The Internet

Poirot
[Did I sleep?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 6, 9) ( success x 1 )
The Internet
[[Okay, the computer sits in front of Elijah! What specifically is he looking for on those fringe message boards?]]
Poirot
[Haha! Right now, he's looking into government kidnappings and cover ups. Cross referencing that with any reference people make to any kind of New World Order (which is just mainstream enough to HOPEFULLY not draw too much attention)]
The Internet
[[Okay! Int+Computer vs. 8 to sift through all the crap and try to find something potentially legit]]
Poirot
[Int+computers, diff 8]
Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (5, 5, 5, 6) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
Poirot
(can I extend?)
Poirot
[if I can? Then here goes! If not, that's cool too! Disregard]
Dice: 4 d10 TN9 (5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
The Internet
And thus, Elijah bravely dives into the world of conspiracy nuts. It's not as difficult as one might think to find stories of the New World Order kidnapping people. (Or perhaps people think it's easy; it all depends on your paranoia.) What's difficult is to sort through all the insane, tin foil hat-wearing ramblings to find some stories that might have an inkling of truth.
I saw black helicopters outside my window and then my cattle went missing.
There was a guy in a black suit who was hanging around when my girlfriend vanished. She showed up in Hawaii, weeks later with a new guy. I think she was abducted by aliens, that's not like her at all.
I'm being followed by mysterious government men all the time, I think they know I'm listening to their secret transmissions about who killed Kennedy through my fillings.
The Truth is Out There
You know, all that kind of nonsense. Or maybe it's not nonsense, who knows? Either way, it's not what Elijah is looking for. It isn't until he's been reading through stories until thinks his eyes are about to start bleeding that he comes across a tale of a woman who is looking for her son. What strikes Elijah about it is the fact that the story is posted in a forum about government kidnappings, but it doesn't mention any of the usual insanity.
The woman, Helen Scott, says that her son Isaac went missing about five years ago. Isaac was living with a group of friends in Seattle and had "fallen in with a bad crowd." A bunch of black-haired...you know, occult people...who listened to dark music and wore black nail polish and such. He had changed since then and she suspected that he was in a cult. But the entire group had vanished, except for one girl who was found dead, shot execution-style in their group apartment. Helen fears that they were "disappeared" for being too strange; Isaac had mentioned something in one of his rare emails to her about how they were looking into some other disappearances of people who were like them. She's afraid that they've been taken as some kind of terrorists and the government is just denying it.
It doesn't relate to Doctor Morgan or Khaled. But it's something.
Poirot
The internet? Is weird.
Elijah figures this is what he gets for starting the 4chan and then going even deeper in to the realm of what the Holy Hell is wrong with people? But he comes across one article, one woman- Helen Scott. Someone who seemed normal enough, who seemed content to be describing someone like Alyssa in her son. Something that caught his attention and seemed… well… normal.
Helen seemed normal, and that was the strange thing about her. She seemed normal enough that it made Elijah pause and decide to send her a message.
"Dear ma'am,
I came across your posting and I was wondering- have you heard anything about your son? Have there been any new developments?
-Hercule"
Like Hercule Poirot. The detective. With that, he had to try and look a little more into this Isaac Scott person from Portland. Not that it would help with Doctor Morgan or Khaled, but this… this sounded like the technocracy. He wanted to, at the very least, understand where they were coming from. What they were hiding from. He couldn't pursue this and yet… well… he had to.
Poirot
Dear ma'am,
I came across your posting and I was wondering- have you heard anything about your son? Have there been any new developments?
-Hercule
Poirot
(*Seattle, not portland, my bad!)
The Internet
Elijah doesn't get a message back right away. Such is the nature of the internet...for all its speed and instant information at your fingertips, not everyone is at their computers all the time and it's about an hour before he gets a response back.
The police have been incredibly unhelpful. They think that Isaac and his friends are criminals and killed this girl, then went on the run. But they also haven't filed any kind of report looking for him. I don't understand what's going on.
I was contacted the other day by two men who said that they were with the FBI. They asked me a lot of questions about my son and what he had told me, but I was very tired and stressed and I can't seem to remember what they asked me. They said that they were looking into it and that if I found that I had uncovered any further information, I should contact them.
Do you know anything about it? Do you know Isaac? I just want to know that he's okay.
Poirot
During the time that he was waiting for her to reply, Elijah spent his time cleaning up the apartment and mulling about and generally trying not to be nervous. he checked Ginger, and had been in the middle of thinking through some response before he finally got the reply that he was looking for.
He felt bad for this lady. Really bad, in fact. Elijah scratched the back of his head and went to formulating a reply.
First thing, I don't think that your son or his friends killed that girl-
He makes a note to the side to look into a murder, to look into any police records for Isaac Scott.
And I don't think those men you spoke with were strictly with the FBI. it's okay if you can't remember what they asked or anything of the like. Did they give you any contact information for how to contact them? Did they have names? One of my friends is missing, goth kid, and I was wondering if it might be related.
"Elijah, what the fuck are you asking? Grace is going to murder you."
Poirot
(ugh, computer, why)
Poirot
testPoirot
testPoirot
(come on, don't break the internet)
The Internet
[[Doobie Doobie Doo!]]Poirot
During the time that he was waiting for her to reply, Elijah spent his time cleaning up the apartment and mulling about and generally trying not to be nervous. he checked Ginger, and had been in the middle of thinking through some response before he finally got the reply that he was looking for.
He felt bad for this lady. Really bad, in fact. Elijah scratched the back of his head and went to formulating a reply.
First thing, I don't think that your son or his friends killed that girl-
He makes a note to the side to look into a murder, to look into any police records for Isaac Scott.
And I don't think those men you spoke with were strictly with the FBI. it's okay if you can't remember what they asked or anything of the like. Did they give you any contact information for how to contact them? Did they have names? One of my friends is missing, weird goth kid, and I was wondering if it might be related.
"Elijah, what the fuck are you asking? Grace is going to murder you."
The Internet
The response that comes through is short and to the point. It would appear that Helen Scott isn't one to randomly chat, at least when she's on this particular subject.
I'm sorry to hear that you have the same problem. And thank you for saying that about Isaac. No one else seems to believe me. They did leave contact information, I've provided it below. Maybe they can help you. I only ask that if you find anything about my son in the process, you let me know.
Sebastian Gross: (206) 555-2501Isabelle Wade: (206) 555-2502
Poirot
Elijah took a look at the information provided, and he started in to try and google these two people. He had his doubts, but he needed to see if they really were with the FBI. Something about this was definitely fishy, and the phone numbers were just glaring at him. Waiting for someone, anyone, to call.
Poirot
[int+computer]
Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 4, 7) ( success x 1 )
The Internet
Googling the names comes up with several entires for both "Sebastian Gross" and "Isabelle Wade." None of them are FBI agents, at least as far as Elijah can find. But then, would FBI agents be easily found as such on the internet? It's hard to say, and Elijah doesn't exactly know any legit FBI agents who he could test the theory with.
About that time, his email inbox pings. When he goes to check it, there is a message without a subject from someone named "WyteNyte," without an email address.
That's not a snake you wanna go poking.
Poirot
Elijah looked at the email cautiously, fairly convinced if he opened it, then he was going to end up having to buy a new computer (he might have to do that anyway, much to the chagrin of his parents). He went to check the email, looking carefully at the message. He paused, and then carefully typed a reply.
How did you find me?
The Internet
The response comes quick, pinging into his inbox mere seconds after Elijah sends his response.
You probably don't want to know. Just know that I'm not a friend or an ally. We are exactly opposed in a diametric manner, and yet trust me when I say...Googling Technocratic operatives isn't a wise move. There are ways for them to know.
Poirot
"HA! I fucking knew they weren't fBI agents!" he exclaimed at his computer. The young man probably shouldn't be as excited as he was about that particular finding. He looked back at the message, and carefully again formulated his reply.
Is it bad that I kind of do wish I knew? I don't want to make the same mistake twice. Or, at the very least, live long enough to consider it.
Was Helen Scott a real person?
The Internet
Yes. I don't believe that she will ever see her son again. And if she does, she will regret every second of it.
You're too trusting. Too optimistic. Issac Scott did not kill his cabalmate. He did kill the rest of his cabal. They were sacrifices. He became Nephandi along with the girl in the apartment. One down.
Poirot
"One down?" he asked.
So there's a chance they legitimately were looking into it. how does one go learning about WTF the technocracy is without ending up... well... fuck if I know, i'm lacking words. i'm trying to understand what is going on and my sources aren't reliable. One of them is, one person does not a comprehensive understanding make.
The Internet
There is a long pause, stretching out over several minutes, before... *Ding*
What do you want to know?
Poirot
How are they organized? I heard that they got hit by the stuff that caused the Avatar Storm as hard as the Traditions did. I heard that they believe in science and stuff.
Elijah took a moment to muse over things, to try and figure out what was going on and it had him thinking about the time that he was young and on the cusp of a complete and total breakdown. He tried to think of the counselor who had come to his house, the one whose face he barely remembered.
WTF is a Progenitor? Or Iteration X for that matter?
The Internet
Most of that I'm not going to tell you. What I will tell you about the Technocracy is that they protect mankind from the danger that out-of-control people with far too much power and not enough wisdom to use it present to them. People like Isaac Scott, for example.
The only problem is that some of them take that too far from time to time. The mission is sound, but the methods make them lose their way. "They" won the war. Then "they" failed to realize that there's a difference between winning and becoming that which you're try to stop.
Poirot
Isn't there a quote about dying hero or living long enough to become the villain somewhere? What about a big organizational overhaul? Surely, someone in there must realize that they've gone astray at some point, right?
The Internet
A short response comes back, very quickly.
Funny you should mention that.
Poirot
"Oh, shit," he murmured, looking carefully at the screen. It took a good minute before he responded.
Am I about to regret asking that? because I kind of already do.
The Internet
Relax. If you were in danger from me, I never would have made contact with you. I haven't seen anything to suggest you're a threat.
Poirot
That's fortunate, I pride myself on being generally harmless and not worthy of being scourged from the face of existence.
So, it isn't the mission of the technocratic union to completely obliterate all things that are not exactly fitting into their world view? Because that was really the impression I got. What constitutes as a major threat?
The Internet
When you threaten the Masses, you become a major threat.
A bit of a pause, and then another ding.
I have to go. I have to be careful. We'll talk again soon, I'm sure. Stop Googling Technocrats and hopefully you won't end up disappeared.
Later.
Poirot
Elijah was left to stare at his computer. This person... this person had to be careful. This person might not have actually left the union. Elijah found himself staring at his computer, unsure if he should really touch it or what to do next.
For now, he was content to send a message back
TTYL, peace!

Up Hills

Elijah

[did you survive last night?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 6, 9) ( success x 1 )

Elijah

[I AM NOT A PHYSICAL HUMAN BEING, dex+athletics]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 3) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Elijah

If one was going to do things outdoors, Colorado was the state for doing it. The weather was not truly atrocious. The scenery was breathtaking, and even the city parks could have the potential to sam less than planned and, instead, a little like an inlet of nature in an otherwise urban setting.

He hadn't spent time with Richard since Hawksley's birthday party, and it had been a crazy enough party that Elijah wasn't entirely certain he remembered most of it but he did very distinctly remember feeling the grass and people casting circles and while the magic was not precisely the purpose of the meeting, the thought of magic was one of them. Elijah didn't so much have ulterior motives for asking Richard to come run with him, but rather, that he had multiple interests in hanging out with Richard that boiled down to one simple fact: Richard is awesome, and therefore good company to hang out with.

He wasn't sure he was going to ever admit this, but Elijah was not a physical creature. Not that it really mattered because, at that juncture, it was more than obvious that while he had asked Richard to come running with him, Elijah was not a runner. Elijah had never been a runner, and while he was hoping to she day experience a runner's high he was more hindered by the fact that holy fuck running with an Olympian is difficult. It was through will alone I set my mind in motion he set his body in motion and kept it in motion and not falling flat on the concrete path beneath their feet.

Jesus, they'd just started and he was already exhausted.

"C'est quoi ce bordel!" he panted.

Richard

Richard is pretty awesome. Richard is absurdly tall and ridiculously goodlooking and unfairly athletic and pretty fucking smart to boot. Richard is one of those people you'd just love to envy and hate just because he represents exactly how unfair the Powers That Be are when it comes to doling out blessings, except it's hard to envy and hate someone who's so damned nice, and easygoing, and laidback, and sunny, and kind-natured. Well. At least if you're a good person yourself.

However, none of that is the point right now. The point is: Elijah asked Richard to go for a run, and Richard gladly accepted. They met at some predetermined streetcorner -- Richard lacing up the strings on a slick pair of Pumas, his shanks a mile long, his calves bunching with lean muscle. When he sees Elijah he waves, that big white grin spreading across that perfectly tanned face. He gets up, fluid and lanky and loose-jointed, dancing his weight from foot to foot to warm up.

Now it's ten, twelve blocks later, and they're at altitude, and Richard's stride seems roughly the length of a cheetah's, and Elijah is panting and Richard is talking -- animatedly -- about some movie he saw the other night. Elijah breaks out the French; French obscenities to be exact. Richard bursts into laughter.

"C'est exercice!" he replies, and let's just add another line to the Why Life Is Unfair list: he's fucking French. On top of everything else, this modern-day David, this twenty-first century Adonis, is fucking French. "I didn't know you spoke French. Actually, wait; maybe I did know that. I may have forgotten. Let's go this way; it's downhill."

Call it a small mercy.

Elijah

This is what he had wanted, of course, to go running with someone who was much better at this than he was but Jesus it just wasn't fair. The gods were unkind when they made Richard, because truly the only thing that might be considered terrible about him was the fact that he was a very tall man and that might somehow be inconvenient to him when he has to go in places built for tiny people or getting into smart cars. So long as Richard avoided smart cars, he should be fine.

Though laughter was contagious, and laughter reminded him that he needed to breathe like a normal human being, and that was good enough for the time being. he didn't know Elijah spoke French, "I'm from Louisiana- french happens- but-it's… my grammar blows."

He laughed again, and he turned along to follow the path to wherever they were running because this was downhill and Elijah wasn't going to stop, but he was certainly going to take whatever small mercies he could afford.

"And I'm a French major."

Richard

Richard snaps his fingers. "You did tell me that. French major. I didn't realize you spoke it before that though. Cajun parents?"

They round the corner. True to his word, Richard takes them downhill now -- though of course that just means later on they'll have to climb back up. Unless of course they walk back. Which is an option. It's always an option.

"How'd you end up in Denver, again? I'm almost positive we talked about this at Sera's party, but somehow," wry, "I can never quite remember exactly what happens at Sera's parties."

Elijah

Cajun parents?

"My dad is, Mom's-from-" breathe-inhale "-from Quebec. What about you? You can't see it? Because I'm dying? But I'm jealous of your linguistic-" exhale "-prowess." He was, however, a dead man running. Literally, and trying to hit his stride with his breathing.

"Dude, who was that chick that was on the couch with you? I have no idea who she was, but she was cool," not that he remembered anything else about her, but he did remember talking to Richard for awhile about… uh… something. Halfway through the conversation he'd become enthralled with the feeling of leather and the taste of lavender lemon cookies so the conversation had steered towards… uh… fuck. Something happened, but Elijah did remember very much enjoying himself and talking to Richard and fucking fantastic cookies. And that Richard had a fantastic texture.

That was one more thing- Richard had a fantastic texture on top of being tall, French, golden, and gorgeously smart and nice.

"I came because … I… don't really know? I felt like I needed to be somewhere that wasn't Baton Rouge, so I came here. Denver feels right. Why'd you come here? College? How did you meet Eleanor?" he seems to have hit his stride, at least with the breathing. A slow, rhythmic inhalation through his nose and exhaling through his mouth and even though he wants to pant and fall over, Elijah knows better.

Richard

"There you go," Richard says, encouragingly, as he notes Elijah sounding less like an asthmatic elephant and more like a runner. "Sometimes you just gotta get over that hump five minutes in. Then you settle in for the long haul, see?"

Meanwhile, Richard continues talking. In complete sentences. In paragraphs.

"Yeah, I came here for college. My parents are French ex-pats. I grew up in Berkeley. Could've gone to school there, I guess, but after being all over the world it was weird to go back home like that. Denver seemed like a good option. Far enough from the West Coast in location, but still pretty liberal and healthy and environmentally-conscious and all.

"And, Eleanor was the professor for one of the courses I was auditing. And she has that feel to her, you know? So I knew she was Awakened right away. And then I just sort of sought her out after class one day. I'd been awake for like ten-plus years, but it was never really something I pursued until I met her. I guess the timing was right. Maybe it was fate."

They're at a red light. Richard jogs in place, waiting.

Elijah

"Holy fuck how did you not go crazy?" he asks, and there is no small amount of wonder in his voice. He looks at Richard like he must be a miracle, a genius, ten years without any incident of-Well, now, Elijah wasn't aware that his particular unpleasant relationship with his avatar probably wasn't normal, but then again they were able to bend reality to their wills. What about a mage is normal, is mundane? What about the nature of magic is anything short of miraculous?

They stop long enough at a red light that Elijah is content to stop near dead in his tracks, hands on his knees and he takes the time to recenter himself and get air into his lungs, or at least try to force it there in slow, deep breaths. Like it was meditation. Maybe this was what Jenn had been talking about, memories of being chastised by the tiny pole vaulter for his shoddy form and his forgetting to keep up.

Maybe it was fate, Richard says.

"I think… that… like some things are supposed to happen? like… that we are where we're needed and the universe kinda… I don't know, does what it needs to do to get you there so long as you're paying attention to it. But then there's the whole free will thing- can destiny and free will co-exist?" There were things Elijah thought about, and now that he wasn't running he had a second to try and put them into-

Oh shit, the light was going to turn green soon.

Exhale.

Richard

"I had a mentor at the start; we didn't really get along. So that was part of it. But honestly?" And Richard says something that sounds like pure absurdity: "I think I didn't go mad because I'm not that talented."

He's not an imbecile, though. He's not faux-humble either. He's not one of those people who are annoying unaware of their own blessings -- nor one of those who pretend to be unaware. He slants a wry glance at Elijah, quickly adding, "At magic, I mean. I know I have talents. A lot of them. I'm very lucky in many ways. But magic?" He squints into the light, across the street. Shakes his head. "I'm decent. Maybe even good. But I'm not ... incandescent, the way some people are.

"I've met people whose will is so powerful that I think they couldn't have ignored it if they tried. People whose ability to bend the world is so strong that I think if they tried not to use it, they really would lose their minds. I'm not one of them. I was able to Awaken, to see, and then ... to kind of just let it rest.

"And," the light turns. Without missing a beat Richard starts jogging again, "I was talking to someone the other night about destiny and free will. And chaos. And quantum mechanics. And yeah, I think they can coexist. They must. The very laws of the universe dictate it. That's where the chaos and quantum mechanics come in. Boiled down: you can't possibly predict everything. You just can't. Uncertainty is built into the system, and even the slight wiggle in the starting conditions causes a huge deviation in the outcome. That's what physics tells us. Which in turn says: you can't predestine everything. And what's not predestined -- well, that must be where the free will comes in."

Elijah

[Nothing to see here! Manip+sub]

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

Elijah

He can't quite wrap his head around the idea of Richard not being that talented at… well… anything. it's obvious, too, because of the way that Elijah just kind of looks at Richard and forgets to run for a minute before finally remembering right he has to do things and he runs to catch up with the taller man.

Well, runs faster, pushes a little harder because heavens he needs to push to keep up with what could very well be a leisurely stroll for the other man. "To me? Sera… sera seems that way… like… she is magic." No small amount of wonder there. Though, he does continue, "I tried to ignore it all for awhile… that… did not end well," he laughs it off, though, downplays the fact that this? All of this?

Had not gone well in the slightest, that he knows exactly what happens when you ignore your avatar for too long, and how too long can be insignificant to something eternal.

he listens along, nods and pays attention to the determination of free will and destiny and how even physics makes them coincide. "Huh," he says, but it's more an affirmative than confusion, "I did not know that. And that… that makes sense. I'd always kinda wondered? But… y'know… I'm a liberal arts major for a reason."

Richard

"Sera's magic is so raw and present," Richard replies. "Eleanor's magic is so potent and controlled. And that girl I was talking about, that friend I was discussing free will with? Her magic is just ... enormous, and wild, and joyous. She was definitely talented.

"I don't know about Sera and Eleanor, to be honest. They might be talented. They might also have just worked very hard to get where they are. Granted, I can see Eleanor doing that, and I can't really see Sera doing that. But my point is," and he grins at Elijah, "it's not all a lost cause for those of us who aren't talented at magic. That's the nice thing about being Awakened. You can make yourself better if you just work at it. Some of us just have to work a little harder than others.

"You're a liberal arts major," he adds, "which just means someday you'll find your own beautiful, poetic way to reconcile fate and free will. It won't be all theories and numbers like mine. But it'll make just as much sense." Richard claps a hand on Elijah's shoulder, reaching over as they jog along. "Anyway. Enough talking. Ready to run back up that hill?"

Elijah

[does he survive this hill?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Elijah

"Fuck yeah, let's do this!"

And with that, there was less talking, and more running.

Carissa

Elijah

[Nightmares! I forgot!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Elijah

It wasn't so much the sound of his voice as the feeling that he brought that was noticeable. Familiar. Something about Elijah was familiar, even if he was a total stranger, because he was a sensation that was hard to ignore. His being was turbulent, he was the storm itself- the unrest in men's hearts before glorious revolution. Yes, that was the feeling that he brought with him, the chaos that came along ever-so-slight and ever-so-budding, building, burning, it was there. He was something. He was Something.

He finishes off his song, tries to pull for another one but seems to be lacking in luck with this regard. The young man's thoughts wandered, as he himself wandered, and there were a number of things that could have happened. Elijah was prone to being lost in his thoughts, getting stuck in his own head while his body did whatever it damned well pleased. There was a disconnect, something he desperately wanted to reconnect from time to time. If he could turn it off and have that unity of self he could be all sorts of things, but he lived on conflict. Thrived on contradiction.

A he approached, Elijah could smell the scent of weed. The presence of another person and his attention was drawn to her and her muted colors. His attire was comfortable, for him at least, though he had been told he wears too many clothes. the young man had his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his shirt untucked and fitted and his vest fit nicely enough. He needed a place for his pocket watch, because…well… pocket watch. Whatever spoke to him kept talking, but now it was easier to ignore.

Now, he had a puzzle. No song, no words, just…

"Whoa…"

Elijah

[Per+aware, resonance?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )

Carissa

The familiarity settles her on a knifes edge of suspicion, and all for good reason that Elijah of course knows nothing of. She's an image from some cinematic masterpiece: muted shades of white and denim with brilliant red lipstick and Dwight's red Converse. Long fingers push choppy shifts of black and burgundy hair away from her eyes while her eyes level on his face. His shirt and vest are soaked in and she shifts her hips in one flowing movement then stands her ground.

He had puzzle and he begins his beginning deduction with ...Whoa.

For her response she digs into the pocket of her jean shorts and with a shake of her wrist shakes a cigarette loose and puts it between her lips. Once it's lit and after she takes a deep pull, she picks at imaginary left-over tobacco on her lips.

"Nice vest." She says to him, voice husky.

(To Elijiah she is a thread from the same cloth that built him. Two peas in a pod when it comes to that part of themselves that leaves invisible footprints and fingerprints wherever they are. She is tumultuous and intriguing and all together something else entirely...hollow perhaps? Half empty, rather than half full. )

Elijah

Her voice is husky and something is missing. Some part of her is somewhere gone, gone and he can't stop looking at her and he can't get the grin off of his face because there she is. The same as he is, the same creature with the same resonance, the same fingerprint, but… missing something. Missing part of herself and he wondered… my he wonders a lot now, doesn't he? That darling child, that strange creature before her with hi vest and to much clothing.

Nice vest, she says to him.

"You need pockets to wear a pocket watch," he replies, "so I figured I needed to acquire pockets."

His voice is familiar, the tone nothing but familiarity with this casual stranger and the smoke is curling in the air and while she might not feel whole, he does. He is a creature who is new and fresh and young but… not small by any means. No, his soul was that of great presence, great precedent, and such precedent can be offsetting for the young man.

He offers his hand with a grin, "I'm Elijah."

Carissa

The parts of her that are missing resonate behind her eyes, leaving no spark or shimmer to illuminate the dark color of them. But Elijah is something different, maybe something closer to what she was a year or two ago. Carissa makes slow work of the cigarette while her eyes make quick work of looking the stranger over. He's smiling and while she may wonder if he's smiling because he can feel the churning of something alike between them she doesn't ask.

"Why don't you just wear a wrist watch?" She asks him, hips shifting once again. With each pull from her cigarette it comes away with a blood red stain on the filter. She steps closer in one movement, head faintly dipped to one side....studying.

"Carissa." She says, taking a leap of faith with a guy who feels like home should feel but who she doesn't know at all. Her hand takes his, it's cool with a mood ring on her middle finger and a thick leather watch band wrapped around her wrist.

Elijah

She takes a pull from her cigarette, asks why he doesn't just wear a wrist watch, and it makes him scoff, "because pocket watches are awesome."

Like that was the only reason he needed to wear a pocket watch, like he didn't have to explain but something about her made him desperate to explain. He takes her hand- warm to her cool- and gives it a confident sort of shake. Not poised, because one couldn't be Elijah's age and be poised. they weren't that different, she wasn't too much older than he was, maybe a year at best and he was a deceptive sort when it came to his body.

"I kill wrist watches," he said, and the south crept into his voice as he spoke, "always have. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Carissa."

Carissa

She nods and before releasing the shake turns their joined hands over right and then left. The cigarette is pressed between red lips and her eyes roam over his knuckles and then her own, his fingers and hers. Her nails could use a manicure. In the same movement that she finally releases his hand she's taking the cigarette out of her mouth and dropping it to the ground to be crushed beneath the rubber sole of her Converse.

"Pleasure's mine." She says to him and she just might be telling the truth. "What were you singing?" Now, without anything to occupy her hands with she shoves them in the pocket of her jean shorts, the momentum pushing them down further onto her hips letting the tops of a tattoo on her lower abdomen to peek out.

Elijah

[how did he do? was he on-key? retroactive cha+performance]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 1 )

Elijah

"New World," he said, "it's from Dancers in the Dark. Bjork… sounds different when she's not blaring over the speakers in the car. my room mate's a fan."

He'd been singing, but it was the singing of someone who was trying to drown something out, someone who wasn't singing for performance sake, but rather his own. The need for sound. they didn't feel that different, and he caught those undertones of chaos in her and he couldn't leave well enough alone. He was sucked in, intrigued, couldn't turn away just now.

"My room mate's a fan," he said, and his eyes dipped for a second and- "nice ink. Did you get it around here?"

Elijah

(remove: second Room mate's a fan. Proof reading is our friend)

Carissa

"No..." She says quietly with the faintest of shake to her head right and then left. There's a still moment of regard when a thought skitters across her memory like a rat fleeing from one dark shadow to another. A pinch returns to her dark brow while her eyes flutter across his features and her ears file away the sound of his voice and that sweet hint of Southern atmosphere within it.

"Sunset Strip." That's where she got it, on the Strip where starlets dreams end up settled side by side with trash and filth in the gutters of Hollywood. There's a moment of prying on her part and it can't be helped. Beneath the aloof exterior there's something about Elijah that makes her want to know more when typically she wouldn't care at all. "You got any? Tattoos, I mean...."

(Perception / awareness - resonance )

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 5 )

Elijah

"I do, actually. I'd show you, but I don't know how you feel about random topless strangers," he said with a laugh, "it's a recent addition, but I have the aberlemno serpent stone up one side."

There wasn't so much an admission as a statement. There was something about him that was interesting, and beneath her exterior there was the literal metaphysical pull that one had to know her. The intrigue was there, the interest was there. From a magical stand point he was…

Elijah was a unique young man. There wa the feeling of unrest that came with him, the stillness did not suit him and there was an air of distraction about him. his focus was direct, like a man who was tuning out the entirety of the universe just to pay attention to the person in front of him, or perhaps he was tuning out the whole world. But there he was, tall and lean and the smoke spoke to him easily, spoke of whispers of spirits and that pocket watch he was so proud of held the power of belief in it. His response had almost been defensive, protective, as though he did not want to imagine being without his watch.

It was special to him. Beyond that, it might have been Special. But he himself, the will worker before Carissa was young in his work. There was something impulsive to the feeling about him, and there was something inexperienced that was more than obvious to those looking for it. This was no arch magus in disguise.

Carissa

She is left with a single eyebrow drawn up high on her face while she takes him in - again. Careful and cautious, she doesn't seem content to rest on the feelings in her gut or the tug and pull of their similarities as spectacular as they may be. Red lipstick is smudged from the cigarette, fading just a little lighter than the red Converse they had matched only moments before. As the feeling of Elijah fills her up the stillness that hadn't suited him overcomes her and she doesn't even breathe for a full sixty seconds.

Finally she sighs out a breath and takes a moment to push the longer sections of her bangs back behind ears that are pierced 4 or 5 times. "Did it hurt?" The colors of her mood ring swirl between green and orange and yellow before finally the thing becomes as dark as her eyes that are now looking at his sides thoughtfully.

Hawksley

Whatever else Hawksley is, he is true to his word, particularly when speaking to a lady. When he says Alicia can stay as long as she likes, he does mean that. When she is told that she should choose a room she'd like to stay in or else he'll have Collins just pick one at random, she's given rein to pick a room. If she tells Collins she wants to sleep in the library, she finds a cot there after dinner, set up with pallet and pillow, because Hawksley wasn't kidding.

And he's not the sort to tell her to get out and see the world, go outside while she's young, blah blah blah. He does not do that, her esrtwhile host. But on Sunday night when he decides he wants to go out, he decides he also wants her to go out with him.

So they go.

--

They end up in Washington Park. In the Porsche. Hawksley has no plan. No grand scheme for clubs, drinking, what-have-you. He just drives to the park and gets out, breathing in the night air. A press of a button; the Porsche says goodnight and goes still, quiet, after locking itself down.

He looks over the roof of the car at Alicia, giving a stretch. "They've got paddle boats here," he informs her.

Elijah

Did it hurt? she asks.

"I'm a wuss about needles," he replies, a strangely honest creature despite his particular talent for lying, "so I don't know if I'm a good judge for it? But once you get right on a particularly bony area I'd say it wasn't pleasant by any means. A friend did it for me, so the cost-to-painfulness ratio was appropriate."

He muses, for a second, wanting to know anything, everything, whatever he could find and he noticed the little things, like how she was almost holding her breath for a moment and the full minute ticked on past, "are you from California? Or do you just travel?"

Hawksley

[I am sometimes aware that other people exist beyond myself.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

Hawksley

[but clearly not THAT aware.]

Alicia

[lol i'm so not aware]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 3) ( fail )

Alicia

[the angel got its wings after all]

Alicia

She isn't wearing the same outfit she had on Friday evening when she first ran into the Hermetics and the Cultist at some outdoor festival whose name she can't even remember now. For two days she had worn the same yellow sundress but then Sera took a stab at her dress size and the fact that she wasn't planning on leaving the library anytime soon.

They'd spoken of safety and other intangible things both nights. If she felt safe at Hawksley's that wasn't why she was staying there. Had less to do with safety and more to do with freedom but those are just semantics.

It was the Porsche that took her out there but the promise of the library that got her in the Porsche. She steps out of the Porsche now and takes a deep breath and she looks less ruinous and skittish stepping out of it than she had getting into it. Shakes out her hair to feel the breeze against her neck and claps the door shut behind her.

"Are you serious?" she asks. "Paddle boats like, the things you row with your feet? I thought Hollywood made those up."

Off they go. It doesn't take them long to come upon a pair of conversationalists and she recognizes one of them by height and profile alone. Her senses are open but they are not honed. Sometimes senses aren't quite so open. They're like people that way.

Her hands are shaking as she opens up her handbag to find her cigarettes.

"Have you met Elijah yet?" she asks Hawksley.

Carissa

"Boon Lay Singapore." She says before she has time to consider her answer, before she has time to formulate a lie. But that might be a lie in and of itself because she told them so often, lived make believe lives, that they leave her lips without effort. "Then, California." Fingers are moving back through her hair and her nails scratch at her scalp while her eyes close at the feel. "I travel." Her features represent some kind of Asian heritage though the coarse texture of her hair and the architecture of her nose screams of another ethnicity.

"I don't mind pain. Or needles. They wake you up when you get too numb." The ink below her belly button probably hurt and there is more that he can't see on each shoulder and across her ribs, each heavy with their own meaning to Carissa.

"What about you, are you from here?" The conversation between them was far more personal than it should have been. They were strangers after all and yet her she was, boldly poking and prodding into the areas of his life that were typically off limits in moments like this.

Hawksley

Hawksley, for all that he is an accomodating host -- and by now Alicia knows that accomodating means if you make a crack about sleeping in the library, you will find a cot set up in a tucked-away alcove with a pillow and a down blanket and a flashlight, all care of Collins -- did notice that Alicia hadn't changed clothes but didn't make much of it. He's been known to stay in the same clothes when he's on a particularly satisfying library jag, so he just figured: she'll say something when she wants to change. Hawksley does not know what it is like to be a person who might not, at the slightest touch of discomfort, shout for what they want and expect it to be handed to them.

That is not how Hawksley's life has been. That is not what it has taught him.

So Sera brought her clothes, and she's not in a yellow sundress now, and when Hawksley saw her not-in-yellow he noticed that, too, and canted his head a bit, but said nothing. He was, after all, busy cracking an egg into a bowl made of cast iron and dribbling a bit of blood onto the yolk. Focus, Hawksley.

--

He kept saying the library would be there when she got back. He kept saying it until she got into the goddamn Porsche because he didn't feel like going out alone. He drives well. He drives like the car is an extension of himself, and he drives quickly but not recklessly, which is how he drove home the other night anyway.

Hawksley stares at her, for what she says. Says, either scoffing or bewildered: "My god, where did you even grow up?" But it's a rhetorical question. She didn't grow up in the Hamptons with a private pond, Hawksley. You shithead.

They stroll, perhaps in the direction of the (unfortunately closed, at the moment) paddle-boats, but they do come upon Elijah and someone-else. Hawksley is wearing shorts which are as tailored and fine as suit-slacks but unbelted, hanging off his hip-bones. He is also wearing a charcoal t-shirt, thin and soft and draping in a lovely fashion over his shoulders. He walks with his hands laced on top of his head, and

he notices Alicia's hands shaking, flicking his eyes over them. She asks him a question and he looks over at the pair he'd otherwise been ignoring. Blinks. "Shit, is that his name?" he says, then laughs at himself. His hands lower from his head. "We went clubbing last week. I don't think he ever realized I didn't know his name. Good guy. Friend of yours?"

And he is reaching down, holding his hand out to her, palm up. "Gimme that," he says, and he does not mean lighter, or cigarettes. He means her hand. And for all the brusque nature of the words themselves, the tone is not. The tone is an invitation. Actually, maybe:

a request.

Elijah

"New Orleans, then Baton Rouge, and finally Denver," he answers, unafraid and unconcerned with giving too much away because, well, when someone feels like this you might as well tell them things because they were part of you. To be fair, everyone was part of everyone else, the concept of the self was some unnecessary boundary and-

Oh, shit, down the way he turned and noticed familiar faces. True to form, he had not even noticed Hawksley didn't know his name and had played it off magnificently in such a fashion that he had Elijah convinced for an entire evening that all was well with the world. there was Alicia, who was a good foot shorter than her male companion, and he grinned wide.

And promptly offered a tiny, overly enthusiastic spazwave. Just a little one, but followed up by, "what up you guys?"

Southern boys should not be able to say what up.

Alicia

"D.C.," she says and there's a duh note to her tone like what was he expecting she was going to say that her parents kept her locked up in the basement or something but there's self-depreciating jest in the tone too.

They had paddle boats in D.C. She had friends in D.C. Elijah knows what happened her freshman year of high school and Sera too though Sera comes unstuck from time occasionally but the rest of the world doesn't know.

Friend of yours?

"Y... yeah."

Cigarettes are among the deadliest things on the planet. She smokes because the rhythmic breathing calms her nerves. Hasn't sorted out if it's her nerves or the act of smoking that lets her sense life patterns. She isn't experimenting right now. Tinkering. Whatever it is apprentices do when they do not have a mentor.

Gimme that.

After a few heartbeats' deliberation the Orphan blows out a breath and puts her hand in Hawksley's. She hasn't lit the cigarette yet. The pack and the lighter are in her other hand. Her smile when she sees Elijah is tight. She's breathing through her nose. This isn't the first time she's felt like this before. This is the first time she hasn't mirrored Elijah's wave.

She grips Hawksley's hand before she says, "What up?"

Hawksley

STOP

Alicia

[Good job breaking it, Poirot.]

Elijah

(*Takes a bow!*)

Hawksley

[something is wrong with you Hawksley stop it]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Elijah

[Uho, I did something... per+aware]

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

Carissa

"New Orleans." And she hums at the thought of a city she'd only briefly passed through.

There's no real shade or color to Carissa's eyes. They are almost as dark as her pupils are and the white surrounding those inky pools are run through with red veins. She focuses on Elijah even as he waves and gives a greeting that doesn't sound like it belonged with his voice. She'd been over there in the cool grass before Elijah came along and there are still remnants of that stuck to her jean shorts and in her multicolored hair. The intense and strange look she'd been leveling on the stranger in front of her drifts away slowly at the sound of approaching feet and voices.

She doesn't greet them but her body angles toward them so they aren't at her back.

Alicia

[One of y'all has a certain resonance trait that mixed with that botched Awareness roll and made a certain phobia of hers go AHAHAHA I LIVE but I don't think either of y'all know about her phobia?

She's just having a panic attack. Don't draw attention to it and it'll go away. /science]

Hawksley

"Well that's not even a real place, anyway," Hawksley says archly, regarding D.C., and he is half kidding and he is half Entirely Serious. Doesn't ask, as he hasn't asked, what brings her from D.C. to Denver or when she woke up or how or if she's a student or where she lives or what she's doing. He has told her more than he has asked: told her things like just tell Collins what you want to eat and yes that book can leave the library no that book cannot leave the library and so on. It's not that he doesn't care. It's not that it doesn't matter to him.

It's partly that he doesn't care. It's partly that it doesn't matter to him.

But it's something else, too.

He is a bit surprised that Alicia gives him her hand, or takes his when it is offered. That surprise does flicker on his face, but doesn't glow. He just folds their hands together, and if his feels like laying out under the sun on endless white sands then it's hard to tell if that's a trick of the mind or if he's just warm the way that fit young men are warm in summertime. Or both. If she can do it one handed, he doesn't do anything else to address this deadly habit of hers. He feels her grip on his hand. He glances over and down at him, as he has to, since she is one foot and one half-inch smaller than he is, and his eyes fix on her for a few protracted seconds.

"You look like you're about to pass out," he says to her, albeit a touch quieter than his voice needs to be. "What's wrong?"

Elijah

[this is me being cool, nothing to see here.]

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

Elijah

(that was manip sup)

Elijah

"It's real loud, but I kind of miss it," he admits, though the context of the statement doesn't quite make sense. He watches on, eyebrows pull together and something knots up in his stomach and she doesn't wave back. her smile is tight; Elijah cocks his head to the side and looks at Alicia.

He tries to offer a reassuring smile from a distance, but seems is a little lost. He isn't sure what is going on, what her reaction might be caused by but he knows that he can't exactly leave at that juncture. he doesn't want to leave, though he does take a few cautious steps forward, as if testing the waters.

He turns back, "hey, I think my friend might've eaten some bad cheese fries or something."

He heads over a little closer. Cautious, testing the waters.

Carissa

There wasn't anything keeping her there. She shouldn't have stayed as long as she did with someone remarkably like herself so she's somewhat thankful when concern or confusion or something else all together takes over his features and he moves forward out of concern for his friend and their possible case of food poisoning. Briefly she looks at Alicia and then Hawksley, saying nothing because she's more content to just listen even if she can only hear breathing or hearts beating or crickets.

"Yeah..." Is her only real response with words, her body however turns to leave the trio to conversations about bad cheese fries. Or something.

Alicia

"I don't... I don't know."

It isn't as if they're standing on the edge of a building roof or climbing a tree. They're on flat ground. They're not high above the earth with the sun at their backs. But her hand is in his and her fingers are cold and her palm is dampening and she may not know but that doesn't mean nothing's wrong.

One day she will be able to sense and recognize that she is able to sense other people's magical fingerprints when things like this happen. Today is not that day.

She hears Elijah's lame attempt at an excuse. If she were feeling better she would laugh and tell him there are no such thing as bad cheese fries. She can light her cigarettes with one hands on a good day. She's just holding onto them right now.

"It's fine, I'm fine--" Her voice cracks and Elijah knows she's getting better at not crying when she wants to cry but it sounds like she's panicking. Hence the name. "--I need help, could you light this for me?"

Cigarettes and lighter held up. She hasn't managed to take one out yet and she doesn't care who gets to it first.

"Who's your friend?" she asks Elijah. Let's talk about something else. Yes. Good.

Carissa

(Thank you all for writing with me, good night!)

Hawksley

[eep. sorry we didn't get to interact! goodnight!]

Hawksley

Here's the truth: Hawksley sensed magical folk, albeit barely. But they felt the same. So he figured: that's just that one guy. That one guy, in fact, who now has a name: Elijah. Elijah, good guy, fun to club with, has nice thighs. It's good that Hawksley isn't too harshly judgemental about other men's bodies. Not everyone has legs like the cedars of Lebanon or pillars of warm gold or whatever hyperbole you might use to describe someone like Hawksley.

Alicia doesn't know. Hawksley is frowning now, and he's holding her hand firmly in his own warm one, but hers has lost its powers of circulation. As far as he knows she's not high, he didn't notice her taking anything before they headed out. Elijah is headed over, which is for the best, since He Is A Friend.

And he knows the way women sound when they're trying not to cry. Of course, someone like Hawksley would know that. He is frowning. He reaches down with one of those long arms and deftly plucks a cigarette from the pack she's holding. He holds it for her or hands it to her to set between her lips, and then he acts like the smooth mother-fucker he is and snaps his fingers.

The end of the cigarette starts burning as surely as a ghost-martini appeared in Hawksley's hand the other day.

"Let's sit," he says, and begins doing so, right on the grass, tugging Alicia down with him. He catches Elijah's eyes as he's moving. There is a bit of hey, man in that glance, and also a bit of dude, wtf as well.

Elijah

"Her name's Carissa," he told Alicia, "we just met, and this is crazy-" but here's my number, so call me- "-but we feel the same. She feels like we feel and it's fuckin' trip I would have asked her about it, but isn't that kind of weird to do when you're not rolling?"

He had to force himself to stay calm, but he could be calm. He could be calm and he could be resolute because Alicia was his friend and he needed to be calm and collected and to be in one piece and not some damned ping pong ball like he was so prone to being. Elijah settled into the grass, took a seat near Alicia, and he inhaled. Inhaled deep like he wanted to smell the grass and exhaled slow like he wanted to feel the air leaving his lungs.

Elijah often felt other magical people, though up until recently had no idea what he was feeling beyond what he had assumed were mild hallucinations. Knowing that magic had a feeling was enough assurance to his own sanity that he embraced it.

"It's cool," he says, "she seems alright."

Hawksley

"No," Hawksley says to Elijah. Fairly, because Elijah asks a question: isn't it weird to ask someone about their resonance when you're not 'rolling'. So he answers: no. no it isn't. "You're a mage," as though this explains everything. Every weird thing you can do. Talk about. See. Feel.

He is still holding Alicia's hand.

Alicia

She's not so far gone that she can't react to novel stimuli. It helps that Hawksley doesn't keep asking what's wrong. That he takes a cigarette out of the pack and rather than tugging the lighter out of her death-grip uses what looks from the distance like a sleight of hand to light her cigarette.

It startles her. Alicia laughs and laughing disrupts her cycle of hyperventilating. She takes a drag off of the thing and it burns going down and that helps too. When she blows it back out the breath reeks of tobacco and she will reek of tobacco the rest of the day. She doesn't cough. Her lungs are used to this.

Let's sit.

Down they go. She crashes rather than sitting but gripping onto Hawksley's hand breaks her fall. Doesn't know if it's weird to ask another person about feeling like she feels when she's not rolling. It's only happened once. Hawksley says it isn't. She'd said something similar to Kalen yesterday. They're all weird. That makes it not weird.

Sitting and breathing is bringing her back down out of the clouds. Maybe her eyes are closed as she does this. Maybe she has a mantra someone else gave to her that she repeats to herself because he isn't here to repeat it anymore.

She seems alright.

Alicia offers the rest of the cigarette to Elijah. Her hand is still in Hawksley's.

"Cool," she says.

Elijah

"Cool, so that's not like some breach of etiquette? Sweet action," he takes the cigarette from Alicia, isn't phased that Hawksley's hand is in hers and in fact something about it makes him smile. he takes a long drag and exhales again. The breathing is rhythmic, "I dunno, I hope I run into her again. Probably will, Denver's small."

For someone who managed to avoid people as well as he had for the first couple of years, it seems theyw ere coming from the woodwork now.

Hawksley

Hawksley does not keep asking what is wrong because Alicia is obviously lying with the I'm Fine nonsense; really no point in pressing, if she's going to be like that. Hawksley lights her cigarette with a snap of his fingers because he can, and because -- this is the truth -- he thought it might distract her from whatever weirdness is happening inside of her skull. Hawksley is self-involved to a fault, but Hawksley is also calculating, well-educated, studied. He is a student of Cause and Effect as much as Trial and Error.

If you jangle your keys in front of a dog's face, you get their attention.

So she laughs, and starts smoking, and they sit. Hawksley has an elegance comingled with his strength, which is considerable; she is not going to plummet. His free hand on her elbow, perhaps, or her waist, slowing the fall, easing the crash. Neither of them know him well enough to find any of this out of character, but it's possible that someone might. It's equally possible that once upon a time, he took a girl on magical psychoactive drugs to his hotel and bought a second room for her to stay in so she'd be safe. It is also possible that once upon a time, a woman he respected looked with dismay at his disheveled clothing and three months later he had his entire class devoted to a rekindling of chivalry and gentlemanly decorum.

It is also possible that when he went clubbing with Elijah, a girl he had been making out with started to annoy him and so he left her in the club rather than inviting her on to the next one. And he didn't consider any other avenue of behavior, either.

Anyway: no bruised tailbone for Alicia tonight, for whatever reason. Human decency, human compassion, maybe. He still has that. And he is sitting beside and slightly behind Alicia, as though to prop her up if she were to fall backward. Again: he doesn't know if she took anything. He hangs out with Sera a lot. It's a habit by now, thinking of such things.

"Plenty of magi develop their foci around self-deprivation, physical and psychological purification, or asceticism. We don't really share a single code of conduct. You just have to figure out for yourself if it's rude to ask someone about their resonance. Person by person, moment by moment."

He looks at Alicia. "Getting any better?"

Alicia

That cigarette has been entrusted to Elijah. She doesn't forget about it so soon as it's been passed off but she doesn't reach for it the way she does when she and Elijah share cigarettes. It's rare that they split one. Whenever he wants to smoke Alicia gives him his own.

Their voices are like a tether to a woman who fears she's drifting out into space. She could have found her own way back but Working as she Works it's just as likely she would have embraced it. That's the thing about fear of heights. Sometimes it's the fear of falling off and sometimes it's admitting that stood too close to the edge the compulsion to jump is near as overpowering as the fear itself.

"I'm okay," she says and she's breathless at first but as she settles the breath comes back to her. "I just felt really weird, all of a sudden."

Elijah

{is it okay to touch you? Because I totally want to]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Hawksley

"It happens," he says, and he's believable: people get weird all the time. Then again, Hawksley hangs out with Sera a lot. Hawksley himself was, just yesterday, dripping drops of his own blood onto an egg inside of a bowl on top of an altar. No matter how normal he seems, how much of an affluent gymrat dudebro he may appear to be, he is still something else entirely: something inhuman. Something supernatural. People feeling very weird, all of a sudden, is the least strange of many strange things that are a regular part of his life.

Despite that, he felt the tinge of fear, not 'weirdness', in the grip of Alicia's hand and the cold sweat of her palm. And he does not know its source, and she isn't in a sharing mood. All the same: he brushes it off. It happens.

"Paddle-boats are closed anyway," he says, with a touch of disgruntled disappointment. "Maybe we should just head back." A beat. "That is, unless you want me to drop you somewhere else." He looks at Elijah. "You could come over too, if you want. I've got space."

This is how he talks about his house. 'My place'. 'I've got space'. As though he doesn't live in fucking Hogwarts.

Elijah

He normally pushes. He knows he shouldn't push, but normally Elijah pushes when something is wrong, though the last time he had pushed Alicia she didn't speak to him for well over a week. It started a near literal crusade, made him jump down a rabbit hole he wasn't sure he knew how to climb out of. Elijah took his time, looked at her hand, looked at the cigarette, and realized what it was that he had actually done with her cigarette.

Fuck, he thinks, it is written clearly across his face. he pushes it aside and holds onto her cigarette, tries to remember that this isn't for sharing at the moment.

And there are things he wants to do, like he wants to reach for her but isn't sure if he's the cause of her feeling, her panic attack, and something made her panic and he wanted to be sure it wasn't him. We digress, because she is doing better, feeling slightly better and there was no judgment there. Hawksley invites him along to coming over, too. he's got space.

"That'd be cool… I just have to figure out where the Hell my motorcycle is parked," he said.

Hawksley

[Soft wrap! We can close it there or pick it up again if Jamie wants at another time!]

Lakashim

Elijah

[Did I survive last night?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (2, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 2 )

Serafí­ne

They're having a picnic. It doesn't matter that it is four a.m. Serafíne has a goddamned red-and-white checked blanket and a basket she bought in a thrift store with three matching and one mismatched napkin and inside the basket there are things, Sera does not know what things there might be, each time someone reaches in to the basket it is a mystery what might emerge. The soapstone box with her weed and her little carved pipe and her favorite goddamned Zippo? Lay's Cappuccino potato chips? Baby carrots? Remarkably expensive cognac? A bunch of peculiarly plump black seedless grapes? Two slices of Dee's remarkable red velvet cake? Some new little treat or treasure in some new little plastic box?

--

The only thing Sera has pulled thus far from the picnic basket though is the Veuve-Cliquot demi-sec, and she has peeled off the foil and unwrapped the metal cage from the cork and popped it, and poured the sparkling, fizzy, slightly-sweet champagne into red solo cups, like a champion.

The grass is sweet and a bit spongy beneath the blanket, when you lay back.

There are in a field in front of the building proper and the building proper is so far the fuck out from the city, that out here there are so many fucking stars.

Elijah wants Serafíne to teach him and Serafíne does not know where to start. She is on her back with one hand beneath her head and the other wrapped around her red solo cup full of champagne, which is in turn resting on her abdomen, and she turns to look at him in the starlit dark, and says, "Aren't you Kalen's apprentice? What I do is nothing like what the Hermetics do. You know?"

Elijah

He liked the stars. He liked the stars and he wondered, briefly, if there would be more of them maybe if he just looked somewhere else, if the sky here from the umbra (ha! a new word. It had a name, and it delighted him to no end. The umbra) was different from the sky by his apartment or if it still sparkled and shimmered pretty like at home. He could care less what time it was, because they were having a picnic and the sky was full of stars and that seemed to be the best thing in the world.

He laid back on the grass, solo cup held upright and his eyes travel from the sky to Sera. He'd wanted to learn something from her, he'd anted to lawn how to feel all those other living things around him, because Elijah wanted ever so desperately to feel alive. He hadn't said that, of course, in those awe tinged moments where he had seen her Work and bring a man back from the bring of death. He'd held onto that, how she'd said she used the physical to move the metaphysical and he'd wanted, more than anything, to understand.

Elijah tore his eyes off the sky, over to Sera and he drummed his fingers idly on the side of the cup. What she does is nothing like what hermetics do.

"That's cool," he said, "I don't… I'm Kalen's apprentice but Kalen's… he's really fluid, ya know? Flexible. I kind of get the impression that Kalen isn't like other Hermetics."

Serafíne

Sera breathes out. There's a kind of humor there, subsumed, contained as much in her skin as it is anywhere else. She's smiling. She's looking at him and she is doing so peripherally, her profile quite stark against the darkness. Just enough star-or-moonlight now that her skin is luminous, even though it is night.

"Is that what you wanna be? A Hermetic who isn't much like other Hermetics?"

It is not a rhetorical question. Sera's tongue is tipped against her lower lip. She is thinking about it, and she is watching Elijah against the darkness, and there is something aware and awake and so very quick in the bruise of her gaze.

"They don't - " a sharp inhale, " - most of them - respect what I do. The way I do it." Who knew that Sera knew that? Understood that? "They call it low. And the way you have to let go -

"I don't think it fits with their practice. You have to understand that before we start."

Elijah

hat was it that Elijah wanted?

That was the big question, wasn't it? What was it that Elijah wanted, what did he believe out of all of this and out of all of the things that he had learned from the places he'd picked up? What was he keeping? What was he discarding? What meant everything to him and what did he decide needed to be tossed out in favor of a different idea? For someone who seemed to work well so many places, there was a question of whether or not Elijah really fit anywhere.

She does on, explains that most of them don't respect her work, don't respect how she sees the world, thinks of it as low and Elijah… Elijah can't quite wrap his head around that one. Thus far, his work had fit in well with Kalen's, but as he'd said before Kalen wasn't typical. Would Elijah really be okay with not fitting in so very obviously?

"I don't think I'd quit fit in with other Hermetics… and I don't think I'm okay with that," he says, he pauses. He takes a moment to really think about it and while the thought doesn't seem to bother him, the thought doesn't necessarily come to him terribly easily, "I don't know if I'd fit in anywhere… but I'm getting to be more okay with that, too."

Serafí­ne

Sera's eyes are blue and that blue is dark and in the long shadows of the moonlit night that dark is enduring. Abiding. She has cheated her gaze towards him; enough to watch the thoughts as they run across his features like clear water, with those strangely opaque depths. Enough to see both thought and movement and decision and to hear a fucking answer that sounds like the sort of fucking answer that is not precisely Sera's fucking answer.

And she doesn't know how to tell him that she doesn't think he should be answering questions right now, finding them inside him, finding the things that fit, so much as asking himself other questions and breaking little pieces of his heart and not giving a fuck about where he fits as much as what suits him, and fuck, maybe she's misunderstanding him, she doesn't know what this shit is like, or she does, she does, she does, she knows with her body the way so many people now with their minds, and the memory of it all is contained inside her mouth, like a moth beatings its terribly fragile wings against her teeth, tickling her throat, spasming, dying -

and she inhales, perhaps to tell him that, perhaps simply because her lungs were hungry, but she inhales and holds all those things inside her, and how can Elijah know or see or understand what any of that shit is: just a moment of sharpness, a sudden breath, drawn-in, and then she is telling him,

"Kiss me."

He wanted to learn from her, after all.

Elijah

He doesn't hesitate, but he doesn't know what he's looking for. Isn't that the story of Elijah Poirot, though? Seeking something he wasn't sure was the right answer, or really his answer, but finding that he was rather enjoying the journey along the way.

He's kissed a number of people in his day- the first was nothing like Sera. People say you remember your first kiss, but it had been the first time Elijah had gotten drunk in a girl's basement while her mom was at work and he'd been fourteen and sloppy and she hadn't really minded that he wasn't terribly good at it, because she was a year older than him and he was cute so she was happy to show him the ropes. Serafíne was nothing like Miranda Carmichael, not in the traditional sense. He hadn't been terrified of screwing up with Sera like he had been with Miranda. This wasn't middle school.

Kissing Sera wasn't like kissing Alicia, or Jenn, or Ian, or any of the other people he'd kissed. He sat unto his side and leaned forward, pressed his lips to hers in a way that was exploratory without being tentative. He pressed forward, his heart beating harder, though still steady, his eyes closed and he wasn't thinking about what was going on at that moment, he kissed her and wanted to taste the hints of champagne on her lips and whatever else Sera tasted like. He wanted to press forward, to be in the moment.

Elijah wasn't thinking of the first time he'd kissed someone, or the last time he'd kissed someone, he wasn't really even thinking. He just knew Sera told him to kiss her, so he did.

Elijah

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )

Serafí­ne

There is power in her and this is how she draws on it. Sera opens her mouth and she tastes like clove cigarettes and that demi-sec champagne and fat black grapes. She tastes like four a.m. and she tastes like the ragged edges of the universe and she tastes like the dew gathering on the stalks of prairie grass. She tastes like magic and she sets her goddamned red solo cup aside, and you understand that she is nestling it in the grass, making a little hollow in which it can rest, without even really thinking about the intent or the motion, all the while kissing Elijah back, just so she can have that hand free to cup it behind Elijah's skull as he kisses her, and she is humming in the back of her throat and she is hungry and then she is air hungry and then their mouths part just long enough to inhale, that is how this goes, and Sera is laughing a bit, indulgent and he can feel the magic moving inside her, wrapping itself around and through her skin, and his skin and she is everything and she is everywhere and she is inside him, isn't she?

Serafí­ne

Combined effect: Mind 3/Life 1. She's drawing Elijah into her body / mind so that he can "cast" the effect with her. (-1 resonance) (-1 focus)

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 4) ( success x 1 )

Serafí­ne

Extending. Damnit.

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

Elijah

There's a power in Sera that Elijah can't fathom, can't possibly imagine having held or wielded before, and she opens her mouth and she tastes like so many things, things that go beyond taste and move into the realm of ideas. Something that moves beyond ideas and goes just into being. He kisses her and she's humming and he can pick out the elements of what are similar. They part ways for a second long enough for him to inhale with her, a subconscious motion but he inhales all the same and presses forward again and she is laughing and she is hungry and this was permission to explore.

And he did explore, and he moves along with her, feels how she would do this, feels it as though h'd done it himself and there is a second when his lips part and his tongue savors the taste of four a.m. and the edge of the universe and he can feel his heart beating and he can count the beats of her own and everything is bleeding beating beautiful alive.

There should be a disconnect, because when Elijah usually presses, when he touches, when he holds and when he moves forward, he finds that the world is falling apart, he knows the cracks and knows how things are dying, dying, dying and at that juncture he can tell when they are living, how they are living, and there is elation and he laughs, laughs because laughter comes easily against her mouth and all he latches on to is the taste of the universe at four in the morning and the way Sera's lips feel and the way his chest feels when it's pressed 'gainst hers and the texture of her hair and the hum of crickets and the grass and everything is living, living, living and dying, dying, dying and he takes in all of it.

Elijah isn't scared, though he should be, at the sheer magnitude and the wonder of living things, but he can sense their hearts beating and the feeling of the fireflies flitting about and cicadas chirping. He finds something, something that lets him know he's alive, lets him make that physical connection that can transcend to the metaphysical and move onward and at that juncture Elijah finds himself capable of understanding, if only for a brief moment, how this must feel.

Serafíne

This is how Sera does magic; and now, and here, and tonight, this is how Elijah rides the wave of that magic with her. There is only her will, which is both a knot meant to be shredded inside her chest and a spreading warmth that opens, opens, opens, and within the boundaries of her body, does it not feel like all her cell walls are starting to dissolve, like she's leaking light, and it is exquisite and painful and transporting to be so close to the edge of the self that one can put one's tongue on the goddamned terminals of the universe's battery and taste the fucking charge -

- and then, and then, and then:

everything. fucking everything.

It is ecstatic: not merely the result but the method, the arching need like a bridge between the actual and possible, the permissible, the potent give and take of sensory stimulation that gives her the push to transcend the boundaries of her skin and enter - you know - everything.

And Elijah does not simply feel the pattern of life all around them, but he can feel it inside her, the ink burrowed into her skin from all the goddamned tattoos, the pathways in her brain that are lit, brilliant, night-sky brilliant, drive-in brilliant, fireworks brilliant, and the pathways that are dormant and on and on and on, beyond her, this endless web of connection where there is no self and no other, there merely: is.

Sera pulls back, pulls away after - well, perhaps Elijah cannot measure time, but the sun is edging its way over the eastern horizon which means: it has been hours and where the dead of night was silent, now there is birdsong all around. The dew is heavier on the blades of grass - and even the blanket on which they are lying is damp now.

Elijah

There was a point where his mind was screaming at him, begging that there had to be some relief because it was too much, feeling all of it, trying to hold up that barrier of self and the rest of the universe was trying to push in and bleed through and there was a moment, one glorious moment, that second that he finally, finally let go. And those walls and those boundaries and that second of being one among millions was lost because there was nothing but being. A one ness in all of it, that moment where his heart was pounding and his heart didn't matter because it was never truly his. There was no difference between his body and her body or the grass beneath them or the light the fireflies made-

And how could this be low? How could this be anything other than transcendent?

When Sera pulls away, he barely remembered where he was, his breathing heavy his head swimming and he fell back onto the damp blanket and he could have stayed there for however long he needed to stay there. He could have measured time at that second, could have possibly told himself how many hours had passed but it didn't matter to him beyond knowing that the moment had moved and…

"Holy fucking shit, Sera…"

it's all he can get out, staring at the sky as it turned colors and started in with its dawn routines. His breathing was at once deep and shallow, his eyes unfocused and precise. Elijah couldn't get the smile off of his face.

"It's so bright," with no small amount of wonder, with awe because he was incredibly honest for such a practiced liar.

Serafí­ne

"Mmm." Sera murmurs, languid now, drowsing, lovely. She has: rolled over on to her side, and watches Elijah in the gather light of dawn through the scrim of her dark lashes. Her mascara is smeared. Last night's make-up. Last night's lipstick is long-fucking-gone. "Lakashim.

"You just need to figure out how to get there.

"And how to come home."

The Code of Ananda

Elijah Poirot

[did I survive last night?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

Elijah Poirot

Inhale

The sound travelled there. He'd never been to this particular nightclub, but Elijah had only been in town for a couple months and was slowly but surely going through and figuring out what clicked and what didn't. He hadn't successfully combed through every single place in Denver but this? This was one that he had been told he couldn't ignore.

Walking into the club, there was enough to make his knees feel weak. To look around and finally feel something when he walked into a church, to see people wherever he turned, to feed on that sort of energy, to build on it, to go forward. Most importantly, he loved nightclubs because of the want hat they drowned out other sounds, the way he didn't hear someone disembodied talking to him, th way it wasn't so hard to focus on people because there was so much sound and sensation that he could instead draw from that it didn't matter if he was only half listening to the living person in front of him because he could play that off well enough.

If this is Lucy's calling, then Elijah had no idea how she managed.

Exhale.

Jenn had taken him here, but he hadn't had to be dragged to actually come, she has just gone on and on and on about this fan-freaking-tastic DJ who was going to play. There was only one DJ that Jenn effused so passionately about, and Elijah had taken great pains to not mention that he actually knew her. So maybe that was a draw, the only big question was whether or not he was going to go dance or if he was going to try and find her before her set started

Lena Reilly

[[Magedar! Uncanny Instincts spec]]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 2

Lena Reilly

The Church Nightclub is one of the many nighttime hotspots in the city, and this one is unique for its location. The place was once in fact an actual church, the building first constructed in 1865 when the Gothic architecture fit a religious establishment of such style. Now it serves an entirely different crowd but the sensation inside is no less exultant. There's a fine line between religous fervor and passion after all, and that line makes this place a conjunction of both. Maybe some essence of prayer and faith lingers and spurs the newer emotional spikes, or perhaps it's just about taking what was old and making it new again.

Either way, the beat is pounding and ambient trance flows through the sound system as the dance floor gets its groove on. The Church has a full bar below stained glass windows and an event calendar that is full of music and bookings by some of the best DJs. One of those is DJ Halcyon, who has a standing engagement here on weekdays. DJ Halcyon herself--or, as we better know her, Lena Reilly--is currently in the DJ booth, watching as the current DJ does his thing. There's a distinct rivalry that goes on between DJs for their work, but Lena rarely gets into those kinds of feuds because she's more interested in living through the experience of their work than stealing their ideas.

Elijah has seen a warm, friendly but reserved Lena before. This Lena? Totally different. She's completely within her element and if she didn't look like--well, Lena--one might not even recognize her. She's rocking a tank top with "In Love With the DJ" emblazoned in neon green against black, her auburn hair streaked with green for the night. She's in a state of constant movement...even not working right now, she's always moving to the beat, her head nodding and her hands in constant motion of some kind. This is Lena as she would be in a perfect world; in the nightclub, she's at home with herself.

And then she lifts her head as that sense of Resonance settles over her. She looks around and it isn't hard to find Elijah; the pull is strong to Lena's honed Awareness. She smiles and says a couple of words to the DJ before slipping out of the booth, heading his direction with a raised hand in greeting.

"Hey you," she says when she gets close. "Funny running into you here. How are you?"

Elijah Poirot

How Elijah managed to find a place for his pocket watch the world may never know, but he seemed to have foregone a vest that night in favor or wearing a fitted tee shirt and a pair of black pants. He had on half a dozen bracelets and a necklace he couldn't quite get off because his room mate had tied it on and he was waiting for her to either release him from his fashionable prison or wait until the damned thing fell off. He saw Lena and his face lit up with delight.

Yes, delight, because while the Lena he'd met before was nice and she was reserved and she was friendly, this Lena was different. He hadn't met this Lena before. He put up his hands, grin on his face widening, "I slept like shit!"

But he laughed about it, the thought didn't seem to bother him, but instead the sound was triumphant. He slept like shit, and yet he was still here, absorbing the air being around people, still breathing. Still taking it all in, still being and loving every minute of it. "I'm fanhastic- what about you? You look-like-wow."

Alive, bright, vibrant, in her element- Elijah didn't have words.

"You've seriously got the best job."

Lena Reilly

She comes up close to him, but doesn't reach out and make contact. This Lena is freer, more alive...but that's a boundary she still only crosses when she knows someone, or when she's in a crowd. Groups of people are easy. One-on-one is harder. But that doesn't mean that she's skittish at all; she's calm, confident, and vibrant with her Resonance pulsing strongly (if still, as always, withering away after every thump).

She grins widely when Elijah says she has the best job and shrugs. "I'd like to play it cool and say that it's okay...but yeah, I really do." There's a touch of sympathy in her eyes when he says he slept like shit, but it's not pity or concern. Lena is a caffeine junkie; if Elijah looked closely up at the booth he would see a couple energy drink cans already and they don't belong to the current DJ. So she knows very well what it's like to not sleep well...and for other reasons, she knows bad dreams, though not as bad as Elikah, Grace or others in the Awakened world of Denver.

"I'm good. I'm great," she quickly amends to. "When I'm working I always am. Or waiting to work. C'mon, you want a drink? I get discounts and rarely use it."

Elijah Poirot

"You see this? This is my jealous face. I can't say anything, though, because I'm pretty sure I've found a way to tap into the mind-numbing boredom of a copy shop to see the very fabric of time itself move at one third of its normal speed because Jesus those are the longest eight hours ever," he laughs, because laughing comes easily, and there was the question of whether or not he wanted a drink.

He didn't have to think long.

"I'll take a drink, they have anything decent with tequila? What time do you go on? Since you're here, I figured we could shoot the shit for a little while?" hopeful, that. Because when you were young and when you were impulsive and when the world was still bright and shining, there were always questions.

Lena Reilly

Elijah's description of the mundanity of his work brings a chuckle to her lips. "True story, I knew an Ecstatic who lived for his job on a baby food assembly line. He said that the slowness of Time and the whirring sound let perfect his meditation ability until he could almost do it at will. And he was good at it, too...though that may have been because he was always stoned."

She winks at that, then nods. "They have some good tequila stuff. Take your pick and they can probably make it." He asks if they could talk and she warms, smiles again. "Yeah, absolutely. I'd love that."

She leads him over to the bar, where the guy behind the bar recognizes her of course. They don't seem particularly close, though Lena's friendly with him and places an order for whatever Elijah wants. She herself gets a vodka Red Bull and once the drinks are in hand, she looks at him.

"So how've things been going for you? What with everything...you know. The mission."

Elijah Poirot

He orders tequila mockingbird, which he ordered because he liked the name and he liked watermelon. Surprisingly enough, they mixed it without a bat of an eye. The young man popped the jalepeño slice into his mouth without any thought for the fact that this might be hot for other people, and munched merrily along to drinking what was there. He didn't start the evening with a shot of tequila, which is testament to his budding self control. Or, conversely, testament to how good the bar is here because there was certainly better things to drink on the menu.

How are things?

"Did I tell you that Grace is working on this now yet? I forget who I've told what to, but Grace is looking into it, and she said she'd tell Alicia if she found something." Not Elijah. He seems to accept that grudgingly, that he won't know if Grace finds something, or really when Grace is going to be looking for things. "Sid gave me a guy's pager number who was around when all this stuff went down the first time, so I'm hoping I can talk to him. His name's Pan?"

Lena Reilly

The name Pan puts recognition in her eyes. Lena knows the man, although perhaps not as well as others. It was something that bothered her a little--not that he's helping, but that she never got to know him as well as she could have. It was a matter of her own self-isolation earlier in her stay in Denver, a problem which still rears its ugly head from time to time to this day.

Still, she's smiling when he mentions him. "Pan's a good guy, from what I know of him. We ran across a whole...thing a while back. Zombie dogs." She says it with a straight face...either she's dead serious or has a fantastic poker face. "I probably would have been pretty messed up if he hadn't taken the brunt of it. Sera was there too...she and he are pretty close. Hopefully he can help."

She takes a lean against the bar on her stool, running her finger absently around the rim of her glass. It's a move that is seductive for some people, but with her it comes across differently. There's no come hitherness, because...well, Lena doesn't do that kind of thing, for obvious reasons. She enjoys the feel of the condensation on sensitive fingerpads; she does it without really thinking about the motion. Especially here...touch, scents, sounds, sights. It's all part of the visual submersion that she craves and lets herself get into when she's in her element.

"And Grace is a good choice too. If anyone can find information, it will definitely be her." It's said to be reassuring; she gets the grudging nature of being kept out of the loop, but she admired that he can accept it.

Elijah Poirot

Zombie dogs, she says.

"That's a thing?" he asked, she had to have been serious and he takes her as such but he's looking at her like he can hardly believe it even though, well, he really does believe it. Elijah took a second to blink, sort things out, take into play what she said about the situation and what speaks of the character of one Pan Echeverría

Back on the topic of grace, his attention was on Lena, doesn't take her motion as being particularly seductive, because when he drinks he does close his eyes and he never quite gets the damned grin to come off of his face like the whole world was here and the fact that it was bright and live and vital for him was present enough for the young man. There's so much sensory input, and he gladly takes all of it for a chance to drown out the constant talking he hears.

"I was honestly surprised that Grace agreed to do this. She's… she was pretty spooked on account of that virus thing she told me about. I honestly thought she was going to tell me to take a hike."

Lena Reilly

The very mention of the Hydra virus throws a shade over Lena's face. She blanches briefly and there's a moment where she looks like she's about to emotionally withdraw. Lena has spoken with Elijah about the Passions, and how letting one ride out too strongly can lead to bad things. She admitted that she has let them carry too much at times, as much as she tries to avoid it. Fear of Hydra...that's one of those times and it still hasn't gone quite away.

But while it nearly makes her pull back, she shoves it aside and comes back forward into the present. She swipes her hand through her hair and smiles slightly, albeit with a bit of an edge. "Hydra fucked a few of us up, yeah. But Grace isn't one to let that stop her from doing something she thinks is important. Clearly, she thinks this is one of those times."

Elijah Poirot

"I don't think I can thank her enough for this," he said. It's all he could say. All he could really think of to say. It was strange, because the longer things went on, the more real it seemed, the more concerned he was growing at the prospect of bringing the world down on everyone's head even if he didn't have a backup plan, especially since he didn't have a backup plan. He didn't have an exit strategy, and the idea of something happening to grace was…

Well, now. It was becoming more and more a potential reality, now, wasn't it?

"Anyway… I don't… I have no idea what to do to help her except stay out of her way so I'm trying right now to stay out of her way."

Lena Reilly

"Sometimes that's all we can do. It's the hardest thing in the world when we want to help, but that's our job sometimes...being on standby in case we're needed, even if we have to accept that there's probably not anything we can in the particular leg of the journey."

She's sympathetic. She's been there before, more than once, and it's a tough spot to be in. She's sat in hospitals for weeks to stand watch over a couple Mages here in Denver while others tried to handle other situations, because it was all she can do. It's the limitation that her health imposes on her; fights and running and the like aren't where she's best used. One little scratch...

Well, anyway.

"So instead you just have to provide support the best way you can. Letting them do their thing and let you know that you're there if they need you."

Elijah Poirot

He listens to Lena, really listens. Pays attention and takes in her wisdom because Elijah? Well, Elijah was too young to be a bastion of wisdom. he nods, nods again because she is his point of focus and the young man takes a drink of his drink, savors the taste of watermelon and tequila on his lips before taking a second before.

"Hey, i was meaning to ask you about that code you told me about," he said, "this probably isn't the place but, y'know… I'm interested in knowing because… well, from what I've heard it makes a lot of sense."

Elijah Poirot

He listens to Lena, really listens. Pays attention and takes in her wisdom because Elijah? Well, Elijah was too young to be a bastion of wisdom. he nods, nods again because she is his point of focus and the young man takes a drink of his drink, savors the taste of watermelon and tequila on his lips before taking a second before.

"Hey, i was meaning to ask you about that code you told me about," he said, "this probably isn't the place but, y'know… I'm interested in knowing because… well, from what I've heard it makes a lot of sense."

Elijah Poirot

He listens to Lena, really listens. Pays attention and takes in her wisdom because Elijah? Well, Elijah was too young to be a bastion of wisdom. he nods, nods again because she is his point of focus and the young man takes a drink of his drink, savors the taste of watermelon and tequila on his lips before taking a second before.

"Hey, i was meaning to ask you about that code you told me about," he said, "this probably isn't the place but, y'know… I'm interested in knowing because… well, from what I've heard it makes a lot of sense."

Lena Reilly

"The Code of Ananda." That brings the light fully back to her face. She pauses a moment, thinks, and then nods with her head.

"C'mon. There a little room that we can talk in about it, if you want. Staff here uses it as a hangout spot away from the public, but it's usually unoccupied on weekdays."

Elijah Poirot

"Okay!" and with no small amount of delight, he followed along... but not before finishing his drink.

Lena Reilly

His enthusiasm is infectious, especially for people who live off emotion. Lena can understand why the Tradition community of Denver has become so enamored of him, and she can't help but smile, despite the oh-so-recent specter of Hydra brought to her ears. She picks up her drink--as yet tasted--and leads him around the dance floor to a little door to the side of the DJ booth marked "Staff Only."

The inside of the room isn't huge; it's more like a break room than anything. There is a small refrigerator so the staff can store things without using the bar fridge and a couple of couches, with a door leading to the outside for when people want to smoke. The floor is black laminate, the original wood likely lying underneath.

Lena takes a seat on one of the couches, curling her legs underneath her and finally taking a swallow from the energy drink/alcohol cocktail. "All right, so the Code of Ananda. Like I said, there's ten guidelines, and many of us within the Cult have...different opinions. Me, I tend to agree with all of them, but that's my way."

Elijah Poirot

Kalen once likened Elijah to a puppy, and the analogy was a fairly accurate one. he was enthusiastic, fidgety, and generally well meaning even if he did occasionally eat someone's shoes or chase stray cats. Or technocrats. Frankly, the technocracy was less terrifying than a very angry housecat but only because the technocracy would not passive aggressively puke in your shoes. We digress. Elijah had an infectious enthusiasm, and when he came to sit back, his attentions as direct on Lena once again.

though, in the quiet of the room, it was a little harder for him to focus. A little harder for him to keep his head on straight and his thoughts where they needed to be. for now, things were quiet, but there was always the threat, the underlying tension and preparation for the storm.

"Is it like a law or is the code like guidelines? Will they kick you out if you don't follow them?"

Lena Reilly

"The answer is...complicated." That makes her grin. It's a question that she had, and had a little trouble coming to terms in when she was first brought into the Cult. "It's a messy, conflicted matter...and gloriously so, much like life is. To some of us, it's law and we take it upon ourselves to prevent others from acting against it. To others, they're more guidelines. If you want to make it even more complicated, some of the individual tenets are handled more or less strictly along the law vs. guideline spectrum."

She sighs a bit. "The easiest way to explain it is that they aren't true laws. They're more like proverbs...words of wisdom. The best way I can get it acress is in how it pertains to me. Or how I feel about it. And some tenets of the Code I kind of consider inviolate. I've acted against people, both in and out of the Tradition, who have been about to take an action that violates them. Others...well, they don't really equate well into laws, so it's hard to really argue the point. It's my moral code, I guess you could say. And like any moral code, others' codes may conflict. It's how strongly they conflict that matters to me, and the amount of harm they may do to others by acting as they do."

Elijah Poirot

So it's… kind of like.. well, it kind of sounds like the Chodana but not really exactly like it because the way Eleanor talked it was kind of like philosophy and kind of like rules and kind of- anyway," he knew he was rambling, could at least recognize (sometimes) when the words coming out of his mouth were more like a place filler for things he knew he was thinking than actual coherent thoughts that could be released to fend for themselves in police society.

"So… what's the code say? Is it, like, do unto others kind of?"

Lena Reilly

Lena doesn't know the Chodana, so it would be a question lost on her if he actually asked it. But he's more saying it to himself so she doesn't interrupt...let's him talk it out and waits, to let him get to that point. When she asks him about what the code says, she nods.

"That's part of it...kind of. Here, I'll list them out for you." And that's what she does...repeating the tenets of the Code with far more then what would be considered rote memorization familiarity. She doesn't explain them right away...there will be time for that later. And she wants to see what he has to say about them.

"First: Thou art miraculous; so are we all.

Second: He who spits upon his good right hand will find the left one fails him in need.

Third: Each gold coin yields two like it; each stalk given creates a bundle. Yet each count taken turns the rest to dross, and one bundle gone creates a famine. Thus shall a Seer count his deeds.

Fourth: Some minds best rest asleep. Strive not those who would not waken otherwise.

Fifth: Truths foreseen are not always truths.

Sixth: If a man or woman would rend another's passions, let him be as one torn by wild dogs. For passions are the seat of the Self, and if they bleed, so to does the soul.

Seventh: Let each Seer account his own deeds, and if those deeds should want for wisdom or kindness, let him be put forth to weep alone.

Eighth: Humor cooleth blood; wrath spilleth it.

Ninth: Even trees rent by lightning may grow new fruit.

And tenth: A fool feels no fear; a Sleeper remains shackled by it; a Master transcends it, yet recalls its wisdom. It is good to be afraid; it is folly to bow to terror."

Elijah Poirot

[willpower: I totally did not phase out halfway through]

Dice: 4 d10 TN7 (4, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Elijah Poirot

"I… don't think I quite get the third one. If you give good, then you get good back, but if you take then you're going to lose everything? I think? It seems very rule of three to me.

"So the sixth sounds pretty intense… and I don't think I quite get it completely either, but it sounds like you really shouldn't try and fuck with someone else's passions because that's like getting in the way of how someone communicates with their soul. but I don't know how someone would do that… but that's really intense.

"And the seventh sounds like… like if you do something stupid or assholish, you should have to account for your actions on your own.

"The tenth one makes me think of the Golden Mean- how you should strike a balance for things. too much fear is crippling, not enough is being fool hearty.. but it's not necessarily a bad thing to be afraid, because it's supposed to teach you something… but I don't know what Sleepers have to do with it, is it a fear of the truth? I mean… that's really kinda personal for me… once I stopped being so afraid of myself I learned so much… But I don't know if that relates."

odd. Elijah didn't seem the type who would have reason to be afraid of himself, of what he could do, but there it was. that panic, that paranoia referenced but not revisited.

Lena Reilly

She smiles as he starts running through, impressed with how he seems to understand them. She didn't think of him as dense or anything, but they are some pretty lofty concepts. That he's displaying such a comprehension of them is...inspiring, to say the least.

"The third one is very Rule of Three, yes." She nods. The idea is that, much like what most people understand Karma as...the more you give, the more that is created. Thus, the more you have access to. It's all very Newtonian, if you want to look at it scientifically. But the more you take, the more that everything starts to die. The key is that if you take, you should give something in its place so there is no dearth.

And you're right on with the sixth as well. Remember, for the Cult, Passions are everything. They're incredibly strong, but also can be fragile. If you rend someone's passions--turn a source of joy into a source of terror, fear, or pain, for example--then we turn people away from wanting to feel joy every again. Similarly, if we take the fear someone's and turn it into joy, then they no longer have that fear to draw upon. And thuse, they'll never be able to reach ecstacy, and expend their lives and spirits.

The seventh is pretty straight-forward, but it needs some context. You're right that it's basically a law of accountability. We within the Cult are all about community. We're pretty social creatures, for the most part. We need community to function, and we have a drive toward being part of a community. If a mage within a community risks us all with foolish actions or behavior, then they tend to be shunned. Thus, the chance of being a pariah tend to keep most mages from doing things they'd otherwise do."

She pauses here. "I'm not trying to make reference to what you're doing, in case you might worry about that. There is some risk there, and others could feel that way. It's a blurry line, but I understand what you're trying to accomplish.

And for the last...Fear is a peculiar and tricky Passion. Sh'zar, who set forth the Code, knew this well. It's one of those Passions a lot of people, even experienced Cultists..." Including, she indicates with a hand on her breastbone, herself, "...can't always get their brains around quite right. Sleepers doesn't necessarily mean those who aren't awake here. It's mean to mean those who haven't acheived enlightenment. In some ways, we're all still Sleepers. And yeah, it's about balance. Some people try to ignore fear...others try to confront every fear head-on. Both lead to a lot of dead people."

Elijah Poirot

"I'm worried that I'm doing just that, though, fucking up good ol' number seven? I mean, i… I keep thinking I should be doing this, but getting everyone's input on things, especially when I asked for help? It's… it's strange, to feel so certain and then suddenly… you're not. What Alicia wants is to know what happened to her Dad, and that's it and the further things go on, the more worried I get about bringing something huge down on people that I can't take back. I feel like I belong somewhere, I don't… I don't want to be alone again," he admits. He's not ashamed of it, not afraid to admit that he didn't want to be alone, that he thirsted for this sense of community he'd found, that he'd hoped to help encourage.

"I can see where this would be really helpful for helping guide your actions and stuff… once you get past… y'know… language. And stuff. Who's Sh'zar? The language sounds crazy old, like, middle English old."

Lena Reilly

There is a moment, as she's sitting there listening to him, that a decision is made. As he talks about his concerns and his fears, and not wanting to be alone again. And as soon as he's done, she leans over, eaches out and puts her hand over his wrist. The touch is brief, but it's there.

"If it all goes bad," she says, sincerely, "I will back you regardless. And I am very damned sure I'm not the only one."

And that's all she feels like she needs to say about that. She leans back again, picks up her drink and sipts it as he asks about Sh'zar. "He was...basically the founder of the Cult. We existed before that, though not in the same way. Some of our people argue that we're the oldest Tradition, though I'm not 100% on that. Anyway, Sh'zar brought us together in a way that hadn't been seen before. That was during the time of the First Cabal...the beginnings of the Nine Traditions. Back in the late fifteenth century..."

She stops there, scrunches up her forehead and nose. "I think. Time is all relative, anyway. Oldest, fifteenth century, first, last...none of that really matters. Its just invented so we can conceptually understand it. The point is, he's one of true creators of the Cult as it exists---and of the Traditions as a whole."

Lena Reilly

[[PAUSE]]

Lena Reilly

Last posts:

Elijah Poirot

“I’m worried that I’m doing just that, though, fucking up good ol’ number seven? I mean, i… I keep thinking I should be doing this, but getting everyone’s input on things, especially when I asked for help? It’s… it’s strange, to feel so certain and then suddenly… you’re not. What Alicia wants is to know what happened to her Dad, and that’s it and the further things go on, the more worried I get about bringing something huge down on people that I can’t take back. I feel like I belong somewhere, I don’t… I don’t want to be alone again,” he admits. He’s not ashamed of it, not afraid to admit that he didn’t want to be alone, that he thirsted for this sense of community he’d found, that he’d hoped to help encourage.

“I can see where this would be really helpful for helping guide your actions and stuff… once you get past… y’know… language. And stuff. Who’s Sh’zar? The language sounds crazy old, like, middle English old.”

Lena Reilly

There is a moment, as she’s sitting there listening to him, that a decision is made. As he talks about his concerns and his fears, and not wanting to be alone again. And as soon as he’s done, she leans over, eaches out and puts her hand over his wrist. The touch is brief, but it’s there.

“If it all goes bad,” she says, sincerely, “I will back you regardless. And I am very damned sure I’m not the only one.”

And that’s all she feels like she needs to say about that. She leans back again, picks up her drink and sipts it as he asks about Sh’zar. “He was…basically the founder of the Cult. We existed before that, though not in the same way. Some of our people argue that we’re the oldest Tradition, though I’m not 100% on that. Anyway, Sh’zar brought us together in a way that hadn’t been seen before. That was during the time of the First Cabal…the beginnings of the Nine Traditions. Back in the late fifteenth century…”

She stops there, scrunches up her forehead and nose. “I think. Time is all relative, anyway. Oldest, fifteenth century, first, last…none of that really matters. Its just invented so we can conceptually understand it. The point is, he’s one of true creators of the Cult as it exists—and of the Traditions as a whole.”

Elijah Poirot

She assures him, gives her word that if it all goes bad then Lena will back him. Regardless. She's certain she wouldn't be the only one and that seems to assuage some of his concerns, puts his mind at ease that he wouldn't necessarily have to brave the awakened world alone. there was something strange about that, it's a concept he comes back to, figuring out where he would fit and what he would do if he didn't necessarily find himself to be a missing puzzle piece in some larger picture.

Grace said it herself, it wasn't safe to do all of this alone. Maybe it was the lack of safety that scared him, perhaps something to think about later.

Lena reassures him, and his lips quirk upward. He doesn't shy away from contact, but craves it no matter how brief. Whether that contact be physical or emotional.

They talk about time tables and time lines and the specifics of it seem to get Elijah a little tripped up. History was one of his worst subjects, if only because he was at once incredibly good with dates and incredibly uninterested in them. "The date doesn't matter as much as the concept," he replied, following along and taking a moment to really take that in, "so, what was it like before the traditions were… y'know… the Traditions."

Lena Reilly

Elijah didn't do well in history because he was uninterested in dates; that's another point in which they're similar. Even before she was a Cultist, Lena was both deeply cognizant of the importance of the past, yet completely uncaring about the linear aspect. Those who ignore the past are doomed to repeat it, they say...but perhaps it's just that those who look at the past AS the past fail to realize that it's the same as the future and the present, and thus unwittingly take journey to a point where past and present coincide.

But that's neither here nor there. (Or rather, it's both and thus not relevant right now.) Elijah asks what it was like before the Traditions and Lena quirks her lips, then grins. "One day maybe we'll find out first-hand." Hey, the girl recently charged into a Roman arena, rode a dragon and got blown up by an airplane. Stranger things have happened.

"From what I know though...it's just like anything before stuff gets organized. Chaotic, but free and running in wonderous directions. Spirit mages from all corners of the world doing their own thing, both good and ad. Oracles from Delphi and Aztec seers looking into the future and seeing the same thing from half a world apart, albeit in their own ways and through their own means and not ever thinking that one might be the same as the other. Blood witches and Celtic shamans and..." She shrugs. "Well, all of it. But as varied as it was, a lot of war, too. Some of them, such as the conflict between Euthanatos and Akashics, still continue to this day. There are a lot of grudges too...the Verbena and Celestial Chorus have never fully trusted each other, for example. Most of that kind of thing stems from before we were organized."

Elijah Poirot

"But now that the traditions are organized there's slightly less internal warring over ideologies and nobody's trying to burn each other as heretics?" he asked, might as well ask because he needed some kind of confirmation.

he wondered, mused, briefly over whatever conflict there was between the Euthanatoi and the Akashics, what that could have stemmed over and what all of that actually meant. Perhaps a question for Eleanor. Perhaps a history lesson. For all his poor marks in history (dates, man, fuckin' dates) he did enjoy the topic. He had a love of stories, of what happened and how it happened, all the while not being terribly hung up on the things people thought were important about it. if he could remember the importance of why something happened, why did it matter if he didn't know something happened on May 12th? beyond, of course, making it easier for everyone else to understand.

We digress. His thoughts were prone to digressing.

Lena Reilly

"Slightly less, yeah." She nods a little, wryly amused. "To be honest, mostly they agreed to get together and stop trying to kill each other because of the reason most people stop trying to kill each other: a common enemy. The Technocracy, or what turned into the Technocracy, formed before the Traditions did and as a unified group had the upper hand. With all of the proto-traditions and mystic societies isolated and fighting each other, it was easy for them to be picked off before members from each of them came together to work out a treaty of sorts, which ended up becoming the Council of Nine Traditions."

Elijah Poirot

"So a lot of the reasoning was practical," like most things, of course it would have a practical reason. he listens and paused, "what about the technocracy? you said that they united as a group way back in the day? So... do they have groups like the Traditions? They can't just be one group? what's their deal anyway?"

This could suddenly make Elijah's confusion towards people's fear of the technocracy make sense. The young man literally knows nothing about them.

Lena Reilly

"They are in groups, yeah." She purses her lips...like many in the Traditions, her information is less strong about the Union. "I don't know all of the details about them. A lot of our knowledge was lost when the Technocracy basically won the war around the turn of the century; our Umbral headquarters was cut off from us, the Avatar Storm happened and then...yeah. From what I know, it was bad. I wasn't anywhere close to Awakened at that point."

It would likely be frightening to many of the Ascension War-era mages how little their successors knew compared to them. But it isn't all lost. "The ones I do know are the New World Order, the Progenitors and Iteration X. They seem to be the ones we encounter the most, when we do. As to what their deal is...they don't view magic like we do. They believe in science and reason over mysticism and the occult. We're not Awakened to them...we're Reality Deviants. They think that we're dangerous to the world, but because we aren't part of a homogenized society where everything is the same and nothing is extraordinary or special."

Elijah Poirot

"Waitaminute, what's the umbra? And what's the Avatar Storm, for that matter?" he asked, and he already knew. He knew what the umbra was, even though he didn't know there was a word for it because he looked at it all the time. He spent a good chunk of time staring into it. He was sold on his apartment because of the umbra, of the view he had of the sky and the spiral stars that went on forever and the fledgling tenebrous buildings that did not dare to block his view of Denver. He loved his apartment because of the umbra, but still he had no word for the land between, the reflection of his own reality. Not like the land where ghosts lived.

No, he knew what the Shadow Lands were, knew the word because he'd heard the word before, had heard it growing up and it had initially confused him because there was such truth, it was the land where shadows lived.

Elijah had no word for the Nothing between the shadows and beyond. He had no words for the place he dreamed about. It suited its nature just fine; there was a power in words, and there was a power in defying those words. He gave that place too much power by refusing to name it.

The explanation gets noted, about the war that was lost that Dan had mentioned when he explained what was going on, when he had urged Elijah not to pursue his current trajectory of thought. He'd heard the term before, Reality Deviant. "How're they different from Virtual Adepts and Etherites, though? patience believes in science, but Patience isn't a dick about it."

Lena Reilly

There's a moment when Lena is about to say Hasn't Kalen told you about the Umbra? And then she remembers that Kalen doesn't do Spirit magic and the crease in her brow smooths out.

"The Umbra is what we call the spirit world. The world that is side-by-side with this one, like two objects phased into each other. The Avatar Storm..."

She purses her lips again. "That's a long story. The short of it is that when a lot of bad stuff went down that caused the Technocracy to win the Ascension War, one of them was the Avatar Storm. A series of traumatic events caused a storm in the Gauntlet--the wall between worlds. That wall is--we believe--made up of the shattered Avatars of other Awakened. And so travelling through the Gauntlet to the Umbra is physically and spiritually damaging to us."

Elijah Poirot

"Oh, cool there's a word for it," he sounded genuinely delighted by the prospect of finally having a word to use for the place between the worlds. The mirror world. The umbra, the place where spirits lived.

"Oh, so that's why Lucy said it was dangerous to go between the worlds... it's possible, but it could really, really mess you up?"

Lena Reilly

"Exactly." She nods. "It...well, I haven't ever actually been across myself. I don't have that level of ability. But what I've been told is that it essentially flays your Avatar. The stronger the Awakened, the more that it can hurt you."

Elijah Poirot

"Fuck," he said, astounded by the prospect of what it could possibly do, though his thoughts did wander while he wondered. He had a lot to ponder, and with that the sound of the music outside came back to him, "do you wanna go dance? I need to digest all of this and i feel like I've been sitting still for an eternity."

Lena Reilly

She smiles when he asks if she wants to dance, and nods. "I would love to."

Her drink is finished and then she rises, setting the glass down on top of the minifridge. "C'mon. Whatever song it is, it's probably one of my favorites."