional bullshit. "I just can't, right now."

They can go and do whatever. Grace doesn't have the will to sit here and deal with them -- the warmongering and the self-serving. She pushes her chair out and turns, automaton-like, to go hop the fence around the patio.

[No, literally, she doesn't have the will. I think it's at 2 right now]

MargotWhile William spoke calm, cool as a cucumber, and at length, Margot again fell to silence.  He caught a sideways glance at the reference of reckless behavior, but she sure wasn't going to interrupt.

She saw the woman's willingness to put up with them any longer crumble, crumble, cave.  When told to fuck off, Margot raised her eyebrows in mild surprise.  She supposed that she'd earned that to a degree, she hadn't been the most patient in correcting on what her question was after all.  But the situation itself didn't really breed patience in anyone, did it?

When Grace stood and hopped the patio fence to leave, Margot stared after her for a moment.  If she were somebody else she may have called her closing statement at the retreating woman's back, but there was something to be learned about pissing Witches and Shamans and other Workers off.  Instead, she held her tongue and watched Grace go.  When a few moments had passed and the woman had time to get some distance between herself and the restaurant, the little witch turned her attention back to William and looked at him with a kind of muted wonder.  As pointed out before, she just had a lot of information to take in.

"So.... I've picked a really good time to join the club, haven't I?"

William[Per+empathy: what's the thought process, Grace? +1 because of a short look]

Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

WilliamShe calls him Elijah, and he doesn't correct her.

"Can I call you later," he says, doesn't realize that she's changed her number. Doesn't realize that he's not going to be able to get ahold of her later without magickal intervention and some practice. "Or if you want to come by my apartment. I think we have some things to work out, and I actuallydo want to work them out."

Still an offer, still calm and collected and put together. But he looks down at his paper, picks up the pen and starts doodling something in the margins. Maybe he was talking about the state of affairs, maybe he was talking about the fact that they have some serious emotional baggage to sort through.

There's a moment of silence, and he doesn't let the facade drop. Doesn't let a crack show in the social armor. He looks at Margot and grins, doesn't quite have the fervor that it had when they first met; the world is heavier, and while he feels gravity he is not necessarily bound by it. Virium. Essentiae. They are creatures prone to explosions and flight.

"Nah," William replies, "but you're probably not going to get the new member care package."

GraceShe stalls in her walk out, mutters "Okay," to the street. Keeps on going.

MargotThe grin was not returned.  William was a social thing, so much so in fact that he did relations specifically for his Tradition.  Margot, on the other hand, was not the most social of creatures.  She was accustomed to not spending much time around other people-- most of her life had been dedicated to reading and studying and she had two friends in school and that was pretty much it.  She didn't do so good of a job at pretending that she wasn't bothered by the topics they'd just discussed.

Well, perhaps not exactly bothered.  But she was certainly taking it seriously.

"Unless that care package includes a set of wards and ready-to-go spells that I can't cast yet, I think I'll be okay.  I have a mentor, some friends, some books.  I'm gradually getting it figured out."

She'd glanced briefly after Grace, then looked to William again.  "So she's in charge.  Or one of the people who are.  There's an actual hierarchy?  Because I was under the impression that the Traditions were all pretty split."

William[WP: not going to say that.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 1 )

William"Grace is kind of de-facto leader because Grace gets in, gathers information, and disseminates it pretty well and is passionate about staying on top of things. Mercurial Elite- which is a kind of computer... science... ie code-based, the-world-can-be-manipulated-because-it-is-data-ish kind of people. If there's shit going down anywhere, Grace is in the middle of it and working on it.

"There's not necessarily a pecking order for the intertraditional relations in Denver. Not based on rank, and it tends to lead towards people who have proven they can get shit done being at the forefront of... well... everything."

"In Denver, outside of someone's individual tradition and the social constructs there, everybody is on even playing ground. Kinda like you're all laid out on a cookie sheet. In theory," he says, "in practice, people who have a lot of magickal weight to throw around- like people who have figured out how to teleport and read minds and go from zero to Jean Grey's Phoenix in four point two seconds- tend to be the ones people flock to.

"You get a little more leeway as an apprentice here because people want to include you," inhales slowly and reaches to take a drink of his beer. Doesn't say anything after that even though there is a hitch, even though he doesn't have to stay on his A game necessarily.

Margot"That sounds about right.  A structureless structure is usually built on ability and worth instead of elections."  She sounded a bit relieved to hear that, whatever her relief on such matters was worth.  The bit at the end about being an apprentice had her huffing a little, the sound displeased.

"Include and recruit aren't mutually exclusive in that sense, though."

A beat.  She felt the need to qualify that statement, and so she did.

"To be fair I have met a few that don't seem interested in trying to bend me into a Tradition where I won't fit, though.  It just sounds like that isn't really the norm..."

MargotAnother beat, then she added as a tack-on thought, to change the subject and turn it back around.

"Did you say that you're proven reckless?"

WilliamShe says her peace on inclusion versus recruitment, which gets him to give her the little finger gun point and make a clicking noise. He may as well have screamed bingo! But this was probably slightly less embarrassing for him.

As for reckless?
"Yeah. I had a friend whose dad got taken by the technocracy, and I was a fucking asshole who spread her personal information about on Ginger because I was worried and wasn't thinking. It was bullshit, and it was wrong, and I should have asked her if I could do that but I didn't. I also tried to actually figure out information about the Technocracy because nobody would tell me anything about them in my apprenticeship times beyond technocrats bad, here's an anecdotal horror story because I don't believe in blindly accepting what people tell me as fact, especially when it comes to boogeyman stories.

"I didn't cover my tracks terribly well, got a message from a guy that was essentially dude, kid, don't poke the technocratic bear from someone we're pretty sure was a technocrat.

"I did research on a human hybrid that killed a couple people after it tried to eat my friend's head when we probably shouldn't have--"

he stops.

"I don't always think before I do something, and sometimes people get hurt. I quit being the golden child apprentice after the shit with my friend and the technocracy and it went downhill from there. You want people to quit trying to recruit you? Show that you're a human being who makes mistakes, tends to make them stop pretty fast."

MargotA laundry list of mistakes was provided.  Spreading personal information about a friend who didn't want it shared, researching the Technocracy to the point of presumably being contacted by the Technocracy and being told to stop.  Attacks from a human hybrid thing...

It seemed there was quite a lot of misadventure and trouble when you crossed over into the realm of Mages, especially after you started talking to them instead of hiding under rocks in the shadows of ignorance and seclusion.  The advice that he left her with, though, had her scowling softly and shaking her head.

"I can't accept advice to be middling.  I mean, I'm not really a human anymore, am I?"

There.  Finally.  A goddamn grin.

William"To the eternal pursuit of perfection," a grin, something pleased as he raises his beer glass. It would seem that all is, in fact, right with the world.

March 9th, 2016 - A Beautiful Drama [Pen]

Pen
After Dr. Andrés Sepúlveda's multi-Traditional dinner party, Pen had given Margot (and Ned if he was amenable) her contact information and asked for the favor returned. That seed is what enabled Pen to contact Margot and ask her if she would like to get together. Suggest either a hike, somewhere with solitude and Spring, or time spent in a quiet bookshop, somewhere without dust and where they do not sell coffee.

And so Margot Travers and Penelope Mars are meeting in a parking lot found around thirty minutes outside Denver. The parking lot is not full although there are a few cars, glinting in their paint their tinfoil window covers, their shining armor against the certain ascension of heat as the day turns those metal chariots into fire air so hot it can scald the throat. March is still too cool this year for scalding air to be likely, but the shining foil window armor is prepared for any weather except for blizzards which it is serenely careless of. The cars have parked mostly far away from one another.

This is the entrance to the Hanging Lake trail, popular with tourists and in the summer, but rather spare of people in March, even if it is a beautiful day. A glooming day, a day all gloomy in its beauty; the sky is clouded, tarnished up with silver linings that are worn and weathered, but it does not look like rain. The air is warm; sunlight glances through the clouds dramatically on occasion, and gilds the mountains, gilds the treetops, gilds -

Here is Pen. Pen rode her motorcycle and, when Margot arrives (unless she asked for a ride; then she was handed a helmet and asked to hold on; difficult to converse on a motorcycle), is leaning against it and combing her fingers through the red flag of her hair, un-tangling curls.

Margot
Margot Travers did not ask for a ride, but she did agree to meeting up and thought that a hike sounded like a great idea.  She drove out and parked amongst the other cars with their sun-blockers in the windows.  Her own car was a modest little four-door sedan, dark in color, decent in trunk size, good on gas and very easy to forget.  That was the whole point, wasn't it?

When she stepped out of her car Pen would find her dressed in jeans, hiking boots (old, dusty, broken in over years), and a red plaid flannel shirt that she had rolled up the sleeves on to handle the heat of the sun bearing down through clouds to turn her car into a low-temp oven.  Her hair was back in a ponytail, sunglasses on her face, hiking pack (small, reasonable knapsack with no obvious brands or frills) on her back after being carried with her from the passenger seat.

She found Pen beside her motorcycle, standing and untangling her mane of red curls from being mashed up under a helmet.  Margot gave a modest smile and waved across the small distance between where they'd parked in the lot, and walked over to join her with her hands grasping her knapsack straps on either shoulder.

"Hey," she offered (eloquent as ever) when she was within easy conversational distance.  "Thanks for inviting me out.  The mountains are beautiful."

Pen
Here is Margot in red flannel and a suggestion of the abattoir and Pen when Margot steps out of her car - an expectant gaze had marked it when it parked - ceases fluffing her hair by this: raking her fingers up so her hand rests atop her skull, squinting into the spark of light thrown by chance from the driver's mirror, and raises the other hand high above her head in a wave. The sort of open-palmed greeting which is held a moment: then swung away.

Pen's concession to the rigorous physical exertion that Hanging Lake Trail promises is some pale green and dark green foliate (William Morris) bo-ho print long-sleeved, loose-sleeved thing with a short collar and undone buttons over a tanktop of darker green, one slither of necklace around her throat (two, actually; one is on a chain which hangs below her collar, and the tank top is high), and a pair of gray pants with pockets and only a touch of embroidery on the pockets, which are mostly hidden beneath the throw-over robe-or-what-have-you (and see how beautifully it would cut the shape of her if it were closed?). She has many rings on today as usual, too, though less than she wore when she visited Andrés and his interns at the Societyman's house. Her boots will serve for hiking, they go up mid-calf and there gape, a soldier's boots for heavy-tramping and see there is a knife hilt visible just at the top of one.

Her knap-sack is still on the back of her bike and before she reaches to grab it, once Margot is near enough, here is the flex of her smile -

Here is the flex of her smile, incantatory - lending her dark-eyed clear-eyed glance some of their shadow because here there is light. The War Mage seems pleased to see the brunette.

"I'm pleased you accepted my invitation; I was hoping we might become friends. Do you hike often?" Those keen eyes (and they are keen, see; weapons must be keen if they are to be of use! And Pen is not always a weapon, but she is always a myth involving something sharp) take in Margot's obviously worn hiking gear, and there's a touch of rue: ask a silly question. "Do you hike these mountains often?"

Margot
"Not as often as I would like to."

Margot eyed the knife hilt on the belt.  She supposed it made sense.  There were any number of reasons that somebody might carry a knife around while hiking.  All of them served as great excuse to cover what she had no doubt were the real reasons the woman carried a blade.  She'd been told about House Flambeau, after all.  If Margot had any blade to boast as well, it wasn't on her belt.  It had to be tucked away in her little olive green knapsack backpack.

"I went once when I first got out here last year, in the fall, but then school started up and I'd just moved."  There was a silent 'and' hanging in the air-- something else that was going on at the time that kept her busy.  But she didn't want to talk about it, didn't like to bring it up.  So she went a different direction instead.

"Used to hike around plenty back home in Maine.  But it's different there-- no mountains, just forest strolls."  She gave a smile, almost apologetic.  "The elevation's way different too.  It took the wind out of me really quickly the first time I came out here, so hopefully I'm more used to it now."

Pen
"My tolerance for whiskey is usually fair; but when I first moved here at the tail-end of last year - " The woman casts a glance up toward the tarnished Heavens. There is something dramatic in the gesture; in the cant of her chin, the exposure of her throat. There is rue here, or wry. Her gaze flicks down and she pulls the straps of her knapsack on and pulls a pair of sunglasses - huge round frames with lenses tinted some dark rose tea color - and places them on her face. The faint mellow smell of sunscreen is already present.

"I was undone so quickly. I could not believe it afterward; fortunately, there were few witnesses who know any of my names and I somehow managed to get home without incident. I don't really know how. If I weren't Awake, I would think I probably gained some temporary superpower."

She crinkles the bridge of her nose, fine lines drawn. Cants her head to one side like well shall we be off and begins to head toward the trail.

"I know somebody - a couple of somebodies actually - who have worked on lobster boats up in Maine, and have a house there. I like those forests. They feel hushed and full of mystery, and the islands - I like them best."

"Do you think you'll go back to Maine after school?"

Margot
[Manip + Subt: Play it cool and casual about going home]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Pen
[Perception + Empathy. Pen's looking at Margot while they talk so -2 Diff Acute Sight.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (1, 3, 4, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Margot
There's a beautiful drama in how Pen looked skyward and lamented the first time she went hiking here in Denver and suffered so from the elevation change.  For a moment there Margot forgot entirely what they were discussing-- something about whiskey and being undone, and oh!  how the little apprentice's brow furrowed with worry when the word 'undone' was uttered.

But back to reality.  It was just a hike, she clearly survived.  Let's get going.

Boots belonging to two different sets of feet started from the parking lot toward the trailhead.  Margot's legs weren't so long as Pen's were, but she kept up just fine.  She was a quick-paced thing and probably used to walking alongside people taller than her as well, after all.

They spoke of Maine next, and curiosity arose-- would Margot return after school was finished?  There was a falter-flicker in the girl's face at the thought.  Well, not so much at the idea of going home, or even of school, but rather because she didn't know how to answer at first.  There was some big obstacle in that conversation that Margot was cranking the wheel mentally to avoid.  She recovered quickly enough, but she wasn't the most convincing liar in the world to begin with.  Plus poor Margot really did have such a poker face.  Let's blame the expressive eyebrows.

"I don't know.  I'm not sure about school either, really, in lieu of Awakening.  It was something that I'd just always planned on all through school, but now that I'm here there's this whole other world to consider.  I'm not sure how I want to fit into the normal world now that I'm less normal myself."

There we go.  Talk about school and not Maine.

Pen
Pen does not pursue whatever trouble she sees in Margot's face. Discourteous to do so and also not her business; still the glimpse of trouble stirs her compassion and dredges it closer to the surface. It is always close to the surface.

"Hmm." This is bright. "Is this because you want to focus on your magick or because you think it would be too difficult with everything that goes on you'll notice now that your eyes are open?"

MargotMargot was easy to read, and her story was a sad one that left her with some traumatic baggage to lug around until she was ready to deal with it.  She'd been stirring compassion in a lot of people lately-- an awkward and clinching hug from the frigid Doctor in a coffee shop, a steady arm about the shoulders and compasionate reasoning from her fellow Apprentice, an honest offer to help and talk from Nick after a brief sit-and-talk (talented, was Pen's husband, in the art of disecting the mind[heart?]).  So, Pen's close-worn compassion being stirred was reasonable.  She had that affect on people.

Her question had Margot taking a moment to give it thought.  She was glad for the fact that Pen was willing to go along the path of School instead of Home instead, and merrily plunged into the topic as any in her shoes would a distraction.

"I think both, when it comes down to it.  Because I don't think that what I have with my Avatar really meshes with the science and math that I've memorized from books.  And I'm pretty sure that She's more important than any salary at a university one day would give me.  It feels way more important."  She tapped her fingers on her breastbone a few times, physically indicating the deep ache and swell of Pursuit and Enlightenment when learning and practicing and breaking barriers into new understandings.  She'd unlocked a new Sphere recently, and did so with the intention of doing so.  It was empowering.  Math in a university was becoming quite boring.

"....What did you do, you know, Before?  Who were you?"

PenThe trail begins by being broad and generous as it takes them into Glenwood Canyon.

The two women have already passed the obligatory map and wooden kiosk sign which states the local dangers and a few factoids about flora and fauna of the area. There was perhaps a short description of the Hanging Lakes. They have already approached the canyon itself, the cleft in rock and the spare rugged loveliness of the trees climbing up the cliff a forest of spare branches just beginning to kindle into spring-greenery still blanched and barren from winter still touched gold and brown here and there by their long winter death.

Comes a sudden machine gun spray of bird-song, as if the bird in that bush there they are now passing as the trail begins to weave really wants them to know that This Is Spring, Motherfuckers. The machine gun spray cuts off shyly as soon as they are near the bush, and a few more bursts follow them once they have passed, but with the embarrassed quality of something which didn't quite mean to and yeah you better know spring is coming.

"Oh god," Pen says. The note in her voice is burnished with good humor. Who were you. "That question will lead us into philosophical considerations as quickly as a fox leads disaster to a henhouse -- or so it can seem with people like us. Before my Awakening, I … "

Here is a falter. What to say? How to say it? Perhaps Penelope's story of Before is an uneasy one and sad. Even in the faltering, she seems collected and assured: collected and assured enough to falter like that and not be worried or made awkward by it. Assured enough to be able to study herself, in front of a young acquaintance (no longer a stranger but not quite yet a friend).

"What I wanted to do was become a famous poet and artist and live a very interesting life different from what my family knew. Somehow being a famous poet would bring me loads of money to live off of," said with knowing swagger; a half-glance. This is sincere, "and use to help other people. I'd worked so hard to get into a good university far from home, to afford that good university far from home, so I was a student for a while. But… I dropped out."

"I had some obligations back home, you see. And when I realized my power," Pen holds her hands in front of her (rings on almost every finger, occasionally doubled-up, except for the wedding ring: that one gets to shine in solitary splendor) curling her fingers in. This (and it is beguiling, a Rusalki smile or a Circe smile, a smile with violets in it; a smile to kindle ardence) half-smile which touches her eyes and lives there and under her skin more than it does her mouth, crinkling the skin of her nose. She wiggles her fingers, as though conjuring.

But her tone of voice is serious.

"I was working three jobs." Or four. Or five. No need to be specific with numbers. Were Margot good at reading people, she might see beneath the surface some clot of old emotion and decipher it.  "Mundane, pay-the-bills jobs. Thinking about going back to school one day only because I'd worked so hard for it and for so long, but even after, I didn't really want to go back. I was distracted by learning where I stood - and how I could stand. What choices I could make, and still have them be mine. That's still very important to me: Choice. I believe it is what lends us grace and will one day see us in a new golden age, one which might stay for a little while."

"Once I decided I wanted to join the Order of Hermes, that was it for my aspirations of a degree for a mundane job - at least for earning one in the usual way. My tradition has an extremely rigorous curriculum of study."

"May I ask what your Avatar is like? You seem to be confident in your relationship with her; or at least in your knowledge of her. That isn't always the case."

MargotMargot listened to Pen's tale of life as an average Sleeping Mortal quietly and thoughtfully.  She drew analogies between her own story and Pen's where they existed obviously-- acadamia, pay-the-bills jobs, wanting a degree because of working hard for it but not caring about it anymore.  But the Order of Hermes?  And being a passionate poet?  Those were some pretty big disconnects.

"It sounds like, ultimately, people end up having to dedicate themselves to their Craft all-out at some point or another.  It makes me wonder if the next decade or so should be immersed in Enlightened Learning-- maybe I can just, y'know, make myself some credentials at a point if I want to go access a job in the workforce."  She's thought about this.  Shrugged dismissively at the idea.  It wasn't important.

"I feel like I'm not Who I Was anymore, nor am I Who I'm Going To Be just yet either.  Not... Not that I'm stuck, I don't feel stuck.  I just need to pick a direction."  Said every Disparate Ever.

When the question about her Avatar came up, Margot blinked with realization.  Pen was right-- she did have a very solid concept of her Avatar, while many others didn't quite have much more than an abstract.  Ned himself said his was more like a drive than an entity-- a puzzle to be solved, an Achievement Unlocked for each new thing learned and done.  She hefted her knapsack to adjust the straps on her shoulders while continuing to march.

"I have the benefit, I suppose, of mine being a Goddess.  All I really needed to do was figure out who she was and then go Google her name.

"She's Andraste-- a Gaelic Goddess of war and victory, amongst other things.  Boudicca called upon her."

Pen"You are at a threshold," Pen says, when (every Disparate ever) Margot says she just needs to pick a direction.

She listens, Penelope. Absorbs. Their pace might slow on occasion, because this isn't an easy trail though they're still in the easier portions of it, and conversation plus alpine air plus the usual rigors of hiking mean that lulls as they pick their way over the landscape are natural.

"Andraste," Pen says, musing. And then, "Boudicca?" A pause; perhaps for the trail, but also for contemplation. Here is the warming of recognition: "Speak to me as a woman to a woman!" Glance at Margot. "I wrote a poem cycle about women oracles once. "So: Andraste - she who will not fall; who is invincible. How do you feel about having such a guide?"

MargotMargot smiled.  She liked Pen's quip about women to women.  But how did she feel about having a guide who's known for being invincible?  Margot puffed a breath-- after a while of climbing, after finding further elevation, she was being reminded that when she ran track it was certainly never distance and it was also at close to sea level.  Still, she kept up fine though.  Didn't look like she needed a rest.  Just looked ahead at the scenery they walked through when she answered.

"It's a lot to live up to.  I think I'm supposed to be like a disciple of her or a priestess to her or maybe her firey sword?  I don't know.  But it's just... I've never been a violent person, you know?  Not really.  I just kept to myself and didn't bother anyone.  It's just a pretty big gear change.  My essence is bound to something that loves blood and violence and I'm compelled to follow that, and I never thought I would before."

Pen"What do you want from her? If she were to appear before you right now, instead of being in the background, a presence in your life: if she were to stand right there, a raven on her shoulder, her eyes even-keeled - would you dare demand anything from her?"

Margot"That she tell me why she chose me and what she wants from me."

Margot answered this one quickly-- she's been thinking about it for a while.  It was easy to imagine her laying on top of her covers in bed, hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling as though she could will a vision or dream to take her to her Avatar in that very moment.  Unfortunately, that's yet to work.  It's given her plenty of time to think about what she'd have to say, though.

"I'm not going to make demands of a Goddess, beyond knowing what demand she has of me.  She's a Goddess."

Pen"And you will be her people," Pen replies. "Do you believe She is more important than you are because she is a Goddess?"

MargotThat question, though, gave Margot pause.  If Pen was patient enough to allow it (and certainly she was), the girl would take a good twenty seconds or so of consideration with only the huff-puff of breath and bootsteps on the trail to keep them company.  Then, with a testing kind of resolve (to see how well the idea fit when spoken out loud):

"I believe that she is now, but maybe that isn't always going to be the case.  I feel like I need to.... establish myself further, I suppose.  The easiest comparison to make is an internship.  Maybe she'll pick somebody else if I'm not up to snuff?"

She shrugged.  This was the kind of stuff that would take a while to sort through.

Pen"'Up to snuff,'" Pen echoes. "Did you know that phrase originally meant sharp and in the know; canny, cunning? Not 'meets requirements.' You seem sharp enough to me; I can see why a representation of victory would choose you. She won't pick anybody else in this lifetime; she cannot - at least the manifestation of her as expressed by your shard of Avatar cannot. What I'm trying to say, just thinking aloud, is that - well. You can begin as you mean to go on, even if you are in the 'intern' stage. Question; bargain with; be unafraid to get what you want from Her, even as she gets what she wants from you. It might be less a love of blood and violence and more a love of what they represent." A brief pause; and then, "What do you think?"

MargotPen's words made sense to Margot in a logical way.  She was right, she wouldn't exactly be abandoned by her Avatar, that wasn't how this worked (except, perhaps, in some very extreme circumstanes, she supposed).  But there was still a fleck of doubt.  An uncertainty.  Something just didn't seem to quite fit.

"Ned said the same thing, more or less," she informed Pen quietly while she mulled that over with a heavy brow.  "It just doesn't seem that way.  When I've been before Her, it's felt so sharp and visceral and bloody.  Not Apocalyptic, but forboding.  Indicative of something.  Which is why this talk of war has me worried, this situation with the Brandt man.  The timing of it seems pretty suspicious, and I don't know how much coincidence actually exists anymore."

kai[Either of you mind if I half-lurk while at work?]

Pen[A Kai, hullo!!! I do not, thank you for asking! Kenna just went afk for half an hour, but I don't imagine she will mind either.]

Pen"They give us tests," Pen says. "Constantly. Our life here - this," Pen pats her chest, the collar bone. Her hair is getting in her face; she should put it up but she likes the wild Lizzie Siddal or Jane Burden mass of it to be free even when the wind tries to put it in thrall as now, when they reach a bluff that looks down at the river their trail has been following. This high there is still some scattered suggestion of snow - moon-gleam glittering. The trail is about to become difficult enough that they'll need to concentrate on that rather than speaking for a little.

But first...

"Wait - hm? What do you mean the timing seems pretty suspicious?"

kai[Iiiiiit's official, I want to play Hawksley with Margot.]

Margot[That would be so much fun! :D :D  *Flattered flattered*  Margot wouldn't know what to do with him, LOL.  Also, you should nab me on AIM sometime so we can get together on what you want for your Adren challenge, then I can make a forums post to get it started!]

Margot"Maybe not suspicious," Margot said, reconsidering her wording with a bit of a scowl.  "Maybe 'prophetic'.  Andraste is also a Goddess of divination, wo who knows."  She shrugged, and huffed, and looked at the incline of the trail ahead of them.

Less talking, for exactly this time being, for the lowlanders needed to focus on conquering this steep.

Pen[Doo-de-doo. Athleticism, do not fail.]

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

Margot[Please don't make me look like a huffer puffer fish in front of this really cool Knight woman]

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

kai[No one knows what to do with him because he's terrible. :D And yes! I should be around a bit more now that I'm not sick. We will chat.]

Margot[Aw sad, sick.  Glad you're better!  We SHALL chat!]

PenTheir lungs must ache. How strange it is, the treachery of the high airs; how the blood will burn for it, how one must angle one-self just so carefully plucking one's way up a steep rocky path, one with twists and falls left-over from winter, where the snow was heavy enough to change the landscape and - just here - fell a tree, roots tangling downward like fingers of the dead reaching up or pulling down. That is a difficult go around or climb, the gray scaled bark and there is a portion of trail where the sky is dizzying in its tarnish and the way is narrow and it is hard. It is just very hard.

It is also stunning.

At the top, where the trail evens out again, and they can once again speak: Pen pauses to lean against the rock-face (root-tangled), rest her hip there (languorous from exertion; she feels vibrant, with her heart tested like this - vibrant and immanent and not quite winded but working [a celebrant]), and pulls her water bottle from her knapsack, takes a deep swig. The breeze picks up again; the long medieval sleeves flutter, their pretty green and white Morris pattern a dryadic flag. "Almonds? Some, I warn, may be covered in sriracha powder."

A baggie of them is taken from another pocket in her bag - mostly, Pen's bag seems to be empty, just water and some trail mix and some vessels for holding things (water, say), glint of metal gleaming, a box, some splash of color buried deep within.

"Where were we? Right. Augury and war. Do you want to be involved in the Brandt situation or war? What do you think about all that? We didn't really linger after Ned asked me his questions over dinner. I feel neglectful."

MargotThe view up here was gorgeous, and Margot was glad for the trail that Pen had selected.  Could understand why it was selected.  This time of year, even with the weather as nice as it was, trails were pretty sparsely utilized.  They had freedom to speak.

Not always, though.  Sometimes they had to climb over fallen trees and along ledges where snow failed to melt and was now clinging and piled along with ice ready to fall.  It made the walk difficult, that and the thin mountain air, but ultimately she and Pen both made it to a resting place without their lungs burning or sides stitching.  Still, Margot was bright-faced and her pulse was quickened, heart working hard to do its damn job and keep her going up the mountain.  When they stopped she too retrieved her bottle of water and drank a quarter of it down.

Where were we?  Right.

Margot held her palm out for some almonds, thankful for the offer, and answered while they were shaken into her palm.

"I can't be involved, I'm too much of a liability at this point.  I'd have been involved, though, if I were less new to wielding the craft.  I don't know this Brandt guy, and I don't want my friends dying for him, but I'm certain that whatever information he brings back is going to be very worth the risks in retrieving him."

PenThe almonds do have tell-tale powder on them, this hint of red which will stain Margot's life and fate lines and sharp her tongue when she bites into those almonds (or shovels them all in her mouth), a tongue-tingling kick which asks for milk or water. Spice is just a way to trick your body into thinking it is on fire. The physiological responses are one and the same. These almonds, they're not so hot. A campfire glow, not skin-sizzling discomfort.

And Penelope, listening. There are few who doubt Pen is a passionate woman, for all she tempers her actions by thought and her eyes are as a reflective and steady color, changing with the sky or whatever she is wearing. Today they are especially gray; and there is an ardent gleam in them just now, lake witchery, some forged thing.

"I hope so. I hope those who go in, if they need to go in, have their eyes open as well; reconnaissance should go hand in hand with the risk."

"What do you think so far of the different Traditions? You have thrown in with them; that seems evident, and I can guess why; what all have you run up against?"

Margot"Well..."

Ask somebody about the Traditions and you're bound to hear an earful.  Margot regarded the steel-and-iron scenery as she did.

"The Doc's the only Scientist I know, and I don't know much about what he is near so much as I do about who he is.  I can't say it's the best way to judge an entire Tradition.

"Order of Hermes strikes me as being very... lordly and courtly.  I've met you, and a fellow named William, who said he was something of a diplomat?  It's all very glamorous and fantastical.

"Chakravanti I...  I don't know.  I've been told that they deal with death a lot but I only know Nick and he seems sort of... shadowy, but not bad by any means."

As for the rest?  She shrugged and popped a couple of almonds into her mouth to chew, feel the bite of spice, and swallow.  "I feel like a Witch.  I've never met a Verbena though."

PenThere is a lot to learn about how someone makes judgment of others. Margot is showing Penelope a judicious face. These are the facts as she has perceived them in the individual representations of the traditionalists she has met. There is this: a brief flare-strike of good humor crinkle of the bridge of her nose (which may be in danger of freckling, if she goes on very many hikes) and of oh self-awareness, this adrenaline leap of response which looks an awful lot like a breed of stillness a caesura in her posture perhaps a deliberation in the way Pen puts her elbow into the cliff wall and straightens. They can talk and walk for a little while yet, almonds still out and water too.

"Shadowy?" amusement, just after Margot's assessment of her husband.

"I used to be in a cabal with a Verbena. I know there are a couple practicing within Denver, but if you wanted I could see about luring him to Denver for a visit and you two could talk it over." (Wistful. Perhaps Pen misses her Verbena cabal-mate.)

She will wait for a response, and then, "Do you think death, dealing with death, should be bad - is bad?"

MargotWalking, again.  Slow and comfortable pace now, though, enjoying the opalescently gray views up here on this hiking trail.  Margot's water was sipped here and there, an almond munched one at a time as they went along as well.

"Inherently?  No.  Death's important like Life's important, if we're talking Grand Scheme of Things.  Even on a small level, prey dies to feed the predator and so on."  Handwave.  "But I'm not especially keen on the idea of death coming to take my friends."

A pause, to dust sriacha dust from her fingers and tuck her water bottle back into her pack.

"I'd really like that," in regards to the Verbena friend she knew paying a visit.  "Would he really come traveling just for a chat with a kid?"

Pen"As long as it didn't interfere with his Vernal Equinox plans, I believe he might be beguiled. I'm sure Thane misses Nick, not to mention me." Here: this faint hint of rakishness; swashbucklers are always rakehells, aren't they? Pen is too (or seems too) sincere and Present to be much of a rakehell, but maybe in another life, or a life that will be. "His work can be very bloody, very visceral. Animal guts and bones. But it isn't always so. Invocations, the elements - cups and - oh, verdancy, mythic symbols. How do you think you do what you have been able to do - magickally speaking?" There's a touch of easy good humor here. "You're all right with it being called 'magick' instead of capital-S 'Science,' right?"

Margot"I'm okay with it being called whatever it is to whoever's using it.  The Doc has Science, you have magick.  I call mine a 'craft', but..."  She shrugged.  It was all the same thing.  She had images of animal guts strewn across an altar, steaming in winter air and bones jangling broken in a cup to be dashed about, their pattern read and predicted.

When asked about how her Craft worked, Margot huffed to try and catch a proper amount of breath back into her lungs.  This felt a little like studying for a final test.  Pen could be a good tutor, she was willing to bet, but she couldn't say for sure until after the test had passed, had it?

"I think I've been granted some power from Andraste.  It's her brand of power, though, so it only really works on her terms.  As much as I'd like to fly around on a broomstick and send curses flying out of a wand, that's not how it works.  There's... a lot of blood.  And smoke, and ash, and violence."

PenWhen you're new, everything feels like a test. Penelope walks along the edge of the path, the dramatic drop to her left. Beyond the edge of the cliff is a chasm, meandering, and the river running; the stone has veins of ice like moonlight spilling caught kept rapt for the day's delight. This is the kind of weather that people go outside in without sunscreen and regret it later; how could such a pewter tarnished sky of white and gray do anything? But that white and gray is radiance; the half-light is generous, but it is still light. "I mean, what is something specific you've put together and has worked out for you? Have you tried to do much or mostly focused on trying to figure out the whys?"

Margot"Oh."

She wanted to know specifically what Margot has been able to do and how.  She flushed just a little bit further than what the hike and spice had already caused and stopped her hands from looking anxious by holding steadily to her backpack straps instead.

"Well, I've 'seen' sound and movement.  I've sensed ghosts, felt traces of magick left behind.  Seen illness and injury and trajectory.  It's pretty much all been with blood so far, either rubbing it above my eyes or using it to touch a wall and feel what's happening on the other side.

"I suppose I'm more worried about the 'why' than the 'what'.  Ned's more of the 'what' guy, I think.  It's like puzzle solving for him, each time he gets to cast."

PenMargot flushes. Pen is has a foolishly open heart; did she embarrass the Not-Yet-Initiated witch-girl? Somber is the side-long glance which measures damage done; brief it is, too, for the trail requires attention and so do her lungs which ache in her chest and tell her she needs to be stricter about her physical regimen.

"Usually your own blood, or do you find a preference for certain animal's, dependent on the Effect you desire? Bat blood for locational sensing, say, or owl blood for ghosts."

MargotAs for damage done, Pen's sidelong survey would tell her that there wasn't much to be concerned about.  Perhaps Margot was simply easy to embarass on reflex?  She seemed to recover from it and move right along without to much concern, because she considered the next question with the same thoughtful exploration that she did the others before it.

"I haven't really tried animal blood, but that's because I don't think She would much appreciate it.  It seems like it needs to be human, to me.  She'd probably accept an animal's sacrifice, though..."

The trailing off was thoughtful, considering.  In what event could she find herself ever slicing a lamb's throat to offer blood to the earth and Goddess?  It'd probably need to be extreme.

"...what's being initiated like?  I mean, being officially part of a Tradition?  I know that it's way different for Hermetics like yourself-- very ritualized and all.  What would it be like for some of the others?"

PenPen listens as they follow the path still upward. They have yet to reach the most beautiful portion of the trail: the purpose for the Hanging Lakes where the path will dip and take them right against the river's side until they reach where water forks in veins of frozen lightning. Pen listens, indeed, glancing over at the younger woman once or twice to mark her expression and earnestness. Margot is a study in contrasts. Her air of carnage, of bloodied carrion, against her studious eyes and her deliberation; her learned mannerisms against her intuitive hunches.

There is a note of concern in Pen's gloaming (gray, the shadow on a lake as the evening settles into the bare trees like smoke) eyes. Say the shadow is cast by whatever intensity burns (ardent, archaic form: burning) in her, makes her interested in other people: shapes her poise, informs her self-possession. There's a cool stick on the ground: it's twisty like a little snake! Pen picks it up and smooths her fingertips over it then twirls it around between her fingers.

What's being initiated like? Pen stops twirling the branch: the long line of her throat is exposed when she cants her head, thoughtful. Flashes Margot a (luminous [witchery]) grin, when she says she knows it's way different for Hermetics like Pen -- very ritualized and all.

"How do you know it's way different for us?" Challenge! But then, behold, she becomes serious. "But, hmm. Before I answer... well, so I can give you a good answer, let me ask you what you feel it means to be an Initiate of Mysteries and what it is to be ritualized? I mean, is daubing blood on your eyelids a ritual; do you distinguish between the idea of Craft and Ritual?"

MargotPen's answering her question with a question first had Margot's dark brows knitting into a frown.  They were often furrowed in one manner or another-- in thought, in worry, in anxiety, in disapproval.  This time, as has been the case with much of the hike, it was in thought.  And in disagreement, just a degree.

"Not always.  I mean, what I think and what somebody else may call it, that's going to be different.  So I can't say the way that it is, just how it is for me.  I think of the entire ability to bend reality and do magick as the Craft, and ritual could be any number of things."  Note, the word spoken with a lower case letter and not emphasized enough to warrant a capital one.  "Like, a ritual could be steps gone through to use my Craft?  But the way I was using it I meant ritual in the sense of how a religion would use it.  Like the Rite of Baptism at church, for example."  Implying that she went, how she just said "at church" instead of clarifying which religion she was speaking of.

"I just know that I can't go 'You know what?  I think I'm a witch and Verbenas are the witchy tradition, therefore I am a Verbena'.  I know that I'm supposed to be... accepted by them, acknowledged as a part of a whole.  I'm wondering what that entails."

Pen[Here's an arduous bit of trail!]

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

Pen"Mm." Like the Rite of Baptism.

Here is an ascent and then a sharp descent. Dangerous: requiring goatish care, clear wits, open eyes, and no little concentration. Pen concentrates, and when it is easier to speak again (she is not too too winded and her body feels good; exercise always feels good; her body is a fine young animal and deserves it), she says: "I imagine the exact nature of your initiation into the Verbenae, if that is where you fit, will be very personal, an ordeal set by whatever coven or teacher initiates you into the Verbenic Mysteries. They are a Tradition known for its work with blood, yes, but it's because blood is raw life -- you know?"

"Because life is blood and guts and all the rest -- and I think the initiation can be hard. Do you belong to a church? Because an initiation ceremony, whatever the tradition which accepts you, will be like the Rite of Confirmation. You'll need to study their tenants, laws, history, enough to be one of them -- to know how to shape your Craft. Then the ordeal! Then after the ordeal, you go your own way, or you stay with a coven: you make your life. The Verbenae observe a number of holy days too."

"For more specifics, you should ask one of them. I know that the Chakravanti go into the underworld, literally, upon their initiation. A Dreamspeaker, depending very much on their brand of shamanism, often goes on a spirit quest. I have very little idea what a technomancer's initiation might consist of; Andrés may tell you that or - mm. There is a friendly member of the Mercurial Elite who might be willing to tell you about hers, if you're just curious."

MargotThe young woman's silence settled in for more reasons than just one.  She had to concentrate and mind where she stepped on this particular patch of the trail.  But Margot was light and sure on her feet and, much like a mountain goat itself, handled the ascent-descent spike with apparent ease.

The other part of the quiet came from one bit in particular from what Penelope had just explained.  The furrow to her brow deepend, an with a small huff of breath she paused-- just long enough to pull free her water bottle and take another swig.  Now she kept the bottle out in one hand while she walked along behind the Hermetic.

Finally, after much thought, she simply said:

"Would I have to leave Ned and The Doc?"

Pen"No."

Her tone is surprised: she casts a glance (pewter, tarnished; bright) over her shoulder, her burnished lashes long and dark; some stray tendril, freed via exertion, having escaped her - oh wait: her hair was always wild; she kept it so, and it has gained a sprig of thorn at some point in their walking, embedded there just beneath a curl; there is a green grasshopper, baby, on the thorn, feeling its way across the fine fly-aways.

"Nicholas and I don't share a Tradition -- sometimes he has business that is his Tradition's business, sometimes I have business that is mine; but stay."

Beat. "Do you know what a cabal is?"

Margot"I've heard the word thrown around a few times.  It means a... a team, right?  A group of us sticking together for a cause?"

She licked her lips anxiously before explaining herself.

"It's just... You said that there's a lot of learning and the initiation and holy days and things like that.  It sounds pretty intensive, like I'd have to go stay with someone who is Verbena and spend my time with them instead, at least until after this Ordeal."  The reluctance there is clear.  Margot has no desire to leave her mentor and companion, even if only for a time.

PenMargot's answer on the subject of cabals receives a faint nod. "Different cabals have different styles. Sometimes they work magick together - a coven does that; sometimes they work magick, but not together in the same way, towards a common purpose; sometimes they look out for one another, closely and consciously. There are multi-Traditional cabals."

Pen: is very compassionate; she listens, reaching up to a tuck a curl behind her ear, slipping the twisty serpentine stick she'd found earlier between some slender branches. She is compassionate, eloquent, even witching; but she is also very frank and direct.

Observe.

"Well ... certainly, Margot, if you want to be one of the Verbenae, you have to actually spend time with somebody who is part of that Tradition. Nobody gets to learn how to blow glass by hanging out in the American History class, however interesting the professor."

Intent: "But you don't have to live with them; you don't have to cease seeing Ned or Andrés; you don't even have to celebrate the holy days with anybody but yourself. I just know a lot of Verbenae like the community; there are private devotions; places where covens have been broken; places where..."

"Well, Thane used to choose celebrate some of them with us, and he was the only Verbena among us."

MargotAgain, quiet from the Apprentice.  This time it was more the silence of conceding a point than it was of deep consideration.  The concept of spending time with a group of people to become a part of them was an obvious one that she had to agree with.  Of course, of course.  Ideally there would be somebody here in Denver that she could start spending her time with, but she hadn't even spoken with anybody yet and maybe it wasn't going to be at all what she thought (what was this about holy days, now?).

Ned was showing no gained faith, truth, or love for Traditions, but Margot still wobbled on the fence.  Being Disparate seemed to be too directionless and almost bitter when it came down to it really, but...

Her silence had spanned for a while now, left twisting about in her own thoughts while she marched and let her lungs work on breathing the thin mountain air instead for a time.  They would speak further of Magick and Traditions and Cabals, and when they reached the place the trail was named for with all its great beauty, Margot would ask about the magic that Pen did.  What could she do?  She'd seen the Doc heal and block sound and replenish liquids but beyond that....

It seemed the kind of subject Penelope could get lost in.  Any of them could be.  And Margot was happy to chase a thought down its rabbit hole and ask questions to learn more.  By the time they were back at their respective vehicles again, voices would be sore from all the talking and heavy breathing on the high mountain trails.  Margot would awaken the next morning with slightly swollen lymph nodes and a raw throat from the ordeal, but it was well worth it.  Plenty learned, plenty thought about, and promises of meeting on the horizon as well.

Pen[The End!]

[Though probably Pen shows Margo an example of what she can do. Will think about it later. *handwave*]

March 8th, 2016 - The Human Heart [Nick]

Margot
Coincidences.  Deja Vu.  It's a small world.  Fate?

When you could access reality to reweave its fibers like thread, those things were looked at a little differently.  Maybe it was just happenstance that Nicholas Hyde worked at the same hospital as Ned Gaites, or perhaps this was planned ahead of time by Some Great Force.  Depends on who you asked

Whatever all of that may be, the fact was that Margot was at the hospital for one, but not necessarily for the other.  The hospital cafeteria was full of natural light and places to sit, for many people came through the establishment needing food along the way.  In this particular case, there was also a door that fed out onto a patio where a few more outdoor tables were available to sit at as well.

Margot sat out on this patio, a little Blood Witch soaked in afternoon sun-- especially warm and bright and direct in its final hours of shining.  She had a text book open and a notebook open as well.  Reading, taking notes, and ignoring the sandwich and soup on the tray in front of her.  Stress was weighing heavy in particular these days, and that could take its toll on an appetite.  And on appearance, too.  Her brow looked like it was stuck in a furrow of focus and worry, and circles were starting to shadow their way into place under her eyes.  Thankfully, that wasn't an abnormal sight to see at a hospital.  She blended in nicely here.

Nick Hyde
They lead a sort of double life, those of them who decide to continue to work a job: they are constantly transversing these worlds, moving back from wakefulness to sleep and back again.  Nicholas Hyde has been told of his chances of being able to continue to do this long term, by his friends and his sisters and perhaps even his wife, who has to be aware on some level (every level) of the danger inherent in working in the sort of place that is more typically a Conventional stronghold.

Still: Nick is not Pen's sort of brave, but this is a risk he takes knowingly and willingly.

He is with coworkers, when Margot catches his attention.  He is walking out with two other people, a young woman with straight long dark hair, unremarkable, and a man somewhat older than them both with large dark framed glasses and a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard, well dressed and with a rainbow ribbon on his lanyard.  Nicholas walks between and slightly behind the two of them, floating along with his eyes occasionally wandering to other people or bits of scenery the way she has seen him do before.  Even people with double lives are still given to the same habits.

Perhaps she can catch bits of the conversation, which to most people is probably only marginally interesting.  " - had to refer to outpatient - " " - pretty extensive trauma history, you know - " " - three suicidal clients today.  I'm ready to go home."  Et cetera.

At which point as they are leaving the clinic they pass by Margot's table.  And Nick's eyes stick to her like velcro, and Nick stops.  "Hello Margot," he says, and the other two look toward her too, and Nicholas smiles at the two of them and waves them on.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

Margot
There's a particular something about immersing yourself in learning that allowed everything around you to be blocked out.  She was here for Ned, having sent him a text asking to meet after work (or something along those lines).  She was doing homework in the meantime.  Eyes down on her papers and books, the ambient sounds of the hospital around her blocked out.

No earbuds, though, that was worth noting.  Her phone was quietly playing forgettable music-- background noise, really, indistinguishable when it came down to it.

Hearing her name startled her, and Margot jumped visible, cursed quietly under her breath and clapped her hands down onto her book and paper as though she was afraid they may leap off the table in reaction to the surprise as well.  Wide eyes hopped up to Nick's face, and immediately her ears (visible, hair tucked behind them) and cheeks went pink with embarassment.  Another curse, muttered under her breath.  Ugh kill me now.

All the same, she cleared her throat and put on a smile.  Reached over to her phone and tapped it a few times to cut the music into silence.

"Hi, uh... Doctor..."  She furrowed her brow a little, like the name didn't quite fit and tasted uncomfortable in her mouth to speak.  There was already a Doc, and Nick Hyde was not he.

Anyway.

"How are you?"

Nick Hyde
Margot: jumps.  Her hands clap over the pages of her book as soon as he says her name, and afterward there is the flush beneath her skin that - ah.  That someone should have seen that.

Nick sees it, and he notes it in whatever private dossier he keeps of the Awakened folks he knows.  He doesn't miss much, Nicholas Hyde.

But there is only a smile there for the apprentice, something just tinged with warmth - that is, until she calls him Doctor, at which point he laughs.  He's not overly surprised (the mistake has been made before) but there's still just this gentle amusement, and insert into it something a little wry and self-deprecating and you have: "You'll offend the psychologists if you call me that.  I'm just a lowly counselor.  Calling me Nick is fine."

Which rather neatly resolves her conundrum with whether to reference him as another Doc, doesn't it.  There is this space in conversation, the span of a couple of heartbeats, where his eyes sweep over her and what she's studying and he says, "How are you doing?  Are you here waiting for Ned?"

Margot
"That's good," she covered quickly, "because calling more than one person Doc was going to get a little out of hand."

He'd find that her text book was on the subject of ecology, an introductory course.  She was taking notes on a chapter about global warming's impact in particular (thanks, election season).  She tucked the notebook into the textbook's pages to mark her place and closed it.  Not hastening for privacy, but tidying her space up to make way for conversation instead.

Was she waiting for Ned?  She blinked, then nodded.  "Yeah, I was just..."  She trailed off.  Why was she explaining herself?  She gave the impression of stopping short on what she was going to say because perhaps it would reveal too much.  How many secrets was she supposed to keep?  Who were you supposed to trust entirely?  Eyes flicked around her.  How safe could it be to talk openly?

At last, realizing what a suspicious nitwit she must look like, she sighed and gestured to the seat across from her at the table.  An invitation for him to sit and join her, if he liked.  "We compare notes often.  Like we mentioned, trust is a hard thing...  Especially with current events, you know?"

Nick Hyde
It is worth noting that until she had gestured for him to take a seat, he had remained distant, not encroaching on her space and looking as though he might be willing to leave at any moment.  Margot might misinterpret this, perhaps with the assumption that she is keeping him or simply that he is not interested.  His eyes linger on the title of her book, and his eyebrows are a pair of delicate dark arches.

At least until she invites him to sit, at which point he visibly relaxes, no longer ready to take flight at the first sign that his continued presence is crossing some boundary.  Nick pulls the chair out with a quick flick of the wrist, this sort of casual elegance that might be Pen's influence, and he seats himself.

There is this quiet sort of understanding with which he absorbed even her suspicion. Then again, one could assume that this is an expression Nick's face frequently defaults to.  "Current events?  So Andrés has told you a few things about what's going on?"

Margot
If Margot looked like a freshman college student, it's because she was exactly that.  Or, well, she was masquerading as one.  Had pruned herself to be one up until the summer after her high school graduation when Everything Went To Shit.  Now she was something of a Witch, who was beginning to sense what empowerment was and smell it in the wind but just still hadn't quite reached out to grasp it just yet.

So, for now, she looked like a college student.  Today she dressed in a white fitted tee with "Ask me about my feminist agenda" printed across the front in black, a pair of olive colored corduroy pants, and black Toms shoes (or, more to the point, a knock-off pair purchased from a big box store-- the idea still stands, though).  Plastic sunglasses pushed up into her hair to double as a headband and assist in the effort to keep the heavy brown mass out of her face.  She even had a nose ring!  A little silver hoop in one nostril.  No tattoos, though.  There was still time.

When he asked about what Sepúlveda had disclosed so far, the girl's dark brows hunkered back down into a familiar scowl of disapproval and worry.  She was going to furrow herself into early wrinkles, just you wait.

"He told me about some half-thought-out plan to study and then infiltrate someplace that nobody should be."

Nick Hyde
Nicholas sits in the chair across from her and his hands are easily draped over the armrest of his chair and his legs positioned in this way that makes him almost look as though he'd found this forest throne and seated himself in it, as though he were some Sleeping King.  And maybe some intrinsic element of him influences that, in the hair dark as a crow's wing that kinks over his forehead and around his ears and in the way his eyes tend to wander with that impression of Not Quite Here.

He, like Pen, sometimes looks like a painting too, if something more understated and somber in nature.

Just now his attention is on Margot though, at least for the time being.  And there'd been this little lift of a corner of his mouth when he'd read her shirt, as though he would indeed ask her about her feminist agenda if the conversation weren't already tending in a certain direction.  And here's this: he'd actually be interested.

"That's the plan right now as I understand it," and maybe she can tell that his voice is too careful here, because Andrés is Margot's mentor and whatever opinions Nicholas has he keeps to himself.  "You don't sound as though you're placing a lot of confidence in that."

Margot
"Why would anybody waste time bothering the spirits around this place?!"

She didn't shout.  Margot wasn't a shouter.  But she did sound and look genuinely exasperated;  that particular nugget of information had been eating away at her in a particular manner.  Aggravated with the wrongness she believed there to be in that decision.

But what did she know?  She was an Apprentice.  The Doctor had to remind her when she voiced this frustration initially.  Things could be traced, she had to remember that.  Correspondence didn't solve all of the problems in the world-- she was just a little carried away by her fresh new understanding of it.

"Nobody should be marching up to the place in person.  There's got to be a way to at least... at least... flush the building out first or something?  But even then."  Margot fretted visibly.  She had a good two days to herself to mull over these worries already, so all kinds of disaster scenarios were compiled already.  "It's their turf.  And they're sending two people?"

Nick Hyde
There are a lot of questions that Margot voices, just now.  And if he is surprised by her vehemence, or takes personally her questions about why they would choose to bother the spirits in this place, there's nothing to suggest it as such in his expression here.

Instead, Nick lifts one of his hands and drops his chin into it, letting it fall into the soft space between thumb and forefinger while he watches the apprentice.  There's this: she's fretting, and she's so young and so new, and she wasn't at the meeting, and there is so much of all of this wrapped up in a sense of control.  In power, and a lack of it.

So instead he only says, "What would you do instead?"  A beat.  "I only ask because sometimes people with new perspectives can help us notice new things."

Margot
The question caught her by surprise, and caused Margot to take pause.  To stop and really look at the man sitting across from her.  He seemed like the courtyard was his space, and it was a peaceful one at that.  He sat comfortably enough in that chair whether he was leaned back with his legs just so, or if he was tilted forward instead to tuck his chin in his fingers as he was doing now.

Didn't he say he was a councelor?  Suspicion began to bud somewhere in the corner of her mind.  Careful, her inner voice cautioned.  These are his waters in which you swim.

Don't get her wrong.  She liked Nick.  Paranoia was just strong in their people.  In Ned.  In her.

"I... don't know.  I suggested leveraging distance, but Doc shot it down.  It just... I don't think that something with the word "techno" in the name would be using the spirits to their defense much.  Not when you can do things like make people pass out or get electrocuted."

Margot
[Manip 2 + Subterfuge 2: No problems here, don't you worry]

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

Nick Hyde
[You seem a little uneasy.  Perception + Empathy, Astute specialization.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) [Doubling Tens]

Margot
Oh there's suspicion there alright.  She tried to hide it, but there it was-- her poker face wasn't bad today but it wasn't great overall either.

Of course, it didn't hurt that Nick had an eye and ear for these sorts of things already-- keen-eyed for fear and insecurity in particular.  Fortunately for him, Margot came with plenty of that.

She was worried about the good Dr. Sepúlveda in particular-- scared that he wouldn't come back from wherever he was marching off to.  Scared of abandonment on account of that-- some underlying issue with the subject picked up on underneath the surface there as well (not again, i don't want to lose another one).  Worried about the repercussions of the situation as a whole.

Nick Hyde
Paranoia is strong in their people.  There are echoes of this conversation, however faint, in one that Nicholas had with someone else a long time ago.  The roles were reversed, then.

Nick likes secrets, and he is a particularly good secret keeper, and the human heart hides so many.  See here: Margot has sensed that he might be laying traps (and maybe he is), and Margot has the sort of fears that make a person startle when they hear a human voice they weren't expecting to hear at a moment when they weren't expecting to hear it, and Margot is holding onto Andrés like some stand in parental figure because it's hard to be a child in a large world all over again.

"They don't use spirits to their defense, much.  Some of the intent in speaking to spirits has to do with that.  Some of it has to do with the fact that there are a lot of spirits that hold a grudge - the Conventions have transformed the world they exist in too.  And we can't afford to turn away allies."

He lifts his chin then and lets his hand fall away, back to the armrest.  "Do you think I'm trying to trick you, Margot?"  And here, he smiles, this thing that is gently amused and perhaps a little melancholy in its way.  "I asked you a question because I want to know what you think."

Margot
"I don't--"

Margot looked startled all over again at the accusation.  Did she think he was trying to trick her?  Big eyes glanced about-- where was Ned anyways?  Oh, divine timing, please come to her rescue...

But the glance about brought no relief, and she was still left on the spot with the Chakravanti smiling gentle and knowing.  She looked caught, because of course she was-- her attempt at being casual had failed.  He raised a decent enough point about using the spirits as allies since the Technocrats wouldn't be doing so already.  She was too inexperienced to consider all the angles and options before getting fired up over her own conclusions made in speculation.  There's a reason she wasn't invited to the meeting.

"No, I don't.  I just don't know if this is..."  She made a face, and escaped eye contact by looking at the soup she had hardly touched (a film was growing around the spoon over the surface of the soup, a testament to how long it had been sitting thus far).  "I realized I'm unloading on you when I was waiting to talk to Ned instead, and you seem really nice and all but..."

You're not one of us, said the face he could read so easily.  She was worried about Doc and wanted to talk to Ned about it.  Didn't want to talk to Nick about it because maybe, just maybe this War would make a Traditions war too and maybe then alliances could shake?

Nick Hyde
Margot looks started, and she stammers, and Nick's amusement transforms just slightly, something there in the way his eyes glint and turn lively and their focus is solely on her, now.  There aren't razors to it, nothing malicious necessarily - though she might certainly read it that way.  It's closer to: something in him thinks it's a lot of fun to keep other people on their toes.  He enjoys her surprise.  He'd enjoy it more if it weren't so clearly unpleasant for her.

He does not hide this.

"But you don't know me," Nick finishes for her, "and it's entirely reasonable, and wise, to be cautious of people you don't know.  Traditionalists or not."

There are these few seconds where he considers her further, enough space to breathe in and breathe out again.  Then he says, "It's all right if you do want to talk to me, though, when you're ready.  With everything going on, I just want to make sure that you and Ned don't feel isolated, and that you aren't isolated.  I have a responsibility to you."

Margot
Relief washed over the little witch when Nick spoke up and finished the thought for her.  Sure, it was an inclusive community and all, and sure her mentor trusted him, but she'd met the man once before.  She didn't know him, and he both understood and forgave that.  Commended it, even.  It was wise.

The moment to breathe in and out was utilized for exactly that-- breathe in (one), breathe out (two).  She was steadier, sitting more comfortably in her chair when he spoke up again.  He earned himself a curious raise of the eyebrows and her pause-- she'd been reaching across the table to tip her phone to view the screen.  Check the time.  Hunt for texts.  She was going to be waiting regardless, but all the same.

The time was approved of, and if there was a message she didn't answer it immediately.  The phone was tucked into her lap instead of being left on the table now, and she shook her head with an air of disagreement with what he'd said.

"You don't owe us anything, nor are you responsible for us."  A beat, then:  "Why do you worry so much about isolation?  So what if we were to... I don't know, hole up somewhere and do our own studies instead?"

Nick Hyde
Margot looks at her phone, scans the time and looks for messages.  Nick, he'll be thirty in a few days, and people in his specific age group are in some ways a bridge between these damn kids shackled to their cell phones and people who lived their childhoods mainly within the era of analog.  Still: he recognizes her searching her phone for what it is, this bid to give herself a little space from the conversation, and she needs that right now.

So instead of watching her while she scans messages his eyes instead drift off elsewhere, and maybe he finds something of interest in one of the photos that line the walls of the cafeteria or maybe he notices an awkward misspelling in one of the advertisements there.  He notices something, is the point, and that something doesn't involve Margot for however long she needs.

"I said responsibility to, not responsible for," he says quietly, but with this tone that implies that he sees a distinction.  But this is inserted there, unobtrusive, and Margot has asked him a question (two questions) and here he has a choice.

"I think I mentioned at dinner that I was a Disparate for a long time myself - oh, Pen told you that," because sometimes he forgets.  "For two and a half years, before I was initiated into my Tradition."  Beat, a thought.  "Regardless, I got in over my head and I think without my former mentor stepping in when she did, I would have Fallen or moved so far outside Reality that I couldn't find my way back."

This is when he looks back at her.  "I don't know Alex, the man who was taken, but I wonder whether he had someone watching out for him.  What do you think would happen to you and Ned, if something - gods forbid - happened to Andrés?  What would you do, as things are right now?"

Margot
The distinction between responsibility to and responsible for was one that Margot was smart enough to understand the difference between.  As to whether she cared about the gray area that existed between the two enough to treat them as especially different, though, remained to be seen.  Rather than bicker the differences, she was focused more on the question he'd posed for her there at the end.

She sat up straight in her chair.  Closed her hands over the phone whose screen was locked and tucked between thighs away from view anyways.  Mouth set in a serious line, for this was something that she'd been considering herself.

He could see that she'd been thinking about this carefully already.  Because she wasn't shocked by the thought, but rather grimly accustomed to the potential at this point.  She'd mulled it over enough, goodness knows.  That, and her answer came a little faster than it probably would have otherwise.

"I would try to network for help.  I'd want to call you or your wife first."  She conceded this, understanding that it was the point he was trying to get to with expressing the responsibility he'd feel to help if that situation (god forbid) were to arise.  If Ned and Margot showed up at his office or doorstep with hard news and no direction, could he turn them away?

"But," she added, and glanced down at the table when she did, having previously held the Initiate's eye while talking.  "If Ned had another plan, I'd probably go along with it."

Nick Hyde
Nick can tell that she is mulling his question over; he can tell that this is a topic to which she has given some thought.  (Of course she has.  Fears have a way of bringing these things up, and in the bold, they make them think about the unthinkable.)

There are ways in which he and Margot aren't that different at all.  Nicholas knows this; he is privy to some information about Margot that she doesn't have about him.  And perhaps, if he has his way, won't ever.

"So you have each other," he says, and there is this note there which is not quite tacit approval; something warmer and more akin to understanding, perhaps.  "But if it did ever come to that, wouldn't you rather have other people that you know you could trust for some things?  Or, to put it in some other terms," and here, a flick of his eyes toward the book she'd shut and set aside earlier, "things raised in isolation wither and die.  You have to allow plants to cross-pollinate in order to have a healthy garden.  All that."

Margot
So you have each other.  Margot blushed, but nodded all the same.  She couldn't begin to guess the ways in which she and Nick were similar, aside from their shared gift in magick.  The Doctor told her once that everyone Awoke and they were usually situations not unlike hers and Neds-- terrifying, bloody, and left you reeling with no surface to grasp and no hand to hold.  No explanation provided.  Maybe that was where they were similar?  If he had his way, though, she'd never know.

The reference to pollination earned him a raised eyebrow.  "...Perhaps not the best metaphor," she offered, but smiled just a tiny bit (shaky, a truce, a request for a lighter air).  "But I see what you're saying.  And I appreciate it.  I'm sorry for the funny way of showing it there earlier, but I do."

The phone in her lap buzzed-- a message received.  This drew her attention for fewer seconds than could be counted on one hand, just enough time to read and then lock the screen once again.  Whatever the message was, it prompted her to stand.  She plucked the sweatshirt from the back of her chair and pulled it on (but left it unzipped).  "Looks like I'll have to catch Ned later, he's staying on for a while longer."

Textbook and food tray were gathered up, both of them.  She hadn't carried a bag with her so the book was tucked under one arm instead-- thankfully she'd only carried the one along with.  Certainly she wouldn't just depart on that note, though.

"You don't, ah, need a ride or something do you?"

Nick Hyde
Margot...blushes.  Nick doesn't miss that either.

But for now, he chooses to store it, sit on it, because: everything in its time, right?  And she smiles, and so does he, and he waves away her comment on his ability to craft metaphor.  "They can't all be winners," he says.

Margot is rising, and so does he; being able to sense when a conversation has come to its end is a useful talent.  He shakes his head when she asks whether he needs a ride, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.  "Thanks for offering, but no," he says.  "I was on my way out to my car when I caught you.  It's back out that way - " a gesture toward one of the side doors - "in the employee parking lot."

Where, he imagines, she did not park herself, and so they part ways.  Before they do he catches her eyes again, as he did when he stopped earlier, and he says, "I meant what I said earlier.  If you need to talk to me, you can, and you know where to find me."

Another smile, this quick thing that is only a little knowing.  "Say hi to Ned for me when you see him later."