Flowers

Adam
The stage is a bookstore and the bookstore's name is Night Owl Books or An Arch Key Books. Both  names are on signs outside the shop. The shop's façade is unprepossessing, low windows because the shop itself is low and in the windows some less expensive stock. Photographs. Postcards. A box with a painting of dancing bears, an old tin, a tapestried pillow, more books. There is some clothing line above the books on display in the window and pinned to the line is a big felt board full of button s and a poster or two for art shows that have come and gone or are coming and getting ready to go as well as a couple of fascimile pages dredged from some musical folio.  Through the door, down three stairs or zig-zag down and around a narrow and clearly added on ramp for wheel chair access, and the store proper divides itself into the main body of the shop. Look  there are two tables, one with a pyramid of books a book piece of art, the other with spines out. Next to the tables there are a couple of glass cases with some of the more highend books. To the right, following the street window, the art books and books relating to culture and subculture, then a  couple of aisles for - well who knows what. You go down the aisles and find out. To the left, another step downward, a marginal shelf of children's books (but antique, for the most part; behind glass, though not locked), some postcards and racks of local zines, a bench or two, and then stairs to  the downstairs room. Stairs to the upstairs half-room loft, too, though the railing is old and somewhat wobbly, Entropy at work, at its finest, balanced precariously between this and that. There are plenty of nooks and crannies to get lost in at Night Owl Books. That must be part of why Night Owl Books keeps such odd hours. Maybe the odd hours are also why nobody else really seems  to be inside right now except for a dark tousle-haired (maybe) young man (or middle aged- or very young- well, one or the other, or maybe neither) who's sitting at the desk beside the register (behind the desk are two doors, one locked, the other open, illuminating an office), reading a book. Or maybe  he's writing on a piece of paper. He's not very noteworthy.  There's a computer, too. He could be working on the computer.  But he isn't. He is reading, and making notes by hand in a spiralbound notebook that looks like it might've been a bonus from somebody's drop-off donation, and though it doesn't seem like it, his utter absorption in what he's reading is about to end.

Sid
There was a time when the woman known as Sid Rhodes would have given anything to be as unnoteworthy as the young man behind the counter.  Perhaps if she had allowed herself a different fate she might have learned that very useful skill of blending into the background, but she didn't, and  so she didn't.  A year ago and farther back she did well enough to escape notice, though.  That red hair which is so noticeable was lank and unkempt.  Her glasses were large, hipster chic without the price tag (or intention).  Her clothes were always large and oversized and old long before she picked  them out of a Goodwill bin.  She was no one, nobody, don't look over here. The woman who steps into Night Owl books on this particular day at this particular time is not that person, not anymore.  She stopped trying to hide herself away months ago (what was the point, with  so many Awakened tripping over her everywhere she went?).  Her hair falls in soft waves of red over the shoulders of a nice dark brown suede coat with a faux sherpa lining.  The glasses that rest on her nose are smallish, squarish, niceish.  There is a messenger bag slung diagonally across her body; she keeps one hand resting on the pouch, the other tucked into a pocket of her coat. She saw the storefront of the bookstore when she was across the street still, and something about it grabbed her attention.  Pulled her over.  Told her that she totally wanted to go inside, and you know  what, she totally did want to go inside.  It's a bookstore and she likes books and it's a bookstore that  looks like it would have interesting books and a few other things besides.  So she went across the street and she went inside, and it was only when she was inside that she felt it.  Her awareness of her  surroundings is almost always acute, and this is a city in dangerous times.  There are certain resonances that she's on the alert for, and new ones always get her attention. Like now.  She feels it tingly faintly somewhere in her skull, poking at her senses.  Wariness creeps up her spine.  Surely the owner of that sensation knows she's here, perhaps her entrance was announced by a jingling of bells or a low electric tone.  Maybe they feel her, too, feel her empowered, desperate euphoria. Anyway, Sid goes into that shop and she feels like someone Other like her is there, so rather than meandering through the aisles she walks slowly around, but with a vague purpose, using her peripheral, eyeing books while also looking around.  Find the other person in this building, and see just who they are. niko @ 8:30PM [percept (paranoid) + aware, -3 because reasons] Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 ) Re-rolls: 1 VALID CourtCat @ 8:36PM Witnessed! [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
The young man isn't invisible. He's just arcane (mystery). He's not faceless. He's just nondescript. He 's not even nondescript. The mind just does not think to describe him with clarity. But the Orphan (Ecstatic apprentice? Verbena apprentice?) who heads into Night Owl Books has senses more acute and aware of otherness in the world than most; and his Otherness brings Adam to Sid's notice or Sid's  notice to Adam. Where? There. Where? There!  The other magus in the bookstore is behind stacks of books sitting behind the desk on which more stacks of books are. This is a fairly stereotypical image of a young Bonisagus: surrounded bypaper, by flammable knowledge, a forest of words. The shift of his attention is presaged by a scrunch of his  forehead then a small rise of his eyebrows. They're straight eyebrows and thick and they rise like they're bemused and not-quite-sure what they're about. He wouldn't've looked up if it had just been a door opening and bells. But she's more than bells. Bells and the dynamic fission of desperate euphoria, empowered; a charged charge of desperate giddiness, of joy-grasping, that he can feel in his teeth, behind his third eye. Some kind of hippy or cultist? Adam stops writing but his pen remains poised and still over his notebook while bemused eyebrows and searchful eyes find Sid. Enter, Sid. Sid, the door opening, and then her reflection in the silvery circle thieves-think-again just over the door. His hand doesn't leave a shadow on the page. His  shadow's locked in somebody's dresser, chewed off maybe by their guardian nanny dog.After a beat,  he stands, tapping one of the bookstacks on the desk with the knuckle of his right hand. He knows that he's sometimes Waldo blends in. The pen is forgotten in his hand, heavy-thing, silver-nibbed, the better for scratching even on cheap cheap recycling bin notebook paper, but it'll serve for a (Symbol) wand.  "May I help you find anything, miss?" --- Tithe @ 10:19PM [Percept + Awareness.] Roll: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 4 ) VALID [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
It's paranoia, and fear, and worry and concern.  It's knowledge that there is danger everywhere and in everyone, even those one might not expect.  That's what sharpens her senses and makes her more attuned to the resonance of the unknown one.  Not a shadow, not a spectre, but a person her brain does not want to focus on, doesn't want to let her remember.  When she comes around a corner, peering from the corner of her eye, she notices that there is a person, or probably a person, with hair or maybe not.  Tall or short or somewhere in between.  And she frowns, but she shifts her eye back to the books she's walking past.  She looks like she's searching for something, and that's because she is.  Searching for a book or a person or a something. Adam is not the only one with magic at the ready.  Sid's body serves as her focus.  The blood beneath her skin, the breath in her lungs, even the fear that coils round her stomach, forever lodged in its pit no matter how strong or bold or defiant she may become.  They all have their uses.  She's not thinking about their uses now, though.  She's thinking about <i>May I help you find anything, miss?</i> Ah, there he is.  There are details to the source of resonance, similar to hers but a step to the side.  Relentless, forward motion with determination, valiance, courage, bravery.  Like a young knight, or a squire on his way to knighthood.  Or a boy, with dreams of chivalrous notions. Sid turns her head, her look sharp, direct.  There is the faintest shadow between her brows, the barest hint of a worry that wouldn't be there if she hadn't noticed him, and would be worse if she hadn't noticed him before he noticed her. Her gaze drifts away, and she looks at the shelving in front of her before looking back again.  "Maybe.  Is there a section for, um.  For gardening?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam	Sun, Jan 19, 2014 at 5:03 PM
His expression shifts as hours in a Book of Days shift: inexorable, nuanced, light-shot, and this is how time passes. He looks closely at Sid, marking that hint of worry without reading anything further, anything deeper. The young man's own forehead creases and he frowns gently, lopsided. Then he glances off to one side as if his gaze were bid go in that direction. Gardening, huh? This is his store; his aunt's store, actually, and she's gone, left him in charge. But he doesn't know it by heart yet, hasn't dusted all of the corners because he prefers the desk and the back room. "Hmm." He hmms because his 'ums' are deliberate and thoughtful and absent-minded and he comes out from around the desk. "Yes. This," he starts toward the side of the shop with the culture books, and then checks himself, "No, this way - er it depends, I'm afraid. Are you looking for books with tips on how to garden locally or grow tomatoes in a pot or for books on the proper phases of the moon to plant St. John's Wort? Some woman who I believe worked at the Botanical Gardens dropped a box off, haven't gone through it yet." There is the ghost of accents which might've been when he speaks. Souvenir of a life lived abroad, on the road, a foreigner in every land. ((Insert those rolls here! I accidentally discarded my first draft where-in I'd C&Ped them. Grumble.)) [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
He spots the shadow, but for all he knows there is always a shadow in that spot and is simply the way her face has been made, or has become over time.  It is actually the latter, but they are strangers who have only just met, who know each other only by that touch of Otherness that warps the air around them. The young man hmms and Sid's eyes lift upward, as if to look for signage, something posted that will guide her where she'd like to go.  It's a look that keeps the young man in her peripheral, and will keep him there.  Now that she's aware of him she can't be made unaware, so she'll be keeping him where she can see him as best she can.  But she can also tell the look of someone new.  Maybe not new to what they are, but new to this place, or perhaps something's changed and he doesn't remember where things go or are or could be.  He starts in one direction but stops, and Sid takes a cautious few steps closer, breaking free of the stacks of books, standing more in the open. He asks her questions meant to direct him to an answer, but unfortunately she has no help for him on that account.  In fact, she's about to suggest to him that she keep browsing, awkwardly and trying to keep him somewhere in sight, when he mentions the box. "Can I see it?" she asks. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
He considers her request for a bare second; a slender moment of time, something numinous, something light; and would he have considered it if she weren't Awake? What is there to consider? Price-tags, ladders, curses, strangers; the young man nods, sweeping his long-fingered raw-boned hands through his hair again, because it will flop over his forehead, it will curl around his ears, holding it back and away from his mobile eyebrows and his questing gaze.  "Sure," he says, and there is the presentiment of a smile that quivers like bead-of-light on the end of a flower-stalk (or something manlier - a cactus spine? No, that won't do) there at the corners of his mouth. Adam, smiling, is often more a suggestion of a smile, a lightening of expression that fixes all of him present for a moment, instead of - well. Wool-gathering, dreaming. The pen in his other hand he taps against his corduroys, because he is wearing corduroys, all unknapped and old, "I should be glad of the excuse to get unpacking it out of the way."  With that, he strides over to the door behind his desk, door which leads to one of the backrooms, stock rooms, and reaches up to pull a light into being, flick! it makes a sound intoxicating to moths, and he leaves the door open - does not invite Sid to follow him, per se, but does not shut the door and disappear, leaving her entirely on her own in the storefront proper - and she can see him looking at the label of this box, then the label of that box, and then crouching with a creak knee-pop snap, resting one elbow on his thigh in order to twist his head like an owl to look at the label on the box at the bottom of a stack. Shoulder to the boxes on top, sliiiiide the box on the bottom out. Shoulder to the boxes on top, sliiiide the box on the bottom out, jenga with heavy books. Thump. Once the box has been acquired, he kicks it out of the storage room and it hushes across the floor. -- Serafíne @ 8:22PMPrivate Message to SerafíneJess wants me to witness this whatever this is!Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 8-) ( success x 1 ) VALID Dex + Ath. BE AFRAID OF HIS PROWESS. Or I guess Strength + Ath. LUCKILY HE IS A WUSS EITHER WAY. ooc: Errin! I'm sorry it took me so long to reply; I haven't been at the computer v. often over the last few days. I'm being a good e-mail scene-buddy! I swear! [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
She asks to see the box because sometimes places will let her do that (usually from the selfish reason of avoiding stocking a few books).  Adam may use it to get some unpacking underway, earning a curious look from Sid.  She even manages to bring herself a few steps closer to him, to the desk, to the back of the store and away from the light of the windows.  Quiet, wary creature drawn to the flamebright knowledge of books and learning. He disappears (almost!) into a stock room and Sid's frown deepens.  This, perhaps, is the moment of truth?  Will he disappear and come back wielding fire and fury, or will he do as he said he would?  Fear coils in her stomach, ready to be harnessed, held, wielded in turn in her defense.  She moves quietly to the side, to give herself a better view of where he's gone and sees Adam trying to get at a box on the bottom of a host of other boxes, all no doubt heavy with books.  The corner of Sid's lower lip disappears between her teeth a moment. "Would you like some help?" she asks, voice strong enough to carry into the stock room and to his ears.  He does not seem to be a(n immediate) threat, at least. Then it's over, the box is freed and whooshing across the floor.  Sid, standing a little closer than she had been when Adam went into the stock room, says, "Thanks."  Because it looked like an effort, and unless or until the shopkeep does something truly suspicious it doesn't hurt to be polite.  Right?  Maybe. [no worries!  i figured life-things got in the way for a bit ] ] [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"Hmn?" Belated response to her offer of help has him pausing, head up, eyebrows rising, bemused again or befuddled or just disconnected from cause and response. "Oh." That presentiment of a smile again that touches his features shyly, though Adam is not, truly, a shy man; it is only expression that seems shy of revelation sometimes. Adam is too too much himself. He shrugs in what can be read as a sorry-for-ignoring-that way or a no-problem-it-is-my-job way, but he is stripping the tape that was holding the box closed off. It was tape on its last legs, barely hanging onto its stickiness, so it isn't difficult to pull off, gold-brown strips of cardboardpaper hanging to it. The box was for transportation, not for mailing; someone came in to bring it by. If Sid doesn't come nearer while he opens the box, he does a little mini double-take, surprised; or maybe he does the little mini double-take because he wasn't prepared to look up and see the Desperate Euphoria creeping so near, like the gladsome beast belonging to the Queen of Tears, oh no. "So, ah. Here it is. Nothing's priced, but if there's anything interesting, we can negotiate. I'm not even certain she left us anything on gardening, just that she worked at the Botanic." He seems to be willing to let Sid take the first dive into the box, although perhaps he's just making conversation before he begins unpacking things, stacking them on the floor between the desk the box is resting near now and Sid. And because he is valiant, it is time to beard the beast, address the elephant: "You're a will-worker. Local chapter? If you've been here before, you must be surprised to run into me." [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Tue, Jan 28, 2014 at 8:27 AM
Sid offers her assistance too late for it to be of any use to the young man, who shrugs at her before getting to work opening up the box full of what he thinks are books that have any relation to gardening.  Hooking her hand around the patch to strap join of her bag, Sid stays where she is, closer to the desk but not close enough to come close to bursting Adam's bubble of personal space, unless his personal bubble has a several foot radius.  Among their kind who knows, perhaps he does need that much space, but that's not why Sid keeps a distance still.  Now it's part wariness, part politeness.  Let the man open a box before coming any closer again. She is aware of the double-take, cast her way when he notices she'd taken those few steps closer, bringing with her that empowered twist of resonance, frantically clawing its way toward bliss.  That's what she feels like.  Quiet as she is, still as she is, she feels like a struggle, a race, the desperation of life and a pursuit of happiness, rooted in place and bolstered. The box is open and unless Sid wants to make things truly awkward she has to come the rest of the way.  Once she would have.  Once she would have stared at him, openly suspicious of his demeanor which has been simply pleasant, openly wary of his suspicions.  Now she's stronger, and not so different than most others like themselves.  Been through some things, she has, has a healthy wariness that will keep her alive and keep her striving forward as she reaches for ascension.  She steps forward, reaching up with one hand to tuck an errant strand of red behind her ear.  Dark eyes flick to Adam's face, take in his features in a glance before lowering to the box. It's as she reaches for the current top of the stack that he addresses the elephant.  He knows what she is and she glances sideways, her look suggesting that they understand each other in this.  She knows what he is, too.  By the sound of things this store belonged to another like them before he came along. "I've never been here before," she says in her quiet way, opening the book she holds to peruse its contents and see if it holds something that might interest her.  The corner of her mouth lifting just a little, she tilts her head to look at him.  She turns a page before looking back down again.  "But I'm still surprised.  It's always weird to hear someone else was laying low here."  She turns another few pages before setting the book down and reaching for another.  Whether they're about gardening or the mysticism of herbalism or contain fairy tales of princesses befriending dragons, Sid starts looking through them all. "There's no chapter, though, not like in other cities."  Because Adam isn't the only one whose been around.  "There's a house, and a few of us work together sometimes.  Mostly we keep to ourselves unless..." she trails, lifts her chin, tries to think of how to condense Nephandi and umbrood and tormented young women and and and.  Her shoulder lifts in a slight shrug.  "Things happen." [sorry for the delay!  i was pretty afk this weekend, and then i was too wiped from insomnia yesterday to get a proper post out.  you get a screen crusher for your patience!] [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
His attention seems divided (abstract [dreamy]) between the books she unpacks, her hands, and her face. He has settled back on his haunches, and any book she sets aside he'll stack near the edge of the desk. There are some heavy cloth-bound books, beginning to fall apart at the spine, about gardening in the desert, one slender volume which is full of handwritten notes. A book called the Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady with a number of delicate water-color pictures of herbs as well as some folk notes. There is a medical dictionary circa 1948. A book on Denver's skyline and a book on a Denver artist of repute and his Western art watercolors. There is a diary too, just below, embossed 1981, and. . . "I don't get out very often," he says, in a voice that is touched with mild enthusiasm and wonder when that diary comes out. It won't survive a real look at it, but that's part of the fun of boxes. He isn't quite apologetic about not getting out very often. In fact, he isn't apologetic at all, and no one yet has made him apologize, but he is a diplomat's son and recognizes where apology is sometimes expected. "Hey look, seeds," when he has reached the end of the diary. He holds up a little envelope, something made of construction paper, pencil written on the front too faded and smudged to be read. Adam knows many things, but what seeds belong to what are not one of those things. "I wonder if they're still wick." Things happen, Sid says, and his gaze focuses on her again, his expression shifting; a shadow, though he is still the shadowless thing, into contained intensity. "Is there anything I should be aware of, or worrying about?" [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
The farther into the box Sid goes the more she has to bend her body to see, until finally she lowers herself into a crouch.  Reaching up she gathers her hair in one hand, tugs it aside to drape over her shoulder so that the young Mage stays within her peripheral.  One book she picks up is bound in old worn cloth, the color of it faded.  Sid runs her fingertips, light and quick and gentle, over the cover before carefully opening the tome to examine the insides.  Her movements are careful but precise, gentle but almost clinical. Adam doesn't get out very often and Sid almost but does not smile at that.  There is a lifting in the air around her, like a light is starting to glow but has not come out from behind a shade.  Aside from the Cultists, do any of them get out on their own very often?  She does not press him nor does she demand an apology for his solitary-seeming hermitage.  She herself lived away from people for a long long time, she's hardly the type to look down on it in others. With a blink she casts her eyes toward him, her head still bent to look at the cover of the diary.  Without a word she holds it out to him, she can look at it later.  Next she picks up a book on local flora - from at least fifty years ago.  Adam declares his discovery of a sheet of seeds, old ones that may or may not still have life in them.  Sid turns her head to look at it, then lifts her gaze to the young man's face. As for things he should be aware of or worry about, "No.  Not right now."  It is not a lie nor a falsification of the truth.  For the moment the Awakened of Denver are at peace. Her eyes lower to the sheet, and her head cants slightly, chin pushing left while the top of her skull dips right.  She is still uncertain of Adam, he being so new to her and so with so many unknown factors to be, well, factored into an analysis.  But she is alone with him in a quiet bookstore and he has not yet cast fire at her or tried to grab her hair at the nape and lead her forehead into any sharp corners. Setting down her book, she shifts herself so that her body is angled more toward Adam.  She holds out her hand to him, palm flat and facing upward.  "Here, let me see it." [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"Do let me know," says he, after No. Not right now. An implied if anything changes. He says it by rote and she can see his attention is really mostly on the book he is looking at, seed-sheet still in his hands. But perhaps she can also see that he really means it. He doesn't think to offer contact information, but after all -- he doesn't get out very much. He's not difficult to find once you know where he is, innate Mysteriousness [Arcane (Occulted)] presence aside.  Here, let me see it, says she, and Adam does let her see it, the seeds, the sheet of seeds of mysterious origin, handing it over after just another look-over, although he has no way to see whether there's still life inside. He loops one arm around his knees, sitting back on his tail-bone, chin coming to rest close to his knees so really for a moment he's a sharp and fascinated pair of eyes and a fluff of hair. The book he -was- looking at he has placed on the top of another stack, dismissive. "Do you have a garden?" The tone: a guessing sort of tone. Maybe she wants a garden and doesn't have one yet. Maybe she's more witch than hippie seer. [Quoted text hidden]

Sid
Even if he didn't seem to mean it Sid would nod her head in the affirmative, and send word to him one way or another to let him know if something's up.  Plus, there is always Ginger, which Sid does not mention now, nor does she mention Grace who is its gatekeeper.  She'll pass the name of this place and its own keeper on, and if the Virtual Adept chooses to meet with him and discern if he should be added to the contact list, well that will be her prerogative.  Sid never works the other way, would never give out Grace or anyone else's number to someone she's just met.  In this way she protects them a little. Not that it seems anyone would need to be protected from Adam.  He seems alright so far, young but reserved and more than a little bookish.  He's more interested in the books than he is in Sid, or at least appears to be.  Sid knows that appearances can be deceiving, having altered her own as much as she could to avoid notice before she decided there was obviously no point to it.  And she knows that even quiet, kindly people can hold darkness in their hearts, but for entirely different (though not unrelated) reasons.  Still, Sid decides...she does not exactly trust him, but she will not let her wariness of him be a stumbling block between them. Which means allowing him to see a special thing that she can do.  Adam has no way of knowing himself if any of the seeds still contain a spark of life, but he finds out soon enough anyway.  He hands over the seed paper and as soon as it makes contact with Sid's skin there is a reaction.  She cups her hands beneath it and holds her hands up so that they can both watch as the paper begins to bend and buckle. "Yes," she answers.  Not all of the seeds are still viable and not even the energy that flows through Sid's limbs can revive them.  She could give them a nudge, but for now there is no rise of desperate happiness around her as those seeds that are still good finally begin to pop through cracks in the paper.  White-green shoots spring free of the paper with barely audible <i>pap pip pop</i>s.  "I had to let most of it go dormant for the winter."  The roots of those seeds which grow at her touch shoot through the bottom of the paper (or up through the top, or out at an angle, or--) and try to curl around her fingers and she smiles a little, delighted.  Buds are beginning to form already but have yet to open.  Already they can tell that they are all different colors, and share many common attributes.  Most of what breaks through the paper are various strains of Columbine, but a few others survived as well, all of them local to the area, or to the area decades ago. "Do you have a mug or something?  And maybe some coffee grounds?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"It's good for plants to get some sleep, isn't it? Look at California, it . . . " He looks struck still by surprise once he notices (it takes him a split-second; no, let's not lie: a full second before) the seeds unfurling, just at a touch, so subtle the magick (not Will) that it barely plays on the strings of his senses. Hedge magick, a conjure-trick: static magick. A green fuse. So: He looks struck still by surprise, jaw un-hinging, lips parted, chin and mouth both pressed against the back of his knees before he straightens. His eyes are on the seeds, the way the tendrils poke through paper to curl around Sid's fingers. He gives her a quick glance, then seems to realize she asked him something, rubs his forehead with the palm of one hand. "Coffee grounds -- no. I've mostly tea, but a mug, yes, erm, just. . .  " He gets up, giving the seeds and the green-white beginning of life another look. He is an opaque creature is our Dominic Adam, our Bonisagus Hermetic, and the repetition of little blossoms of wonder fascinate him into solemnity. "One moment."  And so does Adam go back into that backroom, digging around in the kitchenette until he finds a mug. Hesitates, then, well: when he returns, it's with two cups, one that is plastic and filled with water, then the mug, which has some Renaissance Artist's painting on it, a mug bought from a museum at one point, and then a papertowel. He is being a bit hasty, but the water only slops in the backroom. [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 7:18 PM
It's not something she's brought up with the others, not really.  Those who visit the Chantry house out in Morrison have known Sid is good with plants.  She kept the shrubs and flowers around the house verdant and lush, and when the winter came she narrowed her efforts to the area surrounding the node.  Because it looks interesting to her, and it feels right.  A place of power should have something out of the ordinary to set it apart, even if that out-of-the-ordinary thing was caused by an outside force.  One person knows of this...anomaly?  Ability?  Gift?  He saw the yard she tended, saw it overflowing with flowers and plants outside of their natural seasons and in some cases locations.  That yard is sleeping now, the flush of her resonance dimmed but not faded completely.  Even covered in snow as it is now, it brings her roommate a sense of frantic, desperate bliss when he stands at the kitchen window. No one has seen how she does it until now.  Sid isn't going to alert Adam to this fact because for her it isn't important.  She showed him almost without thinking and now, still without much conscious thought, she holds out her hand for the mug first.  The paper in her hands has cracked and crumpled.  While Adam was off looking for a mug and water Sid righted the plants blooming around her fingers, made it so they all shoot gracefully upward.  He missed the blooming.  By the time he returns the flowers are in full bloom, five pale petals surrounded by five darker petals that end in points.  White and lavender, yellow and red, deep royal purple and white, pink and yellow.  Some with larger petals, some with smaller.  All lovely. Sid looks up when Adam returns (she hasn't moved, her spine is still curved in a crouch), and she offers him a slight smile as she frees one hand to reach for the paper towel first.  "Thanks," she says, and if her fingers should glance against his he may notice how warm she is.  Carefully, she places the flowers on the paper, then takes the mug and carefully places them inside, then offers the plants a little water. "There were more than I thought there'd be."  All told, there are a little more than ten flowers in the mug.  There were so many more black specks of seeds visible in the old cracked paper. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
The slight smile gets one in return, just as slight. He runs both hands through his hair after she takes the paper towel and the mug, lacing his fingers together and bracing the back of his head. This is his hunh stance; it is as easy and as bright-struck as his own skin or a favourite coat. Does it help marshall his thoughts? No. But it is comfortable; he'd ask nothing else. Adam does not know that most of Sid's friends haven't seen summer spill out of her hands, waking seeds from their wintering; he doesn't know how dramatically she can conjure wick out've naught isn't common knowledge. He doesn't ask her, either, because who knows doesn't matter to him. The event is what matters; the truth of it, and the why of it, and the how of it, and the here-it-is of it.  "What are they?" he asks her, because unless the plant has some occult use, he doesn't know its name. "Will they wither now that they're separate from you?" He looks again from the flowers to her, realizing his arms are still up drops them, folding one arm across his chest while the other finds his chin and the stubble short-beard growing there, as near to shadow as anything, and he strokes it. Certainly a witch, not a hippy.  [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 8:48 PM
She rises, straightening finally when the flowers have been transferred.  The mug is a temporary solution, she'll have to find dirt to put the flowers in, then perhaps keep them until the spring thaw?  She'd consider leaving them here, but she looks around the bookstore before looking back to Adam.  Who said he doesn't get out much.  It's not exactly the prime environment for growing flowers, but one never knows. "They're columbine mostly.  The others," she says, trailing off into a shrug.  "I only know the one because it's the state flower, but I think they're local, too.  And...no.  They'll live out their natural span, or longer if I touch them again."  It's an interesting sight to behold, and yet perhaps appropriate?  A Verbena mage holding a cupful of flowers in one hand, a plastic cup of water in the other, standing in the middle of a used bookstore.  She blinks at him. "I'm Sid, by the way."  She holds out the mug toward him.  "Do you, ah.  Would you like to keep them?" [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
He reaches for the mug when or just as she holds it toward him. He touches one of the flowers' petals with his curled forefinger, holding the petals up or feeling their edge, and it is just as he might have touched somebody's cheek or somebody's chin during a moment of tenderness, see. "I'll just make sure Ruse won't be poisoned if he eats them, shall I?" foreigness touches his vowels again, then subsides into Americanism. "Then," and a brief smile, match-strike of a thing, wrinkles around his mouth and eye, "yeah. Erm, though I rather suppose I should give them dirt to eat or they'll be longing for seed life again. How long has that happened around you? "Adam," and here he places the mug down on the desk, and looks from them back to Sid. He does more than that, too: for his name, he pushes back the mantle of arcane, so that if some of the rest of their conversation mislays itself when she remembers it later, or blurs around the edges, it is sure that she will remember Adam. It's probably appropriate, flowers in a guy named Adam's hands. Eden being what it was, eh? [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 10:16 PM
Her expression twitches, brows shifting together, thoughtful for a second, her face a wordless question at the mention of a Ruse who might be poisoned.  Her smile returns at the mention of dirt and a longing for seed life, but dissipates at the question of how long this has happened around her. "Since," she says, and hesitates.  <i>As long as I can remember</i> is what used to fill the space after that question, which was true in relation to the origin story she would tell.  The hesitation is short, just a breath, and then, "I woke up.  And they're..." her mouth shifts as she brings up the information she knows about the columbine flower.  "A bit poisonous.  The petals are safe in small doses, but the roots and seeds.  They'll kill you."  All of this said in her quiet, steady voice, matter of fact.  These are the things that will happen if you or someone else decides to consume those flowers. [Quoted text hidden]

Adam
"I think I've read about a similar effect before." Of course he has. He would be a wizarding sort of man, surrounded by this forest of words, denned by leaves of paper - and given a cupfull of flowers by a witch. "Do you practice the Verbena tradition?" He asks this in almost the same tone as he asked whether or not Sid had a garden after she asked for gardening books, although perhaps he is a little more present now, less pre-occupied with what they might find in a box than with what he has found in a girl. A sudden smile, causes him to tilt his head to the side, almost ducking it, rub the edge of his brow with the edge of his hand, this dawn-warming sort've thing, present for a moment and then filtered out through the rest of his expression and then gone where ever it is smiles go. "Ruse is my ferret, named Ruse because he is as full of ruses for attention as a dragon is full of fire, so perhaps I shan't introduce him to the flowers. Just in case."  [Quoted text hidden]

Sid	Sat, Feb 1, 2014 at 11:23 PM
Reading about it's one thing.  Seeing it done before his eyes would be another.  The admission only brings up a slight wariness in Sid, he's read about it is he going to ask how it's done?  Is he going to want to study her now?  She has pages and pages of notes she's taken herself about it that she could give them, but still.  It borders onto something personal that she's not quite ready to let someone else get close to just now.  Probably won't want to ever.  But then, the wonderful thing about the Awakened community is that they all like to keep to themselves.  Few delve deep into the histories and past paths of anyone else, and those who do are rare and easy to shut down. He asks if she practices the Verbena tradition and Sid merely nods her head, but she smiles when he mentions his animal companion.  He is not the only one in the room who has a less than ordinary pet to care for.  "That's probably for the best." [Quoted text hidden]

Adam	Sun, Feb 2, 2014 at 1:30 AM
To tell the truth he is studying her now. He began studying her as soon as she entered his bookshop. He studies all other Mages (and Spirits, and Beasties, and Ghoulies, and Bump in the Night monstrosities, and Faërie sorcery, and) often with an air that is almost anthropological. He'll make notes later - perhaps - in a book that nobody else should be able to read - or open - or unriddle - without the cypher. He is something of a cypher, is Adam, but further conversation is forestalled when the door to Night Owl Books (An Arch Key Books) opens and someone from the USPS enters. Uniformed. A dolly of boxes, not near as many as a commercial bookstore might be sent, but - it is a large shipment, and two on top to be signed for. One of those digital scanners, for digital signatures; messy things, Adam does not like them, although writing with light is appealing to his sense of what is fitting, of exactitude. He does not like them because they don't respond to pressure or individuality or craft. He is old-fashioned in a number of ways, is Adam. "Ah," he says, as the fed-ex man approaches. "Feel free to keep looking through the box. If anything strikes your interest, let me know. It was nice meeting you, Sid," this, with a faint smile. A crinkle-skin smile. His smiles are all crinkle-skinned sort've smiles, aren't they? He smiles like he can't be as mysterious as all that like maybe, just maybe, he can actually laugh at things, under the right set of circumstances. Planets aligning with stars, but only certain planets, and only certain stars: ha, ha. Adam, folks. And only after a nod, perhaps some after-remark by her, does he go to deal with the store's shipment. ooc: So! I figured that this was a good scene and we should bring it to a close here-abouts and this seemed like a good place to do that! Feel free to end with your post, if you like? And yay! And thank you! And <3 !! Sid  The door opens and a delivery man wheels in a load of boxes.  Sid frowns at the pile and at its deliverer, because let's face it.  It is a lot of boxes for a store that looks like this.  She doesn't question it, though, nor does she ask Adam about this place or where it came from or how he came to be the one keeping it today.  There will be other times for talks, perhaps, and Sid has things she meant to do today. "Thanks," she says, and there is that slight smile again, warm but subdued.  "You, too."  She nods her head toward the deliveryman as though releasing the valiant hero to go off on his quest of box-signing and checking and so on.  She will look through the box, and she will find a few things that will suit her purposes.  She and Adam will discuss the price that she will pay, and then she will be off again. Parts of the meeting will be hazy later, muddled and dark-ish, but she will remember the bookstore, and Adam, and growing flowers from an old piece of paper with the power of life that flows through her hands.

In Which The Band Fights

Ghosh

JOKE'S ON YOU BITCH I CAME IN BAKED

Hall

There's a club. It's name isn't relevant. It's got a clubbish name, a place where new talent goes to play. It's not a terrible venue and the management's a bit antsy around the two galliards as if will isn't enough to restrain their Rage and he still feels it, but that's fine. The crowd's not terribly large, but it's not tiny, and Tamsin in her short short hair and her red red lips looking all sort've sleek and elegant and put together and tiny is tuning her guitar full of apprehension and the desire for booze and what she says to Hector 'cause nobody's listening to them yet is, "Yo, dick-jizz, where the fuck is my hairband?"

Ghosh

Between the dimness and the neon and the smokiness of people ignoring state laws to light a cigarette or a joint inside the two Galliards kind of look like rock stars. That's what they wanted to be when they grew up, when they were little. That same kind of unapproachable live-wire energy except for most folks can tell they're liable to rip someone's fucking face off as much as have a civil conversation with them.

Next to her Hector is tall and dark and dangerous with his long hair and his vagabond outfit. Isn't really an outfit. If it weren't for Lola he'd still be sleeping in the public library and bathing in hotel bathrooms.

"Fuck your hairband," he says. "What the fuck would I do with a hairband?"

Hall

"Take it," she says, simmering, simmering - low simmer. "We need a drummer, man. Think we could teach Rabid to beat shit in rhythm? Or the Kid?" Thomas might well be older than Tamsin, but that doesn't matter. "Or Lola?"

Ghosh

"Hang on, I got a rubber band around here somewhere."

Rummage rummage through the pockets. They need a drummer.

"Lola?"

He sounds surprised even having to raise his voice so they can hear each other over the music.

"No way. Lola doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. Maybe her cousin. He does tattoos and shit, he might be down to drum. All that repressed Kinfolk rage."

Hall

"Uh, yeah, but she might fucking like to drum if she tried it; anyway, what she wants to do doesn't mean she should be doing it," the last part of that sentence, almost subliminal, muttered, riding nervous energy into shadow-pull, drag-and-tug, lure-and-lure. "Guess her cousin would be fine. Though no offense maybe we'll trawl the Fianna dregs first for a good musician... why the fuck won't this string tune?!" broody (human) growl.

Ghosh

"Waitwaitwait. Wait."

The string won't tune because you can't hear the fucking tone of it over the loudness, yo. That's not why Hector grabs the guitar's neck. He grabs the neck because he's really trying to grab her attention.

"Back up. Are you saying she should drum, or she shouldn't drum?"

Hall

[INTIMIDATION WHICH I DON'T HAVE HOW DARE YOU TOUCH MY GUITAR charisma + PB.]

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

Hall

Tamsin gives Hector a pretty, for her, full-of-doom look, the kind of look that has Sauron peering out've it, the kind've look that Saruman might've given a minion, basically: a slow, seething, the fuck, Look. And she tug-tugs her guitar back, my precioussssss, and says, "I'm saying she should if she wants to."

Ghosh

[YOU WANNA ROLL INTIMIDATION?!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Ghosh

Sauron peers out of her gaze. Gandalf stares back and doesn't give a fuck. He thrusts the neck of her guitar back at her and says, "And then you said just because she wants to do something doesn't mean she should do it."

Hall

Tamsin's gaze flicks away, shoulder-lifting like, pft, whatever, even though she's really hitching her breath to check her guitar again somewhat frantically, and she says, "Yeah well. She's not always right about everything. Surely you've noticed."

Ghosh

He loves this chick like a sister. More than he loves his own sisters. His own sisters are terrified of him and haven't been there for him the last four years because how could they have been. He can't say he'd never do anything to hurt her because he's beaten her up plenty of times and she can handle it and he's hurt her feelings plenty of times because he can be a jerk. He's not trying to posture or scare her into submission.

If he turned into a bigger dick than he already is just because of his station the others would vote him off the island. Posturing isn't good for survival.

Still:

"Whatever you think you need to say about her, fucking say it. I'm not a mind reader."

Hall

"I just said it. I'm fucking worried for her and your spawn; she thinks it's totally fine to get herself into fucking situations that she shouldn't be in because she's been fine before. So," and she flicks her eyes back to Hector, and there is a cold-knot of meanness to Tamsin sometimes, of darkness, that waning moon nature coming out, that dark-side-of-life side, hypnotic, lure-you-down-the-path, the Unseely, unsained, "that's what I thought of when you said 'Lola doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.' Happy?"

Ghosh

"I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

He's older than her by a whopping year and change. Hasn't had to act like it up until he got back from Vancouver. That's not even an age thing. If the moon were fatter he would just go ahead and fight her but the moon is wasting away and he's got more control over himself than he used to.

"I'll fucking talk to her. Alright? Did something happen or are you just--"

Think, dude.

Hall

"Fine, just wait until after our set," Tamsin says, which is good timing, because the manager is beckoning them, all, Celduin, guys, you're up, and Tamsin looks at Hector shrugging her shoulders slinging her guitar's strap over her shoulder taking a deep breath, the show must go on.

Ghosh

[char + perf: PLAY GOOD EVEN THOUGH YOU WERE JUST ARGUING]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Hall

[I will not suck even though I'm mad. Please seriously don't let me suck.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Ghosh

[WHAT IS THAT reroll time]

Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Hall

[NEXT SONG]

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

Ghosh

[NEXT. SONG.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Hall

[Here's some angst song. YOU LIKE COREY BETTER THAN ME SONG. More WP so we can be super rage-y.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Ghosh

[LMAO]

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

Hall

[Here's the super sad song!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Ghosh

[tears~]

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

Hall

[Dance-y nostalgia song! with a dash of wistfulness.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Ghosh

[HIGH NOTE TIME WOO GET ME OFF THIS STAGE I'M SO GODDAMN ANGRY]

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

They do a pretty decent show, all told. It isn't their best, but the audience seems to respond do it. Unfortunately, afterward, they're still angry, riled-up, frisson-of-temper, Rage is hotter than Will, so packing up for Tamsin goes quickly and silently, silent, silent, silently, nothing said to anybody who comes over to try and talk and nothing said to Hector off-the-bat

Ghosh

And Hector tries hard to keep it on a leash because the whole point of playing in public is for people to notice them. That's a dream he's going to have to let go one day but playing in public is a good way to make some scratch. This is a weird age they're living in. Both of them sprang up from humans and now here they are.

They're winding their way towards fresh air when Hector asks, "HALL. What the fuck?"

Hall

Tamsin gives Hector a side-long look, shifts her guitar, precioussss, from one shoulder to the next, and says, "what?" 

The door is right there. They can pick up their paycheck tomorrow, or next Friday, or something.

Ghosh

Or something. Right now they're going outside so when they start hollering at each other they're at least outside instead of inside a crowded bar where someone could get hurt if not killed.

Hector wings the door open so hard it would have smashed whoever happened to be behind him if anyone were that dumb. They're barely out the door before he says, "I think you were in the middle of explaining why you're throwing shade at Lola when she's not even here? Before we went on? You have my un-fucking-divided attention."

Hall

"I didn't realize I was only allowed to talk about Lola when she was present, from now on I'll just keep my mouth shut, Ghosh. Or are you just fucking stupid? I already explained everything there is no more I am worried she is getting into fights do I need some kind of like, I don't know, something MORE than that? But hey whatever, I can just keep my concerns to my self, you can go talk to," and here is when Tamsin's eyes fill with (angry) tears, and she grinds her teeth together so hard that it hurts, that moment when you just wish you could unsay, but it's too late, and so you stop right before a name, but the momentum is already there 

Ghosh

Oh good. He's made her cry again.

Hector drops his guitar case on the ground. It gives a congested twanging protestation as it clatters on the concrete and he turns to face her with eyes flashing. Light catching the mountainous brown of his irises and the Rage inside them stoking it.

"You ever try telling her not to do something?" he asks. "Tamsin, you don't know shit about women."

That's a good one, Hector. Chase that rainbow.

"Wait a minute, are you crying?"

Hall

[NO I'M NOT, diff 10 because she is.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN10 (4, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 1 )

Ghosh

[DON'T PULL THAT SHIT WITH ME diff 3 because she is]

Dice: 5 d10 TN3 (1, 3, 4, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )

Hall

"Fuck, can't you even recognize lights shining in somebody's eyes," Tamsin says, like she's not crying, like that is not water fillin' up, kept in bay by her dark Fianna lashes and her broody Fianna mood, "my eyes are just fucking luminous and they know shit about women that you will never know. And I've suggested but no I haven't because if I do suddenly it'll be all oooh Tamsin you're not Uktena oooh I know what I'm doing even though I don't I was raised up to be ahroun I can handle it oooh don't, don't fucking like, don't act like kin can't, not that I EVER do, but whatever, I can't do anything to stop anything, ever, NOTHING ever works, I can't even fucking play a song, I don't know why they gave this to me," and she takes her guitar off her shoulder and dumps it harshly on the ground, throws the case down against the wall, but okay, even in her temper, there's a bit of gentleness because she loves that guitar more than she loves most people

Ghosh

"HEY."

Oh, now he's mad. He's raising his fucking voice. Like he's not loud enough when he's in a good mood or just a little wound up. Sounds like a fucking monster hollering up at you from the foot of the stairs when he raises his voice like that.

Like he didn't just dump his own guitar on the ground because she pissed him off. This is different. Or it has nothing to do with why he pushes her at all. But Hector puts his hands on her shoulders both and checks her back towards the wall.

"KNOCK IT OFF."

Hall

INITS. +6

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )

Ghosh

[+7]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )

Hall

Tamsin doesn't wanna be grabbed by Hector and she is mad at - she is mad, so her first move is to knee him in the groin. He can totally see her going for it.

Ghosh

oh hell no he needs those

GRAPPLE YOU. Tamsin resist with Str or Dex + Brawl.

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

Hall

[Resist, resist! Dex and da Brawl]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Hall

[KNEE.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 8) ( success x 1 )

Hall

[Boom! How's it feel?]

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

Ghosh

[you fucking hellbitch]

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

Hall

[+6]

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

Ghosh

[+7]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (5) ( fail )

Ghosh

Well I mean. Hector just got kneed in the balls. That drops him for about a second before he burns through the extra Rage that little love tap earned him.

1a: punch Tamsin in the crotch

1b: get up

R1: kick her

Hall

Tamsin, simmering, kicks Hector when he's down, and then, Rage, because she should use that Rage, shouldn't she, so it doesn't have such a grip on her, and then, Rage, get the fuck out of reach. 

Hall

[KICK!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )

Hall

[Does it hurt?!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Hall

[If +1, then]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )

Ghosh

[YEAH IT HURTS JESUS]

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

Ghosh

1a: you fucking asshole. -2 dice because split.

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

Ghosh

[+2. there's an extra +1 because of the punch landing zone.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Hall

[-_-]

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

Ghosh

LOL I DON'T KNOW MY OWN PC's STATS

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (9) ( success x 1 )

Ghosh

[another damage]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (1) ( fail )

Ghosh

Up he goes. Jesus Christ that was embarrassing. It looks like he actually intends to kill her for a second. That's how angry he is. Fucking waning moons and their crotch-kneeing.

R1: KICK with the right dice this time

Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Hall

There's a strand of short hair caught on her lipstick her mouth open half-curled into a snarl she is panting, refusing to blink away tears or anything, just, FIGHT, FIGHT, fight okay get away from fight over there no foot no

[GO AWAY.]

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

Ghosh

Nobody is getting involved in this right now. Somebody might call the cops at some point but it looks like the chick is kicking the dude's ass and she isn't screaming for help so for right now.

Hector tries to grab her by the hair at the nape of her neck and slam her forehead into the wall. He's got enough Rage to knock down a building now so punching her twice after that display sounds like a good idea.

Ghosh

[uh. damage roll from dat kick.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

Hall

[-_-]

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

Hall

Fine! Fine. FINE! Tamsin gets that battle-grim look, and when he reaches out to grab her hair, she punches him in the face, and then burns more of that Rage, just look at the moon and it'll come back, it feels good to burn it, to feel it leave, even if it's just burning up into another punch.

Hall

[Rar!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Hall

[Paaain?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 5) ( fail )

Ghosh

1a: clinch. -2 dice because first split.

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 5) ( fail )

Ghosh

This could have gotten bloody in a hurry but for the fact that Hector has already nearly gone off to the Homelands all spirit-ready and never to be heard from again. Maybe he would have come back as an ancestor to his unborn baby. He came back to his body and he came back more scarred than he was before and it doesn't usually bother him until he's upset.

Tamsin just punched him in the face and didn't do any permanent damage for it cracking him on the bottom of the jaw thanks a lot Hector with your seven-inch height advantage. He's reaching out to grab her to slam her face into the wall when he wrenches his off-shoulder planting his feet.

Before he can do so much as ruffle a hair on her head Hector is clamping his right hand onto the left shoulder Tamsin knows is tore up by scar tissue. He screams once and sharp because holy shit that hurt it would be a high-pitched yelp in his wolf form. Still hugging his shoulder Hector leans against the wall he was just about to slam her face into and pants like holy shit that was unfortunate.

"Son of a bitch," he says. Voice muffled against the brick. "Son of a bitch. Don't tell anybody that happened."

Hall

[Hmmmmmmmmmmm a test roll.]

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

Hall

Tamsin jumps; the Rage is still simmering, you see, is still -- she releases it by swaying to the side when his fist hits the wall, at that scream that jangle-jars her nerves, and she says, "ok. You ok?" 

Ghosh

"I'm fine."

A hard edge to his response but he keeps standing like that all awkward with his right hand holding onto his shoulder and the front of him pressed against the wall. When the pain abates and he can turn and face her he does. Leaves his face presses against the brick but he's looking at her and not across the parking lot.

"You keep talking shit about yourself I'm going to stop going easy on you. You dick-kicking fuckstain."

Hall

"Kneeing," she corrects, with a brief, vicious, slap-her-for-it ghost of a grin; her lipstick has not been smeared, and then she just shrugs. 

Ghosh

Now that her guard is down Hector stops gripping his own shoulder and reaches out and slaps her cheek without trying to do any damage. Just a quick THWAP to grab her attention.

"Fuck's your problem?"

Hall

"Oh my god," she says, "I already told you, stop making me repeat myself," the hitch of upset or anger tugging at her words again, she shifts further away from Hector down the wall, somebody yells over -- "You guys all right?"

and Tamsin yells back a lying lie that is full of lies. How good a lie is it?

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 10, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 2

Hall

It's all right. She tells the bystander that they're in a play, and to go tug his dick about it somewhere else if he's feeling all hot.

Ghosh

Hector pushes himself away from the wall enough to help sell the lie and when the bystander has taken a step to either say he's going to fuck off or call the cops the worst alpha this pack has ever had blows out a breath and reaches down to pick up her guitar.

"You said a bunch of words that didn't make any fucking sense and then you kneed me in the dick," he says. Shoves the guitar at her chest so she has to grab it. "You're such an asshole, Tamsin. Go get laid or something, blast the sand out of your vagina."

Hall

[Do-dee-do, lying to Hector now.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Ghosh

[DON'T YOU EVEN]

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

Hall

Of course she grabs the guitar, breath hitching again, cling, and then she says, "Wow. All right. I'll go do that," a pause, and a short pale laugh, arms tightening around her guitar, "I gotta call home anyway or the parents are gonna think I fell off the face of the earth."

Ghosh

Hector swipes his hand through his hair and stares at her like he doesn't know how to respond for a moment. Untapped anger still brewing acid-hot under his breastbone.

It isn't until he snatches up his own guitar that he manages to play back everything that happened before the fists started flying.

"I wouldn't rather talk to him, you know," he says. "That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. Bad enough I gotta deal with Lola not giving a fuck what happens to her or our stupid doomed-ass baby... thing... I don't need you slinging bullshit at me just because you're mad at the entire fucking planet."

Hall

[More lying! God, Tamsin, you are such a brat.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1

Hall

Tamsin gives the street a miserable look, misery-drenched, whatever, thinks about -- maybe Faramir. Her breathing is steadied, is ruled, and she says, "I wasn't going to say his name." She was. But. "I don't know what I was gonna say, and well, sometimes I get mad at the entire fucking planet, and you get to deal. The one ring is strong, or whatever. Sorry. Should go make that call now though. I'll see you later, or..."

Ghosh

Well if she wants to lie Hector is just going to close off that distance between them and do the same thing he does to Thomas when he's acting like an asshole and lying. It's not like Hector has any room to get mad at someone for lying. He lies all the time. He's the alpha though. He's not supposed to have feelings or not know what he's doing or get scared or any of the things he's done since June.

So Tamsin wants to be a brat.

Hector puts down his guitar and locks her into a hug.

Hall

Tamsin stiffens, but unwinds enough to hug him (brusquely) back. Then pat pat yes Hector hug I get it hug. Says, with a sniff, "Dude no offense but you are not invited to blast out the sand." 

Ghosh

That just makes him hug her tighter.

"Even if I was I'd have to shoot you down. For your own safety."

He holds a hand at the back of her head to keep her still while he plants a fraternal smooch on her hairline and then snatches up his guitar and uses it as a shield as he slaps her on the ass and starts to walk away.

"Go call your parents, fuckhead. I'll see you back at the big shiny building."

Hall

"Mm Hmm," Tamsin says, with a smirk that dissolves into a scowl when he slaps her on the ass, something that gets him a parting shot of a punch at his bad shoulder, because - because Tamsin isn't nice; Tamsin fights dirty. "Yeah, seeya Heck. It wasn't the worst show it could've been." Her praise is always grudging, and she watches him go before disappearing back inside for a drink.

Follow-Up Check-Up

Nathan Marszalek

On the plus side he will be getting the hell out of here soon.

On the other plus side he is in a room by himself and no one is around to hear him rustling around as he refuses to stay in bed any longer than he has to. Coughing as his lungs continue the work of riding themselves of years of tar. Turning the lights on and off at all hours of the night because he can't sleep.

Visiting hours only last until 8 o'clock. Bless winter. It gives nocturnal individuals more time to work with. Nate's room assignment hasn't moved in a month. He's still here.

When Lux comes by tonight he's wearing a zip-up sweatshirt overtop of his gown and has managed to connive a pair of scrub pants out of someone. Having connections in a place like this is helpful. His eye is loosely covered by a bandage taped down rather than firmly wrapped with gauze and he has the earbuds of his iPod stuffed into his ear canals. He's not sleeping. The lights are on. It's dark outside but not in here.

Winter...

Lux

Here is Lux to keep Nathan company, coming by around seven o' clock. Here is Lux in a leather jacket with her hair a tousle-dark mess swept over one side of her head the part somewhere Veronica Lake would've approved but not that neat. Here is Lux in a leather jacket cracked and well-worn with something painted in the back and her hands in the pocket of her jacket and ridiculous shoes for winter for anybody to really walk in but Lux enjoys ridiculous shoes and she is so precise and so poised and so in cahoots with grace that it'd be a calamity if she fell, glass-spun delicacy, she'd just shatter, but no: she never will; will just contain light and shadow, make it over into something compelling, moving, lovely, a beautiful girl (woman), the vibrant edge of a smile, first a hand-wave hand-wiggle hand coming out've her jacket pocket in order to wave, rings on every finger except her pinky and middle finger, resin rings flaked with something, one luminous and clear, drinking up gold, the other heavy like honey catching shadow, and the other a mingling of both, a set, two on her thumb, and anyway, after the wiggle-wave, she takes a seat on the edge of his bed, waits for those headphones to come out and if they do not come out stays still and watchful and absorbant and when they do come out she says, "Hey. 'Sup."

Lux

[Belated. ART. But this was ages ago, so we'll extend once and/or re-roll if there is a hideous botch.]

Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Lux

[Eh, one extension.]

Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Lux

[That'll do, pig.]

Nathan Marszalek

It doesn't take long for the headphones to come out. They drown out sound but not other folks' presence. Not the shadow of her form cut through the pane of light stood between him and whatever tries to whisper to him when his ears aren't stopped up. Sometimes even then.

He takes a deep breath like he's been roused from a daydream and smiles tired at Lux as he winds the earbuds around the device.

"Sup yourself," he says. "How's it going?"

Lux

Lux gets comfortable quickly, bracing her weight on her hands.  How is it going? She swallows a sigh; it sticks in her throat, disappears, and her shoulders take on an insouciant sharpness, or the angle of her chin does, or - "I used to like winter; now it makes me feel hopeless. As if a stone were sitting on my heart, waiting to - waiting to be a tombstone." A beat, and then: a curling sort've grin, and it is vibrant-edged still, too, because whatever melancholy infused that first confession, she is not melancholy, "But you are getting out of here soon, aren't you? What then?"

Nathan Marszalek

"Then I get to be half-blind and nauseous at home on the couch instead of in the hospital."

Mr. Bright Side, over here.

"If it's any consolation, I think everybody starts to want to kill themselves by the time February rolls around. Vitamin D is supposed to help. Or a sun lamp. But, ah..." Abort. Abort. "They're kind of expensive."

Lux

(But, ah...) Lux raises an eyebrow at him, and it is coupled with a questioning look; a shadow-sluice thing. Even her flirtation with misery is precise, is poised between carelessness and masterwork; fucking piece of art, Lux. Decorative, only. "What do you do when you need consoling?"

Nathan Marszalek

"I don't..."

Hard to tell if he was going to claim to not need consoling before he realized that was a lie or if he was going to say he doesn't really know what he does before he realized that sounds pathetic. He must need consoling. His best friend died in a car crash that nearly killed him three months ago.

In the end he goes with:

"Uh. Wow. I don't know. If you need consoling we can figure something out though."

Lux

For a moment her consideration does not notably change - how she looks at him, wide, pensive eyes, such a tarnished up colour, especially contrasted against the leather, against the messy gloom of her hair. There is smoke of shadow around her eyes which brightens them; artifice, a lick of shimmer to dredge a quartz shimmer out've her iris'. Her mouth firms, but not angrily, just - thoughtfully, maybe. Lux ain't forthcoming, is she.But she leans more heavily on the arm that is nearer Nate.Now she shifts her weight again so that her balance is more precarious, and she considers at the heel of her improbable and impossible shoe, digging into the hospital room floor with desultory glamour. "Thanks, if you mean it. Can we figure something out if you need consoling, too?" And a pause, and then a shake of laughter: "I'm sorry. I really don't mean to be bad company, especially as I didn't bring you a present today. If you want to go to a concert once you're outta here though the tickets are one hundred percent on me." 

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 5, 9) ( success x 2 )

Nathan Marszalek

"Lux, I got a secret for you."

Doesn't have anything to do with tickets. She's trying to be forthcoming. Metaphors about gravestones notwithstanding. That is some heavy shit and they've known each other since the nights were so short and he was still taking a summer course just to get a jump on his schoolwork.

"I can't remember the last time I felt anything other than tired. Or... I don't know." He doesn't want to admit to the things he feels in the dark when no one else is around but the dead. Scared or angry or suicidally sad. "Having this..." He gestures to his ear with his right hand, with watered-down exasperation. "... sense, I got used to being alone. So I don't know. Whatever would console you would probably... console me too."

No wonder the ladies aren't exactly pounding down his door.

"A concert'd be a good time. We should do that."

Lux

Lux considers Nate's secret. His 'secret.' The firm line of her mouth unfirms: restraint - a breath. The laughter diminished of course but like all echoes it lingers long after the original sound has gone: a hint of brightness there - a sharp gleam here. Vivacity; presence. Presence: if he wanted to feel something, she could make him feel. She thinks about that. Thinks about what would console her. What would be consolation for fruitless months, for dark nights - for Everett's death, for Richthofen Castle still under siege, for Charles on the loose, loosened, for her eyes still too dim to see a halo when she wants to - like now. What she wouldn't give to see clearly now. She never used to care about seeing clearly; about reading the auguries, about dredging up omens. Finally, Lux makes a discontented, frustrated little-sound - 

- and slides up his bed, smooth as a sword slipping out've a sheath, or a switch-blade snapping out've its hilt, its home, and she puts a hand on the outside of his arm, and kisses his cheek, just under his good eye. It's a lingering kiss, and she is not cold - because she always plays pretend for Nate. She always uses somebody's moment of almost dying, of almost being consumed, to be a little warmer. 

"I don't think so. Maybe some things. Would you give it up?" 

Nathan Marszalek

[oh christ. PERC + EMPATHY -2 dice because ow.]

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

Lux

She means his ability to hear ghosts. She is a little sad, with maybe some macabre humor going on with the 'yeah we probably wouldn't be consoled by the same shit.' 

Nathan Marszalek

With the only physical contact he's had recently coming from nurses manhandling him in and out of gowns or surgeons wrenching his head into place so they can cut into his eyeball this is probably the closest to anything intimate he's experienced in months. Yet Nate is not a teenage boy and he is not a testosterone-laden dudebro upon whom a woman cannot breathe without the disturbance flipping a switch.

He watches her with an uncertain cast to his gaze and Lux can feel the inquiry in it. Never so close and never so sharp as this he doesn't shrink back from her any more than he opens up. Bent over him Lux can feel the heat of his body through the thick material of his sweatshirt and smell the salt of his sweat. Can see the arteries throbbing in the side of his neck. He's pale enough to pass for One Of Them but there's that heartbeat. He breathes easy through his nose.

When she puts her lip on his cheekbone Nate flinches and swallows thick for not having a reaction primed for this.

"I don't know," he says. Quieter for her being so near him now. "I've never thought about it."

Lux

"Do you believe I want to hurt you?"

Lux

[well, maybe I can use my empathy too. -1 auspex!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Nathan Marszalek

That he thinks about. She can feel the moment where he searches his thoughts so he can give her a proper answer. A true one. Not reflex.

Nate draws a breath.

"No," he says.

Lux

Lux hasn't withdrawn, really. The classic vampiress, hm? all a-languish over some poor sucker's bed. But no: she is poised, still - careful, though when she smiles faintly, reflexively, he can certainly feel it. Hesitation, you know, don't go back, past in the past.

Then, frankly, "Do you think I could?" " - or would?"

Nathan Marszalek

When he exhales Lux can feel it as a perfusion of warmth for the processes of his body still working. Her breath doesn't get warm like that no matter how much blood she drinks. Most people don't notice other people's breaths. Not even after it's stopped.

Does he think she could?

"Yeah," he says. Just as frank.

Would?

"Possibly. Not probably."

Lux

"Why?" - her gaze cuts over to his, uh, eye; she shifts her weight again, so that she is more comfortable, and the leather of her jacket creaks, smells of winter.

Nathan Marszalek

"I just..."

He watches her as she shifts but then his gaze drifts away. Focuses brief on the opposite side of the room where the wall is bare and the cabinet takes up space in the corner. Whatever lies beyond the wall that gives him mortar for his answer. He shifts on the mattress before he looks back at her.

His hair is just about flopping into his eyes now. Someone helped him comb it this morning but his hair never really obeys commands.

"You never really know what's in someone's head, do you. Just because I don't think you would doesn't mean you couldn't if you decided to." A beat. A joke: "You're way better at holding doors shut than I am. You could kick my ass."

Lux

Lux laughs; it dips her head, so for a moment her hair is in his face, in his good eye or his mouth, and her eyebrow touches his temple; then she straightens, so they have more space between, though she doesn't slide back on the bed.

The laughter fades, and diminishes, so that she can say - "But, correct me if I'm wrong, you don't think I'll break your heart. You think 'possibly' because you think I'm a - " a sudden frown, because Lux really isn't of the school of using the word 'monster' to describe herself, or even what someone else might think, and just saying 'vampire,' that's too.

C'mon Nate, help a lady out.

Nathan Marszalek

Nate keeps his lips closed when he breathes out a hard sound almost a laugh but for the fact this isn't funny. They both know she knows he's suspected she's the same breed of beast as Flood since the night she left him alone with Bo for too long.

Wasn't lying earlier and he wasn't lying now. All he sounds is tired. Like if he's going to answer all her questions straight she can just give him this one.

"Are you?"

Lux

[Hmm. Charisma + Expression.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Lux

Surely, not that long; it must just feel that long, hm?

"It is supposed to be a secret," she says, and she reaches into one of her jacket pockets to take out a pack of cigarettes, tap one out before she remembers where she is. He can see her debating whether or not she's going to give a shit about rules or just break them. Breaking rules is what comes more naturally, but she doesn't actually start smoking now. That'd require a lighter, anyway, and she might be out of them. He can also hear, the way she says that line, confirmation and warning - a dark thread of vibrancy, see, in the voice, which is also worry about something that's not exactly Nate. Secrets: she needs to be good at keeping them, man.

Nathan Marszalek

He wouldn't do anything to stop her if he didn't have a lighter to give her. This hospital isn't exactly crawling with doctors and nurses who care about putting themselves in danger if it means nothing immediately dangerous is happening. Nate isn't on oxygen and the tendrils from a cigarette won't set off the fire extinguisher in the ceiling.

It probably doesn't work anyway.

Whether she is or not is supposed to be a secret.

"Well," he says. Like that settles it. "While you could, I don't think it's likely you'll hurt me any way you wanna define 'hurt.' But I'm pretty goddamn ignorant. So I could just not know what I'm talking about."

Lux

"Mm. I'm more concerned - " and she flicks her hair out've the eye it'd begun to drape in front of; it's an incisive gesture, and of course - well, use the word - preternaturally graceful. The liquid measure of immortality, drawn fine, etched into loveliness. Dancers want that kind've interaction with the world. " - that you will hurt me. I want you to feel." Slim pause. "Is that funny?"

Nathan Marszalek

At the brushing of her hair back from her own face Nate seems belatedly aware of the fact that she had been near enough to him for it to register on his skin. Not so depressed that his skin wouldn't flick if a fly began to crawl across its surface but this is the first time he's admitted yeah you know I don't feel too much of anything instead of exaggerating how great it is to have a job to go to and hobbies and people dragging him out a couple times a week because that's what someone wants to hear.

This isn't cathartic for him. Lux is the one who started it.

"If it is the joke went over my head."

Lux

"If you would like to stop hearing them," says she, pauses; exhales, again, as if she is frustrated with - something. "I can look into it. See if anybody knows a way to stop it. Silence them. I honestly don't think anybody will, but there might be a chance."

Nathan Marszalek

"It's..."

Now he laughs. Another staved-off disbelieving noise that could be laughter.

"No. I'm sorry, I'm not laughing because it's funny, I'm just laughing because it sounds like... something you can't stop. And I don't know as..."

She could find someone who knew a way to stop it but it would require him to go completely deaf. Could open up his eyes to actually seeing the dead. He's seen enough late-night horror programming to know you don't get rid of one supernatural inconvenience without paying for it later. Don't meddle in the affairs of sorcerers. That's a good rule to follow in one's daily life.

"You don't need to look into anything. It's fine. All I was saying is, it..." He sighs and shows his teeth brief for running out of words. Keeps his hand up over his right eye as he fumbles his way forward. "I thought I could maybe try to understand and... help you, or..."

Lux

[I'm paying close attention. What d'you mean? Empathy, Empathy, and willpower.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (5, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]

Nathan Marszalek

Nathan's seen a lot in his life and he's smart enough to recognize when he's about to go skittering into something that's totally outside of his experience or comprehension. This appears to be one of those things. He was like "Hey! You feel depressed and isolated because you're weird? So do I! Maybe I can help!" and now he's like "... yeeeeah IDK what I'm talking about." He still under all the flailing around wants to help her but he's having trouble following the conversation. Tricksy goddamn vampire.

Bonus explanation: he's more scared of what it would take to make this "power" stop than he is of just living with it. Maybe he would rather learn to control it than make it go away.

Lux

Clarity; this is a moment of clarity; of that sharp, gleaming edge, that glass-delicacy transmuted into a moment of vision. Visionary; Lux is not a visionary, Lux is a rebel-star, something that falls and by falling attracts others down [Lucifer-girl, Lucifer-smile- first among the seraphim-]. She's a mistake somebody makes or a conviction somebody loses. But every now and then- she has been working on it, too- something means enough to her (see? Not cold-dead yet: everybody fucking acts like that's just the way it goes. Weaklings and cowards and bastards and liars) that she has vision. This is apparently one of those times.

What does she do with this delightful moment of clarity? She buys time by dragging her fingers through her hair- hey look. She tapped out a cigarette, but there is still no lighter in her pocket.

"I know," she says. "I mean, I ... Well, I don't think it's something you can stop. I don't know if I'd like you talking to the sort of people who would claim to be able to stop it. But if it would make you feel better, or hopeful, or something, I'd see what I could find out on the sly. That's why I offered. Consolation," tap her toe against the ground, as if energy's a thing that she can't quite entirely contain.

"As for me, there are things you could do, since here we are. To help. Perhaps."

A pause, just to see if he has a sudden change-of-heart, like: oh shit, wait

Nathan Marszalek

No laughter now but another wan smile. He takes his hand away from his eye. Perhaps that did serve as consolation. At least she was willing to look into it. At least he can bear it being as the alternative is too unsavory to fathom.

As for her.

He doesn't have a change of heart. Maybe he would if he had any idea what she was about to ask but Nate is more trusting than he has any right to be and as many nights as they've spent in each others' company without her taking advantage of his trust he hasn't got much reason to doubt her now. Yet.

"Sure," he says. "I've got some books lying around here somewhere, if you want..."

Lux

"Are you offering to read to me?" - contained laughter. That doesn't seem to number among the 'things he can do to help.' She wets her lips. (Wouldn't he taste good? He would, he would. That's not it.)

"You could help me find somebody," she says. Then: "And you could be less ignorant." Before he responds to that, she puts her hand on his leg. Over the blanket; pressure to pause him. "Let me make you less so." Her tone is difficult to read here - because. Because Lux is mysterious? Because it's a complicated situation, and they both know it? Because secrets? "So that ... I feel like you are less likely to be used by assholes who know me."

"If anybody shows up asking about me or, well. You could tell me."

"You could also ... still come out to a concert."

Nathan Marszalek

Any offense he could have taken to her use of the word ignorant dissipated before she even had a chance to lay a hand upon his leg. By his own admission he is ignorant. Nate lacks basic knowledge or information about the world Lux lives in. He hasn't had any real desire to learn anything else. All he's wanted to know was whether he ought to get her out of his life the way he wanted Flood out of his life.

Ignoring things is not the same as being ignorant but Nate is good at ignoring things.

That pressure stops him from firing off a question she can see brewing in his furrowed brow and drawn breath. In the lines he's already drawn and the delicate position he doesn't know he's been in all this time. Talk of anybody showing up has him grimacing like something just burst inside his skull.

He draws a breath to clear his expression and looks at her with his one clear eye. Though she has no way of knowing the left one is completely bloodshot. If he chooses to go out in public after they spring him from this place he'll have to cover it up until he's completely recuperated. His forearms will probably bear scars until he dies.

"Sure," he says with a tired quirk of his lips which might have been a smile if his head weren't spinning. "I... yeah. I could. I will. Thursday, I'm out. We'll..."

Spit it out, Marszalek.

"Amber came by about a week ago. To ask about you. When I said it was a mighty weird coincidence and... joked that I thought for a second she was gonna start asking me if I knew Flood, she picked up her shit and left."

He could tell her. He did tell her.

Where's a cyanide tablet when you need one.

Lux

Lux raises an eyebrow. "What, like she knew him?" A pause, the presentiment of a smile, though there's a sharp line etched between her eyebrows; it could cut diamond. "The mighty weird coincidence being that we'd met, I suppose?"

Nathan Marszalek

This kid has sat in a witness stand before. This entire time they've been talking he's given short answers where possible but now Lux gets amputees in the place of what might have otherwise been his long rambling variety of responses.

What, like she knew him?

"I don't know."

The mighty weird coincidence being that we'd met, I suppose?

"Yes."

Lux

There is some dissipation of tension - see? The tension dissolves - a sweet thing, when it leaves. "How strange. I didn't expect that. I'm not worried about Flood, if that is the connection; but thank you for telling me." A pause, and - "So tell me, frankly. Am I the worst visitor you've had?"

Nathan Marszalek

"Nah. My father's way worse. And then my editor showed up one day. Sorry. I don't know if you're even in the top five."

Lux

"My vanity is crushed; it will not recover," says she, lightly, and then the phone in her pocket goes off. Her pocket, not purse. She does not have a purse tonight, nor a clutch, nor anything else girlsome. See how lovely is the sweep of her lashes? How smooth she is when she rises, takes out the phone, checks the screen - all one motion. "Apparently, I need to go lick my wounds." The leather jacket creaks when she makes a small gesture with her shoulders, reaches over to flick his bangs away from his eyes. "Thursday, huh? I'll come over. Lucy will be thrilled." That he's home, or that a vampire is coming to visit.

Nathan Marszalek

He wrinkles his nose when she flicks his bangs but doesn't otherwise react.

"Lucy's having quite the time with Molly's puppy over at her place. I don't know if I have the heart to separate her from her new best friend."

Shit. Part of him wants to leave her there just so he doesn't have to look at her anymore. It was Shannon's idea to rescue the fucking kitten anyway.

"Alright, Lux. Take it easy."

Lux

- roll credits! Too tired for more posts!