P. Mercury
Nicholas has not been in Denver for very long by this point. He might still be jet-lagged. Later for him than it is for Pen and maybe he tried to stay up. Maybe there is some kind of rote combining Time and Life to get the traveling Mage on the right page without grogginess. But he hasn't been in Denver for very long at this point and their apartment (duplex? [rented house?]) is either a mess of boxes or simply unresolved decisions: where is this going to go we need to get that etcetera. And Nicholas is asleep when Pen pounces on the bed. "Nicholas!"
N. Hyde
Nick is indeed still jet-lagged. Even were he not, moving is simply an exhausting process. He has spent the weeks before this packing boxes, stacking them neatly in the main room of their old apartment in Connecticut, and leaving them and all their emotional weight behind for the movers. He will be starting a new job soon in a brand new setting, and he still hasn't been in Denver for very long at all. He is buried in blankets and face-planted so deeply into his pillows that not much of him is visible other than his hair.
Pen pounces on the bed. There is a stirring: delayed, but there. He's alive, folks. One eyelid drags open. "Mm?"
P. Mercury
"I have just recalled something I meant to tell you; are you awake? Don't you want to be awake with me, instead of asleep?"
Penelope has pounced; she is kneeling, primed to pounce again, her hands balancing on Nick's back or shoulders or well basically the vague mound that probably denotes something Nickish. She languishes so she is lying on her shoulder, head canted at an angle that exposes so much throat it has to be uncomfortable. And it is, but it is also gives her a head rush and is a good angle to peer at Nick-half-emerged-from-his-pillows.
N. Hyde
"Mmmn." The noise sounds vaguely as though it might be in the affirmative. It's hard to tell. There is a long period of stillness; so long, in fact, that she might wonder if he has gone back to sleep. Then he pushes himself up into a sitting position in one smooth heave, sits back against the headboard and shoves his hair back out of his face. "Only for you." The words are barely intelligible; his waking up is a gradual thing.
P. Mercury
He is still an awful long time. Pen exhales gustily, dropping onto her back. She is about to turn over and try again when he heaves himself up; she props herself up on her elbow, biting the inside of her lip against this spark of a half-smile - for a moment she is just overcome with affection, see: he is here not over there! But then she feels a pang; she probably could have waited until morning. Oh well! Forging again.
Pen watches Nicholas with a serious expression for a second or two. Then she says, "Are you awake now?"
N. Hyde
Pen props herself up on her elbow, and Nick eyes her for a moment, shifts as though he might stretch out next to her, and then he stops and thinks better of it. Down that path lies ruin; he will be asleep again in seconds. She asks if he's awake. His eyes smile and the rest of him does not; his face isn't quite responding to his brain's commands yet. "Getting there." He catches a strand of her hair, running it through and around his fingers. "You said you had something to tell me?"
P. Mercury
"Yes. As you know, I've only had a chance to exchange a couple of texts with Orrin, and I haven't really got out much - " Begs the question: what does Penelope do? Order business. "But I did mean this one woman; I wanted to tell you about her. She is up for a hypothetical future battle between homunculi and Gamera-bots." Expectant gleam in her eyes.
N. Hyde
Nick's eyes are curious when she mentions Orrin, back home; perhaps he's about to ask how the Hermetic is, how he's doing. But by then Pen has moved on to - meet this one woman. As Pen begins to tell him about her, the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement. "So we're battle planning now?"
P. Mercury
"We must always," Penelope says; spark of humor, but behind that: some forge swords are made from; she means it. She slips her hand up his midline, presses down on his collarbone. "But yes, she is willing to make a battle-ring for the battle-bot versus whatever more mythic thing I can bring. She says Entropy is a record of things as they change."
N. Hyde
If there is anything bemused in his expression, affection has softened it; all told, he is happy he is being woken up in the middle of the night to talk about battle-bots. Nick allows himself to be pushed back and to recline again, and he folds an arm behind his head. "So what mythic thing are you bringing?" Pause. "Some little sprite thing. I'm sure even battle-bots are easy to short circuit."
P. Mercury
"I would think she is cleverer than that," Pen says, solemnly. "I think most of the mythic things I would make are all still out of my reach, alas. But perhaps I will be ready to Seek again in a year's time." A smile with a sound behind it; her gaze gone distant. Pen has not been a 'Disciple' (Adept: the Hermetic terms are truest) for very long; half a year, and she gone resplendent. This is ambitious, but then all Hermetics are. "I rather like the idea of a solimond, or a basilisk - it could stop the battle-bots with one look, then breathe fire and melt them down to scrap. Can you guess her Tradition? I will give you a hint if you cannot."
N. Hyde
Pen is ambitious: Adept Major within a year's time, she hopes. Then again, there are magi who have done this, who have risen far and quickly. (It comes with a price. Perhaps neither of them fully understand that yet; perhaps one of those quick-rising magi could tell them so, and they still wouldn't understand.) "I also like the idea of a basilisk," he says. She suggests that he guess the woman's Tradition; given that there is talk of battle-bots, he says, "Etherite?"
P. Mercury
"No. Ask me for a certain kind of hint."
N. Hyde
"What's her name? Is it significant?"
P. Mercury
"It is not; not her name. Her name should belong to another Tradition, but the name of her Tradition is: bravado, which she has, and resilience and cleverness, quick as feather-feet: so guess again."
N. Hyde
Nick processes all of these clues, which would be far easier to process during daylight hours, with a slightly furrowed brow. Perhaps she can tell that he's running through all of the names: there are only Nine. "Is she a...no. Feather-feet threw me. Mercurial Elite?"
P. Mercury
"Bingo." Pen presses the tip of his nose with her index finger.
N. Hyde
Nick smiles as she presses his nose; it is the smile of a person who has Accomplished Something. A correct guess isn't too bad for the dark hours of the morning. He has pulled the blankets back up around his chest; perhaps he is going to sneakily try to drift off again. "Have you gotten to meet many people? What's it like here?"
P. Mercury
Pen doesn't answer for a moment, eyelids gone low to make her gaze hooded; it is still a clear-eyed, lake-Enchantress gaze; it is only also intent. Weighing. Judicious. She puts her hand over Nick's eyes, and waits another beat.
"I have not. And I will tell you tomorrow, when you are really awake," Penelope says; she takes her hand away; watches him another moment, wide-eyed wakeful, sighing as quietly as it is possible for Penelope to sigh. Then she kisses his forehead, and gets up to go do the kind of things a wakeful Flambeau Hermetic will do in the wee wee hours of the night.
Things that the stars dictate, most likely; certain finicky rituals do not care about time, and the stars move for no man.
