Now We Drink

Mars
[123: not first posting!]

Ari
[I'll do it.]

Ari
There had been a flurry of text messages between a less-than-sober Arianna and an always-eloquent Penelope regarding someone else's brilliant and clearly risk-adverse (sarcasm) plans, and how they might have possibly raised something akin to wary askance side-ways looking concern in the Silver Bough's Bonisagus.  Not that Arianna concerned herself with Apprentices, or apprentices-not-apprentices as the case may be here, especially those outside of the Order and especially especially those who may have yet to declare or secure allegiance to/from a Tradition. There were boundaries on her Good Will toward men. One had to have standards. Such Hermeticking surely factors in at some level except this:

She is passingly fond of Andres' female apprentice.

This bevy of fleet footed texts was Saturday, and then some damnable thing or another had interceded into Sunday and so feasting and general comradeship was postponed into Monday -- evening as Nick insisted on having an occupation other than Hermetic Mage, which was good, as being Chakravanti was not consistent with a life goal of occupation: Hermetic Mage -- which is to say that it is after work, and Ari has finished or set aside whatever passes as her daily grind and headed over toward Nick and Pen's and as this is damnable Denver she has taken the short ride by car because the weather says something about possible snow down to 6000' and just about anywhere in the city is close enough that she does not wish to measure the rise of the hill upon which the House of Hyde and Mars resides to be certain she is safely below the snow-line.

Past fucking Beltane, and the snow still came.  For this sort of ridiculousness she could be high in the Alps enjoying Swiss chocolate and the tangle of languages that feel closer to home. She could be testing the magical principles of Correspondence in the Himalayas -- does the thinness of the air affect the transmutation of space?

On Saturday she had worn a dress with a hemline that swung around her knees and fit just so and it was feminine and elegant and perfect.  Today, though, she is returned to slacks, and boots, and a coat.  But she draws the line at buttoning it up.  And on the short hike up their hill to their front porch -- eyes cast up to the steepling of the tree boughs now bedecked in a flurry of whispering leaves, eyes cast next to the swing and groan of the furious weather vane, eyes at last coming to rest on the warm light spilling out of their windows -- she refuses to bend enough to this Denver weather to button up her coat or sling a scarf around her neck.  Her breath makes small clouds before her, steam pushed aside as progress requires their parting.  Grey slacks, a pale pink sweater, an unreasonably white coat that gleams in the light of the gibbous moon.  She is a slip of moor-light moving up their path; she is luminous even before she graces their doorway.

And knocks twice.

And then twice again.

Because she is impatient.  And because the things she has brought to add to the feast weigh down the canvas bag in her right hand.  And because if she didn't knock twice twice, then the House might not recognize her name.

Hyde
To one side and across of the House of Mars and Hyde, there is a war.  It's funny that Ari should imagine Switzerland because that is the role her friends seem to be playing just now: across the road from them the yard there has grown up a crop of Bernie Sanders '16 signs.  Next door to their house, Donald Trump '16 signs bristle up like the rifles of a distant army glimpsed at the horizon.  One wayward Sanders sign appears to have somehow been 'misplaced' there amongst them.

It will escalate.  It will most certainly escalate.

But for now, Ari is not the only one dismayed, left dismal, by the weather and the surprise reappearance of snow.  Nicholas has been bemoaning it since he first heard the forecast.  Were he some haunting spirit, someone who had died frozen in Denver's outer reaches and left to wander its plains and mountains for eternity, his refrain might be: Snow!  In May!  What the fuck.

He curses infrequently enough and saves it for those moments when he is truly in anger or in shock.

Much like the time Ari surprised them at their doorstep several months ago now, when he hears her knocking Nick tromps down the stairs to answer her, though by now her knock is grown familiar.  She lives so close, close enough that if it were not snowing! in May! he would most certainly have teased her about hailing a cab to come over here.  He appears at the door wrapped in a heavy cardigan of natural wool, undyed, and smiles at her as he beholds her there on the doorstep.  He looks past her just once to take this in: there is one more sign out there than yesterday.

"Come on in, Ari."

Ari
It is worse than Nick has thought. Arianna has not hailed a cab. She has driven herself, but still she parks her car at the bottom of their hill and walks up because something about amassing all their resources in one location -- daughter of a Flambeau general; occupational hazard: Legacy Mage -- or another paranoid nonsense hand-waving thing.  Or perhaps because she counts the hike up the Hill of Mars & Hyde as excersize, thus excusing the indulgence of friendship and feasting and fete-ing.

There is no need to linger on the doorstep, torn between old ways and new, wondering if she might trick the cosmos into accepting her welcome. Nick speaks it freely, and so she pulls him into a one-armed hug even as she crosses the threshold.  With Pen and Nick -- and also with Thane -- Arianna is affectionate.  In Denver, only Andres has won the right to sling his arm around her waist as they sway from one establishment to the other.  (We do not mention Silas, as he won his rights elsewhere, and also because it is a touchy subject, and also because reasons.)

"Can you believe this damnable weather?" she asks him, knowing that Nick is as fond of the slow creep of seasons as she is.  (Snow! In May!) But her mouth is curled toward friendship and teasing, and the hug is tight and fast and quick.

"I made ravioli," she tells him.  "Because they go with everything."  The canvas bag is hefted slightly, as if to prove the weight of her offering.

Mars
Pen is bare foot and bare foot and bare legged she comes down the stairs after Nicholas, doing what one might describe as: frolicking, prancing, skipping, bouncing, whisking, dancing. Dancing is perhaps the most dignified, and Pen is a dignified woman; still she comes dancing down the stairs like a maenad or a murderess, her red red hair a bloody halo and a bruise on her thigh (visible when the skirt she is wearing flicks to the side, and why shouldn't it flick? It is essentially fringe: sparkling, glistering trails of starlight -- of course it is all silver; ribbons of it; fringe; swish; a poem of movement, a kinetic dream) like a crushed blackberry.

"Do they go with your beautiful eyes," she says, by way of greeting,"Do they go with the thrumming of your blood? Do they go with Mercury's transit past Helios? Do they go with women grieving less for Icarus and more for their own eyes, for these women went blind when wax from his wings hit them? But then they were looking upward and saw something remarkable; what do they grieve for, and is ravioli good for it? Hallo, Arianna!"

"Nicholas didn't laugh at my joke earlier, but," and she starts laughing at herself, in advance. "It's, did you see the si, the signs, the political signs, I said we should," and she laughs, and she laughs and she laughs, "that we should put up a sign that says,"

Damn it, Mars, pull yourself together,

"one that says," and she laughs even harder. Nicholas will remember this joke: it was, to be fair to him and to Pen, a reference to an obscure but famous (if you are a Hermetic) political rivalry within the Order of Hermes, and it is a nice updated Hermetic meme and the quote tags she came for each candidate's signs were very clever, and there was absolutely no reason Nicholas should know what the Hell she was talking about.

Ari
[For my amusement: Int + Politics: Does Ari get Pen's obscure reference, based only on giggles and political signage hints?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]

Ari
Ari's arm is still around Nick when Pen comes dance-shimmer-shining down the stairs, wreathed in bell-like laughter, already heralding some sort of mischeif and so it is mid-transference of the hug when Pen's meaning hits home for their Bonisagus friend -- who is most definitely aware of obscure Hermtic politics and who most certainly is not on her best behaviour about them.

Something akin to a snerk escapes Arianna, whose eyes have gone wide and her lips are pressed thin in an amused attempt to hold back laughter.  When she does speak the name, it is thin and wheedlingly so, as if giving it full voice will only break her down into convulsive giggles like Pen.

"Higgority Valantius, he's the only man for us..."

Aha.  Ahaha.  No, no she cannot maintain a straight face. The terrible rhyme; the terrible name; the even worse political platform. It all echoes something of a particular presence in modern politics.

"Oh, oh gods Pen.  I think I know where I can find a likeness of this sign. I think it is a Bonisagus library, friend of a friend of my mother's -- I could." Barely contained snerk again. "I could... fashion you one for your lawn."

Hyde
Nicholas does indeed remember this joke, and he did not laugh at it earlier.  By her laughter he can assume it was a good joke, a clever joke, but there is no reason he should know what the Hell she is talking about and indeed he does not.  His expression deadpan, he looks sidelong at Pen as she repeats the joke and laughs and laughs.  And he smiles because he likes to see Pen laugh, but this is touched with affection, not shared mirth; it looks different.

Oh but of course Ari gets it.  Higgority Valantius.

Mind you: Hermetics choose their names.  This man chose that name for himself.  That is what Nick thinks about while the two of them laugh.  He also does not say that the Sleepers are likely to believe it to be a Harry Potter reference.  Best not to pick at scabs and all that.

"We're only good Valantius folk in this house."

Nicholas holds out his hands for the ravioli, which he appears very happy to accept, in preparation for taking to the kitchen.

Mars
Pen's eyes are bright with the tears of laughter; she has her right hand wrapped around her stomach, her spine curling because the laughter is convulsive and she does not do it still right now; she lets it take her, drifts; bends; doesn't break; reedy, see? And when Arianna gets it, of course Arianna gets it, she flashes Nicholas such a look and such a smile; but he's the only man for us - and Pen's hands are lifted to her face; she covers it completely and her shoulders shake. Then: one hand snaps out; she points very dramatically at Nicholas, peeking through her index and middle fingers, "See! I am hilarious. I am the cleverest most hilarious person except for Ari who is equally clever and hilarious."

Signs! And Nick jumps in, too. Pen clap claps her hands at Ari's offer to fashion one for her lawn and clap beams at Nicholas when he deadpans and then, quite earnest,

"But Ari, if we do a sign for our lawn, we have to do one for your lawn too. Oh, oh oh oh, oh, oh we can send pictures to Eve, Imagine his face. Remember that argument he and, well that argument he had? It ended, Nicholas, in tragedy. A stuffed pig was unstuffed and a spirit unleashed."

"Oh I will take that," and Pen who is One Jump Ahead will slip in take the ravioli dish bag box and head to the kitchen first. Dance to the kitchen. Prance, frolick: whatever.

She seems in high spirits, or at least.

Ari
This proves Ari's point, by the by. If her Nonna's ravioli could go with obscure Hermetic politic jokes and remembrances of Eve, then surely they could go with anything.  They would be good with anything.  They are relinquishes to the Mars-Hydes' custody.

"I thought Xavi might spontaneously combust..."

This is all that is said toward the dicussion of the horrible Name, yes chosen Name, yes chosen perhaps for its awfulness -- Ari cannot rightfully remember his House, though she does the inward equivalent of crossing herself thrice and hoping it is not her own.

"Of course," she says, when Pen insists there should be one in Ari's yard as well.  Pen's dancing continues toward the kitchen, and Arianna shoots Nick a little raised-brow amused look before tripping that way herself in a manner that might be construed as dancingly.

"I made as many as I could stand to fold, and then a few more just for good measure."  This is again about ravioli.  They are filled with sage and cheese; there is sage butter to brown and coat them with. It will be delicious, thought it will not in truth go with everything.

"I failed to gift a sending stone to Margot," she adds, very by-the-by, as if she expects Nick to already be caught up on the gossip shared via text message. Because of course them are.  "She is adamant about facing her past herself."

A beat.  Business intermixed with other things.

"Can I help with anything?" she asks, shrugging out of her coat and draping over something too high for Yorick to scale.  The destroyer of books has been remembered.

Hyde
Pen is in high spirits, frolicking past him to the kitchen with ravioli in hand, and Nick is a more solemn creature even in his good humor, walks after the swaying Hermetics without dancing.  Yorick is in his pen at the moment, as he often is when Nick is not in the mood to follow him around the house cleaning up after him.

He would not have to do that with a dog or a cat.  He has commented on this to Pen, more than once, frequently in texts that involve photos of puppies and kittens and adult dogs and cats that are currently available in local shelters.  Some of them are missing eyes and have three legs, but, well, he likes to give things second lives.

"A sending stone?"  He looks sidelong here at his friend, and his tone suggests that he was not caught up on the gossip after all.  "It's important to her to do it alone, I think.  She believes it's going to help her grow on her own."

His tone is not approving or disapproving; it could perhaps be trying to be neither of those things, to respect Margot's wishes without letting his own feelings influence them too much.  He might have many things in common with the Verbenae, but he is not one nonetheless.  "You already made us ravioli," is the simple reply when Arianna asks after help.

Mars
Here is the true advantage of being the one who brings the ravioli dish into the kitchen. One can steal a ravioli from it, and break fast by popping it in one's mouth, and then: no. Pen does not moan; she does, however, sink against the side of the kitchen counter, eyes closed as she tastes. Bliss.

One would think she were not listening to Nicholas and Arianna, but of course she is. She usually listens, and pays mind.

She even looks at all of the pictures of animals they will not be adopting which Nicholas persists in sending her, and when Yorick is hopping around, crapping on the ground or, as in one memorable and hilarious case, on Nicholas's laptop which was on the floor for whatever reason, Pen is serene in her refusal to help. When he is around, she rarely even pets the bunny. He is usually not around, what with his day job, but what Pen does on her own is nobody's business.

"I think that is too bad, Ari," she says, once she bliss has subsided: somewhat. The oven is on and Pen: she takes out a loaf of bread, crusty and handmade and homemade, and begins slicing it up. The bread's center is a delicate white; it wants to be smoke. From the refrigerator, she takes: fig jam, brie. From the bowl of vegetables, an heirloom tomato: begins slicing, slathering. These will go into the oven to crisp. That Margot wouldn't take the sending stone, that is.

Cut, cut, cut. "Nick, get Ari a drink, why don't you?"

Ari
"Well, not really a sending stone," Ari says, back tracking a bit from claims of true Talisman crafting in a hotel bar. "But a close-enough thing.  Something we could have used in similar ways."

She is saying this and Pen is sneaking a ravioli, which is filled some deliciously musty cheese mingled with sage and salt, which is delicate and slippery and nutty from the browned butter and marvelously redolent. It transports her. Where? That is up to Pen's memories of things delicious and indulgent and too nuanced to be found in a delicatessan's case.

"A true sending stone," she says, for Nicholas's benefit, "Is more than merely an anchorpoint for scrying or other Correspondence work.  It could even hold the whole of the sending ritual and only require activation.  I might have made this false one by pushing a bit of my own resonance into a thing which Margot could have taken with her. Then if she stays overlong in the perils of her past, we might find her -- and not be distracted by the larger well of my resonance, as my location would be clearly known to us."

Hermetics: saying everything the long way.

Hyde
Wine glasses click together, though whatever sound the smallest impact makes is shortly drowned out by the delicate ringing that follows, by the glass shuddering in ways too subtle to be seen by the naked eye.  He is carrying three of them, two held between the fingers of his right hand, their stems crossed, and he sets those down first.  "White or red, Ari?"

She gets a glass of whatever she requests, as does Pen.

A curl flips down nearly into one of his eyes as he glances up at Ari, who offers many explanations about magick the long way.  He has never given any indication that he minds; he has learned things from her more often than not.

He flicks his head, an eyelash fluttering in irritation as he tries to toss the curl away, all to no avail.  It clings as assuredly as grasping vines do to old brick.  "She agreed to contact me if she gets in over her head.  I think it might be the best we can hope for."

Mars
"Even without the sympathetic magic, I believe we could find her without very much trouble, although it never hurts to have an edge; perhaps Yorick would even be useful," this, with a Look for Nicholas. Pen is still in high spirits; the Look is accompanied with the suggestion of one singular dimple, the other being an ace tucked up her sleeve.

"I said it over text; I'll say it again." Now she is laying cheese and sliced tomatoes over the fig jam, like so: perfection. "I am only concerned if 'facing the past' means 'going to murder somebody because now I have magical powers.'"

Her voice is not tinged with a sarcastic edge. She does not sound sardonic; only thoughtful and steady and perhaps a bit hungry.

That ravioli. Would they notice if she ate it all, slowly, while they waited?

Pen wants red wine tonight.

Ari
"Red, please."  Ari and Pen are of a mind about wine for the evening.

"Mmmmm."  It is a thoughtful and not entirely agreeing sound.  Neither of her cabalmates seem overly concerned about the Apprentice -- is one an Apprentice if one has no Tradition to confer and recognize one's rank? Is one truly? -- hieing off on some ill fated adventure.  Far be it for Ari to be the only concerned party if the others are unmoved.

Far be it indeed.

"Well. I hope that she returns unscathed."  It is about as magnanimous as Ari will get on the matter.  The remainder of her thoughts, eloquent and thoroughly judgemental as they would prove to be, remain closeted behind her teeth.  Such restraint. Twice now on the subject.  This time in the presence of wine, which is lifted in silent toast to the Hyde-Marses before she drinks.  And it is a chalice; and is a cauldron; and mostly it is a very good red, to which she nods her approval.

Hyde
Pen's reaction has had his gaze straying, intermittent, toward the ravioli, which are waiting there and occasionally the scent of brown butter wafts out into the space held between all three of them.  He does not reach for it just yet; he is observing some decorum perhaps.  If they eat it all now there will not be any left for later.

It is red wine for all of them, and as glasses are set down and then raised up again, he takes a thoughtful swallow from his own.

"I don't think she wants to kill anyone," he says.  "She is being so secretive about it because she's worried someone will get hurt otherwise, I think.  You know they...she and Ned, they aren't very trusting."  Though maybe they don't know; he can't precisely be sure of what Margot has confided in him and what she has confided in the others, and how it differs.  And he does not like this space, this weight given to one person's confidance and the desire to share with two others who are dear to him.

"We can't force her into making the safer choice, Ari."  He says it to his wine glass, though it's addressed to Ari.  He is less precise with his words than a Hermetic would be: they can, of course, but the rue his tone is laced with says only that he will not.

Ari
"I don't think she wants to kill anyone," Ari says, but the sentence has an alarming amount of momentum. It does not stop there. It keeps going and yet still manages to fall short of saying all of the things she has been so good at not saying to date.

"And no, no we can't make her do anything. None of us has that authority as she is Disparate and seems to have divorced herself from even Andres' mentorship -- a thing I do not understand. I mark the change of resonance on her; it is palpabale, but that does not an Initiate make."

It falls short of saying all the things she has been thinking, whilst still saying some of the things she has been thinking. More of them than she might in other company.

"I like her. I do not want to see her hurt, or burdened further by things she should not have to face alone. But mostly I do not want to see the people I care deeply for hurt by the extension of whatever may hurt her, because you are fond of her Nicholas, and also Thane has invested in her and even myself, for all that I do not will not gods willing you cannot make me take an Apprentice yet, for all of that I think she might even be a bit dear to me and NOW, good friends. Now we drink. Because this thing where we can do nothing about it but also where we know it is not right: I despise it."

A beat. She breathes out.

"And I did not say even a word of that to Margot. Please, admire my restraint."

Things I Didn't Know Before

Alexander
Spring was in full swing, although that didn’t always mean quite the same thing close to the mountains.  There were more days of sunshine, as the city’s marketing department liked to say, and fewer days of snow and sleet and hail.  The potential of summer creeps over the mountains, allowing plants to sprout and animals to feel the push towards their mating rites and rituals.

A clear, if cold, blue sky hangs over a section of some random section of some random national park to the west of Denver.  Somewhere far enough away from any of the parking lots to avoid random tourists and hikers and dog walkers happening across what Alexander has in mind.  The area is near a river, the sound of water streaming and splashing over rocks quiet but clear.  The ground is mostly stone and hard-packed earth, away from anything attempting to grow.  Given time, plants would eventually sprout here, but for now the ground is bare.  Bare, except for a small circle of stones.  The circle surrounds a, currently unlit, camp fire.  It’s a small thing, not built to last.  It’s by this stack of sticks and paper than we find Alexander, sitting cross-legged next to it flicking the cover on and off a lighter.  His eyes are closed as he sits there, maybe concentrating on something or maybe concentrating on nothing.  There’s a backpack set on the ground nearby, with a mostly-full bottle of water sticking out of the top.

[Int+Med]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Nicholas Hyde
It is clear, it is cold, and Nick Hyde is left wondering not for the first time since mid-April just when spring officially begins in Denver.  See Nick's a son of the desert, of fine dust and red rock, and the home of his heart is far and away and near the ocean: still warmer there than here.

In spite of that we will find him out today in a heavier jacket than he would normally be wearing close to the middle of May, but out nonetheless, walking the river's edge.  They say that rivers are another doorway, a road that leads Under or Through or however one is given to conceptualizing the Veil, and they are as intrinsic to Nicholas and his Work as language itself, as words, as ash and bone.  He may not have anything specific planned today for this river; walking it is a meditative thing for him as often as not.

He cuts a stark figure, out here where there's no greenery to offset the dark cast of his clothing and the black of his curly hair and the utter silence of his footfalls.  He sees someone here on the barren earth in front of a circle and he cannot help but be curious, even as his trajectory widens to keep from alarming the other man before their paths intersect.

Alexander
[Awareness seems like a relevant thing right now]

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

Alexander
Alexander is not a desert animal, having grown up on the west coast.  He’s no stranger to the rain or the snow or the cold, so he’s covered with a pair of hiking/cargo shorts, a light, red-coloured jacket and a sturdy pair of boots.  Other, heavier, clothing is stashed away in the bottom of the backpack, some easily accessible waterproofs tucked into a side pocket.  Alexander is also no stranger to being outdoors.

There’s a subtle shift in his body as he picks up on something - someone - on the edge of perception.  It’s something that’s moving closer, and something that demands a certain amount of attention.  It’s an unexpected distraction, and there’s a little grunt of frustration as Alexander turns and pushes himself up and onto his feet.  Their kind has this unerring ability to find each other, like some sort of magnetic pull.  Like calls to like, so it’s a little less of a surprise than it might have been.  Still, he crouches by the backpack – back towards the stranger – and seems to be digging around inside for something.

It’s only a few moments work before he stands and turns towards the slowly approaching and circling presence, hands held behind his back.

Nicholas Hyde
[Awareness.  Relevant.  Yes.]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )

Nicholas Hyde
[And some empathy - are you hostile?]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]

Alexander
[Alexander isn't openly, outwardly, hostile.  There's no attempt to close with or stare down this approaching stranger, but there's no sudden push to flight either.  He's simply waiting and watching to see if Nick is some kind of threat.]

Nicholas Hyde
Magi find each other; Nicholas has known this for years.  Perhaps it's merely confirmation bias: when they can sense each other, when they have a means of finding each other in a crowd, perhaps it's only a matter of statistical chance that will lead them to one another.  Maybe there are hundreds of magi in the city that they don't know about, who are in those areas that they don't frequent.  It's a possibility isn't it?

Regardless, whether it's fate or statistical likelihood, here they are.  The stranger Alex has sensed is wearing a puffy dark green jacket and dark grey canvas pants and a pair of black boots; his hands have been tucked away into the pockets of his jacket.  They seem strange on him, those clothes: they fit his body but not the rest of him, somehow, because he is hallowed he is twice-born he is highland barrows and cairns and burnt auger mounds in the deep woods.  He is high lonely places marked long ago by a sole traveler and he is the hush of crumbling churchyards at dawn, the greening of first Spring.  He has this spare fey look to him, could be the subject of some Victorian painter's dark whimsy if it weren't for his clothing, see.

Alex is digging around inside his pack and so Nick stops where he is, sweeping his gaze over the man in front of him.  Alex's hands are behind his back; Nick slowly draws his from his pockets.  He doesn't make a show of holding them up, but the intent is clear enough.  "Hi there."

Alexander
[Per+Emp right back at'cha - you a threat?]

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

Nicholas Hyde
[Here's what Alex can tell about this stranger.  He's not a threat but - and this is an important distinction, one he can tell because he is sharp today - he could be, he is willing to be (if he must).  He is gauging Alex just as much as Alex is gauging him, and he cannot see what Alex has behind his back which is giving him pause.  He did not expect to encounter anyone out here today.

He is most certainly aware of Alex, and of whatever magickal undercurrents he can sense from him.  It's there in the subtle flare of his nostrils and the way his focus seemed to sharpen suddenly as he drew nearer.

Alex can also sense magick that was worked very recently, that seems to contribute to the otherworldly air about the man in front of him.  He feels as though he has one foot in this world and one foot in the next.]

Alexander
The world is full of possibilities, although not everybody knows where to look for them.  For Sleepers, the possibility that the world can be changed with a thought and a pure act of will is something that only appears in works of fiction.  So maybe the world is full of Awakened, who push each other out of orbit like some sort of metaphysical electron.  Perhaps there are only a few of their kind that pull to each other, for whatever reason.  Or perhaps chance was just as malleable as time and forces and matter, and they simply skewed probability by existing.

Nick had walked along a river to get here, and he would have noticed something of the elements surrounding Alexander’s little clearing.  Just as the nearby river flowed, there was the feeling of somethingelse flowing by/around/through him.  Something that, if you were to be floating in it, would have no boundary to it.  No bank, no beginning, no end.  Something of an unknown and unnamed eternal river, created when some immense glacier had thawed.

Alex studies Nick as he approaches, searching for some hint as to what to expect.  Friend?  Foe?  Or was this just to be some random intersection of their orbits on their paths elsewhere?  Nick gets his empty hands clear of his pockets, and the meaning there seems clear.  But, really, did they need to hold a weapon to be dangerous?  It wasn’t something Alexander had explored yet – there were reasons he had travelled out to the middle of nowhere today – but he was well aware of the possibilities.

“Hi”.  The tone isn’t warm and welcoming, but it isn’t cold and hostile either.  It was simply a recognition of the greeting and its return.  The start of the dance between them.  “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone this far away from the normal trails.  What brings you out this way?”  Still: assessing, wary, cautious.  But not: hostile or even unfriendly.  More: something of the wild that has no intention of being caged.

Nicholas Hyde
 Despite working in a hospital, Nick to his knowledge has never encountered a Conventionalist.  It's not a thought that occurs to him often, that a random mage he meets in the city somewhere could be and that it could put him in danger.  They both Awakened after the war's end, and this is a natural product of peace time.

This is what informs his response to Alex: he isn't cagey about why he's out here, not the way many older magi who can remember the War would be.  "I come out here to work sometimes," he says.  "But this is my first time down this way.  I didn't expect to run into anyone either."

His voice is warm because it cannot help it.  He has the clear, resonant tones of someone who speaks for a living, someone whose natural instinct is to protect and soothe before anything else.

Alexander
Experience skews reaction, almost the definition of wisdom.  Alexander truly had no experience of the war that raged between the Union and the Traditions, sweeping up those that stood apart whether they liked it or not.  There had been some clear messages along the way, though.  That the Union was something to be wary of, lest people disappear into unmarked towncars for being too open, too vulgar, with their Work.

All of that turned out to be worthless paranoia, when it came right down to it.  Alexander had cut himself off from everybody when he had thought that he had caught Union attention.  He had – at least temporarily – pushed away others when times had been hard, while he tried to work things out.  He had been slow to trust.  And in the end?  In the end, it might have simply been the fickle work of chance that pushed him into their hands.

So here, now, he isn’t quite sure how things went next.  He was prepared for the worst – he would not be caught again.  But, still, there had to be hope for something better.  There was the hope that others could bring change for the better with them.  After some moments of indecision, Alexander’s body relaxes.  His arms don’t move, they’re still crossed behind him, but there’s a little less tension in him now.

“What kind of work?  You don’t exactly look like a ranger, so I’m guessing you mean the kind with a capital W.”

Nicholas Hyde
It's been said of Nick Hyde that he's a more perfect mirror than some people would wish for.  He's skillful in how he navigates the emotions of others, reflecting empathy when they show vulnerability, warmth when they show uncertainty, resolve when they show fear.  It isn't always useful to be a mirror though: note before, how the beginning of their encounter could easily have become a standoff.  His posture slackens now when Alex's does, the line of his shoulders becoming a little softer, less defined.

"Yeah, that kind," he agrees, and he smiles in a manner that is less in the mouth and more in the left of his eyebrows and cheeks, a general shift in demeanor.  "There are different spirits out here than in the city, and there's less risk to others.  I'm still trying to get comfortable with the area, I guess."

There is a significant glance toward the circle that Alex has arranged on the cracked and stony earth surrounding the river's shallow floodplain.  Young rivers: they haven't quite had time to settle into themselves yet.  "Were you out here doing something like that yourself?"  He's either more dense than first impressions would allow or it's an invitation, of sorts: tell me about it.

Alexander
As first encounters go, it might not be a shining example of how smoothly they can go.  On the other hand, no blood had been spilled, no voices had been raised.  No gates to hell had been opened.  Not yet, at least.  The day was young, and Alexander hadn’t really started his own attempt at Working.

There’s a shift in Alexander’s face when Nick mentions spirits, the raising of his eyebrows a tell of his slight surprise.  “There haven’t been many in these part who deal with spirits.  Not who are still here, anyway.”  Alyssa had left, Lucy had vanished.  Elijah was, he assumed, still around somewhere.  But he may well have vanished into the night too.  “Does that mean you’re new to the city, then?  I’ve been,” a pause.  “Out of touch.  I’d heard there were some new faces in town.”

Alexander breaks eye contact to look down at the unlit fire when Nick draws attention to it.  “Something like that.  I thought it was time to,” another pause.  “Stretch my wings a little.”  Although the detail isn’t there, there is willingness to engage in the conversation.  There’s another shift in Alexander’s position, as if something were being tucked into the back of his belt, and his arms – and empty hands – cross across his chest.

Nicholas Hyde
There is a murmur of acknowledgement when Alex says that there aren't many: Nick seems to have made note of the same.  "I only know Kiara," he says, and there is eye contact here, this manner of someone who is both offering information and testing at the same time.  Kiara's a disciple, and by her own admission has been in Denver for a long time: a useful person to name drop, in other words.  "There aren't many people anywhere that work with spirits, though, in my experience."

There is a beat.  "I am new.  I moved here in December."

He follows Alex's gaze back to the ring of stone and waiting fire.  Up until now, up until Alex folds his arms across his chest, he hasn't made any attempt to close the distance between them; now he does, though not quite to friendly speaking distance.  "Where did you go?  I'm Nick Hyde, by the way.  Bani Chakravanti."

Alexander
Kiara’s name gets another shift in Alexander, some further stepping down of tension that is accompanied by a cocking of his head and a slight nod.  “I hadn’t actually realised that she was that way inclined, but I can’t say that I’m surprised that she is.  I’ll have to ask her about it, some time.”  There’s a touch of curiosity in that, when he speaks.  Since Alyssa had left, he had been mostly guideless when it came to the spirit world.  It might be a hidden blessing that he hadn’t gone exploring Magick much, given the risks that are tied to dealing with spirits.

Where did you go?  “Now there’s a question.”  Alexander steps sideways, getting close enough to the circle to crouch and retrieve the lighter that he had dropped on Nick’s approach.  Note, though, that the caution hasn’t disappeared completely.  No, Alex is careful to keep Nick in, at least, his peripheral vision.  He starts flipping the cover on and off again, turning to fully face Nick again.  “I’ve been out of town for a few weeks, catching up with family.  Before that.”  A pause, some break to try to patch together some sort of explanation.  The pause is followed by a harsh exhalation, a glance away at something unseen before looking back at Nick’s face.  “Before that, I was a guest of the Union for a couple of months.”  Take that as you will, Nick.  Is Alex now someone to be cautious of?  Pitied?  He hadn’t picked up on much of the detail surrounding his release, such as Nick’s involvement in finding where he was or that he had changed.  There was some slight anticipation in the wait for the reaction.

“Alexander Brandt.”  No Tradition is given, as there is none to give.

Nicholas Hyde
There is recognition that springs into his eyes before Alex offers his name, and mark that Nick is not often transparent: he selects facets of himself to shine forth and reflect back to others far too efficiently for that, so maybe he chooses to do this now.  The noise that springs forth from his throat is pleased, even.  "It's good to finally meet you," he says.  "There were a lot of us who helped to get you out."

It's information that is offered forth without expectation of a specific response: namely, he is not stating it because he expects gratitude.  His tone still carries that pleasant cadence it held before; if there's caution (at least, more than before) or pity, it isn't evident just yet.  "I'm glad that you took some time to leave Denver."

When Alex looks back at Nick he'll find the Chakravat's eyes gone a little distant, inward perhaps, gently unfocused and with this air of concentration.  The weight of considering his words.  Eventually this seems to resolve; at least, he at last begins speaking again.  "Kiara and I summoned a crow spirit to see if we could find out where they were holding you.  Crow told us that you went Seeking there.  I can't...I haven't ever heard of someone being able to do that."  It stops short of admiration, doesn't quite reach; a note of appreciation, though, perhaps, can be sussed out.

Alexander
Of the reactions possible, pleasure was perhaps the least expected.  There’s surprise on Alex’s face, when Nick proclaims his pleasure at their meeting, and he isn’t quite sure how to take the reaction.  “Um, thanks.  No, wait.  Thank you.  For helping.  I sometimes wonder how many people will really help out someone that they’ve never met before.”

I’m glad that you took some time to leave Denver.  This time, Alexander does turn and takes a few paces away, leaving Nick with a clear view of the pistol tucked into the back of his belt.  It’s surely no surprise how Alex might have been prepared to react if things had gone a little differently.  “Yeah, well, it was time to get out of that motel room and figure a few things out.”  There’s a slight jerk of his shoulders, along with a snort of amusement.  “Well, a few more things anyway.”

He turns back to the circle, getting a little closer before crouching next to it.  That he isn’t still eyeing Nick from the corner of his eye is perhaps a clue that there was some degree of trust now present there.  “I didn’t know there was such a thing.  Most of what I’ve seen so far has been ghosts and the like.”  Most, but not all.  But those other things might be a subject of conversation for another time.

Alex flicks open the lighter once more, but this time strikes the flame instead of flicking it closed again.  “I can’t say it was intentional, you know?”  He waves a hand over the flame, feeling the heat rising up from the lighter.  “I’d started looking before the shit hit the wall, but I couldn’t quite work out where to look for my Avatar.  Sneaky little bastard that it is.”  There’s another snort.  “I just hope it doesn’t take another trip like that to find it again.”

The sensation of that river washing over the clearing builds as Alex pushes against the world, finally starting what he’d come here to do.

[Arete, sensing the heat from the lighter.  Diff 4, I think?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (6, 6) ( success x 2 )

Nick Hyde
Of course Nicholas can see the pistol: he had somewhat suspected that it was there, or that a weapon was there, whether pistol or knife or whatever instrument this stranger might use to work magick.  He is not a soldier (that epithet goes to his wife), but he has been around them long enough, has lived just dangerously enough, to find hidden hands suspect.  And does it make him wonder what he would have done had Alex leveled that weapon at him and started shooting?

Perhaps.  Just a little.  He would have died, that's what he would've done.

There is a gracious nod when Alex thanks him, a sidelong flick of the eyes that suggests that Nick is perhaps not entirely comfortable with thanks or with compliments but if so he is still too socially aware to brush it away, and he absorbs the rest of what Alex says in silence.  "That was all I saw for a long time too," Nick says, of ghosts.  "It's more common to see only them in the city.  More people.  The rest goes unnoticed, a bit.  At least for a little while."

Nick watches as Alex passes his hand over the lighter, and now he finally does edge nearer.  He crouches down outside the circle, close enough to speak comfortably.  "I think the process of Seeking is a restructuring of the self," he says.  "A kind of death and rebirth.  It doesn't always have to be painful.  At least, not in the same way."

Alexander
Their kind could work miracles.  They could create, build marvels to last generations.  They could destroy, turning entire realms to nothing more than a memory.  But, at the end of the day, they are very much mortal.  It had taken a sword to take down a rampaging Adept not so long ago.  It had taken a tranquiliser dart to make Alexander disappear.  His pistol wasn’t a guarantee of safety, but it could at least make anyone trying to make him disappear again regret it.  Or, possibly, not regret anything again.

But there had been no imminent threat from Alex.  He isn’t so paranoid to push any Awakened that he doesn’t recognise away at gunpoint.  Not when a certain Agent hadn’t even appeared to be Awake.  There’s caution, definitely, but it’s something controlled.

For the moment, Alex’s attention seems to be on the small flame of the lighter and the swirling currents of warm air above it.  It’s what attracts his gaze, rather than Nick, but the conversation continues.

“I know there’s more out there.  There was a corrupt spirit turning people into plant zombie type things hanging around outside the city a couple of years ago.  It’s gone now, although some of the wreckage is still around somewhere.”  Skye, Claire…  “I just hadn’t really gone looking, you know?  Not on the other side, anyway.”  There had been on particular spirit creature that Alexander had kept an eye out for, waiting to see if its angel wings would reappear in the park again.

“I’m still not sure I really get most of what happened in mine.  But it got us talking, anyway.  Me and my Avatar, I mean.  It…  She, I think?  Showed me some things I didn’t know before.”  There’s a ghost of a smile that passes over his lips, as he concentrates on the flame.  He isn’t quite sure what to do next, here.

Nick Hyde
For a moment Nick is quiet, watching Alex as he passes his palm over the flame, over the waves of heat that emanate from it even though they can't be seen by the common eye.  "I think like a lot of things, what we see past the Veil is what we expect to see."

And to the rest, well.  He does not show surprise, would not even if Alex happened to be looking up at him.  The lives of Awakened people are dangerous, whether they live in Denver or somewhere else.  He has settled back on his heels in a way that appears to be comfortable for him, and his eyes are a pale brown hardly darker than his skin and they are curious things: it's a little like being watched by some retreating forest creature.

About sensing the flame, he appears to have little to offer in the way of advice.  It's one of the few ways of Seeing the world of which he is not aware, just yet.

"What did she show you?  Tell me about it."

Alexander
Alex shifts, settling cross-legged by the unlit fire rather than crouching.  This might take a while – the work and the conversation – so he may as well get comfortable.  He does glance up from the flame, though, when Nick says that they shape what they see.  “I don’t know I’d completely agree with that.  Not everybody who goes there has any expectations.  But I wouldn’t completely disagree either.”

What did she show you?

That gets a longer look, something more considering.  “Why the interest in someone you’ve only just met?”

The look is a short one, though, as Alex returns his attention to the lighter.  He looks from the flame to his other palm, finally diving in to try something.

[Arete, Forces 2 to pick the flame up from the lighter.  Vulgar, I guess, do diff 6, -1 for going slow]

Dice: 2 d10 TN5 (2, 5) ( success x 1 )

Nick Hyde
What Alex says about the spirit world provokes a thoughtful noise from the other man.  When he looks up Alex will find him looking off somewhere else, somewhere past Alex, casting his gaze like a line down the river.  Look at him long enough, and his attention will shift to something else, some other nonspecific place.

Eventually, though, he does look back.  "I've yet to find someone who didn't have any expectations about anything.  I don't think any one of us comes to any sort of magick entirely as blank pages.  The blankest are palimpsest."  He finishes saying this, and then he shrugs, this slow drawn out motion.

His eyes stay fixed just long enough to hold steady under the weight of Alex's next question, and when it's voiced a corner of his mouth tugs upward.  "Are you not interested in people you've only just met?"  His voice is neutral, as much as such a question can be; Nick is well aware that other people are not very interesting to some people at all.

He's not one of those, clearly.  "You don't have to answer me.  Regardless, I'm glad it got you talking."

Alexander
There’s no break in Alexander’s gaze on the flame as he tries to coax it into his palm.  He isn’t sure if it’ll hurt, or if it’ll even work.  But he still holds his will against the resistance of reality.  “I was pulled across the umbra the day after I woke up.  Maybe it was somebody else’s expectation shaping the place we ended up, but I didn’t have any expectations then.  Hell, I didn’t even know where we’d ended up.  And I’d been very much Asleep before.”  There’s a grunt with a half-shrug, a simple acknowledgment of how life had been before.

There’s a brief glance, a flick of the eyes, as Alex holds his concentration on the flame.  “I’ve not met that many of our kind, but things like What I Did On My Seeking doesn’t seem like the first round of small talk.”  There’s a snort, something amused, as he considers a vaguely similar conversation with another Mage.  Only their positions had been reversed, and Alex was being something less of a dick about it.

“Either way, I saw something of my past lives.  I asked what I could be.  She showed me what I had been.”

[Areteing some more, +1 diff – should get the flame this time unless it all goes horribly wrong]

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

Nick Hyde
Nicholas is silent when Alex says this: that he was pulled across the Umbra when he Awoke.  But Alex says this, and Nick places a palm flat on the ground to use it as a brace as he lowers himself so that he can sit there crosslegged on the ground.  "I walked through a shallowing not long after my first Seeking.  I doubt we saw the same things in the Umbra, though.  From what I've read and heard tell it's different, for a lot of people."

He wasn't invited to sit, but he remains there nonetheless, and his senses are keen enough today (they are often keen) to get a sense of Alex's resonance and how it flows just now, unbound.  "You brought it up, so I asked the question," he says simply, and draws a knee up to his chest, whereupon he loops an arm around it.

He does perhaps have the grace to look a little abashed, just now.  Nick is aware that he asks a lot of questions, sometimes too many; it doesn't stop him, but there are often times that he is aware.  He makes an interested noise when Alex mentions his past lives, a brief bright note.  "So now you came all the way out here to learn how to shape fire?"

Alexander
Nick sits, Alex doesn’t object.  If he had truly wanted to be alone, he would have asked Nick to leave.  The man had apparently been on his way somewhere, it would be no great ordeal for him to continue.  The flame finally moves away from the top of the lighter and towards Alexander’s free hand.

“Probably not.”  Again, there’s a flicker of a smile along with the agreement, although his gaze is fixed on the flame.  “We found a cave with a centuries-dead Arch Mage.”  The troubles that Apprentices get up to…  “It wasn’t an expected thing, though.  We were taken there.”

Another shrug, something absent-minded.  Nick had brought up the Seeking, Alex had continued that line of conversation.  It was a mutual thing, then, its continuation.  “I had just assumed that this life was all that there was, before that.  But maybe I was just shown the other lives that my Avatar had been attached to.  It… didn’t feel like that, though.  It felt like I was there.”

If it had been colder, there might have been a little sweat forming on Alex’s brow at the concentration he’s keeping on the flame.  “It seemed safest.  I didn’t really want to burn down my apartment block if it went wrong.”  His hand stays still as he wills the little fire into the unlit wood.  “Nothing quite like making things up as you go along.  Just be glad I didn’t start out trying to direct lightning.”

[Arete again, as before.  We light the fire?]

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

Nick Hyde
Alex's gaze is for the flame; Nick's is on the water nearby, whispering as it rushes past the two of them.  "Taken there?  By the arch mage?"

The other man brings up past lives, and here Nick's hesitation is perhaps a little telling, though it would be difficult to say of what.  He remains something of an enigma to many of Denver's magi, even if they might not realize it until they think about it further, if they think about it further: and perhaps that's exactly the point.  But finally he does say, "It was you.  Maybe a different version of you, the same way the you-before-Seeking and who you are now are different, but you.  It's unusual, being able to remember with that much clarity."

A beat.  "I started remembering past lives like that when I was a kid.  There's...there's a lot you can learn from it, if you try to."

The quip about directing lightening provokes another little smile from him.  "Why not water, next?  We are at a river."

Alexander
Slowly, finally, the small ball of flame shakily falls towards the waiting wood.  It’s a slow thing, the catching, but it does catch.  The fire will slowly build and consume the fuel there.  Alex exhales deeply as the effort ends, a broad smile forming as his attempts finally succeed.  He might try to build the fire faster, some time, but not right now.  Baby steps, for the no-longer baby Mage.

“Huh?  Oh.  No.  Well.  That’s a complicated question.  The Mage sent out a Sending to find help, but the poor thing got stuck in the storm.  When it finally made it through, the guy was long dead.  The Sending is still out there, though.”  Now his head cocks to the side, a thought catching him.  “You haven’t come across something called The Message, have you?”  He isn’t really expecting Nick to have met the being, but the world can sometimes be a small place.  And The Message had been keeping busy on the other side of the Umbra.

Nick is pretty much an unknown to Alex at this point, having only met him some minutes before.  The pause may be noticed, but is there really anything to read into it when there’s only this fleeting contact to base anything on?  The guy might just be collecting his thoughts.  “I wouldn’t call it clear, and I think it was a difficult thing for it to do.  But there were flashes.  A circle of others I was leader of, talking about a Fallen.  Another, where there was something important about the words.  Other than that…” He flips the clover back on the lighter with an abrupt click.  “It’s like trying to remember a dream in a dream.”

“Did you know about Magick when you remembered the old lives?”  Time for the healer of minds to answer some questions.

Why not water, next?  “I don’t know how to do water.  Wrong kind of river.”  That gets a lop-sided smile, at some private joke.  “To be honest, this is the furthest I’ve gone with any of it.  In the waking world, anyway.  It was easier to change things when I was Seeking.”

Nick Hyde
His interest appears earnest, here, as Alex offers more detail on the arch mage they discovered.  "I haven't," he says, and of course: the world can be a large place too, particularly when one is factoring in other worlds, layer after layer of separate realities.  "I've found plenty of spirits out here and in the city both, but nothing out of the ordinary.  My wife, Pen - do you know her? - she mentioned that another Hermetic here saw some sort of messenger or presence recently, but I haven't seen it myself."

Which, come to think of it, he hasn't heard about since then either.  He draws one of his legs up against his chest, wrapping his arm around it down near his ankle to affix it there.  Maybe he is just collecting his thoughts; conversation with him has that sort of natural ebb and flow that way, where he pauses however briefly and becomes quiet.  He has absorbed what Alex tells him about his past lives in much that way.  "I didn't know anything about magick then," he says.  "When I started having those memories I wasn't even sure of what they were, just that they were too vivid to be something I'd imagined."

There is a glance, then, from the river to the fire and back.  "I hear from most people that magick is easier to do when you're Seeking, or when you're Awakening.  I guess it's when you're communicating the most with your guide, so it makes sense, I suppose."

Alexander
“Ah well, it was worth a try.”  Alex shakes his head gently, when Nick asks if he’s met Pen.  “I don’t think so.  I don’t know the name, anyway.  But then I’ve not been back in town that long.  Chance hasn’t decided to throw me in anyone else’s direction just yet.  That other Hermetic, it wasn’t Kalen was it?  He was there, too.  That was…  a couple of years ago now?  Or, most recently, I think last year.  That’s a whole other story.”

Alex stands, tucking the lighter back into a pocket, before stepping over to the backpack.  He pulls the bottle of water out, rocking it back and forth a couple of times before uncapping it and taking a drink.  He steps back, offering the bottle to Nick when he does.  “That must have been tough.  Did you have any idea about any of this before you woke up?”  Alex twists his free hand in the air, gesturing at nothing in particular.

“Is yours something of a guide then?  Mine mostly hides.”

Nick Hyde
"It was Kalen," Nick says, and when Alex extends the water bottle toward him he inclines his head in thanks and takes it, taking a swallow from it before offering it back.  "It sounds as though a lot of you here have known each other for a while.  I'm surprised it doesn't seem to be more politically enmeshed than it is."  He does not sound displeased (hardly that); it's a simple statement.

He hasn't made to rise back up, though he does untangle his arm from around his shin, letting his leg extend half-bent in front of him.  There is only a subtle arch to his brows as Alex says: it must've been tough.  "I didn't know about any of it, no.  I'm not even completely sure when I woke up.  I was seeing things for a while before then.  Spirits and my Avatar."

For many of them, it is big: terrifying, traumatizing, awe-inspiring, all of those things in one sometimes.  For others it's a slow shedding of their sleeping lives.

The corner of his mouth pulls once more, almost involuntarily, when Alex asks him about his Avatar: caught out, almost.  "I mostly call it that because it's what my sister called it when she told me what it was.  She is kind of a guide...I just don't know what she's telling me half the time."  A beat.  "It would be difficult knowing how to move forward, if I didn't see mine.  It was helpful, back when I was a Disparate."

Alexander

Alex nods when Nick confirms that Kalen had been the one talking about a spiritual messenger.  “He was there too.  Actually, that was the first time I ever met him.  I must have done something right to impress him, even if I didn’t have the faintest idea of what was happening.  Grace and Sera were there too, if you’ve met them?”  His eyebrows rise with the question, as he meets Nick’s gaze again.  “Although if you’ve been here while, I’d be more surprised if you hadn’t.”

He takes another drink from the bottle before answering the next part, before putting the lid back on and tilting the bottle and watching the water move.  “The Awakened population here had always seemed to be pretty fluid.  People come.  Some stay, many leave.”  There’s something wistful in the way that he says that last part.  “Some just fade away without a word.  But, I guess, because the people here change so often there hasn’t been any real press to make things more political.  Plus I don’t think that many people would be thrilled by someone trying to take charge.  I can’t say I’d be particularly happy with someone telling me what to do.”

I was seeing things for a while before then.

 “Ever feel like you were losing your mind?”  There’s a snort, but not something born of amusement.  More... putting forward something of his own experience, without defining what.  Not yet, at least.

Alex leans forward and pulls an untouched stick out of the fire and holds it close to the nascent fire.  The end starts to char and catch.  “How long were you Orphan for?  And what made you change?”  He pulls the stick back, angling it so that the flame can grow and climb along it.  There’s genuine curiosity behind the questions, and Alex looks back to watch Nick’s face when he replies.  “Why the Chakravanti?” 

Nick Hyde

There is a slow nod at the mention of Grace and Sera to confirm that he has met them: and they are important people in Denver, after all.  It would indeed be surprising if he had not.  "I think it's fluid everywhere.  It was like that in New England too.  People came and moved around, or would leave and come back.  Sometimes they died."  Most things are transient; this is a Chakravanti teaching and it is one that Nicholas has internalized to a great extent.  He accepts it without thinking, the same way a Hermetic accepts that Will shapes the world.

He looks back to Alex then, at his questions.  Nick is the one who is usually asking questions; most people are quite satisfied to talk about themselves and generally he is quite satisfied to allow them to do so.

There is nothing to suggest that he is offended, or affronted, or believes the other man too forward.  But there is a clear pause before he answers.  "I did feel like I was losing my mind at first," he says.  "I called my sister and told her I was hallucinating.  I was in grad school at the time and I thought...well, I was worried that there would be no coming back from it."

He watches as curls of smoke materialize over the stick Alex is holding over the fire, as they wind their way skyward and dissipate.  This is shortly before the wood catches flame.  "I was a Disparate for about two years," he says, and perhaps this is deliberate, choosing to say Disparate rather than Orphan.  He might have learned the same vocabulary as Alex, but the connotations are often different.  "Then I...well, I don't know how much you know about Quiet, but I had an episode.  We call it Jhor.  Some magi newer than me call it Morbidity.  It was bad, and I found a shallowing by accident and went past the Veil and it got worse.  My acarya found me before it got too bad, and after I spent some time with her I...started to feel as though I had a responsibility, I suppose.  So I was initiated not long after that."

Alexander

Sera and Grace are important people.  Powerful people.  It’s likely that the two go together in certain Awakened circles, but it has been noted that Denver isn’t a traditionally Traditional city.  Perhaps it’s a place where it’s easier to be one without the other.  “Denver’s the only place I’ve got to go on, but it doesn’t surprise me to hear you say that faces change as often in other cities.  Do you think that we tend to find fewer things to tie ourselves down in a particular place than Sleepers?  Or that some of us don’t find the more mundane ties as important?”  The questions aren’t intended to be something prying, trying to tease out a little more detail about Nick.  But Nick does seem to have had more experience with other Awakened, so it seems reasonable to ask if his experience mirrors that view of the world.

Their respective lines of work may differ in many ways, but there are some similarities.  Notably, the search for information.  They ask questions directing conversation to unearth things that may be overlooked.  Some things that are intentionally buried.  It’s an easy pattern to fall into, leading the conversation with question after question.  This isn’t an interrogation or a counselling session, though, so there’s more sharing of Alex’s own experience than there might have been.  Alex watches the flame slowly creep along the stick as he speaks.  “I was convinced I’d gone nuts when I woke up.  I was hearing voices, I saw time freeze.  Not exactly the kind of thing that you expect to see, especially when you didn’t believe in anything beyond the sleeping world.  I came quite close to trying something stupid.  Sera stopped me.”

Alex stays quiet as Nick talks about how he found his Tradition after two years without one.  This was something that he really was curious about, given his own lack of success in finding one.  There were terms used that he wasn’t familiar with.  Disparate was one of them, but the way it was used gave an explanation to its meaning.  And, perhaps, a better term to use.  Is he truly Orphan, when he had no ties to Tradition or Union to lose?  Flames almost to his finger, Alex drops the stick back into the growing fire and rubs the tips of his fingers and thumb together, dissipating the heat.  “I did think I might have gotten on with the Euth..  Chakravanti.”  Some of the new names are still new, unfamiliar.”  His head turns, dark eyes searching out and meeting Nick’s if they’re looking in his direction.  “Fate seemed to be something of a sticking point.”  

Nick Hyde
Alex's questions - thoughtful questions, all told - draw an equally thoughtful hum from the Chakravat sitting across from him.  "I think even a lot of Sleepers seem to be moving around right now.  The past few years haven't been a very stable time," he says.  "But I think, from what I've seen, that Awakened people don't connect easily to each other.  Which makes sense.  We see different things, we...there's trauma for a lot of people, after they Awaken, and they're isolated so often afterward.  I've yet to meet one who didn't feel at least a little like the weird kid growing up, unless they grew up in Awakened society.  That aside, I think being the kind of person who believes reality is mutable and you can transform it lends itself to a certain mindset and personality type."

Ask a counselor such questions and you'll get a counselor's answer.

Nicholas has looked away now that the flame is creeping up toward Alex's fingers, but not far: just down into the larger one, ringed by stone.  (Circles, everywhere.)  "I had never believed in anything either, really.  Definitely not magick.  Was Sera the first mage you encountered, then?"

Prolific thing, she is: she was nearly the first one Nick encountered himself.  At a Trader Joe.

There is no twitch of his muscles or anything to betray what he thinks of the older term for his Tradition, except that what Alex starts to say draws Nick's eyes back up to his own.  There are reasons the Chakravanti have chosen another name, one that doesn't center around Death; until Nick began to question his own role in the universe more closely he might not have minded.  But here he says nothing except, "Even within the Tradition, there are a lot of different ways to understand fate and its role.  What about fate was a sticking point for you?"  A beat, a smile.  "I know that sounded like a recruiter, I promise that's not my intent."

Alexander

“Maybe I’ve just gotten luck with the Awakened I’ve met so far, but…”  There’s a pause, as Alex thinks about some of the people who have come and gone in the city.  “…it didn’t seem impossible to find some kind of connection.  Certainly some people are easier to connect with than others.”  He can’t help but think about Arionna at this point.  Even Sid to some degree, but there was a lot of history there that he just wasn’t aware of.  “But maybe that’s part of the city being so loosely organised?  Everybody’s left to get on with their own thing, unless they’re looking for help.  Or, you know…”  The last point drifts into silence, unspoken: Or they get buried by Technocrats and need someone to rescue their sorry ass.

There’s an amused snort when Nick asks if Sera was the first mage he’d met.  “The universe has a strange sense of humour.  She was one of the last people I met before I woke up, and then the first person I met after.  I had no idea that she was anything special beyond that whole Sera package, you know?  I might have met others, but I guess they didn’t feel the need to broadcast their existence to an officer of The Man, you know?”  Given how closely they tended to walk the line between legal and illegal – hell, even getting so far across the line that it’s only a distant memory – it’s not something he often announces on meeting new people.  Sleepers or Awakened, given how people suddenly start worrying about the bald tyre on their car or the not-strictly-legal paraphernalia that they have stashed in a closet somewhere.  Alex assumes that Nick either already knows his profession, or his little enforced stay with them allays any fears that might have arisen.

“Oh, you know.  That it exists, for one thing.  Being told by the only member that you’ve had that kind of conversation with that they’re the hand of fate is a bit at odds with thinking that it takes away any kind of meaning for what we choose to do.  Reality is far too fluid for things to be set like that.”

There’s a laugh, but this time it’s not held back.  “Don’t worry, I’ve already had the Order recruiting party visit.  I politely said no.”  There’s another laugh, some private joke about what to tell the Order if they tried to tell him that he was any less because he was an Orp… Disparate.  Oh, Alyssa, where did you go..?

Nick Hyde

"I think it might be," Nick says, of the city being loosely organized.  "It's not like some of the other cities I've been in.  New England was more...well, there were definitely more politics, for one thing."  And a lot more of their kind.  Though perhaps that is the way of things, out here in the frontier cities: many of the people who were before are dead now, and it is in the process of transition to a new way of life.

That has been in process for over a hundred years, now, but such things don't seem so long to the earth.  It remembers.

"I think as far as first people to meet, though, you could definitely do worse than Sera," Nick says, and there is a quirk of his mouth here.  It is genuine though for all of that, evidenced by the way his eyes flick upward and glance at the other man.  "I think most of us don't let on what we are.  I've had a hard time figuring out if I even want to tell my coworkers or not."

And here, he listens, his gaze becoming an intent thing as Alex tells him about the issues he has had with Fate.  "I think calling yourself the hand of fate is a little grandiose," he agrees, though it is after a beat.  "I don't think most people in my Tradition see Fate as a linear thing, though.  Which helps to avoid that sense of fatalism."

Alexander

[Eh, dice again.  Int+Med.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Alexander

[And more dice.  Arete, Forces stuff.  Vulgar, I guess?  Diff 6, -1 for going slow because nobody is in any rush here, right?  2 succs should do?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN5 (10, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Alexander

[Or 3 is good.  Magicked the crap out of this one, then...  o.O]

Alexander

“So what made you leave New England?  Or was it something that brought you to Denver?”  The reason for moving to a new city is often one or the other: moving towards or getting away from.  “Getting away from the politics?  I hear that stuff stains.”

You could definitely do worse than Sera.  “Oh, absolutely.  She’s always there when you need her to be.  And I find it amazing that, even with all the crap that this life drags along with it, she always takes time to see the wonder in it.  Like, there’s always something there worth saving.  It’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes.  You know?”  There’s another glance, here, searching for that something in common.  Alex’s history, at least recently, is much more known to Nick than anything much of Nick’s history to Alex.  But there’s bound to be some commonality between them.  Surely they’re not that unalike. 

Alexander stands again, still listening to Nick as he talks about fate.  “How do you see fate?”  He asks before turning to the fire and closing his eyes.  Alexander’s mind still again as his breathing slows, finding his centre.  Perhaps not that place of stillness anymore, though.  Maybe more… the feeling of floating on water, drifting with the current.  Relaxing, letting go…  He feels the heat rising from the fire, the warmth of the sun.  But it’s the movement of the air that his attention drifts towards.  His first forays into Forces was to watch the wind, another moment of wonder when his instincts had opened up to let him see.  Now?  Now his arms rise, circling around the fire, as he does more than look.  He pushes the air, circling it around and above the fire.  The dancing flames shift, following the currents of air spiralling above it.   The small cyclone gusts, more force behind it than expected, making the fire sputter back in its wood-filled circle.

Nick Hyde

"Pen wanted to move to Denver, and we both wanted to get out of New England for a little while," Nick says.  There is a little point that appeared between his brows at the mention of politics, a stitch that yanked his eyebrows together like a pair of dark wings.  "Our old cabal split up last year.  The year before that was a bad year.  We just...needed a change of pace."

His brow smooths again as he listens to Alex talk about Sera, and when Alex seeks Nick's eyes out he'll find them gazing off into the treeline, though there is a pull at the corner of his mouth.  "It is easy to lose sight of.  I think she...I don't know.  I appreciate the way she remains so careful of people, even with the power she has."

He does not rise when Alex does, but his attention, or at least his sight, has returned to the Disparate to gauge whether or not he plans to move off and away from the fire he sprang into being.  Nick did not show surprise when it did: his wife does this often enough.  As Alex raises his arms Nick scoots back a pace or two, giving the little cyclone and the dancing flames their space.

He does this, before he answers.  "Kind of like a great river, I guess," he says.  "It branches out and away and comes back to itself, and in certain places it changes pace and narrows or widens.  Or like a wheel, how it comes back on itself the way the seasons do.  Pen's compared it more to a gyroscope, with a lot of wheels working in tandem."

Alexander

There’s a nod as Nick gives the basics for how they ended up in Denver.  A little of from a little of to.  The details, though?  Those are Nick’s to give in his own time, if he chooses to.  “I can get that.  The circumstances would have been very different, but I needed a change of scenery too.  This was the first place that I liked the look of.  I mean, how can you not love the mountains here?”  If finding Alex in the middle of them hadn’t been enough of a clue about how much he enjoyed the outdoors, that statement should have cleared up any doubt. 

…she remains so careful of people…  “That.  Exactly.  It seems something of an occupational hazard that we forget that as we head up the food chain.  I can’t help but wonder what the point of it all is if we forget about people.” 

The silence between them is filled with the sound of moving air and crackling, disturbed flame as Alex works his effect.  A smile – no, a wide grin – crosses Alex’s face as his eyes open and he looks down at the small, short change that he’s made to the world.  It’s a small thing, in the grand scheme of what their kind could accomplish, but it’s more than most could ever dream of doing and it’s further that he’s pushed things before.  There were new things to learn, now, and this had always been his preferred way to learn.  To do.  And this is a new wonder:  I did that. 

The cyclone, though, is a short-lived thing.  He could have – knows that he could have made it last longer.  There were still limits to test, such as how strong he could make it, but this is enough for now.  Enough to start feeling out the extended range of his abilities without blowing himself across the hillside in a cloud of paradox.

As the wind fades, and the smaller fire flickers and starts to re-establish itself, Nick gets an amused chuckle when he says it’s like a great river.  “Small world, at times.  I guess I can see what you mean, though.  It’s something that tries to pull you in a particular direction, but you can at least try to swim against it.  The wheel, though… Doesn’t that just mean we keep making the same mistakes again and again?”  There’s a tiny shake of Alex’s head at the gyroscope idea.  “A tiny cog in a huge machine?  Again, where’s the free will in that?  Everyone is trapped by everything that surrounds them.” 

Facing the fire, still, Alex starts to kick dirt onto it to extinguish what remains before it grows large again.  There’s a bottle of water not too far away, but he’d prefer to save that if he can.

Nick Hyde

"It is really beautiful here," Nick agrees, as Alex mentions the mountains.  And he is settled here out in the wilds, and had appeared comfortable when Alex sighted him wandering along the river and so perhaps this is some indication that he too enjoys the out of doors.  "Where did you come here from?"

There is silence between them for a time and so Nicholas observes the grin on Alex's face, the elation as he shapes this swirl of wind and dust from nothing.  It finds an echo on his own face: it is easy enough for him to remember the first time he was able to do more than look, the first time he spoke to a spirit and was able to reach out and touch one beyond the Veil.

"I don't really think of the Wheel on as small a scale as that," Nick says, once Alex objects.  "It's more like...we see repeated themes throughout our lives, and everything that happens to us has happened before, somewhere, to someone or something else.  Most of us have lived at least dozens of times before, but most of us also don't remember that, so we do repeat old mistakes sometimes.  I think of it more...like this cycle of death and rebirth, of growth and decay.  We can fit any number of things into that, and it allows room for choice and for new things to happen."

Alexander

It really is beautiful here… “You’re probably someone who can look after himself reasonably well, but things aren’t always this… peaceful out here.  A corruption spirit had set up store close to one of the reservoirs to the south of the city a couple of years ago, and there were some unexplained deaths last year that looked like they had some kind of supernatural thing going on with them.  Things have been quiet lately, but that only seems to mean that something will be hitting the fan again soon enough.”  Alex concentrates on the fire for a little longer, stamping out the sparks that linger.  He could try to work another effect to suck the heat away, but there are simpler ways that don’t risk a backhand from Consensus. 

“Seattle,” is the answer when the fire is completely out, and Alex’s attention returns to Nick.  “Born and bred.  Unless you mean more specifically to now, in which case the parking lot way back that way.”  He points a thumb along the direction a nearby path sets off in. 

“That almost sounds like a trap, more than anything.  Other than you, I can’t remember anyone talking about their past lives.  Certainly nobody still Asleep.  So if there’s no way of knowing what happened the last time around the wheel, there’s no way of avoiding what’s to come.  Death, hard to argue with that one, but anything else?”  Alex’s head cocks to the side, something vaguely remembered.  “Isn’t that some religion or other’s idea about resurrection?  You keep going around until you finally get it right?”

Nick Hyde

Nicholas has, at this point, heard Denver likened to any number of things by its denizens: a hellmouth, a place where shit hits the fan on a regular basis, a place where people die and disappear and aren't heard from again.  "Every city has its crises from time to time," he says.  "Back where Pen and I lived in Connecticut, a whole town got threatened once.  I think it gets easier after a while to take it in stride."

Or maybe Nick says that because he wants to believe it gets easier.  Belief shapes reality, after all.

He nods as Alex shares where he's from.  "I'm originally from Phoenix," he says, because Alex seems to enjoy reciprocity.  And after a moment, he rises.

"That's one of the main tenets of Buddhism," he says, "and Hinduism too.  The Chakravanti Tradition has roots in both.  Or maybe both have roots in it."  Nick shrugs one of his shoulders, here.  "Either way, I ought to get back to my car.  Want to walk back with me?"

It takes a little while for the smoke to stop coiling up through the dust that Alex scattered over the coals, but eventually it does, and the ashes grow cold at the riverside as they make their way out of the woods.

Creation and Observance

lake-light
Pen is usually awake before Nick. Not so this morning: this morning, Pen is deeply asleep.

This is their broad bed: wood headboard, four wooden posts two of them very tall at the head with wooden leaves carved high above their heads and wood branches (dead [this is no living tree and Nicholas, although subtle and clever, is no Odysseus]) out-stretched. Some of the covers are wrapped around her in a perplexing fashion, because one wonders how exactly she had to move in the night for them to wrap around her limbs so, and she is not concealed by the covers at all: only enchained by them, only bound by them. This morning finds her sleeping on her stomach, one arm trailing off the bed and the other curled around her head, her face buried in the valley between two pillows.

It is possible that not long ago she had an arm resting heavily over Nicholas's throat or even hugging his thighs because she does not heed the tyranny of head-at-the-head of the bed and feet-at-the-foot of the bed. They didn't see one another at all the night and day before unless it was after Pen came to bed, and that rather late: and then it was dark, and she was limned in radiant energy, a gleaming thing bright-eyed her hands warm from whatever ritual she'd spent the night before the whole of the day attending.

crow
They didn't see each other at all the night and day before because Nicholas, while he tries to go to bed when she does more often than not, must keep to a schedule he would not have chosen for himself, early mornings and early nights.  She is usually awake before he is and so this morning he has laid abed longer than he might otherwise have done, sleepily wondering at what is different this morning: this vague sense that something is, see, without knowing what.

He looks up at the wooden leaves, still blinking away sleep, shaking away the hand of death's cousin.  He rolls over and: promptly flings an arm into Pen, quite without meaning to, simply because he is not used to encountering her there.

Nicholas raises himself on an elbow.  The sun is not yet up but it will be soon, and so Pen is still silvery in the half-light (half-dark?) as the sky begins to pale outside, and maybe this is the effect last night's working has on her.  There are still the shadows of that radiance in her hair, in how first dawn limns her cheekbones and the curve of her limbs.

He edges closer, doesn't quite spoon because that will be dangerous, that will have him asleep again, and gives her shoulder a gentle shake.  "Pen?"

lake-light
Pen does not stir. There is a glint of noise from the back of her throat. He is perceptive, so perhaps he hears it. Otherwise it is lost in the rustle of sheets, the sliding of Nicholas's skin over sheets. She is loose and relaxed and unstrung; when he shakes her shoulder, gently, it seems more dramatic than it is, all for how loose and relaxed and unstrung she is. Breathing? Yes. But it's always good to check.

crow
He hears the noise in the back of her throat and this is encouraging; it means she is at least more on one side of consciousness than the other.  He could let her sleep; Pen does not, strictly, have appointments that she must make today. Of all the likely futures that could spring from such a thing, Pen is likely to be upset in more of them than not.

He instead wraps an arm around her and draws her firmly against him, pulling her back from the edge of the bed, gently taking hold of the dangling arm and lifting it from over the brink.  "Pen, do you want to get up today or do you want me to let you sleep?"

lake-light
Nick draws her firmly against him; so now she is on her side. He rescues her arm; her ribs expand as she breathes in deep, and her arm at least has some sort of agency, because she runs her hand over Nick's arm and her ribs and up to her collar and tugs on the part of the covers which is wrapped around her other arm and then her hand roams back down and she discovers Nick's arm proper and pulls it between her breasts and wants the hand under her cheek and she cuddles his arm like it's a very comfortable pillow mouth soft against the back of his wrist. Once again, mere sound: not a glint, but an unh unh.

crow
There is a noise not of surprise but of amusement as his arm is seized and converted to Pen's purposes, which apparently are to use it in place of a pillow.  He adjusts his hand so it curves more naturally against her cheek, nestles his mouth in against the back of her shoulder.

Pen's response is the perfect response for eliciting questions.  "Did you do a ritual last night?  What was the ritual?  Tell me about it."

lake-light
Pen sets her teeth gently into Nicholas's hand; breathes some half-formed word out, and it might as well be sea-mist dissolving, unresolved. This time the noise she makes sounds almost like words; like this: oo ih ishmael? Of.

crow
Some half-formed Word, and there is the sound of his skin sliding against the sheets as he adjusts, props his head up on one elbow.  "Ishmael?  Is that a name of someone you invoked?  Were you up late doing a marathon book reading and not doing a ritual like I thought?"

lake-light
"You're clever," she says, and now her voice is clear. Perhaps she is awake; perhaps she is waking up, truly. He does not have much experience in waking her up from a deep sleep, truth be told, and yet: well. Perhaps she is awake now. He can see that her eyes are still closed; the dark burnt-charcoal line of them still sweeps down low. "Clever, clever."

crow
He doesn't have much experience waking her up from a deep sleep: perhaps there is a memory there, contained in the pause, the space from one breath to the next, of how she could easily give the impression of being awake when she is not.  "You're right," he says.  "Maybe I'll have to start asking you about Hermetic secrets.  You could tell me what Diana really thinks of me.  Or how Hermetics decide on the precise number of craft names they use."

lake-light
"One craft name. One shadow name. One name to rule them all," and she drifts, dreamily: even her voice. Absolutely awake. "Nicholas?"

crow
There is a short laugh from him at this, and his voice is not smooth as lake stones this early: at the end it rasps, it catches.  "Hmm?"

lake-light
"You're a Nicholas," she tells him. "You're a Nicholas and you are a Nicholas who is warm and you are against me."

He needed that breaking news update, you see. Penelope sighs: "Nicholas Kryphios. Skêptouchos." Where is his leg? Pen grips Nicholas's leg, his thigh; she wriggles back against Nicholas who is warm and against her.

crow
[Get uuuuuuuuuup.]

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

crow
It's too comfortable; it's the sort of comfortable that makes him consider calling in to work.  He emits a contented hum: this just before he lets out a sigh, a low huff, because the double life he leads has him calling off often enough as it is (for other Work, of course.)  Nick starts to haul himself up into a sitting position, and Pen along with him.  She can stay latched to his arm; she's just going to be upright before long.

lake-light
Pen does stay latched to his arm; and look, now she is upright, or at least sitting, and she still has the arm that is hers albeit attached to Nicholas part. Her eyes are still closed; she is suspended. She will fall against him as soon as there is no momentum; her eyes are still closed, although her eyelashes flicker. "Mine. No."

crow
He has hauled them both upright, and no sooner has he done this than Pen falls limp against him, her head rolling against his shoulder even as she continues to cling to his arm.  A sleeping person can't cling so tightly, so she must be awake, right?  Maybe.

Nicholas considers calling in again for the second time in this handful of moments.  Instead of reaching for his phone, he leans down and places a kiss on the sharp edge of her cheekbone.  "I thought you said you didn't want me to let you sleep?"

lake-light
An army needs to sleep on its feet. Penelope Mercury Mars is part of an army; it is an occult army, and it is steeped in mysticism and individuality, but right now the metaphor about the army and its feet is almost apt, because she doesn't drift to the side and fall, although her breathing stays deep and steady and she stays draped against him and she stays arms wrapped tight (possessive) around his arm (mine). "I am asleep," she agrees. "I didn't want to."

crow
It isn't the first time he has seen her sleep like this, but it's the first time in quite a while.  Nick holds her against him for what must only be a scant few seconds though it seems like longer and shorter all the same (morning sun moves so quickly).  And then he carefully begins to lower her back to the pillows, and just as carefully begins to try to draw his arm free.  This is a slow process, and he begins to wiggle it from between her arms because she can't manage to hold on that tightly, can she?

lake-light
[Let's see. Strength?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 8) ( success x 1 )

crow
[Noooo.  Opposed dex?]

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

lake-light
Pen does not loose hold his arm, although he can lower her back to the pillows without a problem. Perhaps he is aware enough of her to feel her heartbeat; it drums out a steady rhythm, slow and slow, and her throat works when she swallows.

crow
There are sharp pinpricks of frustration that spring into sweat at his temples, because he is trapped and if he cannot free himself he will be late for work.  That would be a too easy thing to direct at Pen, who is only exhausted, and so instead of suppressing it he instead lets out a groan and draws in the sort of breath that swells his chest and stomach both at once.  He can feel her heartbeat, and how she is still asleep, and after a moment's rest he tries to slide his arm free again.

[Dex please?  WP?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (2, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

lake-light
[But :(]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 4) ( botch x 1 )

lake-light
Nicholas escapes! He is successful!

As soon as there is no longer a Nicholas arm to hold onto, which all of her (sleeping) strength had gone into holding (whether fire or beast or leaves of gold), all of that energy has to go somewhere; we are sad to report that she hits herself, getting her mouth directly, and this seems to startle her awake:

Or her eyes open, anyway, their expression blank and troubled and betrayed and without understanding.

crow
All of Pen's energy goes somewhere and it goes straight for her mouth, and when she opens her eyes she'll find his own wide and staring at her and his hand half-reached toward her in some not-quite-quick enough attempt to save her from herself.  He makes a noise that is half surprise and half sympathy.

His eyes contain a look that is torn between amusement and rue and the sort of empathy that leaves an ache, more of the latter two than anything, and he winces as he smooths a hand over her shoulder.  "Pen, are you all right?"

lake-light
[Am I awake? Wits + Alert]

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

lake-light
Pen runs her hand over her face, pausing at her lip to touch it gingerly with her ring finger; she sleeps with her wedding ring on, and sometimes one or two others, although that changes depending on what she requires of her rings. She is silent for a second, although she is indeed awake now, and the betrayal filters away, and so does the blankness, but she is grumpy. The grumpiness turns in her like a metal leaf; it scrapes against her ribs; it is gold. She breathes in, and then breathes out, and says, "Yes." She does not know what happened; she props herself up on one elbow, then grinds her palm into her left eye. "Why are you up?"

crow
"Work," he says, and he has rocked back on his hip now that he has ascertained for himself that she only hit herself hard enough to startle.  His voice is regretful, and doubly so because he watches her for this scant moment before asking, "Should I have let you sleep?  I was going to but you wouldn't let go of my arm."

lake-light
Pen begins to answer but the answer is swallowed up in a gigantic yawn which she covers behind the back of her hand. There is another beat after that. She is measuring her responses before she gives them, she is - is this sluggish? She is not sluggish; it is a choice. She chooses to take a moment 'lest she allow herself to -

Here. The moment has been taken; at the end of it, her mouth quirks. "Then I wish you would have let me have it for the day; I miss you when you are gone."

crow
He for once is not yawning; it's a strange role reversal, though his attempts to wake her and pull his arm free of her probably helped.  He stretches his legs to their full length, pulling the muscle fibers as far out as they'll go until they quiver momentarily, and then they slacken once more.  "I'm surprised you have the time," he says, and his mouth quirks too - the other side.  "I miss you when I'm at work.  I'd call off if I didn't think we'll end up needing the time later."

For ritual, or to hide bruises from Paradox, or for Tradition business, or for any number of other reasons.  That is the sort of life they have.  "What sort of ritual were you doing?"

lake-light
"Why are you surprised I have the time?" Pen says, with a blink. And then, "I have a whole hour, just for thinking about what I want to tell you but cannot because you are absent from my side." A look, see, a smouldery one, side-long and testing; and then she covers her eyes with one hand.

"Don't call off, just give me your arm next time." Beat; she is gathering her thoughts. "Did I not tell you before I began it? It was a ritual of creation and observance."

crow
Her eyes smoulder; his are amused, crinkled there at the corners.  "You keep yourself busier than anyone I know.  Even the Hermetics," he says, and he is amused yes but he is also so fond: sometimes his affection for her overflows, comes spilling out of him even though cups and chalices are more her domain than his own.

Maybe he would've teased her further or given further voice to other things he would like to do today instead, but the sun will be rising soon.  Even as she gathers her thoughts he is watching her, offering a slow shake of his head when she asks whether she'd told him before she began.  "Creation and observance?"

lake-light
"I am a bee," Pen says, and she looks as if she is contemplating biting Nicholas: sinking her teeth into his thigh or his hip, something that would sting. The contemplation only suggests itself in her expression, the way she studies him, looks him over; she does not quite move to do so, although the way she stretches balances precariously between nonchalance and intention. She is still sleepy. It is rare that she wakes up, unwilling to force herself awake proper. Creation and observance he says: "Yes," she replies, and sighs as she curls back into a ball. "Creation and observance. Are you trying to pry Hermetic secrets from these Hermetically sealed lips? Ah, Crow. You could create with me, and observe."

crow
Pen stretches, and for a moment he does think she might try to bite him and his suspicion is forecast in the way the muscles of his thigh tense.  He's prepared to scoot himself away, he's been subject to such whims often enough that he is watchful.  It is for nothing though; her spine flexes and curls and he runs his knuckles along the length of it in the center of her back.  "I'm just interested in your Work, that's all," he says, with a hint of amusement.  "You'd like me to do ritual with you?"

lake-light
"You are not learned in the Arts I used last night, but of course I'd like you to do a ritual with me; I like it when your magick seeps into my skin; I like the taste of it - " How smoothly her eyebrows rise; her hand drops from her eyes; she rests it over her heart. He has to go to work, and she - "Do you shower this  morning?"

crow
She says he's not learned in the Arts she used, and maybe she isn't looking at him but she can still probably imagine the way curiosity gleams bright in his eyes.  The truth is that yes: he is interested in Hermetic secrets, though he is interested in them primarily because they are important to Pen; nonetheless.  "Not yet.  I woke up and started trying to wake you up, when I realized you were still asleep."  This rueful smile, a half-apologetic thing: perhaps he ought to have let her go on sleeping.

lake-light
"You should shower now," Pen says, "and then wake me when your hair is wet."

The smile she offers him is sweet; it is an intimate thing, this - not a smile that other people have seen.

Pen: she turns her back to Nicholas and closes her eyes.

"I want your hair wet," this - murmured. Maybe she has been asleep this entire time: Nicholas can remember holding conversations with her, on those rare occasions she sleeps more deeply than he, that turned out later to be conversations held with sleeping Pen.

crow
Perhaps she has been asleep this entire time: her train of thought is puzzling enough that he wonders this.  But her smile flips his heart nonetheless, because it always has, and it's the kind of fondness that aches.  The glance he casts across her back is equal parts amused and tender, and the sun is already starting to show itself and so he rises.

And though the memory of the struggle to wake her moments ago will still be fresh in his mind, he will again attempt to wake her when his hair is wet.

lake-light
Pen wife does not notice when he leaves the bed for the shower, because she is asleep. She is exhausted; her body hurts; her mind, precarious on the precipice of alertness, has fallen into the abyss of sleep, slumber, dazing away; elsewhere. She sleeps for the whole of his shower, less deeply than she'd been sleeping before, but still: it is good.

When Nicholas does attempt again to wake her, he finds it somewhat easier, although a fresh-woken Pen the second time around is plaintive and his hair is wet and she cannot sleep through that so she calls him her water nymph and drags herself to the kitchen table although she'd really rather just lean against Nicholas until she fell asleep again. He has such a nice lap; she loves to curl up in it; to curl up in him. She'd like to inhabit him, necessary as air. She'd like to - well. So she can be woken; she can even bring herself to see him off and say farewell and begin her day. So, apparently wakeful, she is steady.

"Call me at your lunch break," Pen says, and: mischievous glint. "Tell me something I don't know when you have an hour free, and - "

Delicate yawn; she stifles it behind her hand.

" - and when you get home, you will help me with a rite."