Project Hope [Heather ST]

Project Hope
It took a little digging to get the loction of this prticular meeting. The original location  had been a Catholic church in Colorado Springs, which was then moved to an Episcopal church, which then went quiet for several months while their locations were renovated. Overall, the whereabouts of Project Hope had been at once incredibly mundane and incredibly difficult to track down.

By the time the renovations were done, the space was taken over by an Alcoholics Anonymous group and a prenatal yoga course (both of which were completely open to having new members, just in  case anyone was wondering about that.)

No, once it resurfaced it would seem that the observers were in luck- they wouldn't have to drive forever and a day to get to their location it was, instead, being held in the faculty lounge area in the psychology department at DU. The door was lockable, the windows blockable, and on the outside there was a sign, neatly printed in pretty block handwriting: meeting in progress, please knock. Given that the door wasn't closed yet, it would appear that they were preempting anyone who might decide they needed to swing by a faculty member's office or two.

In the hallways on the way to the group, there were classes taking place, but the population was sparse. Night courses, nontraditional students- nobody would bat an eye at people coming and going of all walks of life.

Grace
Grace has been... guarded throughout the time Nick has seen her today. Out of the blue, after months of avoidance, here she is inviting him to group therapy (or whatever this is). Strange as that might seem, she did explain.

This group has hosted Ginny and Garrett Murray. It's got Wiley as a recurring guest speaker. There's links here. And if it hasn't been obvious yet, Grace has basically no skills at talking people out of information. She could go by herself, but no. The offer, as she said, was open.

And, dangerous. There's an agent for the other side on this case too -- a guy with the alias Philip Wright. One of the murdered people was a mole for the Technocracy, and they're a little pissed off about that. There's no way to say he's going to be here tonight, but it's a possibility.

At least it's in a public place. Lots of Sleepers around to make things interesting, right?

Grace fidgets with her (red, sharp) coat as she walks up to the building, gives a little look around.

"What do you think, man? You heard anything about this group yourself?"

Nicholas
It's been months since Nick has heard from Grace, and out of the blue here she is.  The past two months have been a series of holidays and most people are visiting far-flung family and friends, shopping for gifts and cooking, and this too is what Nick and his wife have been doing, and so: he does not seem surprised to hear from Grace, when he does.

Well, dangerous perhaps, but he's game.  He says so, anyway.

He tells his wife exactly where he'll be before he goes.  She knows how to find him anywhere with a lock of his hair and a flick of her wand or a whispered word, but it's still reassuring, see.

Nick arrives dressed in a gray peacoat, a blue cap hugging his dark curls close to his head.  He is not fidgeting when he sees Grace and makes his way over to her.  "I haven't," he says, "but I haven't really been looking, either."

Project Hope
Nick's been to these types of meetings before, or at least he's familiar with them in his profession. Coming to the meeting place itself, there are the halmarks of a support group meeting. There are chairs arranged all nice and neat around the waiting room area. There's a desk by one of the offices that has a coffee machine on top of it and off-brand sandwich cookies that insist that they aren't oreos but aren't fooling anyone.

The other table, however, the one that's away from the eyeshot of the door, is more interesting. There's a basket for cell phones (three phones already in the basket) and another basked that is distinctly larger. There is a sign that reads For the comfort and privacy of our members, the following items are not permitted on your person during meetings: cellular phones, electronic equipment, recording devices, weaponry including but not limited to knives of any kind, handguns, mace, brass knuckles, and tasers.

The room already has a few people in it. A girl who looks like she couldn't be any older than a high school student- bleached hair and too much foundation. A middle-aged man who looks almost longingly at the blackberry in the basket. A goth couple who seem to be pretty engaged in conversation, one of which looks up when they catch notice of the two newcomers.

"Oh, hey," the male of the couple says, stands up and makes his way over to the newcomers, "is this your first meeting?"

Grace
[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

Nicholas
[Awareness?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Grace
Grace raises a brow at the sign. Bah. "Yeah, because I always take my brass knuckles to support groups," she says, under her breath.

She also doesn't move to deposit her phone in the basket.

There's a guy coming up to say hi, and Grace gives him a looking over.

"Yeah."

Short on words, she looks to Nick to explain further.

Project Hope
There is a sort of feeling in here that something is definitely not mundane. He can recognize the feeling of Grace, yes, but Nick also notices a feeling that is resolved. Resolved and a little cold, not in demeanor but certainly in sheer temperature from the person who had greeted them.

Nicholas
Nick glances once at the sign and pulls his phone from his pocket so that he can deposit it in one of the baskets.  No raised brows; standard procedure here, perhaps, or simple professional respect for how another chooses to run a group.

He turns to the man approaching them, in the process of tugging off his hat and raking his fingers back through his hair to unflatten it.  "Oh," he says, and then after a pause, "sort of."  A beat.  "Well, yes.  This is the first time either of us have been here.  Are you still open to new people?"

Project Hope
"Of course we're still open," he said, "meeting might be a little full tonight- it's... It's been a rough week. Who referred you to Project Hope?" the man asks. He's a calm and confident sort, maybe in his late twenties- old enough that the dark hair and the dark clothes and the almost antiquated attire was less of a phase and more of a lifestyle.

"It's not the Project Hope that does addiction recovery services, that's across town. I just want to be sure you're aware."

Nicholas
Nick shakes his head.  "We're not addicts.  We just needed help."  A pause as he lifts his eyes and makes eye contact with the man, shortly after a cursory sweep of his dark hair dark clothes and oh they belie his bright words.  Nick has a sense of who this man is, or at least a suspicion, doesn't he?

It was only a matter of time before he met another therapist like himself but not: different perspectives, though who can say whether the goals are similar or not.  It's a miracle really that it's taken this long, working in a hospital like he does.  "I don't remember the name of the guy who referred us.  Youngish guy, kind of brown hair.  I guess he might have been a former member or something."

Grace
"It was, uh..." Grace says, eyes darting to the ceiling like she's trying to remember something. Geez. What does she say? Wiley has bright blonde hair. No idea what Garrett's hair is like. She can't come up with anything. There were a few people talking about it in emails, but they were all women. "Yeah."

"Why is it a rough week?"

Grace looks like she's had a rough week, what with all the discomfort on display here.

Project Hope
[Per+aware, are you cool?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Nicholas
[Manip + Subterfuge.  Totally cool.]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 8, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 6 ) [WP]

Grace
[Manip + Subt. HE'S NOT TOTALLY LYING, I SWARE]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )

Project Hope
The man seems to regard them for a moment, dark eyes met dark eyes and there is a quiet dawning realization who he is talking to. Brows raise and there is a dawning oh! on his face. He nods and takes a step to the side. Young guy, brownish hair-

"Oh! Garrett! It's good that some of his friends are finally coming, it's always hard to finally embrace change. I'm really glad you're here," he said. "Just go ahead and have a seat, we'll start once Bethany finishes up."

Nicholas
There is a light that springs to Nick's eyes once the name is mentioned, a smile that intimates at one corner of his mouth.  "Yeah, Garrett," he says, with a nod of confirmation.

And he says nothing more, for now.  The less said when lying through one's teeth, the better.  He does murmur his thanks though - that never hurts.

He glances once to Grace and then wanders over toward the waiting chairs, lifting a hand to unbutton his coat one-handed and shrug out of it.  He folds it and his hat over one arm and then into his lap as he seats himself.

Grace
Garrett. The man says that name, and Grace perks up a bit. She wants to ask him more, but no... That's Nick's job. Nick, who walks over to a chair and slips out of his coat, so...

When in Rome.

She follows after, gives the greeter guy a weird smile behind her back when she remembers she ought to be friendly.

Her coat gets hung over the back of a seat, claiming some temporary territory next to Nick's chair before she sits.

Today, she's not wearing some snarky humorous geek t-shirt. It's just basic black.

Project Hope
There is a woman that comes through the door after that. Sharp suit. Shit-kicking boots. Short-cropped hair and a posture that is straight and somewhat guarded. She catches the door behind her and strides to the back table.

"Hey, Bethany, are you ready for tonight?" the goth man asks the suited woman. She's busy following the procedures listed out (cell phone goes into the basket. Handgun goes into the other basket. Jacket goes under the table).
"Yeah," she said, "I always get nervous talking at these things."
"Well, it's a good thing you're not armed then," the group leader laughed. It made the woman laugh, release a little bit of tension there. "I got the clocks and insulation, did you get everything else?"
"Yeah, we should be good."

The woman took a seat next to the teenager, who shot the authoritative woman an awkward smile.

There is a sort of pressure in the air, a difference in feeling where that resolve seems thick and present, but stuck between the chill of winter personified and the hope that things would get better. The air feels like a waiting room in a hospital, the kind of waiting room where you're waiting for your doctor to tell you you're cancer free. Expectant of the worst, hopeful for the best.

"Okay, everybody," the man said, "This is our first open meeting in awhile and we have some new members. So... I'd like for everyone to go around and introduce themseslves. My name's Jack."

"I'm Nora," said the goth woman (alto. Drawn out. Like a sigh)

"Richard," the older man who looks like an investment banker. (Bass. Smoker)

"Kayla," said the teenager (small voice. Soprano)

"My name is Bethany," said the authoritarian (she sounds young. Even voice. Doesn't breathe deeply)




Nicholas
Clocks and insulation.  Handguns.  Nick is staring off at nothing specific: a whiteboard lingering toward the back of the room, the folds of the blinds that obscure the window and thereby all of them from whoever might be outside and wanting to look in.  He is still listening.

He'd be a fool not to be concerned.

"I'm Rob," Nick says, and this the first name that pops into his mind.  Robin Anton, perhaps the only person he has ever known to whom the word "frenemy" could be truly applied - he probably wouldn't be happy about the casual use of his name, would he.  No matter.  "Hi, everyone."  And oh, he can personify a newcomer's nervous excitement.  He's seen it enough times.

Grace
Grace is pondering things as people begin to go over their names, and by the time the round gets to her, spends a second trying to figure out why everyone is looking her way. "Oh... Grace."

It's easy for her to portray the newcomer's nervousness -- because she actually is.

Why did they go on about clocks?

Project Hope
There is the little bit of waving, the little bit of chatter before the authoritarian woman drew in a shaky breath and starts-

""Uh... okay, so for those of you that don't know me- I have a job. It's... a really complicated job. It's a really dangerous job. And... uh... really, that's why I'm here. I'm here because of my job, because... you see things and you've all seen some things. If you're here, there's a reason and... it's hard to really wrap your head around."

A beat.

"When I had my- I don't know, I guess the best thing you could call it-"

"The inciting incident?" Jack offered.

"Yeah... the inciting incident. I thought I had all of the answers, I thought that I could explain away everything- we'd patch up the literal hole but it would just show up again. And, I mean, I always thought this was the kind of thing that happened to other people. Science can't explain curses, but-" she catches a sharp breath. Resolute. "That's what I'm here to talk about. My point. I feel like we come to these meetings expecting someone here to say anything that will make our worlds make sense again. And I wanted to ask people, in spite of whatever they've experienced, have you been able to find that meaning?"

Nicholas
Nick listens, leaned over his lap, his coat providing a convenient pillow of sorts for his elbows, a space under which he can tuck his hands.  People living in more northward climates always seem content to keep the indoor temperature much colder than he prefers.

There is the occasional movement.  A flick of his eyes toward Jack when he offers words and terms - and the words and terms he uses tell Nick something.  It's what he was hoping for.  "I think I'm still kind of looking for meaning, myself," he says, "and that's why I'm here.  Everything is so dangerous, and so brutal.  It's hard to know what will make me feel safe again."

Grace
Grace opens her mouth when Bethany starts talking about science and curses, then abruptly closes it again. This isn't the Chantry, Grace. Don't go on talking about curses and shit.

She listens instead. Getting a bit more intent as the woman speaks.

And then, a meaningful glance at Nick. Not just a support group, huh?

"Brutal, mmm," she says, lifting a hand to her mouth and starting to gnaw on her fingernails.

Project Hope
"You're friends with Garrett and Ginny. You must've lived through some weird stuff," Kayla said.

"I think you'd benefit most from revisiting things that used to make you feel safe," Jack started, "there are two realities that most people operate under- the reality where they feel that the world is a safe place and the world where they feel it is not. The actuality of it all is that we exist somewhere in the middle."

"Sometimes, fear is a good thing. Fear keeps us safe. Too much fear keeps us paralyzed," Richard says, "my wife used to say that. Fear being sacred, like wonder or rage or lust. We're a bunch of people with a dead passion here."

It is, at that juncture, that the reference may click for some who spent some time around Ecstatics. Richard's remarks about passions, his talk about his wife (ex-wife?), Bethany's mention of curses.

"It's okay, I don't feel safe either," Kayla offers to Grace and Nick.

Nick
Nick's eyes fall on Jack as he speaks, and there is a wondering there in the darkness of their depths even as he leans forward again on his elbows.  There is a nod, albeit more of a contemplative one than one of any real recognition, as Richard talks about dead passions.

A smile to Kayla, a thing that is soft around the edges.  "Thanks," he says.  "That's nice to hear."

Then, "I guess what I don't know and what I've been wondering is where do you even go from here.  Like where should we want to end up?  How does this all end well?"

Grace
"Well. Feeling like you're able to do those safe, normal things without having a panic attack maybe would be nice," Grace says, eyes twisting away from the group.

"But like... I don't know any of you. Don't any of you feel like, I don't know, talking about this stuff... What if the wrong person found out what we've gone through?"

She doesn't smile at anyone. Smiling at people used to be quite hard. Now that she's gotten the gist of what this group is all about, she's channeling a person who used to be -- a Grace who was afraid of the monstrous nature of reality.

Project Hope
"I have that problem at work," Bethany piped up, directing her answer towards Nick, "we all see it and nobody talks about it. I guess we're all afraid of getting canned if we act like this stuff bothers us. My end goal coming here is to be able to feel like I have control over my life again, and I'm getting there by accepting that I can't change the past."

"When Melissa and James ran the group," Jack assures Grace, "they put a lot of security measures in place. It's why we have the no electronics and weaponry policy, on top of the additional security measures."

"There's always the chance that the wrong person could find out, but don't you think the prospect of recovery is better than living a stagnant life?" Nora finally spoke up, voice still the sort of relaxed and slow that one would think of when imagining a person waking up from their nap, "you only know who the wrong person is when looking in hindsight. I choose to be vulnerable so that I can grow."

Nick
Nicholas nods as each person speaks in turn.  His gaze is no longer on Jack, or on anyone for that matter; it is soft and unfocused and somehow inward.  "So where do you all want to end up, then?  Like what does it look like, when people get better?"

Grace
No electronics and no weaponry. Grace gives the wall a wry smirk at that remark. But then, she looks toward Bethany.

"Why don't you just quit your job then? I mean, find something else and then quit. I would. Sounds stressful as fuck."

There's a huff of a laugh. Darkest of humors.

Project Hope
"I want to start dating again," Richard told them.

"Stop trying to pick up chicks at a support group, Dick," Nora prodded with a grin. The group laughed, and so did Richard.

"I'm serious! I was married to a woman for twenty-three years who could do anything, and you think that it would exempt her from death but the world moves, wheels turn- I want to turn, too. I tried buying a sports car but it didn't hack it. For me, getting better is letting go of the past without forgetting it."

---

"I want to go to college," Kayla said, still a small voice; always a small voice, "and not end up like that art student that disappeared. Or like my friends... Getting better is being able to go to parties again, flirt with cute guys... be normal."

"But you're not normal, you're extraordinary," Nora told the blonde.

"Stop trying to pick up chicks at a support group, Nora," Richard prodded.

---

Bethany shrugged, regarding Grace, "I like what I do. It's hard work. It's dangerous, but I feel good about what I do and how I can make things better. I stay because I know I can make a difference."

Nick
The jokes make Nick smile in spite of himself.

In spite of himself, because he still can't quite figure out just what the hell this group is for.  Not exactly.  "It sounds like you all just want lives outside of what we experience," Nick says.  "So why not go after all of that?"

Grace
Everyone's joking. Grace isn't laughing. She's listening, but by all perception she isn't. Looks lost in daydreams the way her eyes canvas the place while skipping over faces.

She's putting two and two together, herself.

"Probably because looking at a plate of spaghetti brings flashbacks, dude. Why not just turn the sea purple..." She snaps her fingers. "Just, be better. That's what everyone wants you to do."

Project Hope
"It's not that easy," Kayla replies, defensive, "we're trying."

"It's a process," Jack chimes in, "some weeks we meet and talk about what happened. Some weeks we work on life skills, but people move towards their goals in their own time and we're here to give them those resources to get there again."

"I'm pretty happy about where I am," Nora told Nick, "but it took a long time to get here. I think you'll get there too."

"Can you tell us about your stuff?" Kayla asked the two newcomers.

Nick
"I think I would..."  And here Nick hesitates, and he takes in the defensiveness (expected, accounted for, see) and the responses.  The turning back of the questions on the two of them.  "I think I would feel a little better if we heard your stories first.  Do you...have all of you been here for very long?"

Grace
Grace ponders Nick for a second. "Agreed there."

"Sorry. I have a hard enough time talking about it to someone I really trust, you know?"

Project Hope
"I was a wreck when I first came... and that was at least five... six years ago. I'm one of the old timers," Richard said with a laugh, "my wife was, for lack of better wording, a witch. A real, honest-to-goodness witch. We didn't have any kids, but that was okay. We lived this very rock-and-roll lifestyle before we settled out here to getting old...

"She was always a little out-of-touch with reality. She told me that, sometimes, when you push too hard the universe pushes back. There were months where she would be fine and coherent, and... I don't know what happened to her, but one day her bad days started becoming all of her days. The walls bled, things crawled out of the floor- Hell, I'm pretty sure even gravity stopped working for a minute, I thought that I was the one losing my mind.

"I learned later, when I came to this group, that my wife had become what people called a Marauder. Which... I guess is what happens when witchcraft and reality fight too hard and reality gets bent out of shape. It was a mess, but... that's why I ended up coming here. I had to sober up before I could come to these meetings, I was...." he sighs, sounds nostalgic and a little sad, "I was a real mess."

"But I got to know Melissa and James, who used to lead. I got involved. I brought Ginny and Garrett- gah, those poor kids. I don't know what they'd be like if they didn't start coming with us."

---

"I started coming when I started dating Jack in grad school," Nora said. "So that was a few years ago. I was kidnapped three years ago by faeries."

"Don't laugh," she said, "I know it sounds completely stupid, but in those old school fairy tales those things are brutal."

--

"I don't want to talk about it today, sorry," Kayla offered an apologetic smile.

---

"I started coming almost a year ago," Bethany said, "my boss recommended the group to me. I... uh... well, I wake up every morning with a giant bleeding stomach wound. I'm cursed."

Nick
Nicholas listens.  He's a good listener - everyone says so.  His brows are lightly furrowed, see, and they knit together even further as Richard describes his wife.  Nick knew, before he started talking: wheels turn, that was what Richard had said.  So he'd known.

He's heard stories like this before.  He's seen them play out.

He shakes his head, once, at Kayla's apology, a reassuring gesture.

"I don't know Garrett very well at all," he says.  "But a lot of weird stuff started happening to me a while ago, like seeing a lot of strange things and not knowing what they were, and I heard about coming here.  I've never met Melissa or James."

Grace
It might be a testament to how in-the-know Grace is by how none of those stories affect her. She doesn't smile at the idea of being kidnapped by fairies. Doesn't scoff at the mention of such things as curses.

She doesn't listen attentively, let's put it that way. Doesn't listen with warmth or concern or that soft-spoken skill of the truly talented at listening. She listens like a tape recorder. Takes it all in, gives little back, except perhaps a souring of mood.

When it's her turn, she looks at the floor, crowds her eyebrows together. "Ah, you know that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Nazis open the Ark of the Covenant, and they... yeah."

"I think that's kind of been the worst."

She shrugs, like they can all put the rest together themselves.

Project Hope
"Melissa and James used to be some of the big wigs out in Colorado Springs before they died. Garrett and Ginny's mom stepped up to take care of things," Richard said, "they were really great people, though. The wife and I used to go to parties with them out in Morrison- I used to have to fish my wife out of the hotsprings. We didn't have anything like that in our neck of the woods, but Evelyn was always trying to figure out how to do it on her own."

--

"That had to be horrible," Bethany offers, "I'm so sorry." She sounds sincere, less severe than she normally would be. Her mouth pressed into a line.

"Do you ever feel like you could have done something about it?" Kayla asked.

Nick
"Who's Evelyn?" Nick asks, and there is still interest there for Richard.  A nod when he mentions his wife, a faint smile or two.  It's tinged with some private sadness that Nicholas does not name.

He glances, once, toward Grace as Kayla asks her a question.

Grace
"Evelyn's Garrett and Ginny's mom, I guess. The 'bigwig'." Grace volunteers. It might help persuade the group that yeah, they definitely know about this place through proper channels.

But then, she's being asked other questions. Questions about the melting...

"Done something? About... that?" Grace looks around, faking amusement. "Like what? There isn't anything I could have done."

Project Hope
"She's not really big on meetings," Bethany said as she rolled her eyes, "Richard had to lie and say he was taking Ginny and Garrett to tutoring to get them here."

"Grace, is it horror at what happened? What's the primary feeling there?" Nora cocked her head to the side. Kayla, for her part, shut her mouth and nodded.

Nick
"What would she have against this place?" Nick asks, with a frown pulling at one corner of his mouth.  He glances here from Bethany to Richard and back again.

Grace
"Well, I guess, yeah. Look, can we..."

She fidgets. That one thing Richard said. It bugs her.

"Talk about something else? You said... Evelyn was trying to make a hot spring? That sounds kinda cool. Not like, you know. Bodies."

Project Hope
"She wanted to make something established, a place of power, like what Denver had. She wants to make a retreat, but Hell if I know how she's going to do it. The kind of real estate she's looking for is rare."

Project Hope
[Richard: per+empathy, how in-the-know are you guys?]

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

Nick
[As in the know as I need to be.]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[Manip + Subt = I'm just your average traumatized newbie!]

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

Nick
"Weird," Nick says, with a furrow of his brows.  "I don't know a lot about that, but how would she...I mean, what are the ways she could even do that?  Wouldn't it require some sort of big thing?"

Grace
Maybe the faking is coming across. As much as Grace tries to be herself of years ago, there's just so much that she's hearing without reacting to very much.

It could just be the 'trauma', right? But Richard probably gets the idea that she's not being as open as she could be.

She just looks at Nick while he talks, and then nods, appearing to address the same question to the group.

Project Hope
"I think that falls into the category of things man was never meant to know," Richard says.

"I've got a library," Kayla offered, "you could look it up there. I don't mind."

Richard does take a second regards Grace for a moment. He inhales slowly, "hey, we're getting off topic. Talk to me after?"

Nick
Nick makes an interested noise when Kayla mentions that she has a library.  His eyes fall to Richard then, and through willpower alone he does not look back at Grace and implicate her further.  "Sure," he says.  "If you have the time.  I was just curious."

Grace
Grace shrugs, noncommittal. Whatever, dude.

"Back to the topic, then. And the topic is?"

Project Hope
"Yeah, it's no problem," Richard said.

"We try to answer each other's questions here. A crowd shooting in the dark is better than one person right?" Nora told them.

Jack takes a quick look at his watch (which doesn't actually seem to be working, but it's enough to seem to jog his memory). He shoots a look to Bethany and she nods. He offers an apologetic look, "we're actually going to have to cut this meeting tonight. Security measures were a little harder to put together. Same time next week, same location. We'll be meeting at DU until our usual spot opens up again from the prenatal yoga course."

Nick
"That's okay," Nick says, albeit with a trace of disappointment in his voice.  "Thanks for being so welcoming to us, everyone."

Grace
"Yeah, uh... Same here. I'll try to come next week, if I can," Grace says, standing, stretching.

She retrieves her coat from the back of the chair and slips it on with a look of satisfaction. She, too, thinks people in Colorado are bizarre with their temperature settings, especially in the winter. It feels better to be bundled up, even inside.

Project Hope
"We look forward to seeing you," Jack replies.

It is all a dance at that point, something old and practiced. Bethany goes to get the door and open it back up while other people are milling about to get their things. Richard is the first to go and grab his phone, putting it back into his coat pocket.

People are milling about and getting their things. The first person to leave, though, was Bethany. She gathered her coat, gun, phone, and was out the door with a little wave and not a lot of talking. She moved through the university like she belonged there, which seemed to be fine.

Nora started her conversing with Jack, and Kayla had her phone out to text some people.

Richard eventually approached the pair, offering a business card to Grace and Nick both. "If you need anything, let me know. I look forward to next week."

The people who stayed behind stayed long enough to be asked questions, but eventually the feelings of magick and coldness dissipated into normalcy.

Wandering the stacks

Caleb
Bookstores are not, in fact, libraries. Sure, they encourage you to actually enjoy the books before you buy them but they don't actually ever really intend someone to finish the whole book before they purchase it. It doesn't seem like the best idea. It doesn't seem like a good business model but nobody would sell any books at all if they were shrink wrapped and kept on shelves like they were there just to be protected from dust, like all of them held pornographic ideas that shouldn't be given to people who aren't truly capable of understanding them.

No, who decides what we should be able to handle in our books? Who decides but those who manufacture, but those who bring out the product and sell it to the consumers, because even in information there is consumerism. There is a trade of something monetary for something intangible- the story. The idea. Something that you can't really return, and in effect reading a book in the book store was theft because you took what was truly of value and left its husk; it was peeling the banana, eating it, and then leaving the peel behind. You took its substance and left only the means that it was used to trasport the best parts to you.

Caleb, you see, had a concept of theft. You don't take something that isn't yours but information, but the words, the things that make up books don't really belong to anyone. So, he didn't seem to have a real problem with them. So there he is, forgettable but sprawled out in the aisle of some indie bookstore with aisles as thin and lacking in personal space as a piece of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. The books are in some particular order, not arranged in the traditional way but in another traditional way- this particular place decided to play with the Dewey Decimal system instead of the standard layout of a place that has the fiction dominating a place.

He's in the eight hundreds. Somewhere between 820 and 830 in a dingy drab olive Army surplus jacket and a pair of tennis shoes that look like they've seen a couple marathons and survived to tell the tale. The staff leaves him alone.

Grace
The mall is not Grace's cup of tea.

It is a temple. A bastion of hyperreality, dedicated to the gods of consumerism. As if churches weren't already bad enough, these things show off what they're really about. Money. Buying. Selling.

Of course, they do try to hide that, a little. Everywhere, there are pictures of happy, beautiful people. If only one consumes enough, one might become like them. Nice, sunlit, happy. It makes Grace want to puke.

About the only thing this place has to offer her is the bookstore, which if any other place in town were selling "Structures: Why Things Don't Fall Down", then she would have gone there. Sometimes, you have to grit your teeth and participate in the fallen world, just to get what you need.

First thing she's going to do is scan this text and upload it somewhere, because fuck having to pay for information...

Grace
[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Caleb
[Do I feel a people? Per+aware, -2 because arcane]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Caleb
There is a feeling of something. Something that makes him look up from the books that he may or may not (definitely not) be purchasing. A feeling that makes the wind blow without it actually blowing. A feeling that is slight, a wrongness or a rightness but nothing strong enough to be felt beyond being off. And yes, there is something off in the air. He looks up from English literature and poetry and words, words, words to feel a shift in the winds.

Ultimately, the stag concudes that the snap in the branches is not enough to warrant him looking around too far for too long. There is a spark of creativity, a spark of something that has a keen edged mind and an ear for change. Something that glides along the cutting edge like a whet stone and rolls away the layers of dust and grime to peel back into something new. Not a literal peel. Nothing painful save for the pain that comes with change, with seeing the world grow and blossom outside of yourself.

Olive
[ah, what the hell.]

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

Olive
This bookstore may as well be a library, as far as its layout is concerned. As far as its patrons are concerned, it is a little slice of heaven that smells like binding paste and leather. The occasional waft of secondhand smoke clinging to a flannel shirt or perfume on a stranger's wrist.

She is not far from the 800s herself, having sat herself down cross-legged in a corner. Small space like that almost makes the girl invisible. She is short and her braids make a curtain if she tilts her head the right way and she is reading through a stack of poetry volumes trying to decide which one she wants to take home with her and read until it falls apart.

Grace can tell she's there, still as a fasting nun and as peaceful besides. She looks up at the tennis shoes' passage and lets her nostrils flare though her physical senses are of no use here. For now the slim volume stays open.

Grace
Shit. It's happening again, isn't it? Confluence. She looks up at the ceiling, and glares at it. Universe, you can be creepy sometimes. For fuck's sake.

They aren't people she knows, the resonance isn't familiar. But it's there.

Where once she might have turned tail and fled due to the danger of Technocrats (and there is a danger) now, she wants to stay. At the very least, figure out what these people are about.

There are people here. More people than Mages. Who is who? She looks around, eyes not lingering on any one person for too long, lest they actually look back at her.

Caleb
(Do I physically notice Grace? Per+alert -2 (arcane), wearing glasses so diff 6)

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

Nicholas
Nick is here looking for a present.  Nick has been trawling bookstores looking for a present for months, and none has yet happened upon him.

He is not here, as one might expect, for his wife.  If he were here for Pen it would not have taken him months.  His Hermetic sister (he has two of them see) is the one who is very difficult to buy for.

And normally he probably wouldn't be setting foot in a mall except maybe to try to find a new pair of shoes or a belt, and he probably wouldn't be looking in a bookstore in one, but: desperate times.  (One of his old mentors has told him, often, how the Technocracy has taken to building shopping malls on wellsprings and nodes, and Patricia often spoke of these things with distaste.  Perhaps he might have some bias.)  And so here we are.  The place had come recommended by people who are more knowledgeable about such things than Nicholas Hyde.

He's not there yet, but still walking down one of the aisles with his head down and his hands in his pockets, his thoughts elsewhere.  Sooner or later he'll turn into the bookstore, once he finds it.

Caleb
pokepoke

There is a person on the other side of the shelf, and he isn't meaning to poke her but the book shelves are hollowed things and double sided, so pushing a longer book back to be flush will, in turn, cause another book to be shoved backwards. He pushes again, not quite noticing the place of poking until he realizs he's prodding some be-braided person in the shoulder with a book about... uh... something.

The poking ceases. "Sorry," he whispers, and sounds like an announcer at a golf tournament.

And looking up from that poke he notices a singularly normal and unremarkable piece of wall furniture like himself... but this one is staring at the ceiling. His brows knit together and a frown comes across his face. He looks up at the ceiling, and then back at Grace-

"... what's wrong on the ceiling?"

Olive
Were Grace to have looked at her for very long she would have seen Olive looking right back at her. But Grace decides to look at the ceiling instead and Olive decides well maybe she ought to stand up but then a book comes tumbling off the shelf and bounces off the faux-leather shoulder of her jacket and onto the floor.

Sorry.

She whispers back, "No worries."

And, on knees and one hand, reaches out to rescue the book. A glance at the spine and a glance up at the place from whence it fell. Up onto her knees. She starts to shuffle-walk on her knees around the bookshelf without getting to her feet, which are clad in black Converse sneakers, because of course they are.

Grace
When looking for the weird, don't worry. The weird will come to you. Someone talks to her, asks her what is wrong with the ceiling, and it's...

"The universe. It's wrong."

Way to inspire confidence in people, Grace. Bravo.

"I was just telling it off."

Caleb
"Why do you think the universe is wrong? That seems like a bold statement," he asks this, not in an accusatory way, but rather like someone who was seeking information, like he may well have been holding a notebook instead of a lap full of English literature.

He looks back at the shelf- from the shelf to Grace and back at the shelf. He leans a little to the side, trying to get a better look through the shelf and concludes that this isn't working. Caleb then decides to scoot to the other side to get a better look at people whilst still talking to Grace.

It's not Graceful, though. He doesn't get far with his butt-scooting.

Grace
"Because. I never come here. It's slimy in malls. But every time I do, I run into somebody."

Well, yeah. It's not that uncommon to run into people in malls. Malls are typically full of people. But not Mages.

"What's your name, Mystery Man?"

Nicholas
Nick rounds a corner.  Nick passes the bookstore, in spite of the fact that the windows are lined with bookshelves and old pulp advertisements; this is how deep in thought he is.  Or how distracted by something else he is.  You decide.

Nick ends up somewhere far down the way and realizes he has no idea where the bookstore is.  He consults one of the floorplan maps available of the mall stores, and tracks his path back to the place with a fingertip.

Back he comes.

And then, finally here he is, passing through the front archway.

Caleb
"... if you didn't run into anyone at the mall, I think it would be because the mall is closed."

His brows knit together again. He scoots over again and again before finally deciding to give up on that, get to his knees, and meander to the other aisle where the woman he poked with the book was. He keeps talking to Grace.

"I'm Caleb, what's your name?"

Grace
"Grace," she says. Her mouth curves up a bit when he calls her on the absurdity of what she's saying.

"Well. I run into people all the time. But few who resonate."

She doesn't quite stop saying the absurd, but yes. There is a point to this. The average person overhearing their conversation might come to the conclusion that Grace has a few marbles missing, but she's okay with carrying that burden. She follows along as Caleb walks.

Nicholas
[Alertness?]

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

Nicholas
There's a voice that is beginning to become familiar; many of Denver's voices are, finally.  Regardless: Nick hears Grace, and he hears Grace talking to someone he doesn't know.  By the time she and Caleb are nearing Nick he is at one of the bookshelves in the metaphysics section, arms folded as his eyes scan the titles.

He is not content with whatever he sees, apparently.

Nevertheless, he hears them and so he pokes his head over the top of the nearby shelves to look for them and determine whether Grace is in the mood to be interrupted, and for how long.  Not every social outing welcomes add-ons, after all.

Caleb
"... is everyone else inaudible?"

He... does not get what she is saying. It's clear on his face and he shifts awkwardly from one side to the next, off in his own little bubble of being vaguely oblivious and having, well, missed.

Grace
Grace notices Nick hanging out there. She doesn't understand why he might be hanging back. At the most, she attributes his reticence to something that makes sense to her. The last time they talked, she had to get away before starting a fight. Maybe he just doesn't want to poke a bear.

But Caleb, he is a mystery. A new thing to turn over and see if it is a threat.

"Inaudible to the sixth sense? Yes."

Caleb
[Do I notice Nick as a human person?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )

Grace
[He is not a human. He is a meat popsicle.]

Caleb
"All people resonate in their own way in both a mundane and metaphysical way, they just don't know it yet. They're just not loud enough yet," he says, muses over it and seems like a thoughtful baritone instead of a stern and dismissive one. He doesn't seem to be a dismissive sort. Caleb takes a look around again, past Grace to Nick to Grace noticing Nick.

Nick gets a smile, and a wave. Obviously, Nick and Grace know each other, so they should want to be together and talk, right? Of course right. He smiles like a pleased golden retriever.

Nicholas
Resonance.  Sixth sense.  Nick can catch those words from where he's standing.  And he does indeed remember how things left off last time with Grace; he of course knows that Grace and Pen had a conversation outside the bar, because there is little he and his wife don't share with each other.

Nonetheless, Grace's friend gives him a smile and a wave and Nick, too, smiles and waves at the two of them.  "Hello, Grace," he says, and takes a few steps so that he can find himself on the conversation's periphery.  There is a glance toward Caleb, a friendly incline of his head, a once or twice-over.

Grace
Ahh, good. Caleb is not a complete newbie. She was beginning to wonder.

"Nick. Hello. This is Caleb. I found him just now, wandering the stacks."

There is no friendly smile to greet him, not anymore. Just sticking to the facts for now, because that's how things go. There is more to discuss than just Caleb, but perhaps it's best not to do that in front of someone who might be a Technocratic plant, for all his talk about metaphysics.

Caleb
He leans forward, puts a hand on the ground, and stands up to his rather impressive height of... average. He's a couple inches over five and a half feet tall. Dark hair, dark eyes, and of an indeterminate ethnic origin.

There is a strange sort of tension, though, or rather he does notice the lack of smile from Grace.

"... you're not friends, are you?"

There's always a delay in his voice, a delay when the baritone is talking because it seems like he's taking the time to process what is going around, as though the world is full of data. As though everything is worth noticing and everything is worth latching on to.

Nicholas
"Nice to meet you, Caleb," Nick says, and he extends a hand toward the other man.  "I'm Nick Hyde."

He is not as suspicious of Technocratic plants: at least if one takes him at face value.  His regard for Caleb seems warm enough, at this point.

That is, until Caleb asks a very direct question and Nick's brows furrow in a wince.  He glances sidelong at Grace.  "We're on the same side and everything," he says, "but there's been a little tension recently, yeah.  It's nothing you have to worry about, Caleb."  When talking to people with observation skill but little tact, sometimes honesty is best.

Grace
"What Nick said," she says, because he's better at explaining things by far.

Then, she pulls out her cell phone. Types away at it for a bit.

Grace
Nick's phone alerts him however it is set to, with the following text messages.

Some shit's gone down. I need to tell you about it.

Meet me at Auraria Student Lofts, apartment 203, after the bookstore?

Caleb
There is a hand to shake! Ah, he knows what to do with this, and he reaches forward to take the hand offered and he grasps- firm and comfortable with work. His hands aren't soft. Up down. Up down. Stop. He nods once it's done, a confirmation to himself. Aha! Done right!

"Oh," he says once Nick gives his appraisal of the situation, and there is a lag in that moment before he replies, "I'm sorry that happened, I hope things get better." It's a genuine statement, devoid of all things resembling sarcasm not unlike when you're talking to a four year old. It's rare to have that lack of guile.

Grace isn't saying much, just three words and then whips out her phone.

"Oh! Where did you get that?"

Surprise, delight.

Nicholas
It's rare to have that lack of guile, and the slight curl at the corner of Nick's mouth indicates that he might appreciate it, even.  "I hope they do too," he says.

There is a vibration there in his pocket, and Nick after a moment pulls his phone out of his own pocket and glances at the screen.  He tucks it away again moments later, glancing amused between Caleb and Grace.  "I was here to get a present for my sister, actually, so I can't really stick around.  I'll hopefully see you around though, Caleb," he says.

Grace
He's getting a present for his sister, can't stick around. Sounds like an excuse, maybe, but whatever. That's not important at all. His knowing what she's discovered, that matters.

Caleb asks where she got her phone, and she says: "Online. Amazon."

Amazon has everything, and despite it being a similar interface with consumerist religious practices? At least you don't have to deal with actual people.

"It's a OnePlus Three."

Caleb
"That would be cool, I hope to see you around too, Nick Hyde," all one name. "There's some cool books here, there is probably one she'll like."

Grace tells him it's a OnePLus three... which makes Caleb's brows knit together and makes a frown cross his face.

"So... it's... a four?"

Nicholas
"Hope you both enjoy your day."  Nick waves at the two of them and then circles back around to the other end of the stacks, wandering farther into the bookstore.

Nicholas
Once Nick has left, Grace receives a reply text:

Another day, maybe.  Don't have long today.  I'll text you later and we can meet up in a couple of days.

Blood Money

Nicholas Hyde
[Init!  +6.]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( botch x 1 )

Andrés Sepúlveda
[jfc nick +6]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )

Nicholas Hyde
Nicholas has heard much more recently about Andrés than he has seen him.  The last time he saw the Etherite, it was in a fit of madness: he and Pen had left the man at Kiara's, still raving about spiders and gods know what else, blind to the rest of the world.  For Nick, that had been terrifying, less because he could imagine such a madness for himself than because he could imagine it for Pen.

Well, guilt had him put off checking in just a little longer.  Sometimes it works that way.

By the time he'd texted Andrés it was months after the fact, but it was there: just to check in on him and see how he was doing.  An hour later, here they are in an area off of Colfax, the part that didn't gentrify (or has yet to.)  The bar Andrés had suggested is a ramshackle old building that brings to mind this area's history of colonization and cowboys, though it would be hard to point to what exactly gives it that impression.

A neon sign in the window has a Bud Lite neon sign and another, printed up and over the door, that says simply: BAR.  ("AR," more accurately, since the B is partially burnt out.)

Nick is already there when Andrés arrives, though by the look of his beer he hasn't been there all that long. The inside is dim and full of the sort of people who are given to day drinking at dive bars on Sundays, along with the smell of old wood and stale beer.  Nick is seated in a booth, texting someone on his phone, his beer barely touched beside him.

Andrés Sepúlveda
It takes Andrés a bit longer to get from one place to the other now that he lives out in the damned suburbs. His phone number hasn't changed even if the physical location of his belongings has. No small amount of time has passed since Nick and Pen dropped the addled Scientist off at Kiara's place, and for not reaching out as Nick has, neither has he. Texting goes both ways.

Having two students of discordant traditions and a government job strikes most people as being excuse enough to lose track of social obligations. Andrés is not a man who believes in excuses, but then again, Andrés claims not to believe in plenty of other things the average person accepts as reality without too much pain.

He comes in from a clear, brisk day dressed in his typical weekend attire, loafers and jeans and a bomber jacket thrown over the cardigan he had already thrown on over a button-down shirt. His hair and beard are in need of a trim, and he's wearing sunglasses and a knit cap. Were not for the silver run rampant through his black hair and the self-assuredness of his walk, one might mistake his height as being indicative of his age.

His resonance precedes him, so when he approaches Nick and claps him on the shoulder in greeting it isn't exactly a surprise.

"Nicholas!" he says. "You're alive!"

Nicholas Hyde
It was around a month ago now that Nick chose to climb a mountain in his bare feet with no food or water for three days.  Nick has never suffered a major injury and so it surprised him, how slow his feet were to heal and how slow his body was to recover from the ordeal.  He was exhausted for weeks afterward; the scabs have finally all peeled off his feet for good, leaving the skin raw and pink and scaly.

The Chakravat's resonance precedes him too: and it feels different.  More complex.

Nick is good at looking as though he could fit in just about anywhere.  He is young but not too young, racially ambiguous, and today he is dressed in a pair of grey chinos and a heavy perl knit sweater over a T-shirt: it would be difficult to determine whether he is the sort of man who has been coming to bars like this all his life or not.

A hand claps over his shoulder and Nick looks around, a curl flipping about in Andrés' direction first and preceding Nick's gaze.  There is a little smile that pulls on the corner of his mouth at the sight of the Etherite there.  "Hello," he says.  "I could say the same for you.  How are you holding up?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
Forward momentum has Andrés dropping into the booth across from Nick about the time that Nick has started to sight the source of the physical contact. He swipes the cap from his head, then the sunglasses, building a small pile of belongings on the side of the table closer to the wall.

How is he holding up.

"I'm very much alive," he says, "which is more than I can say for some of our neighbors in Colorado Springs."

With that the absence of alcohol becomes a more pressing concern than current events. He drums his hands on the table one two three four five times then slides out of the booth again.

"Hold that thought."

Nick has about three minutes before his compadre returns with tequila that he intends to share.

Nicholas Hyde
Drinking with Andrés is dangerous, of which Nick is well aware: the Etherite is a little smaller than Nick is, but somehow (alcohol tolerance, let's not speak of it as though it is a mystery) can drink nearly double what Nick can.  With fewer effects.

Nick's dark eyebrows arch as Andrés mentions their neighbors in Colorado Springs (he hasn't heard) and he reaches for his glass of beer.  He eyes the Etherite over the rim of the glass as he takes a swallow or two from it, pulling at his upper lip with his lower one to rid it of foam once he has lowered the beer again.

"I - " he starts, just as the other man instructs him to hold his thought, and disappears.

Nick's formerly untouched glass is nearly half drained by the time Andrés returns, and with tequila.

Andrés Sepúlveda
And so he does. One hand is responsible for the shot glasses and the other for the can of shitty Mexican beer he procured to tide him over in between rounds. A shot comes to rest in front of Nick and the Etherite returns to his spot across the table, setting down the beer and lifting the shot in solemn observance of custom.

"Salud," he says, clinking glasses with the Chakravat before knocking his back.

If there were a handbook for dealing with a Mad Scientist, one of the first chapters would warn against attempting to keep up with them in a drinking contest. Their blood is of questionable composition as it is and they have ways of dealing with adverse reactions that the average person does not.

At any rate, once the first round is put away and they're settled in, Andrés is back to the original topic as if they had never left it.

"Does the name 'Order of the Falcon' mean anything to you?"

Nicholas Hyde
"Salud," Nick returns, though his tongue is far clumsier with the word.  The glasses clink, a delicate sound, and they both slug down the drink within a second later.

Nick's eyes have not yet begun to grow hazy, though they will in short order, a combination of the tequila and the heat in the place, the lingering smell of smoke harkening back to the days when it was legal to smoke in bars.  Nick may be good at looking like the kind of man who has grown up in bars like this, and maybe he did, but he doesn't spend much time in them now.  "Crunchy" is the word for people like Nick, when they aren't being called hippies.

"No," he says, chasing his tequila shot with a swallow of his beer.  "Should it mean something to me?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
"If we're talking 'should' in the sense that you're under some sort of obligation to know what it is... no. They're a secret society for rich white boys, meaning it's impossible to get in if you're not--" He starts ticking off the conditions on the hand not currently manipulating the beer bottle. "--rich, white, and young."

Back to the table goes his hand.

"If we're talking 'should' in the sense that that's a desirable state and it's probably in everyone's best interests if--" Some inner thought cuts him off, and here comes the canned laugh he saves for moments like this. "Oh, right. I forgot where I was for a minute. Let me back up. You are aware there was a changing of the guards out in Colorado Springs in the very recent past, and the individual currently considered to be--" Air quotes. "--'in charge' is a Verbena woman who may or may not have killed several newly Awakened Willworkers over the spring and summer, supposedly sacrificed one of her students to a spirit called the Keeper of Secrets, and may or may not have something to do with said secret society for rich white boys? Any of that..." Quick sip of beer. "Any of that drift your way, at all?"

Nicholas Hyde
Nick's eyebrows were already raised; they remain in this state as Andrés speaks and continues on to tell him about a Verbena who is sacrificing to a spirit.  "No.  I haven't heard about any of that," he says.  "How did we...how did anyone not hear about that?"

One of his hands drifts upward and begins to wind around and tug on a curl.  Its full length when straightened reaches nearly to his shoulders, though once it is released again it springs back up to where it was hanging about his ear.  "I haven't heard anything from any of the spirits I've spoken to either, though they might have been reluctant to tell me about a spirit like that, if they knew anything about it at all."

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Yeah, I don't know shit about spirits."

Raise your hand if this is news.

"And I wouldn't have known anything about it at all if the girl in HR didn't invite me to a poker game back in June or... whenever it was. I think it was June." Anyway. "A couple of Colorado Springs's cops were there, and Awakened, and were worried someone was targeting apprentices specifically. Angela Avella, she's one of yours. She can probably tell you more than I can about what tipped them off, but when I went digging through their county's ME records, it looked like someone had tried to cover their paper trail. All I was able to find was, like, one strand of hair and half a fingerprint, so I passed that shit on to Grace to see if she could make anything of it. Next time I see her in person, I'm at the park with the kids, she and I start discussing it, they do what they do and blow it way out of proportion and start running around like a goddamn air raid siren is going off, I asked if she knew anyone who wanted to buy a couple of apprentices, she said she didn't, next thing I know those two knuckleheads are banging on my door at eleven o'clock at night because they summoned some dead girl's spirit and she spilled everything about the Verbena woman to them and I'm getting a headache just talking about this."

Deep breath.

"On the one hand, I didn't see Colorado Springs rushing in to help us when Alexander was missing. On the other hand, the fact that Avella knows about this and isn't worried makes me think the kids are maybe... eh... fifteen percent right to be concerned. Not 'freak right out and interrupt Doctor Sepúlveda and Kiara and then bitch and moan when neither of them puts pants on for the family meeting' concerned, but--"

He holds up his fingers thisfar apart and stops talking for long enough for Nick to start digesting some of what he just said.

Nicholas Hyde
"I've been meaning to meet with Angela," Nick says, and his voice is thoughtful, his eyes directed down at the pitted table and at his half-empty glass.  He listens to the rest, and his mouth curls again, this faint amusement that indicates he might be taking Ned and Margot's curiosity in stride moreso than Andrés is.

"Can you blame them?  They're probably worried, if somebody is murdering a bunch of kids who are recently Awakened."

He continues to listen: fifteen percent right, interrupting Andrés and Kiara.  "Are you sure that Angela knows about the Verbena woman?  That she's the one who is behind all of that?"  A beat; a little divet appears on Nick's cheek as he bites the inside of it.  "It's too soon to know what - to know what might be happening for sure, but use of Mind can...well, it's not outside the realm of possibility that she's doing this and has the whole chantry over there blind to the fact."

Andrés Sepúlveda
Andrés pulls a face that seems to say no he's not sure but he has no reason to believe she doesn't know. It's a nuanced expression that dissipates as Nick chews on the soft tissue inside his mouth.

"I--" He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at Nick. "--did not think of that. You're so smart. Let's celebrate."

More tequila, apparently. He gets up and goes to procure it, taking the empties with him. He's not gone as long as he was the first time, and there's no verbal ceremony either. Just a lift and a clink before he tucks away his second shot and starts to play with the zipper on his bomber jacket without any indication that he's going to remove it.

"I called Angela to ask her about the Order of the Falcon, and when I asked her about this Keeper of Secrets, which Kiara tells me is bad news but that she and someone named Will--" He pronounces the poor kid's name Wee-ill, like it's got two syllables. He really could not give two shits about ever getting rid of his accent. "--already have a relationship with, we got on the subject of the dead apprentice's spirit and her pointing the finger at the Verbena woman, Evelyn, and Angela didn't seem too fazed by it. So Iiii don't know if it sank in or not." A quick pull off his beer. "I did send Ned in to see what the deal with the Order of the Falcon is. Since he's got such a fire under his ass about running off into dangerous situations and dragging Margot with him."

Nicholas Hyde
Smart, Andrés says, and the smile that he gets in return is a little wan.  Weary, even, though even if Andrés were to notice (he likely won't), Nick does not appear inclined to offer comment.  When the Etherite returns, Nick is studying his watch, a beautiful bit of steel chased with bronze: a gift perhaps from his metal-working wife.

He is slower to take the second shot, though he does take it, and this one is not accompanied by the little cough that had followed the first.

"I don't know if it sank in or not either," he says.  "But I was planning to talk to Angela soon anyway.  I can bring it up and see if...well, if there's any evidence of control or some sort of..."  And here Nick shrugs.  What he does know is that if those things exist it surpasses his knowledge; he does not yet have the vocabulary though he knows it can be done.

His brows lift again as Andrés mentions Ned, and there is this short little laugh that follows.  "So what did Ned have to say, when you sent him off to join the rich white boys?  Is he back yet?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
[perception: just for shits. DO I NOTICE.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4) ( fail )

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Other than spending all of last weekend complaining because I asked him to do something, he didn't have much of anything to say about it. He did ask for a bunch of James Bond gadgets before he went in, like... invisible ink and wireless vital sign monitoring and a... a... an EMP device that would fit in the sole of his shoe. One of these days I'm going to tell them we're going for ice cream, and really we're going to go to the animal shelter, and I'm going to drop them off at the curb and peel out. I don't care if it's considered abandonment. They're driving me crazy." Beat. "Er."

Okay but Andrés what about the thing you asked Ned to do.

"Anyway, he survived. Got some names, but I forgot to pay attention when he was telling us his boring Naked and Afraid story, so..." He makes what is, coincidentally, the ASL sign for FORGET, with a whoosh sound effect for good measure. That information is gone. "And he got invited to go boar hunting, which... I don't know if 'boar hunting' means something different in English than it does in Spanish, but--" Canned laugh. "--he is so not ready, in either language."

Nicholas Hyde
Invisible ink, wireless vital - at some point while Andrés is telling Nick about these devices his brow furrows just a touch.  It appears to be bemusement rather than judgment of any kind.  "What did Ned expect to do with all that stuff?"  A swallow of beer.  "I guess he could have just wanted to feel like a spy."

Boar hunting, Andrés says, and Nick laughs and begins shaking his head and takes another drink.  HIs beer is going to be empty within the first twenty minutes of them sitting down together.  Andrés has this kind of effect.

"I can't imagine Ned doing either kind.  I didn't even realize there were boar around here.  The kind with tusks, that is."

noel-lurk
Grace thought that she was bad. Well, she is. I mean, when she wants to seriously annoy people into responding, their phones come back to life upon shutdown and won't stop mooing. But the Doc is close.

hey

Hey

nick and i are going to the bar get over here

hey come to the bar

grace

grace

grace

grace where are you

grace i just turned a food processor into a lifespan GPS thingamaboobie it says you're still in your chair

come to the bar

Fucking hell.

Chances are, if she turns her phone off, he'll just turn it on again, too. He'd have that ability, wouldn't he? It's not like the things are alien mysteries, eh? There's always throwing the thing in the toilet, but then...

Why not?

She is trying to be more sociable, isn't she?

Okay, okay, dude, chill. I'll be there.

That doesn't sound... sociable, does it?

:P

Better.

Thus it is that Grace finally meets up with the two of them, having been badgered out of her meditation on the nature of Doritos and Mountain Dew Code Red. The thing that walks into the bar is disheveled, with rumpled jeans and black t-shirt that look like they've just been retrieved from a clean laundry pile. They have.

Grace
[Duuude, it would be nice if I loaded up a character, wouldn't it?]

Andrés Sepúlveda
I guess he could have just wanted to feel like a spy.

"Or an idiot," he says.

For the first time since they sat down, Andrés removes his cellphone from his pocket and starts touching the screen. For someone who can't sit still for longer than five seconds, he's been doing an admirable job of not tearing the label off his beer bottle or shredding coasters or whatever other destructive activities he could be doing with his hands.

As for boars:

"There aren't," he says. "Maybe they go to Arizona or Texas for that. Or maybe I just drink too much. Speaking of."

Having sent Grace what is most likely the fortieth obnoxious SMS in the last hour, Andrés drops the phone on the table and gets up. His beer is empty, and he doesn't grab the empty shot glasses. Either he's not going to bring back tequila, or he forgot about them. It's hard to tell until he comes back.

When he comes back he has a bottle and a glass of beer in one hand and two shots in the other. If Nick protests the tequila, Andrés just shrugs and lines it up in front of himself.

"When you talk to Angela--" Shot. Whoo. "--it's important to know, I think, that the Verbena's name is Evelyn Murray, she has two kids Garret and... some other Yankee na--GENNIFER. With a G. Garrett is missing, Gennifer--oh there she is. GRACIA."

Like she could miss a booth where two disciples are sitting.

"--Gennifer isn't."

Nicholas Hyde
Nicholas does not protest the tequila.  Something about the idea of human sacrifice seems to have made him want to drink.  He takes the proffered shot and knocks it back, and he accepts the glass of beer as well.

"Garrett?" Nick asks, and he glances up from his watch and meets the Etherite's eyes as the other man offers up the names.  There is something wary there beneath the furrow of his brows, behind the sharp look in his eyes that glints birdlike in the dim light of the bar.  "Are you sure it wasn't Grant, maybe?"

A long shot, but: perhaps.

"What about Gennifer?"

And here he spies Grace a moment after Andrés calls her name, and he lifts a hand and waggles his fingers toward her.

Grace
It might be easy to miss Nick. He's a bit quiet and unassuming. Andrés, on the other hand...

"Are you done blowing up my phone, man?"

She slides an eye towards Nick's waggled fingers, and... while she thinks hard about what expression to use, the one that's on her face is intense concentration. Maybe anger. But then, oh, there is a confused smile.

"I think Garrett and Grant are two different people," Grace says. "I think. We talking about that shit in Colorado Springs?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
Is he sure it wasn't Grant, maybe?

This would be a good time to break out his What Did I Do Last Night-ometer, but he left it at home. So he rummages through his pockets until he finds an old prescription pad from when he was, you know, a pathology resident. Which means it's not only expired, but it's only good in the state of Maryland. Whatever. He's just scribbling on it to jog his memory, not to hook Nick up with a month's supply of hydrocodone.

[mind 1: real quick roll to make sure he doesn't botch this and end up with all of september's paradox punching him in the face i'm going to finish the post in a minute.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 5, 9) ( success x 3 )

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Who the fuck is Grant?"

That answers that question.

What about Gennifer?

"What about Gennifer?"

Are you done blowing up my phone, man?

He does not scoot over to make room for the Virtual Adept, which means she either gets to sit next to Nick or she has to shove Andrés, who has turned his attention from the prescription pad, now back in his pocket, to his phone, now being battered by his thumbs.

Bloop.

"What?"

Nicholas Hyde
Intense concentration, maybe anger: that's what he sees on Grace as she makes her way over to the two of them.  Nick doesn't miss it, even three tequilas and a beer in.  He is still the one to make room for Grace when she finally reaches their table, and scoots over to hem himself in against the wall.  It's a decision he may regret later, when he looks back and wonders why he didn't leave when he started to feel drunker than he wanted.

"Yeah, the Colorado Springs stuff," he tells Grace as she sits.

"Grant is a kid who...well, I'll tell you about it later, I guess.  I'd rather focus on this right now."  Deviate too greatly from the topic and they might never return.

"Gennifer...you said that she wasn't missing.  It sounded as though you were planning to say something else, or had more to say about her."

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Oh." A beat. "Dammit, Tequila, we talked about this..."

He takes a slug of beer.

Grace
Nick lets her in. The doc is being himself. All this should make sense, and in a way it does -- extra processing power in her mind being diverted to questions, answered for the time being. No hard feelings anywhere. They're all cool, for now. For whatever counts as 'cool' as far as Dr. Sepúlveda is concerned. She takes the offered seat.

She'd say something snarky about her phone having at least thirty messages by now, mostly 'hey', but Nick wants to stay on target, and that's a sentiment she can get behind.

"Sounded to me like Evelyn might be protecting her son. Like maybe he's a... You know. Up to no good. Mom gets all mother-bear, starts covering shit up, including her son..." Grace shrugs. "Family dynamics playing out with people who have veritable nukes up their sleeves isn't all its cracked up to be?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
"When my kid got caught spray painting the underpass, I didn't turn around and push my apprentice into a rift in the spacetime continuum."

Standards, man.

Nicholas Hyde
"She's sacrificing apprentices to a spirit just to protect her son?  That doesn't add up," Nick says, and his curls sway as there is a little shake of his head.  He is well on his way to tipsy, so a "little shake" is more like a full on jerk of his chin, though he stills rather quickly.

His fingertips are still on the side of his beer glass, and he has yet to sip from it.  "I wonder if...I wonder what Margot and Ned heard from that ghost they contacted.  I wonder if any of the other spirits in the area know about what's going on."

Grace
"Dude, there's some mothers out there," Grace says, and by the tone, she's using the word 'mother' as an expletive. "I'd hate to know what my mom would do if she were Awake. She'd kill people just to keep up the appearance of being normal."

Grace huffs a breath out through her nose. Yeah, that worked out well for her, giving birth to the weirdest kid ever, right?

"Is there any tequila in here for me?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
Oh would you look at that someone has to stack up the previous two rounds' worth of shot glasses and exit the booth gee that's too bad. Andrés moves almost comically slow, like Grace is a motion-sensing turret gun masquerading as a person, then bolts from the table.

It means he ends up having to dance around another bar patron to avoid a collision, but he's quicker on his feet than he looks. Being attractive and having an accent lets him get away with more social cock-ups than is probably fair, but given that he's a bit of a madman on a good day...

Well. There's some mild laughter from the stranger and the two part ways without slamming into each other and then he's at the bar and Nick and Grace are alone for a couple of minutes.

Nicholas Hyde
"Well, sure," he says, "but that doesn't...if she were just out to protect her son, I could see killing someone who she perceived as a threat, but I don't...I don't understand why she would perceive the threat from some apprentices, and I also don't see the need for the extra step.  I feel like there's some missing information."

There is still a little furrow to his brow as he bows his head and looks down into his beer glass.  He finally drinks from it as Andrés gets up and leaves the table and somehow avoids scattering both himself and the shot glasses across the bar.

"I guess I'll just have to talk to Angela soon.  I was meaning to anyway."

Grace
"Apprentices may not have much in the way of raw destructive power, no. But they still have access to the most powerful thing of all -- information. Look what Ned and Margot went and did, eh? The word gets out that Apprentices are dying, and all the sudden they all get really interested in what's going on. And thus targets on their backs.

"The fact that a secret-keeping spirit is involved just means there's a piece of information out there that somebody wants kept in the dark. Evelyn's involved, but her son is missing. I don't think she'd kill her son, but then why is he missing?"

Andrés about wipes out the bar on his way to... grabbing more shots? It's a mystery to Grace. But then, that brings up another question -- will he remember any of this conversation tomorrow anyway?

"Be careful. Angela believes the line about this all being a Techy getting trigger happy. She might tell her boss anything we have to say."

Nicholas Hyde
"I'm more interested in hearing what she has to say than in telling her anything," Nick says, and there is a shrug of one of his shoulders that follows his statement.  One of his, though: perhaps he'll feel differently when he meets his Traditionmate face to face.

Perhaps she'll feel differently.  It's difficult to say.

He takes a swallow of his beer at the rest of what Grace has to say, and shrugs again.  "A lot of questions.  Like I said, I think we're missing some information."

Andrés Sepúlveda
He comes back bearing three shots of tequila and no signs of the three already in his system having any sort of effect. He's acting the way he always acts, which if Grace hasn't figured out already means he's used to functioning with his blood alcohol at the level that causes most people to vomit or pass out just means Grace doesn't know him very well.

Again with the lack of pressure on Nick to take his shot. Grace's, however, lands in front of her with a thunk that would have sloshed the fluid over the side if the bartender weren't putting the shots into double glasses.

"Is it later yet?" he asks as he drops himself onto his side of the bar again. Shot. "Because I still don't know who--" He puts up his fist to stifle a belch and then proceeds on as if nothing happened. "--Grant is."

Grace
"I like Angela, don't get me wrong. I think if she were to derail our investigations, it wouldn't be out of malice. I do think she's being duped though, just like a lot of the Mages over there..."

Thunk.

Tequila.

Ahh, good. She lifts the glass and throws it back, because fuck having to think about family. Let's think about how much her throat is on fucking fire.

"Auugh..."

"Grant is... Well, it really depends on whether you mean Grant Junior, or Grant the Third. The Third goes by Nomz, and he is in the care of Sera right at the moment. Grant Junior is a little shit who ran a streaming snuff porn site I deleted, because fuck that."

Nicholas Hyde
A shot is set down in front of him, though Nick doesn't yet reach for it.  He eyes it, though, considering the wisdom of what he is about to do: but he was already lost the moment he entered this bar.  He knew that.  We knew that.  Pen is going to be coming to drive him home.

So he takes up the shot and knocks it back.

"Grant is - well, Grant the Third, I guess, is Grant Junior's son.  He was raised in isolation and helped his father with the coding of the website.  Mostly out of the feeling he needed to pay his father back for raising him, and the fear that his father would kill him if he didn't comply."  Nick blows a hard breath out through his nostrils and takes a swallow from his glass of beer.

"I've been going up to visit him once or twice a week.  Angela was the one who found him.  It's why I was planning to talk to her."

Andrés Sepúlveda
Andrés leans as far back into the bench as he can, which is only about another half-inch or so but he does manage to press himself into the cushy foam to blatantly tip his phone into landscape orientation and fit the other two into the crosshairs of his phone.

"Act like you're having a good time," he says, "I'm documenting how much you suck at holding your liquor and sending it to your wife."

Focus, Dr. Sepúlveda.

"Wait," he puts the phone away again, "how old is this kid?"

Grace
Yup, right when she starts talking about streaming snuff porn sites, that's when Andrés decides to take a picture. Grace, once she realizes what's going on, does not look like she's having a good time.Horrified, is more like it.

So, a tipsy Nick and a weirded-out Grace in that shot, if he took it.

"Dude, no," she says, puts a hand up to protect her face from getting captured like that. He puts his phone away, and yet she's still eyeing him like he might just try again...

"Like, seventeen, eighteen something. He got press-ganged into the family business pretty young though. Like I said, there are some crappy fucking parents out there, man."

Andrés Sepúlveda
"And where is he right now?"

Nicholas Hyde
The expression on Nick's face, in the photo that is sent to his wife, is probably what Pen has begun to expect from outings with Andrés at this point: his eyes are just slightly unfocused, and he is staring off into the ether.  Somewhere off to the side and past Andrés.  There is a glass of beer in his hand.

A moment later his gaze settles on the Etherite again.  "I've had a beer and four shots of tequila!  I can hold my liquor fine."

He takes another swallow from his glass.  "He's...yeah.  Seventeen or eighteen.  He's up in a cabin that Sera has in the mountains.  He's safe, for now.  He's legally dead, though.  We've been talking about ways he can get his life started over again once we can figure out how to keep him safe from his dad."

Grace
"Somewhere. I'm going to have to ask Sera where this cabin of hers is exactly? But I haven't really... uh... had the time."

There's really just... too much going on.

"I tracked Grant Junior all the way to Colorado Springs, speaking of hellholes. He was headed to Texas, it looked like, from some of his purchases. But he started paying for things with cash and went off-grid. I lost him. I'll find him again," she says, pretty sure of herself.

Andrés Sepúlveda
[manip + subterfuge: i'm totally not annoyed that this is the first i'm hearing about this and you people are making me ask questions and give a shit.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 2) ( botch x 1 )

Andrés Sepúlveda
[rolling damage for smacking his head on the bench back]

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

Andrés Sepúlveda
[soak]

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

Andrés Sepúlveda
Andrés is fucking annoyed that this is the first he's hearing about this.

He sigh he lets out to accompany his eyes' ascent to the ceiling is probably the same expression his students see on an hourly basis. That his skull thunks on the back of the booth helps as an auditory cue that he's annoyed, but it also fucking hurts.

"Son of a bitch," he says, rubbing the back of his neck and frowning like the bench did something wrong and not him. "Voy a fumar, regreso en seguida."

And out the back door to the smoking patio he goes.

Nicholas Hyde
Nick can tell, unfortunately, that Andrés is annoyed.  Nick can generally tell when there's a shift in mood, when someone is upset, when someone isn't feeling all that well.  When someone wants to avoid a topic.  Sometimes it's difficult to be insightful.

His brows are already beginning an apologetic furrow when Andrés smacks his head on the back of the bench, swears, and begins to make his way out to the smoking patio.  He makes a low noise in the back of his throat and glances after the other man's back as he makes his retreat.  "Think we should go after him?"

A beat.  "Let me know if you find Junior."

Grace
Voy... go. Fumar? Smoke. Something something something. And then he goes out back. Right.

"I... think we pissed him off somehow."

And that has Grace's hackles up. Whenever people react emotionally in ways that don't make any bloody sense, the fear creeps in.

"He probably wants to go be... by himself? That's the reason why I always leave. When I do. Like that, I mean," she says, sighs. "I'll let you know."

Nicholas Hyde
"I don't think he's pissed, exactly.  Andrés is always kind of ornery," Nick says, and there is a wave of his hand.  Whatever he noticed, he doesn't seem especially worked up about it.  "He'll come back in and he'll have forgotten about it already."

Nick takes another swallow from his glass.  "How are you doing, Grace?"

Grace
"Aside from," she says, wiggles her fingers in the direction of the smoking patio. "I wish I could get these murdering assholes out of my state and get back to.... You know. Stuff."

She looks over at some detail of the ceiling reflected in the mirror behind the bar.

"How's things... with Pen and all? She still pissed off?"

Nicholas Hyde
"We haven't really talked about it, since then," Nick says.  "It's her Tradition business.  If I met someone who had left the Chakravanti, I'm not really sure how I'd feel.  So if she's still upset I can't really fault her."

He drains the remainder of his glass.  "Once we get this cleared up there'll be another thing.  It's that way everywhere."

Grace
If she's still upset, Nick can't fault her. But Grace?

She inhales, still looking at the ceiling behind the mirror. There's so much that's wrong with that whole sentiment. There are people out there who really do give a whole lot of fucks what others are comfortable with when it comes to their own beliefs and practices. That's what started the Technocracy after all, isn't it?

The Traditions are supposed to be better than that. Supposed to be.

But her held breath gets let out as a sigh, not a tirade.

"I guess so," she says, flat and distracted. "When the doc gets back, tell him I'm sorry for whatever."

She slides out of her seat, gets to her feet. "I'm going to go 'voy a fumar' before I say something I don't mean."

Nicholas Hyde
"If you really wouldn't mean it if you said it," Nick says, and a glance slants in Grace's direction as she stands up to get out of the booth, "then that's probably for the best."

He gives his glass a nudge to spin it away from the ring of condensation it is sitting in.  "I'll tell Andrés you had to leave, sure."

Andrés Sepúlveda
So Grace couldn't sit and talk to Nick for five minutes without having to leave. He's not going to hold that against her. Quietly judge her, sure, but he's not a man who holds grudges. He would have to have a far better memory than he actually does, or else not drink to deal with the fact that he is in deep emotional pain and time is taking its sweet damned time healing that particular wound.

He does come back inside, doing so holding the door for a pair of bleach blondes who were out there with him. Both women look like they could bench press him, and they go back to the billiards table they had abandoned while he goes back to the booth.

"Leave?" he asks. "Why'd you have to leave?" Plop. "Sit down, asshole, Penelope's going to be here in like two minutes and it's your turn to buy." A beat. He looks straight at Nick. "I leave you two alone for five minutes..."

Grace
She shouldn't even have asked the question. That was her whole point, wasn't it? That there's too many other, more important things to worry about than meaningless squabbles over who is in what Tradition.

But it does matter to her. Elliot matters to her. Unity among their people in Denver, that matters to her possibly more than anything.

And then, Andrés is back. With bad news. She stops in her tracks on her way out, but only to give him the look of severe discomfort. "Pen's why I'm leaving. I don't want a fight. It's for the best, honestly."

It's your turn to buy, he says, so she digs around in her pocket, pulls out a wallet, slaps a few twenties down in front of him.

Andrés Sepúlveda
And he looks from Nick back to Grace.

"So don't fight with her! Is that... Is that really that hard?"

He missed something, apparently. Pushes the money back at her.

"I don't want your blood money."

Nicholas Hyde
There is a look from Andrés to Grace and then back again.  Nick glances toward his empty beer glass.  Longingly.

Grace
Her cash gets shoved back at her, so she picks it back up. Promptly turns away from them as the twist in her gut gets worse. Yes. That's pretty much the point of leaving. It would be that hard, if Pen's in a mood to go there. Two minutes? Not much time. She walks over to the bartender and gives lays down the money, to order them some more shots on her dime.

Whatever. Blood money? He doesn't know the half of it.

Bartenders though? They don't really care where the money comes from.

Andrés Sepúlveda
[lol rolling "empathy," maybe we can botch two rolls today.]

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

Kiara Woolfe
You'll never again in your life meet a woman who could so capably stroll into a dive bar (or, in all honestly, any bar in any town) and somehow manage to bring with her the sensation that regardless of time or season; the bloom of Spring and vitality had just erupted right then and there. There's also a particular sort of charisma that flows along with the pagan, it can't be denied.

Those boots take steps inside and there's eyes on the figure with wild, tousled hair and a red mouth. One that curls at the edge when it takes in the vantage before it. The brunette begins to thread her way toward the bar and a hip settles against it.

A thin scarf that seemed more decorative than substantial was unwound from her neck. A familiar figure manifests as Kiara sets a boot on a stool and sets money on the counter. Dark, expressive eyes find her; linger on Grace for a moment and the Verbena pivots just so: "Grace Evans, as I live and breathe." The healer's fingernail slides over a menu, taps something and there's a nonverbal response from the bartender.

Our scene unfolds, the lady enters and orders a drink.

Kiara's attention, momentarily, cast over the other female's shoulder. "Are you engaging in bad habits without me?"

Andrés Sepúlveda
He watches her go, his expression neutral save for the fact that he has his tongue pressed into the back of an incisor to keep him from harrying her on her way out the door, and a minute stitch has pulled tauter between his brows. He doesn't know what just happened, but if Nick wants him to know, he'll say something.

In the meantime Andrés sighs, this time without almost cracking his skull open on the sturdy booth wall, and removes his cellphone from his pocket again. This time it's to use as a prop. A stand-in for a tape recorder, perhaps.

"Idea for an experiment," he says.

He still has beer. Poor Nick does not.

One of Kiara's bad habits looks over his shoulder towards the bar, makes eye contact without changing his expression, and waves his sleeping phone before ducking back into the bar.

".......... stop having ideas."

Grace
"Kiara," she says, and the look on her face telegraphs that she is tired, that things are woefully not right. The bartender lines up three shots next to her at the bar. "Save me, and take these with you to the boys?"

"I have to get out of here."

Pen will be here any minute...

"Like, now."

Nicholas Hyde
A sigh puffs out of Nick; blown upward, it rustles through the curls that corkscrew out over his forehead.  He rests his fingertips on his beer as he casts a glance over to the bar.  "Sorry about that," he says to the Etherite.  "She ran into me and Pen when we were at a play last month and had Kalen - Elliot? - along with her.  I guess he's leaving the Order and Pen was angry about it.  Grace is angry that Pen was angry.  That's really it."

Nick follows Andrés' wave to its natural conclusion, the Verbena, and there is a flicker of a pleased smile before he lifts a hand to wave toward her.  She is another face he has not seen for months yet.

"Your ideas do seem to get you into trouble more often than not."

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Okay. Okay okay. Indulge me in one more for the road. The proverbial... the road I'm not actually getting on and using, because I'm not leaving. Just... the concept of ideas, it's leaving. In whatever ideas travel in. One more, ready?"

He might be starting to feel the alcohol a little bit.

"I quit this Science shit, change my name, maybe start, eh... I wear a mustache, you know, so I can twirl my finger around it--" Pantomime. "--when I'm thinking, NOT OF IDEAS, just... whatever normal people think of, what brand of cat food to buy the cat, there's a cat component to this idea, and instead of teaching wide-eyed little baby idiots how to break the laws of reality, I teach... anatomy. Human anatomy. At a community college. In Vermont. Yeah. That's... that's what I should do. There's no possible way that can get me into trouble."

Kiara Woolfe
Some of that easy flirtation ebbs with the look on Grace's face. Kiara's eyes ticking over it and beyond to Andrés and Nicholas for a beat. There's a brief cant of her head, a ghosting smile before her focus returns to the other woman. She ignores her own drink as it's set down in front of her (wine, of course, it had to be red wine for the Verbena) for a moment and her hand finds Grace's shoulder.

Brief, bracing. A sweep of Kiara's perfume. "Of course." She squeezes, just the once. Easy to forget, sometimes, that beneath the glamorous lacquer was another layer. "Go, let me deal with these two. Grace," this, Kiara's parting commentary as she collects together glasses to juggle.

"It was good to see you. Take care of yourself," Another brief survey of her face. "We'll talk, soon."

Nicholas Hyde
Nick's eyebrows arch, waggle as though to indicate that he is ready to hear whatever idea Andrés is about to throw out.  The skeptical slant of his mouth suggests that he is not at all sure about this idea even before he hears it.

"So instead of teaching wide-eyed baby idiots how to break the laws of reality, you'll trade it for teaching wide-eyed baby idiots about bone structure and basic life skills?"  A flicker of a smile, here.  "Are you getting that tired of Science, Andrés?"

Grace
She nods. "Thanks so much. Yeah. We should totally get together," she says. Just not right now... "You, me, a bottle of wine, and a hot spring to dip our feet into? Sound good?"

Right. That sounds really good.

"I think so, at least." A weary smile.

And then, she is officially, finally, out the door.

Kiara Woolfe
And - here comes the brunette; her bag slung over a shoulder; an assortment of glasses balanced between her hands. The wine glass tipping dangerously at an angle as she approaches the table and sets the shots down with no gentle devotion - they clink together as Kiara Woolfe regards both, sweeping the heavy fall of her bangs from dark eyes.

"What did you do to Grace," the informal greeting comes, as she slides her bag from her shoulder and unceremoniously invades Andrés' space to settle herself in; long fingers curling around the stem of the wine glass. "She looked worn out by the sight of you."

A sip of wine, her mouth smiling around the rim of it. "Hello, Nicholas."

Andrés Sepúlveda
"Science? No, no no no no, I love--"

What did you do to Grace.

He makes a valiant effort at looked offended, which is difficult to do when he not only refuses to move but tolerates it when Kiara deposits herself in his lap. Glancing across the table to confer in silent brohood with Nick doesn't illuminate the question. If she wants to invade his space, Andrés is going to put his arm around her waist.

Touché.

"That's because I use something called logic when I'm having conversations," he says, ducking his head so she can put an arm around his shoulders if she's going to insist on staying where she is, "and she believes in unicorns."

Nicholas Hyde
"Hello, Kiara."  His eyes are not on her immediately after she sits down; he is instead watching Grace make for the door.  Nick's face is solemn when it is relaxed, somber even; there is a tilt to the corners of his mouth and his eyes are large and dark, in this light.  Still, it does not take him long to look back at her.

"She's upset that Pen was upset about Kalen leaving the Order," Nick says.  His fingertips wander across the table toward the shot of tequila.  It is evident by the haze in his light brown eyes that alcohol began to work its magic some time ago.  "I don't really know what to say.  I can't tell Pen that she's wrong to feel the way she feels."

Their familiarity he takes in with a sweep of his eyes and no comment.

There is a quirk of his mouth as he glances back at Andrés.  "So you love Science, but not...what?"

Kiara Woolfe
She does, in actual fact, set her arm around his neck and rest a ring-laden hand on a shoulder; crossing her legs and leaning in against the older Awakened as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But then, to many who could claim some association with the pagan it likely was, to her estimation, exactly that.

Personal space was an optional consideration, at the best of times.

It's because she believes in unicorns, he offers and then Nick clarifies: Order business. Kalen was leaving it. Pen was not amused. Grace was disinclined to agree with the aforementioned lack of amusement. Nicholas was a supportive husband. There's a noise, a low hum from the witch. She sets the wine glass down and traces a fingertip along it. Dramatically lined eyes ticking across to Nicholas.

"Grace and Kalen are very close. I dare say he's as much a brother to her as anyone could be." Her expression turns thoughtful: "I'm not surprised he left. He's been conflicted for a very long time." A beat. "Plus, with the rare few exceptions," little acknowledging smile there, "Most all of the Order I've met haven't made me want to leave any rave reviews in their inbox."

Andrés Sepúlveda
For someone who claims to be so buttoned down and rational, having a filthy pagan not only sit on his lap but make herself comfortable doesn't seem to ruffle him. Hell, he encouraged it. The fingers resting on her hip trace lazy lines up and down, while the other hand picks up the tequila glass.

"It's more afraid of you than you are of it," he says, goading the other man, before knocking his back and depositing the shot glass in the center of the table.

Then the conversation swings back around to the matter of Grace and Penelope's beef.

"Really." He's teasing her. "What, the sticks most of them have up their asses isn't enough connection to nature for you?"

Nicholas Hyde
Up until that evening at the play, Nicholas had never really met Kalen: he had been present when the man had introduced himself at the meeting held at the chantry, but otherwise they had not spoken.  He has mostly heard tell of him from others.  And so when Kiara says Kalen was conflicted, Nick only nods; this much he gathered from the brief conversation they all had together.

He mirrors Kiara's smile, though his is a more subtle thing, a snick of the corner of his mouth.  "Some of them are all right," he says.  The smile fades, then.  "It didn't seem like a great fit for Kalen.  But most Traditions have...well, you're taught things in confidence.  I don't really know Kalen well enough to have feelings toward him one way or another, myself.  I'm just sorry it upset Grace that much."

And here, a shrug.  Goaded on, he reaches for the tequila glass and tips it back, smiling at the question Andrés puts forth.

Kiara Woolfe
His hand tracing patterns on her hip doesn't appear to faze the brunette in the slightest but who could imagine it would. Rather, in some strange sort of contest of physicality her fingers begin to slide over his shoulder where they rest; mapping some idle remonstration out that becomes a slap of her palm against it at his offered remark on the Order.

She answers Nicholas, then: "Every Tradition has its challenges."

One might imagine that was a dig at the gentleman she was currently using as her seating, if the curl of humor in her throat was any indication. It sobers, though. She does, likewise. "Grace will get past it, I'm sure she will. Pen just needs to give her time to get there." And possibly not offer further commentary in the Virtual Adept's presence on matters concerning Kalen.

She takes a generous mouthful of wine, the Life Mage. Turns a side long look Andrés' way. "Speaking of challenges, how are Margot and Ned? Have they stayed out of trouble?" A beat, her dark eyes narrow a fraction. "They haven't chased that spirit, have they?"

Andrés Sepúlveda

When Kiara thwaps him for his insolence, Andrés doesn't even have the humility to look chastised. He stifles a laugh and, rather than reaching for his sweating beer, rests against the back of the booth and loops his other arm around the Verbena's waist.

Nicholas and Kiara are both far more observant and understanding of human emotions than the Etherite will ever be. As sauced as he may or may not be after nearly an hour of keeping pace with Andrés, the Chakravat can see the effect Kiara has on him, how he is at peace in her presence and the depth and warmth of his feelings for her.

Every tradition has its challenges. Like pain in the ass apprentices. Speaking of:

"To my knowledge, no."

This, to the matter of whether they have gone after the spirit they first encountered while coercing what was left of Jacqueline Paix to tell them what had happened to her. He had given Grace a seven a.m. wakeup call the morning after that little revelation had come to pass, and life had continued on from there.

"I was just telling Nicholas about Edward's upcoming boar hunting field trip."

Oh right. Andrés found out that the secret society that may or may not have had something to do with Jacqueline Paix's demise only accepted rich white boys as potential inductees and sent Ned in to investigate as punishment for running off into danger all the time without telling him first. It had made sense at the time.

Now where the hell is Penelope?

Nicholas Hyde

At some point Nick's head tipped against the back of the booth and settled there, and now with his chin jutting out, his Adam's apple a smooth ridge against the stubble-specked line of his throat, he watches the two of them through hooded eyes.  Perhaps he can indeed tell the effect Kiara has had on Andrés, no matter how sauced he now is (or will be soon: some of the alcohol hasn't caught up with him yet.)

Nick's fingers trail up and down the outside of his beer glass, still mostly untouched.  He has at least had the sense to slow down.

"I doubt Pen is going to bring it up to Grace," Nick says, and here there is another shrug.  He himself had been content to leave the topic alone until it had been brought to the fore prior to Kiara's arrival.

The topic turns to Ned and Margot and Nick straightens a little, lifting his head from the back of the booth: evidently very content with the change of conversation.  "Are you sure he's going to be safe going with this group, Andrés?  Without any backup?"

Kiara Woolfe

"Boar hunting."

Oh, the unfiltered disdain that dripped from Ms Woolfe's tongue at that could have scalded. "Really. They still do that?" She asks, as if she hadn't the awareness that of course hunting was still rife and she'd expected somehow humanity had advanced further than the so-called sportsmanship involved in stalking wildlife in the woods. Perhaps something in it rankled the pagan beyond simple revulsion at the notion.

Andrés settles back against the booth and his movement takes his accomplice with him; her body fitting quite snugly into the side of him; her fingers now idly toying with the collar of his shirt. If there was any idea that their demonstrations of physical familiarity with one another disturbed, it was carefully masked by the brunette but then - Kiara was not a creature known for her great levels of restraint.

The way she drank her wine as if the alcohol were some conduit to her grasp on the threads of conversation taking place seemed evidence enough of this.

Nicholas wanted to know if the boy (who was Kiara's age and decidedly not a boy but somehow the discrepancy persisted) would be safe. Kiara's focus drew toward the man she sat upon as if this echoed her own questions on the matter.

Penelope Mars

The bar's door opens. The light is brief, and bright, and brilliant. The white promise of it limns Pen's crown, a blaze of color; it falls against half her face in a stark rectangle, but the resplendence of it seems to linger in her loose curls; the angle of it strikes the color of one eye a quartz clear and luminous gray, the other dark; and then then the bar's door closes. Inside a bar during the day, especially one without a great many windows, is to take a little katabasis, to visit an underworld. Pen blinks to clear her vision but that's all. She does not adjust the (new)trapezoid shaped carrying case which hangs against her hip, dark fabric and padded as if to keep an instrument safe, nor does she adjust the bag which hangs just an inch or two lower than the carrying case and is made of old kimono silk. The Flambeau (a torch; many-tined, and ardent) burns in the dive like Orpheus, see, must've burned, in Hadestown on the coldest day, like Circe did to Ulysses when he went to see what became of his men, right, this sharp fantasy of color and shadow, and she cases the joint with a look, and there are her people in a knot - hallowed steadfast augural cold rejuvenating pulsing.

That's where she goes without making a stop at the bar. The carrying case hits the seat beside Nick before she does. Pen first leans over the booth to (sensualist) bury her fingers in Nick's dark curls, stroke them away from his brow and measure the lines of his throat, study the shadow behind his ear, heart beat, and then: this flash of a smile for Andrés and Kiara; pop! then let it linger, leave behind an echo, yeah? and she says, "Hello, Andrés, Kiara," - and this is when she slants a (reserved [besotted, baby]) glance downward at Nick and greets him with this epithet, said in tones of suggestion - "and you my dearest friend." 

And that's when she straightens, comes around to replace the carrying case with herself, having ascertained that Nick has a drink and she'll just drink from that rather than ordering anything from the bar. Her eyes are on the couple across, and she says, "It's so good to see you again," to the pagan, and then to Andrés, with this uptick of the corner of her mouth, "What have I missed?" 

Andrés Sepúlveda

A rainbow knit cap and a pair of black-rimmed glasses, bridge down and ears extended, form a pile on the same table whose top has appeared in at least two photographs taken by Andrés's banged-up phone. Even with his breath gone to fire and the troupe of shot glasses emptied, when Pen arrives he does not need to put on his glasses to identify her but he does it anyway. It serves as an unprovoked litmus of his sobriety. When the Etherite is trashed he forgets to care about seeing further than a couple of inches in front of him.

"Penelope!" he says as he swipes the glasses off his face and returns them to their place atop the discarded cap. "You have missed nothing."

He picks up his mostly-full second beer and, in doing so, jogs his memory. Not of the boar hunting and the danger Ned may or may not be in, but of his pulling of Nick's leg having been interrupted.

"No, wait, that's a lie, I was just telling your esposo I was thinking of packing up and moving to Vermont." He turns to regard the woman sitting on his lap. "What do you think, can I pull off plaid?"

Nicholas Hyde

There is still this contemplative look fixed on Kiara and Andrés, see, and Nick is too drunk to be concealing his thoughts much and so he is more transparent than usual.  Kiara can see a touch of relief, perhaps, and warmth, and from there if one were to dig deeper one could even dredge up a touch of longing if one were so inclined: it's transparent enough that maybe even Andrés can see it.  His eyes reflect the dim light, are a soft amber, a hearthfire brown.

When Pen enters his eyes swing toward the door and his flesh lays bare the brightness that suddenly springs forth in a flash of teeth and animation.  "Pen!" he echoes Andrés.  "Nobody told me you were coming!  You didn't tell me you were coming."

She sits down beside him and she barely has time to open her mouth before he topples to the side and sprawls across his wife's lap in a manner in which he will try to bear with dignity, later.  Kiara and Andrés, seated across from them, can only see his knees, which he has drawn up so that he can lie on his back and put his feet up on the bench.  "You would be right at home among eccentric faculty," he says.  "But skip the plaid."

Kiara Woolfe

The Verbena has this way about her, you understand. It is not the way of Pen who when she appears seems to radiate a particular sumptuous, adventuresome splendor or Nicholas who feels so hushed and reverent across from her or indeed even the man she's entangled with in a little nucleus of pulsing, brumal energy. There's an innate appetite in the brunette to connect. To feel the physicality of others when she's with them. It's there in the way she slides over and off Andrés' lap only to settle herself right against him; to ensure her leg remains trapped with his beneath the table and her fingers idly uncover and turn over his palm so she can slide the pad of a thumb over the tiny lines etched into his hand.

Here the heart line, there the fate line.  Over the mount of Venus. The joint of each knuckle told a story all its own to the pagan.

So, though: can I pull off plaid? The look is a quiet, sidelong curl of Kiara's mouth and those gleaming eyes. Skip the plaid, says Nicholas' knees, now speaking on his behalf as he reclines against his wife. "I'd never take anything you said seriously again," a sip of wine. "But who am I to deny a man his dreams of bridges and maple syrup." Then, to Pen, who has borne a brief delay in the brunette's attention as she re-seated herself: "It's good to see you too, Pen. We were venturing into the wild unknowns of boar hunting. Apparently young Ned is going undercover." A thread of laughter. Less at the Initiate and far more the premise.

"I was voicing my disappointment at the prospect." Smoothly, as if the conversation hadn't been briefly waylaid: "So other than hunting wildlife, what is he walking into?"

Andrés Sepúlveda

An interjection when Nick says no one told him etc etc:

"Lies! I told you she would be here in two minutes..." He would pretend to check his invisible watch but that arm is around Kiara's waist. "... five minutes ago."

And down goes Nick.

With the blood flow now returned to his lower hemisphere, Andrés rolls his shoulders and crackles his vertebrae. Transfers one arm around her shoulders while she plays with the palm of his other hand.

Don't tell anyone: he has a long, curved heart line that splits in two; a long, faint life line. He does not have a fate line. He does have a strong, deep, broken family line at the base of his thumb.

Her premonition of never taking seriously anything he said again provokes a smile from him, and he watches her profile as she takes in her wine. Fingers knit themselves into her hair and he forces himself to look across the table at Pen, taking in her reaction to the news of the young Disparate's newest show of misfortune. It affords him the opportunity to shore up his defenses. A deep breath in, alcohol blown out.

"The wildlife hunting is the walking," he says. "It's my understanding that if he bags himself a boar, the Order of the Falcon will consider him a member of their trust fund baby circle jerk and he'll have access to their big book of secrets and they won't string him up in a field somewhere that'll be a pain in my ass to go retrieve him." Now that he has attained a comfortable level of drunkenness, Andrés is content to not touch his beer. "I'll be able to assist him remotely, so it isn't as if he's going in completely alone, pero the, eh... the consecuencias of him not bagging a boar, I don't know. We're working on his throwing arm."

Penelope Mars

Oh! Nick sprawls so sudden there is a hitch to her breathing, and Pen slants another look downward. This one is obfuscated by the dark fall of her lashes, but (allow me to tell you how ardently I esteem and admire) she would make a good painting, looking down at Nick like that - as expressive as her features are, as striking, as moody; it is the moon on the horizon, gone diffuse; gone to bright suggestion. Pen cannot keep herself from smiling quick and impulsive. She smooths her hand down and over his sternum, and then brings her gaze back to bear on their companions, with a brief stop over for Andrés' rainbow cap - which she is immediately covetous of, which snags her interest. The glance she gives the array of shot glasses and empty pint glasses is observational rather than judgmental, and okay: 

Andrés, Vermont; don't wear plaid; couldn't take you seriously. Pen makes: this curl of noise, thoughtful, but doesn't chime in to add anything on the subject after Kiara and Nick; only, see? Good humor in the grey of her eyes, and there's an omen for you, and she looks encouraging, like of course Andrés would make an excellent Vermont guy, good humor in the elegant little prick of her eyebrows chasing after a thought or image conjured by this line of conversation (boar-hunting?).

Young Ned is going undercover, Kiara says, and Pen's eyebrows already pricked up once; now they rise, and stay risen.

"I ran into Grace outside. She said you guys were discussing the apprentice stuff in Colorado Springs. Is boar hunting - truly, hunting of boar? The mighty boar, slayer of kings? Is that connected, or some other piece of business?" 

Meanwhile, her hand hovers ominously over Nick's ribs. Nick is drunk; is he ticklish and wrestle-y drunk? There is one way to find out. Her other hand circles Nick's beer glass. There's a ring of condensation, a watery omen should anybody have the eyes to read it. 

The ring smears just so, and Pen takes a swallow from the glass. Attentive.