[Manip+sub: Of course I sound calm, Kalen! You probably want me to sound like I'm totally prepared, so- tada!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]
The Hermetics
The Order's presence in Denver had been rather sparse, of late. Particularly now that Trent was gone, there wasn't much in the way of chain of command. So one could not fault Elijah if his response to Kalen's news of an impending visit from two high ranking Hermetics was... perhaps a little on the anxious side. Seeing to the proper placement of someone else's apprentice hadn't exactly been on the agenda for Richard Oenomaus and Orrin Zephyr when they'd landed at the airport, but nonetheless here they were: pulling up to Elijah's building in a silver BMW. The two men were dressed in professional attire (as befitted their rank and status.) The younger of the two had a flair for bold colors, and as such he paired his black suit with a brilliant azure silk tie. His companion (who looked to be somewhere in his early 40's,) had chosen a grey suit and tie with a simple white shirt (though the make and quality of the material were quite high.) When they exited the car, they cast a long, appraising glance over the building before making their way to the door. One of them pressed the buzzer on the intercom to alert Elijah to their presence.
Elijah
Kalen gave him a call. Kalen gave him a call stating that he was going to be having company soon.
"Oh," Elijah replied, voice casual and the sound of a running sink on the other end, "okay. I'll look forward to it."
There may or may not have been pleasantries exchanged, but the phone was hung up shortly enough. His eyes drifted back to the dining room table, where Jenn had holed up with all of her books and resources and brownies and cappuccino and cereal (why does she have so many cereal bowls? Why can't she just wash the one cereal bown instead of building a freaking cereal bowl fortress?) Then his attention went to the living room.
They'd both been studying, between Jenn deciding she wanted to finish her bachelors degree a year early and trying to independent study her way into an applied art degree and a minor in psychology so she had hit the books hard. Got bored and occasionally picked up.... whatever it was that Elijah was reading. Going over notes that were scattered all over the place into stations where things are scrawled in French on brick in chalk- diagrams drawn and wiped out and drawn again (and redrawn by Jenn with very explicit instructions as to how something was supposed to look because she had an eye for space and depth when he had theconcept of what was there, yammered on about why something had to be a certain color or a certain size the same way he talked about an offset press or handmade paper)And sometimes notes were taken on the floor as well. If he'd been able, one could assume Elijah might have let musings filter to the furniture; he'd never grown out of drawing on walls. It just evolved.
Elijah had just grown to accept that if he was going to keep his butterfly attention moving he had to keep moving. He had to go from place to place and subject to subject and going back and revisiting and going to something else when he could feel his attention start to slip so it made the apartment a disaster. Not even organized chaos, he had to explain what took him where, at what point he got interrupted by something or someone talking to him. Or talking near him. Anything to be a distraction.
"Shit," Elijah hissed. The young man immediately went to picking up the various bowls of whatever it was Jenn was eating- a one woman soggy cereal buffet, which was enough to get the recently blonde woman to poke her head out of the bathroom. She had somewhere to be in an hour; she'd spent the last twenty minutes doing her hair and the last three dreamily brushing her teeth while her mind wandered to things like how nice it would be to blow off this client and go to sleep. Hashtag tattoo artist problems. At least she'd already gotten dressed.
"What are you doing?" she asked from behind her toothbrush, Jenn meandered to the sink and spit, "I was gonna finish that."
"They're coming, like, right now," Elijah was dumping things into the sink, heedless of whether or not they had a garbage disposal (they did not), and haphazardly shoving dishes in the sink.
"Who?"
"Them," Elijah replied whileawkwardly flailing towards the living room.
"Oh!" she made a rush for the living room to pick things up.
He was trying to take care of the kitchen until he realized exactly what it was Jenn was doing. "Waitwaitwait! Don't move things, there's a system."
"There is not a system," she told him flatly.
"There is a system, there has always been a system-"
"Ugh, trade me," Jenn told him as she stoped her way back to the kitchen and Elijah went to... doing whatever it was Elijah had to do to get chalk off the walls. And the floor. And pick up papers, and get distracted by-
"Elijah. Papers," Jenn snapped.
"Oh! Right!"
Back to cleaning.
The kitchen was done and-
There was a buzzer on the intercom. They both stopped, staring mortified at the little intercom like it was some harbinger of doom. Elijah swallowed hard. Jenn straightened herself out.
"How much time do you need?" she asked.
"Minute and a half."
"I can do a minute and a half."
---
The apartment was on top of a florist shop called Floral and Hardy- they had a decent amount of foot traffic and while one could call the building charming it had seem better days. It had definitely seen better days and while someone once loved this place, that time has long since passed. The door that would have let someone come upstairs to the apartments above was solid and wooden. Painted blue, chipped and fading. Kicked at the bottom a few times, signs of attemtps at break ins hinted at the door frame but the door was still there. Still solid.
There was a feminine voice on the other end of the buzzer, "Laurent-Poirot residence."
The Hermetics
"Oh how charming, he's got a roommate." Jenn might be able to pick up Orrin's faintly murmured background comment before Richard addressed her properly.
"We're here to see Elijah."
He did not offer their names (not to Jenn, at least.)
Elijah
[Elijah: Time 1- Perfect Time. Diff 4 -1 (because he's totally practiced this) +1 (because JESUS TRYING NOT TO PANIC)
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (1, 4) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Elijah
[Aaaand one more]
Dice: 2 d10 TN5 (1, 3) ( botch x 1 )
Elijah
[Ow, Paradox, why?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )
Elijah
She lets go of the button and looks at Elijah. He's looking at his watch, the one with the hairline crack in the face, the one with the little bit of blood stuck in the floral filigree. She thinks he should be working, and he is. Just not the way she thinks.
"Minute and a half?" she repeats.
He looks at the watch again, bridges the gap and places a kiss on the top of Jenn's head. Lingers there for a minute when nerves get in the way and things slip and-
"You need to breathe," she tells him, arms around his waist for a second, "if you panic you're gonna blow it."
"I know," he tells her. Default and unfocused. She squeezes his ribs a little.
"Just let there be a fucking mess," Jenn says, "someone needs to judge you based on the quality of what's here, not whether or not you are weird when you study. Maybe they like weird studiers. They took Kalen. Kalen's kinda weird."
-and he can't stop thinking about how he's screwed up and-
Jenn takes the opportunity to bite him. Face in his chest, on her toes, teeth to his collarbone.
"-Owww!"
"Be in the moment," she grinned and took a step back, "minute and a half."
And it was down the stairs with her, taking two at a time.
The door opens and the gentlemen are met with a small bottled blonde with a couple eyebrow piercings and eyes that were warm and dark all at once. She's got a tattoo of some irises on one of her thighs that peeks out slightly under the gray dress she was wearing. These guys are old enough to be her dad, Jenn pretty well assumes looking at them that they're not going to be total creepers.
--
Elijah took a second and watched Jenn bound down the stairs, rubbing the place on his collarbone where she bit him. Jesus, he said, cheeks flushed, she's like a damn terrier. He looks back at the living room, a little less frenzied, a little more thoughtful, a little more meditative going over papers and making sure most of the books were put... somewhere.
Be in the moment, he thinks. He muses.
--
"Sorry," she apologizes with a little tilt of her head. "The buzzer system doesn't actually work right. Let me show you to the apartment."
and she takes the stairs one at a time this time, precariously perches herself in such a fashion that one can't necessarily pass her without being awkward.
These guys aren't stupid; she's stalling. She might even know why she's stalling.
"Did you manage to find parking okay?" it's finally to the door, B52. She reaches for the door knob, only to have it opened by the person they were actually here to see, which also happened to be blond, but naturally so. Jenn took a step back, Elijah gestured for the gentlemen to come in.
"Glad you could make it," his cheeks are flushed, his shirt is a little rumpled. There are books stacked neat inside of an open-legged coffee table. Because finally,finally they had another coffee table.
"Elijah, do you need anything?" she asked, brows raised, but something vaguely protective lurking there. Do I need to worry about them murdering you? that tone says at the very back of its chipper melody.
"No, I should be fine," Probably not? He hands her a purse and her car keys.
She smiles- wary, he smiles- tense but steady. She departs.
Elijah
[Awareness!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]
The Hermetics
When Jenn opened the door, she'd find herself being stared down by a couple of tall, distinguished-looking brunettes in very expensive suits. One of them - the taller of the two, with piercing eyes and a hawkish nose - was, in fact, old enough to be her father. The other (he had warmer brown eyes and a layer of facial hair) was actually only about a decade her senior. He slid his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket and tilted his head, regarding her with an expression that lingered somewhere between amusement and casual interest.
The older gentleman was entirely unmoved. But if he felt any annoyance at the delay, he didn't say so. Instead, he and his companion followed Jenn up the stairs. When she asked about parking, he replied simply, "We did."
Elijah opened the apartment door, and when he did he felt a wash of resonance pool over him like a tidal wave. The younger of the Hermetics was as flashy as one would picture a Flambeau: bold, dazzling and swift. The older had a static aura of authority to him: focused, refined, piercing, commanding and judicious. A Champion and a Judge. The Hermetics observed the exchange between Elijah and Jenn without interrupting, only stepping inside once the latter had departed.
"Adept Major Richard Oenomaus, bani Quaesitor. My companion is Adept Major Orrin Zephyr, bani Flambeau." Richard kept the introductions short this time. "Thank you for having us." There was a tired and slightly haughty tone lurking beneath Richard's polite words. Elijah could not have refused them entrance even if he'd wanted to, a fact that everyone in the room was likely well aware of. "We're here because we were told that you were looking to apprentice to House Shaea. Is this true?"
Elijah
He just has to stand there for a minute. Not a full minute, not an actual minute, but he does stand there. Not blank so much as just... processing. Like this was some age old wine and he's some would-be sommelier who is going to be asked about its undertones later. There's a second where he looks intimidated, doesn't back away just yet, but there's a second when it's clear, a flicker of something that makes him think he's in over his head. What was he thinking, these two are-
Stop.
It only lasts a second, and there is the panic and the tension and like it's all just something he could turn off with a switch it stops. It's like the name hits him, it's like the rank hits him, it's like the situation hits him and he seems to realize that fear and respect aren't the same thing and he doesn't need to be afraid of this. He needs to respect them, yes, but he doesn't have to be afraid of that moment.
Some of the tension drops. Maybe he just cons his way into thinking it shouldn't be there, but something does drop. Elijah could be confident if he needed to be, Elijah could be polite if he needed to be, he could be a lot of things if he needed to be but he never let himself because... well, because. He regards these two with perhaps a little bit of awe, just a little, because they were standing in his fucking living room and they were paragons of where they came from. A Judge and a Champion.
Respect and fear weren't the same thing. Respect and hero-worship weren't the same thing, either. He keeps it all tempered, at least, for now.
"That is correct," he says, confirms, "from what I understand, things traditionally go very... differently. Than the way they have now."
No good, no ill, no judgment. Just a statement of fact. Elijah came about to this situation differently.
The Hermetics
"It's not entirely unheard of for an apprentice to change Houses." Orrin walked through the living room as though he were a prospective buyer, inspecting the space with a casually interested gaze. He made note of the furniture, the books, the general sense of the place that made it seem very much the apartment of two eclectic, intellectual, artistic young students. "Though for the life of me I can't imagine why anyone would leave Flambeau in order to go live out their life in some dusty library." His tone, unlike Richard's, was warm and playful. (Teasing, perhaps.) Richard glanced at him, but did not immediately respond. Instead he gave the room a cursory glance and took a seat on Elijah's sofa.
"The situation in Denver is not ideal for prospective students of the Order. Your apprenticeship should have been given more consideration than it was, and if you truly are meant for Shaea, you should have been sent to one their libraries - not kept here under the care of an entirely different House. However, I am less interested in dissecting the process by which you were recruited than I am in determining what the course of your future with the Order should be. Bearing that in mind, Orrin and I will be asking you some questions. Please have a seat."
Richard directed that last comment to Elijah, but his eyes swept over to Orrin a moment later, as though to include him in the request. Orrin dutifully took a seat beside Richard on the sofa, leaving a cushion between them. He unbuttoned his jacket as he got comfortable, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back to stretch one arm across the spine of the sofa.
Elijah
[Per+empathy- am I supposed to sit on the couch?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Elijah
He takes a seat in a nearby chair, one that he pulls away from the front door that is usually home to various bags and coats and whatnot that should probably exist on a coat rack but neither Jenn nor Elijah believe in coat racks as an institution and have only recently begun to believe in coats (because Colorado gets cold, what the Hell?)
"The book smell sells it a little," he told Orrin with a grin, "but it does that because the chemical compounds start to break down? So it's kind of like, oh, here, have all of this information, by the way it's slowly decaying into a pile of dust, have fun!"
He sits down, but he does not get comfortable. Briefly conversational, but his posture doesn't let down. This is an interview, he doesn't slouch at interviews, either. There are notes that he would rather be doing any number of things, that his posture is prone to sprawling but his vest stays straight and he hasn't wrinkled his pants but he's still got half a dozen bracelets on one hand and a necklace he can't actually take off because it's tied on and he can't get the knot to give (tucked into his shirt, but the cord peaks out).
He knows things about space, about body language. He knows that people who are confident misuse space, take up more of it. Elijah is watching, taking note of cues from body language. He's watching like this is the first test he's actually studied for and the only one that ever mattered. But it's taking every. Blessed. Fiber of his being to sit still, because he doesn't fidget but he doesn't seem, doesn't feel, doesnt' radiate the feeling that he should keep still. At his core there is unrest, at his core there is something that rails and insists against complacency, a revolution with direction.
"Alright," he says. They'll be asking him questions. Alright is a perfunctory word, a useless word, and he knows it. They're going to ask him questions, and he's going to answer them. He doesn't need to give his affirmation that this is something he's going to do. Not resentful, but... perhaps a tad eager.
The Hermetics
You could tell a lot about a person based on the way that they took up space. Orrin radiated the kind of inborn confidence one might likely expect from a champion of the Order. More than that, though, his posture was relaxed. He took up residence on a perfect stranger's couch as though that couch belonged to him. Richard, on the other hand, sat straight-backed and serious, with one hand perched upon his knee and the other resting lightly on the arm-rest. Looking at him, one would be hard-pressed to imagine him lounging anywhere.
"First I'd like you to tell me," Richard asked, "why you'd like to join the Order, and what it is you think you have to offer us."
Elijah
"Okay," an awkward pause while he looks for a place to dive off of, "it's words. More importantly, it's language. The Order's view on language- that there is power and beauty and strength and everything essential to being in language. In words, in definitions because they're freeing and they give things a shape, empower them, make things real because it was given a name- and then you have the entire idea that the being informs the definition and the definition informs the being. I am, that I am, that words and a Voice could come out of the Void and bring everything into existence.
"It's... Back with words and names, it's-it's like..." he's gesturing, hands nopt wild but he is trying so desperately to not get up and pace and ramble as he is prone to do and being still is just antithetical to who and how he is. Movement creeps in.
"It writes our being into poetry, or really just helps hammer home that our being is poetic. And I think," he pauses, like he's hesitant to share that, as though that sentiment is personal, "I think that's beautiful. That's really what drew me in, I wanted to explore and expand and embrace symbolic communication and metaphor and something where every movement and every thought and every step has a process and tells a story."
BUt what did he have to offer? That one made him think, mouth quirked to the side for a minute, "that's probably the big one, I mean. Say too much and you're full of yourself, pick the wrong words and the details get lost." YOu're stalling, he hears. Exhales hard. Once. Focus.
"What do I bring to the table..." a second, "acting as an impartial third party in dealing with dead people doesn't quite seem to be the Order's thing so I don't think my whole Haley Joel Osment situation quite applies here."
He realizes he's rambling, clears his throat, takes a second. He's nervous, anyone who has ever been in a job interview knows that he's nervous, probably can tell that he's a nervous talker. Has to remind himself to focus.
Then, evenly, like a promise, "if something is to be done, and I have given my word on what that something is, even if it takes twenty years or a lifetime, if I am still drawing breath in my lungs, I will make that happen. Devote every resource, every second, every waking and dreaming moment I have to making that promise happen because you do not give your word lightly."
The Hermetics
One of the more frustrating things about the interview process was the lack of clarity when it came to the opinions of the people asking questions. In the face of cryptic and enigmatic silence, it was difficult to maintain one's confidence. But Elijah answered Richard's questions, and despite the pervasive intensity of the man's gaze, he managed to mostly hold on to his composure. Richard and Orrin listened while Elijah spoke, and only the latter gave any indication of approval. Even that was subtle, just the smallest lift of one corner of his mouth. Richard, on the other hand, seemed to neither approve nor disapprove. He simply took in Elijah's response and nodded. There was a brief pause before he continued, a few beats of potentially awkward silence for Elijah to stew in his own thoughts.
"Tell me what Enlightenment means to you, and how does one achieve it?"
Elijah
"Enlightenment is... it's a process. Enlightenment, to me, is what happens when you have moved forward and built up and torn down whatever is standing in your way, even if it's yourself. Especially if it's yourself... in fact, I might even go as far as to say specifically yourself. Strictly speaking, it's a gaining of insights or understanding or awareness. But those are just, you know, synonyms- they don't actually encompass everything that Enlightenment is they just hint at pieces of it because their definition comes close-" he takes a breath and seems content to continue "-I think, though, that at its core Enlightenment, to me, is Truth. It's becoming aware of what that Truth is and you get there through stripping off layers and challenging yourself and what you thought Truth really was."
He puts his hands in his lap, exhales, "I think you seek Enlightenment by refusing to believe that you are static, or that things are just good enough. But then you get into the ideal of Perfection and its pursuit and I think it gets kind of muddy there- is perfection an unreachable star, a goal to aim for? Or do you let the idea and whatever it embodies weigh you into inaction.
"There's no place for inaction when you're talking about Enlightenment. Enlightenment comes in doing. It's not passive, it doesn't just happen to you one day because you pushed a button forty thousand times unless you found some immutable, irrevocable, world-defining Truth in pushing a button forty thousand times. But... yes. Did that answer your question? I can always clarify."
The Hermetics
Richard shook his head, his expression still frustratingly difficult to read. "No need. Your response was adequate."
Beside him, Orrin cocked an eyebrow and fixed his colleague with an amused expression. He sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and regarded Elijah thoughtfully. "Where are you at with your study of the Ars Essentiae?"
Elijah
[WP: I am totally owning this.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
Elijah
"Nowhere," he says honestly, and where there should be embarrassment there isn't. Just frank, genuine admission that he had made a questionable call. He could have been falling over himself at that juncture, "which I recognize isn't a wise decision."
And he's braced for reprimand, or for them to stand up, say that they would thank him for his time but there wouldn't be a place for him in the Order and he doesn't seem shaken. He doesn't seem like he's going to fall apart, he just seems ready. Accepting, yes, but ready for the worst.
"It's not a passive art, so conceptually I understand but not in its actual application, which will be remedied."
The Hermetics
Funny how sometimes a person could walk into a test and ace the tricky questions, only to fall flat on something incredibly basic. It happened more often than you might think: brilliant minds reaching for the stars only to forget where they've placed their feet. The Ars Essentiae (more correctly the Ars Virium) was indisputably the cornerstone of the Hermetic practice. The idea of it lived within their very paradigm. Strength. Energy. Light. Naturally, it was the Flambeau who asked this question. One could debate the finer points of Ascension all night, but what use was it without the practical skill to wield Ascension's tools?
Orrin's eyebrows lifted. His expression fell into something akin to both surprise and... offense, almost. "You've been studying with Kalen for how long now? A year? And you haven't even mastered the most basic sensory awareness?"
Richard glanced at his companion, a crease forming between his eyebrows. When he looked back at Elijah, he seemed to be weighing something in his head. (You could practically feel the scales shifting back and forth.) "I wonder who should take the blame for that deficit. But, truthfully... if he does begin an education with the Scribes, I've no doubt they will wish to teach him according to their own rituals. If you haven't yet grasped the Ars Virium, what is it that youcan do?"
Elijah
"Any gaps there would be my fault, you can teach someone something until you're blue in the face but it's up to them to learn it and I let- look, I'm not easy to deal with sometimes," he's quick to defend Kalen, and eager to take blame in that regard. To take ownership, at least. (Perhaps of something he didn't have complete purchase of, but he might not realize that.)
Inhale, recenter, exhale and continue. Things aren't hopeless, but things... don't look good. He'd have to be deluding himself to think that things were looking good at this point. One can tell that Elijah knows something is off, he's being still.
"Initially, I came to this city with a rudimentary knowledge of Ars Fati, Ars Spirituum, and Ars Temporis, which then expanded outward towards Ars Animae, Ars Mentis, and Ars Potentiae. When the capacity to expand towards more than just sensing things came, my attentions went elsewhere- I'll be honest, it was almost a case of ooh shiny instead of finishing out the entirety of the most basic understandings."
"I chose, instead, to my attentions to ars spirituum- because I found the parallel between how our world informs the umbra to be fascinating and I was interested in how one could affect change in one land by influencing another. You can see the impact of one on the other," now, there is a moment when he realizes he shouldn't be talking about this because the Order is a little gunshy about that particular art. Exhales and powers through, "though I recognize that one shouldn't actually go around poking otherworldly forces because there are consequences. But the knowledge of how one would be tempted to poke said forces seemed vital to not making future mistakes."
You've faltered before, he remembers, quiet and it lingers there with a thrown chair and screamed threats at a Voice who he never saw, something that was always behind some wall or some way hidden. Always, always, but he continues on.
"Then Ars Temporis, because I found it important to understand the potential consequences of our actions and inactions, so we can inspire ourselves to make choices or understand if the consequences of our actions are worth the cost- or to inform ourselves of events past so we don't have to rely entirely on second hand information, you can be in the moment, and more importantly you can tell when someone has altered the truth of that moment."
Exhale again, stillness reigns.
"Then I decided to focus more closely on Ars Potentiae because it's... it's the first thing I'd encountered that was perfect. That was in everything, the thing that all things can be yielded into, and I'll be completely honest the idea that, in a worst case scenario the fact that it can be broken into a consecrated, legitimate means of defense- with a cost mind you, but still- appeals. Because I've found myself in situations where things were going south and people were in danger and all I could do is stand around and try to unwrite whatever some terrifying Awakened murderer was throwing at people and getting nowhere... The creative and destructive and defensive potential appealed to me.:
The Hermetics
[(From Richard) Perception+Subterfuge - is there anything you're trying to hide from me right now?]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 8 ) [Doubling Tens]
Elijah
There are things that he learned from Kalen, and there are things he did not learn from Kalen. That much comes across, hinted that perhaps that interest in Ars Spirituum and the study therein had been largely independent, formed of his own intentions and his own interests because he wanted to know something. No one else was invested in that bit of information but him, but he wasn't going to broadcast it. Wasn't going to brag, wasn't going to fixate.
The rest is a little more of an issue of pride. He's putting on a brave face, putting up a frank ownership of what he's done (or hasn't done), but there's the tension, there's the stillness, there's the nerves creeping in and the doubt, and oh god, doubt is terrible. He's convinced this isn't going well, fighting for the urge to try and salvage what may or may not come and the easier desire of just abandoning ship, taking the easy way out, but he's staying the course. There's conflict there, he's committed, but he's young.
He might talk a big game, but this is a lot harder than Elijah is letting on.
Beyond that, there is mention of Ars Potentiae. There's a story there. He gave enough information but what he doesn't say is glaring. Something happened (and it was terrifying, and it shouldn't still scare me) and people were in danger (and I felt helpless) and Things Happened. (And I couldn't do enough/And I didn't know what to do/And nothing I could do was good enough.)
And I just stood there. (Coward.)
The creative and destructive and defensive potential appealed to me. (Because I'm not going to just stand there again)
There are things he doesn't say. Doesn't talk about vampires and his own cluelessness. Doesn't mention lovers' spats and being told to go home so the big kids could handle whatever problem was going on.
He doesn't mention the rest of the incident with Victoria. Doesn't mention finding bodies- or what was left of them- and trying hard to hold it together and not knowing how to try and take care of the people around him. Because he didn't know what to do.
Coward.
The Hermetics
Richard pursed his lips together, watching Elijah with an intense stare. It was the kind of gaze that was difficult to look away from, yet paradoxically overwhelming. Maybe that was a trick of his resonance, or maybe that was just a quality that all judges possessed. The sensation of it was of a razor slicing through whatever subterfuge or mental defenses Elijah might have had. Whether that was actually true (he wasn't employing that kind of magick here) didn't lesson the impression that here was a man for whom lies were little more than spider webs to be cut through and burned. He made a low, subvocal sound in his throat.
There were things, of course, that Elijah did not know about Richard Oenomaus. Such as his reasons for being in Denver (which, despite his present company and his current preoccupation, had little to nothing to do with either Elijah or Orrin,) or his connections to certain figures. He had no way of knowing just how deeply the powerful Quaesitor understood feelings of human frailty.
"The greatest conflict each of us must face is within ourselves. To that end, fear and failure are not character flaws, but teaching devices. The measure of a mage is his willingness and dedication to own up to his frailties, challenge, and ultimately transcend them. Even if it takes a lifetime to do so. You have a quick mind, Elijah, and your stated commitment is admirable. I think it remains to be seen whether you're capable of manifesting those lofty ideals in real work. Which is what it will take if you wish to survive your apprenticeship. But that's something for your next mentor to judge."
Richard got to his feet, smoothing the creases in his suit with one hand. "I'll speak with House Shaea. You should hear back from me within the week."
Orrin looked up at his colleague, but for once he kept his thoughts to himself. When he stood up, he nodded to Elijah, fixing the button on his jacket. Then the two men showed themselves out, leaving a trail of potent resonance in their wake.
