A Study in Grief

[Ashley] August hasn't yet passed, and the fall rains haven't started in yet.  It's still hazy and hot; there's still the threat of Nephandi looming.  Not dealt with yet.

It's Monday morning; Li Daiyu was killed on Friday.  The news has been quick to spread, thanks to the magi who were called in to clean up the house: the chantry was attacked, and someone died in the defense.  There's been no hint of it in the news.  Ashley, at least, was quick on the cover up.

There haven't been any texts or phone calls, even though she tries to remain in contact about little things, likes to check in every now and again.  For this kind of news, she goes to him directly.  Strides into the hotel, ignores the porn that's still playing behind the counter downstairs, and winds her way up to room 508.  She hopes he's still there.

There will be three quick raps.  Not unusual, distinguishable as Ashley's.

When he answers the door his first thought may very well be that she's sunk up to her elbows in death, that she did something that's weighed her soul down with Jhor taint again.  She looks a lot like she did for the first six months of the year: sleepless, too thin, grieving something so deep it can't be properly articulated.  There aren't words, for an ache like that.  Wharil's seen it before.  He's felt it.

The red that's shot through her eyes makes the blue in them all the more vibrant, stark when she turns them up to his face.  But all she says is "Hey, Wharil."

[Wharil Choc] Not much has changed at the Travelodge.  Not much outside of Wharil Choc's room.  He doesn't look to be in the best shape either.  When he opens the door he's in need of a haircut.  And a change of clothes.  And a change of atmosphere.

He's nowhere near as bad as Ashley.

The door opens wider and he all but pulls her in.

"Hey, Ashley."  He says once the door's closed.  His store bought bedcovers are all rumpled and not as bright as they once were.

"I...heard the news."

The window is still open.  The park and distant cloud gate still visible.  Only now the occasional breeze sets the countless photos and newspaper clippings he has pinned to one of the walls a flutter.  It looks like something a mad man would collect.  Wallpapering and layering over and over with random clippings.

"I'm...I'm <i>so</i> sorry."

[Ashley] It's possible that she had prepared what she was going to tell him ahead of time.  As eloquent as her written speech can be, the spoken word fails her sometimes; it's harder, after all, when you can see someone's face and shifts in expression.  It's possible that she thought that if she'd planned the words out, they'd be easier to say.

She's not the kind of person who plans words, though.  They'd have fallen apart the moment she tried to get through them.  Still, it would have been a comfort to have them to fall back on.

So as it is, she's surprised when he's heard already.  She didn't resist when he pulled her inside, and now she stands there with her arms hanging limp at her sides, looking once toward the clippings that flutter like crepe paper taped up for a party.

Her mouth opens, and then it shuts, and then she swallows hard and fixes him with a reddened gaze.  There were other rumors, and she knows there were other rumors: that she hadn't been able to help with the cleanup, that she'd just sat on the lawn next to the covered body and cried.  People like Ashley McGowen don't cry that way over a fallen cabalmate, others have said.  She doesn't much care about the rumors; if anything, she's irritated that no one has asked her directly.  Except it wouldn't be sensitive.

Finally she says, "I was there with her when it happened.  I took hostages.  They're dead now."  Beat.  "I came to tell you."

[Wharil Choc] "What...what happened.  I mean...do you want to talk about it?"

Wharil doesn't move to sit down.  The chair that he had facing the window isn't there anymore.  It isn't even anywhere in the room anymore.

[Ashley] Ashley doesn't move to sit down either.  There's still the chair she'd sat in last time, but it's awkward, to be sitting there and leave Wharil standing.  She just looks at him for a few seconds, folds her arms across her chest, lets a hand grip either elbow.  A self-embrace, almost.

The real answer would be a complex one: she doesn't want to keep breaking down in front of these people she knows, imagines that they are looking to her to be a Hermetic, to be strength.  But she can't really stop herself, either.

"She had the afternoon off work so we had lunch," Ashley says, "and she hadn't seen the library yet, so we were going to the chantry, and then I realized somebody was taking down my wards.  I told her to be careful.  And there were Nephandi there.  She got hit with a shotgun, they shot me - " and her hand skims her ribs.  A light touch; the wound is still quite present.  Ashton did little more for it than pull the bullet out.

"And the two Nephandi that were there, they just kind of...sucked the heat out of her.  I...think they meant it for me, but she drew them away.  And then I took them down right after she fell."  Somehow, she manages to finish telling; it's one of the things that's stinging the most, at the moment.  That if she'd been a second or two quicker, the outcome might have been different.  Guilt and grief go hand in hand, for a while, until there's acceptance.

Ashley bites the inside of her cheek, perhaps before explaining farther, but all she says after that is "God, she was a mess."

[Wharil Choc] Wharil is quiet.  In fact he seems to be trembling there, no further from the door than when she came in.  Usually this would be where he would say something.  Where he would make the vainest attempt at comfort and would, maybe just a little, make a dent in her grief.

"I..."

He clams up.  Steps closer, but silent still.  Eyes soft and red from, perhaps, a lack of sleep.  A hand touches at her shoulder.

[Ashley] He touches her shoulder, and that's the end of her composure.  In a few days, she'll have a better handle on this: she'll get choked up when she talks about it, but she'll at least be able to go through the day with some semblance of her usual stoicism.  Right now, it's been three days.

Her hair sweeps down in front of her face when she bows her head, and she raises a hand to her eyes.  Wipes in vain at her eyelids.

"She and I were together," Ashley says, after a few seconds.  "I didn't really tell anybody, so..."  Beat.  Daiyu didn't either; they were both rather private people.  "It isn't<i> fair</i> that - "

And she cuts herself off, tries again.  "I killed the Nephandi on Saturday, after I got information from them.  It didn't help."  A shuddering inhale, a slow exhale.  "It's a shame you didn't get to know her better.  She liked you."

[Wharil Choc] "I know."

Which was completely the wrong thing to say.  He  didn't know.  He didn't know any of it.  He did, however pull himself closer around her.  Embracing her.  Holding her there.  He knew how to hold people as they sobbed.  As they died on various levels.

"I know."

She'd gotten her revenge.  It didn't help.  He didn't know that either.  Told himself, like a good school boy, that the teachings were right.  That it never solved anything.  He'd never sought it out himself.

"Shhh...I know."

How could any one situation make up for another?  He didn't know.  But its all he could think of.

[Ashley] He didn't know any of what she just told him.  Ashley, however, is completely certain that if anyone knows what this is like, it's Wharil: he let death swallow him where she fought, where she clung to some impression that a Willworker has power over the inevitable.  They believe in bending the world to their Will, Hermetics. 

So she doesn't tell him he doesn't know, doesn't push him away, and when he draws her in she presses her face in against his chest.  And cries.  Because it is a sort of dying, this bidding farewell to an imagined future, to a hope, to a want, to the part of yourself you've given to another.  Wharil knows.

And it will go on a while.  One would think it's been a long time since she's cried like this, held by someone else until it's over, and one would be right.  When the sobs finally slow and still and catch in her chest, she doesn't move away.  It's still a while later until she speaks, and her voice is muffled against his shirt, thick.  "Don't do anything risky with whatever's looking for you, okay?"

Because yes: she's been worried about him too.  She's already lost a lot this summer.

[Wharil Choc] He holds her compassionately.  Lets her mark that spot just at his heart with her tears.  He doesn't interrupt her sobbing, her grief, but instead lets it take its natural course.  Just like he was trained to do.  Everything he does, he was taught to do.

Except he was never taught fear.

And when she tells him not to do anything risky, his own chest flutters on exhale before he can catch the reaction in his face.   One of sudden fear and anguish.

And then nothing.  Blank.  Barely the twinkle in his eye.

"That's...not gonna be a problem anymore."

[Ashley McGowen] She can hear the way his breath flutters outward, how it catches, with her good ear against him the way it is.  It's a little detail that might normally have gone unnoticed, unperceived, because she can't always see expressions, can't always interpret them properly when she does.

But there are some reactions she can put together.

Her head tilts against him and there's a brief moment of torsion against his chest as she leans in so that she can lift a hand to rub at her eyes.  At her face, before there's a confused glance up toward him.

"Not going to be a problem?  What do you mean?"  And there it is: a bit of iron underlying her voice again.  It's not for him.  It's for whatever seems to have frightened him.

[Wharil Choc] He blinks down at her, his eyes having been closed through most of the sobbing.  Its a lot like kissing.  Such an intimate thing, it seems rude not to close one's eyes.  And when she does open them she can see his are red rimmed.  Flat, and tired.  As if exhausted.  As if he's asleep and merely walking around in his dream.

He lifts his gaze, gives a slight nod to the wall.  The newspaper clippings are mostly recent, except for a select few.  Missing persons.  John Doe in coma in hospital.  Can you identify this person?  And then, smaller events, that seem to have no relationships except for lines of twine that Wharil has wrapped around thumbtacks.  All being held by some obscure event, not even all having to do with Chicago. 

A 47 year old business man is found murdered in an alley, a single gunshot to the back of the head.  Police found his wallet and money in his pocket, as well as a gold watch around his wrist.

A mother is found dead in her basement apartment where she supposedly used her mentally challenged daughter in a prostitution ring.

An obituary in the newspaper.  Joan Grossman, age 97.  Passed away peacefully in her sleep.  In her will she leaves the entirety of her estate to her favorite charity, much to the disappointment of her family, who had been living off the returns of her estate for the 15 years during which she resided in the hospice.

A local CEO commits suicide after corporate letters are leaked that illustrate his orders to issue ceramic armor plates to soldiers abroad, even though he knew that a random sampling indicated that thirty percent of them were inadequate.

And then, another thumbtack, connected to all the others, sits in the middle of the chaos.  Different lengths away, but all connected.

"He was hiding here, in the city.  He knew what he'd done, but he thought no one else would.  We were never in danger.  I don't think so, at least.  It was...a test.  To see if I was worthy."

[Ashley McGowen] Her eyes travel toward the wall when he bids them to, and she begins to really look at the clippings.  The snippets of lives, scraps of death that he's put up on the wall and tied together with twine.

She doesn't really make the connection, though, until he says something.  Wonders at first if this is something new, something he's tied together and will have to go outside Chicago to pursue.

When he explains, her jaw tightens ever so briefly.  "Ah," she says, and there's another glance she spares toward the clippings before she's looking back up at his face.  Taking in how his eyes are as red as hers from sleeplessness, from the time he's been spending putting this together (alone.)  "That's a hell of a lot to put you through, for a test."

There's anger there, but no surprise.  Ashley is well used to people who will put you through a hell of a lot of things for a test.  House Tytalus has almost formed itself around that very concept.  "Worthy for what?"

[Wharil Choc] "But I've failed, you see?"  He says with a bitter sort of smile.  "In action.  In attitude.  With the time I spent <i>cowering</i> here I could have figured it out long ago.  Connecting points...that's a child's game.  I could have been...helping fate along.  I could have...I could have been helping you.  And Li Daiyu.

"Instead I was here, because I was too concerned with my own death."

[Ashley McGowen] He says these things, and her lower lip has always been a little thicker than her upper one, gives her a sort of pouting appearance at the best of times, but they're both thinning now.  Forming a line, pressing together.  Her eyes flick away from his face.

There are no reassurances.  No protests.  Then again, one doesn't expect those things from Ashley, usually.  Maybe he's expecting that she'll agree with whoever was testing him, berate him, tell him that he should have known better and he should have been helping all along.  She doesn't do that.

The arm she still has around him just tightens briefly, because he failed a test, and maybe she was angry with him for a moment.  If she was, it's passed: forgiven, is what that communicates.  She says, "I don't know if any involvement would have changed what happened to her.  But the rest, just...learn from it, I guess.  We've both done things that..."

Beat, and she doesn't finish that sentence.  Thinking, perhaps, of how uninvolved she'd been last year when she'd been asked to do otherwise, how a man went mad because of it, how gloryhounding led her to witness hell.  Humility comes to everyone sooner or later.

[Wharil Choc] He sighs at that in a way that might suggest it was wholly unsatisfactory.  And really it was.  There would be no convincing him otherwise. 

"<i>We don't comfort," </i>he'd been told long ago.  <i>"We simply provide the means for the suffering to comfort themselves.  Whether this is new ideas, new perspectives, or simply the right opportunity.  Speaking words and having the listener feel different is rarely comforting.  It is either manipulation, or manipulation through magic."</i>

Wharil said nothing.  He let his hands find Ashley's shoulders.  Let them squeeze.  He looked into her eyes for the briefest of seconds before breathing in, and breathing out.  He provided for them a silent moment.  He provided, for them both, opportunity.

[Ashley McGowen] It's a philosophy she understands well enough, even if she'd word it differently.  People overcome conflict through their own strength of Will, and there is nothing anyone can do to give someone else the Will to overcome.  It's a hard truth: some people reach inside themselves and find it somewhere, and some don't.

And the ones that don't, well.  They fall to the bottom, and they settle there and don't rise.  She's never liked it.  She just understands it, and so she understands what he's been doing.  It's an opportunity for her to right herself, to pick herself back up, and he's just the pillar.

Wharil looks into her eyes, provides opportunity, and there's a moment where she looks back before her gaze wanders away.  Down.  Barely a second passes before she reaches up, rests a hand against the back of his neck and pulls his head down.  There's a kiss of his cheek, gentle, perhaps surprisingly so, and a murmur of, "Sorry.  I'm a mess right now."

Just this, before she releases him and steps back.  Not too far back.  The half smile she gives him is a sad one before she adds, "Thanks."

[Wharil Choc] "Its what I'm here for."  He says, after a surprised blink.  And though his cheeks blush ever so slightly, his voice seems flat, as if he were reminding himself just as much as he was reminding her.  Or...as if he were trying to convince himself of it.

"I've...gotta clear out of this place.  Cover my tracks.  What are you gonna do now?"

[Ashley McGowen] "Step back," she says.  "There's a Nephandus who's running around who's an Adept of Mind, so I have the feeling they're going to need me, but I'm not planning to run headlong into the Labyrinth."  She runs her hand back through her hair, leaving it in disarray, and sighs.  There's no blush coloring her cheeks.

"I feel like I've done enough for a while.  I have...I'm getting over all of this and my thesis deadline is in December and I'm teaching a class this semester.  And then I'm going to be starting on a dissertation and I'm studying with the Verbena.  There are capable hands to leave the city in.  We've sort of built things here so that they can..."

A shrug, there.  The purpose of their cabal has been fulfilled, in a way, or at least a segment has.  "It's not required that I step in as much."  She says it with a little relief, in fact.

Then there's a look toward him.  "Where are you going?"

[Wharil Choc] "I don't know.  I've been sent here with no instructions for...how many years now?  Jesus, I don't even know anymore.  I don't know who I'm supposed to turn to.  I'll...be around.  I've still got my apartment.  I <i>think</i> I still have my job.  I just...don't know."

And then his lips purse, and he turns to the wall of articles, then to the window, outside which Chicago, life, and the universe churned on maddeningly.  Nothing fell apart without them.  Not just yet.

"We can't pull them back from this.  And we can't clean it all up, even if we wanted to.  And right now I...don't know if I want to.  Its up to the Cabals now.   If...if they manage it then...I might go looking for answers somewhere.  The Society might..."

He swallows hard.  Then smiles awkwardly, and disingenuous if the lack of light in his eyes was any indication.

"Might take a lesser role in things.  And I might have to go looking for my own answers.  You've made your breakthrough.  Who knows what Gregor will be like when he comes back.  I...need to work on me."

[Ashley McGowen] For Ashley, working on herself was all part of building the city.  Was all part of coming into her own, separate from Bran and Justine, getting a foothold in a strange place without their support.  Without their affection and encouragement and reinforcement.  Without a strong Hermetic presence.

So his words just draw a long look from eyes from which the redness and moisture is slowly beginning to fade.  She says, "I don't know if we can really turn to anyone here.  Maybe that's the point," because for her it was.  But it might not be the point for everyone; she knows that too at least.

She adds, "Do what you have to do.  I'll help, if I can."

[Wharil Choc] He nods as his response, and folds his arms around only himself now.

"I'll be in touch.  Soon.  Any other word on Gregor, by the way?"

[Ashley McGowen] "Not yet," she says.  She's quiet a moment, looking down at the white toes of her sneakers, but after a few seconds her eyes raise to meet his.

"I've learned to...well, I can step through now.  Not like he can because I can't <i>touch</i> all of those ideas, or affect them, but I can walk there.  Exist as a thought.  And while I've been exploring I've been looking, and if I find anything I'll let you know right away."

[Wharil Choc] "Alright then."  He says, and secretly repeats in his mind 'He <i>is </i>coming back.  He <i>is </i>coming back.  He <i>is </i>coming back.'

"Well...If you need me, I've got my phone on now."

And a meek shrug of his shoulders signals the end of things he knows to say.

[Ashley McGowen] "Mine's on more than I'd like.  If you need me, you can come get me too," she says.  And that, she drops like a reminder.  Doesn't look back at the clippings that are still streaming from the wall; the point is already made.

"I'll keep you updated."  That, more of a promise.  He gets another hug, this one much briefer than the last (how long was that?), little more than a squeeze before she steps away.  Smirks, though the expression is a little halfhearted.  "Sorry about your shirt.  And thanks, again."

She lets him make his farewells, and then reaches up and rubs her eye with the heel of her hand.  And makes her way out, hoping it will be the last time she has to pass through the motel's creepy halls.

Summer Rain

[Administrator] Wharil Choc, welcome to Chantry (Now)



[Administrator] Ashley, welcome to Chantry (Now)



[Ashley] The chantryhouse is always quiet in the early afternoon. It's often when Ashley drops by, just because it's the time when she's assured of not being bothered, of not being taken aside by someone who has a problem they want her to hear about or wants to catch her up on the latest disaster - or just rumors, as is often the case. She hates rumors, hates spreading them and hates being treated like a town crier, but somehow she's a walking rumor mill.



So it's quiet, and the likelihood of being able to speak to her cabal mate without interruption this early is fairly high. Ashley's had other reasons for seeking Wharil out. Now that the meeting is over with and political positions have been settled on, there are extra reasons.



Ashley looks for him in the library first. Wharil's been spending a worrisome amount of time shut away, and she doesn't know whether or not he's started to right himself. She probably just hasn't been speaking to the right people. Quietly, she ponders the irony of role reversal.



The Hermetic shows up with a paper bag, folded at the top, cradled on one hip, and looks in. If he's not there, she searches the house. If he's not in the chantry at all, well, she calls him and invites him to come by, and bribes him with lunch.



[Wharil Choc] He's not in the library. Not when she arrives at least. There is evidence of him having been there. The library's coppy of the Rigveda has been moved again since the meeting in the library; laid out before a seat facing the door and then closed again. But as for any other sign of the Euthanatos...



There's sound coming inside. External sound itrickling its way into the most internal of the halls and corridors. Perhaps someone left a window open somewhere, but it sounded more like it was coming from the kitchen and seemed more likely that the back door there was open.



Its there that Wharil is, standing just on the patio, his shoes in his hands, his hair sopping and glinging to him. He's wriggling his toes, squishing them between grass and mud as he looks up toward the sky, catching raindrops with his eyelids every so often.



[Ashley] The Rigveda is eyed with interest, investigated and briefly flipped through, before she reminds herself that she didn't come here to see what Wharil was reading. Still: the tomes that the Euthanatos prize highly are books that she's never read and knows very little about, which in and of itself makes her curious, makes the thought that she should sit down and figure them out herself one day somewhat irresistible.



She heads downstairs, tilts an ear when she hears that trickling. Ashley's directional hearing is very poor. She only has the one working ear. So it takes her a minute to wander, but when she heads back to the kitchen and sees the door open, she sets the bag down on the kitchen table.



Ashley doesn't let rain stop her from going out and walking every day - actually, she rather likes it, though she has to be in a certain mood. So going out into it doesn't bother her. She tugs her shoes free, pulls her socks off (it's a pain in the ass when those get waterlogged, after all) and heads out onto the patio, walking up around his left so that she can see him. And for a while, she doesn't say anything, just stands there in the rain.



[Wharil Choc] There's a glance down as Ashley approaches, and then he's back to staring up.



"Y'know, after th first couple times, snow really loses its charm. But all take rain any day. Wet, mucky, drenching rain. And on a hot day like this? God, it reminds me of home."



He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue and hoping a few drops land on the surface. He smacks his lips when they do.



"Mind you, throw in a few floating, bloated livestock and a few more waterlogged zombies, and it'll remind me of South-East Asia."



Finally, his attention turns back to Ashley completely.



"You're gonna catch a cold."



[Ashley] "It didn't rain like this in Boston," she says. "Not usually." She's not raising her face to it, but she holds out a hand, watching the water strike her palm, pool in the hollow, watches it dapple the freckled skin of her forearm.



"Where are you from?" Because it occurs to her, in that second, that she's known him a year, and she doesn't know.



He turns his attention back to her, says she'll catch a cold, and the glance the Hermetic gives him is wryly amused. "It's too warm to worry about that," she says, "but we can head in, if you want to. I brought lunch. Some curry and samosas."



[Wharil Choc] "Southern Yucatan. Quintanaroo, actually. Until I was fifteen. My parents tried their best to get me a proper education and wound up with a curious kid who couldn't stand the village life anymore."



He does an odd thing with his face as he starts heading back in. He smiles, and then he frowns exaggeratedly. And then he shakes it off all together.



"My grandfather said I was ungrateful. Said I'd broken his heart when I left. It was the last thing he said to me before he died."



Wharil takes a moment at the threshold, tossing in his shoes first, and wringing out the corners of his shirt and what he could of his pants.



"How'd you know I loved samosas?"



[Ashley] He tells her about the Yucatan, about his grandfather, and Ashley glances up out of the corner of her eye at him as they head inside. There's something a little inscrutable in her expression for a few seconds, something that verges on understanding, before she says, "I'm sorry," and then adds, "He probably regretted saying it."



A beat, because these things are reciprocal, before she says, "My mother was really upset when I moved to Boston to be with my dad, after she remarried. But she lived in this coastal town that was mostly factory work and fishermen, and, well..."



She trails off, pauses to flick damp hair out of her eyes as she steps back inside the house. She wasn't out as long as he was; her clothes aren't soaked, just damp in places, along the tops of her thighs and shoulders and her chest. She ignores it, shakes water off of her feet in a manner that is amusingly catlike.



She smirks over at him. "Well, I like Indian a lot, actually," she says, "so you just got lucky."



[Wharil Choc] "Lucky me indeed" he says with a smile, and walks over toward the bags Ashley had set down.



"Oh, by the way. You wouldn't happen to have met an awakened in the city named Lara by any chance?"



[Ashley] Ashley heads over to the bags, too, reaching down to open the stapled flap and pull the smaller bags out. There's a container of curry - chicken, probably - and another bag of samosas. Once they've been freed, she steps over to the cabinets to get some bowls and forks.



She pauses, if briefly, in pulling things down when Lara's name is mentioned, and Wharil gets an almost wary look shot in his direction.



"I know her, yeah. There was a lot of drama with her a couple of weeks back, actually. I had to ban her from the chantry for a week, and she kept a lot of things both from me and from other people she was staying with. Why?"



[Wharil Choc] "Oh?" Now he's really interested, and it shows on his face. "What kind of things?"



[Ashley] Ashley sets the bowls and forks on the table, uses a spoon to add some of the curry into both bowls. Talking about the subject has brought no small amount of irritation to the surface. Not at him, but her dark eyebrows furrow together, and there's a frown tugging at one corner of her mouth as she speaks.



"Molly found out about it, and Israel confirmed it," she says. "I decided to let Israel deal with her directly, since she doesn't respond well to me. But I guess there was a Master - a Euthanatos - whose Avatar fragmented. Lara got a piece of it and the Master wants it back, obviously, and Lara is pretty sure the Master will kill her. And has killed other people, in trying to get to her. From what I've been told I suspect the Master is pretty heavily Jhor tainted."



She slides a bowl toward him, sits down at the table and takes a couple of the samosas. Doesn't eat yet, though, in favor of leaning back in the chair and looking over at him while she explains. "Lara didn't let us know about any of this. I guess the bit of the Master's soul she has is exerting its influence over her own personality, besides...but she's done some pretty fucking cowardly things. There was a guy she was staying with, who was trying to protect her, and when the Master showed up, she watched the Master kill him, didn't do anything, and just ran away afterwards."



Ashley waves a hand and adds, "This is all separate from the fact that she's manipulative and passive aggressive and I've heard things about her using the Ars Mentis on other people without their consent. If she weren't just going to become someone else's problem or a bigger problem for us, I'd throw her out."



[Wharil Choc] "Well" he says with a sense of finality, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. "That changes everything. I was considering offering her refuge. And perhaps providing some kind of shielding from any attempts to find her."



He has to wipe the screen off at first, clearing just a bit of moisture before he goes through the motions of typing up and sending off a text message.



"Alex, the new kid, he brought it to my attention the other day. Thought we should do something about it. We, being the Euthanatos. I told him we would. I'll have to see if I can make good on that promise."



Message sent, he takes up a fork and begins to root around his bowl.



"If my connections say they can handle it then...we might not need to strain ourselves too much."



[Ashley] "I wouldn't offer her shelter," Ashley says, shaking her head. "I mean...I -do- intend to make sure that she gets this settled, because I don't think having a pissed off Jhor tainted Master running around is good for anybody, but I want to make sure that -she- confronts this. We shouldn't do it for her, especially with all the people she's been willing to use and throw under the bus."



If her words weren't enough to communicate her disgust, her tone does. Ashley wrinkles her nose and picks up her fork.



"I mean...that said. It's your Tradition, so I'll trust you to handle it if you think it's better that you do it instead of her. I just wouldn't put it past her to fuck you over and run if she felt at all at risk."



[Wharil Choc] "We don't know enough just yet though. For all we know...she might not have any control over it. It is a master we're talking about, after all. She probably has abilities we have yet to even fathom."



He spears a chunk of meat on the tip of his fork.



"Hm. Good Curry, though."



[Ashley] "I might believe that, if the rest of her behavior I've seen weren't completely in line with it," Ashley says, with a shake of her head. "I mean...maybe that's not her either, but if that's the case, there really isn't much of -her- left, you know?"



There's a sigh before she transfers some of the curry to her mouth, chews quietly. "I like the place I got it from," she says.



There's a pause, and then she says, "What did you think of how the meeting went?"



[Wharil Choc] "What's there to think? Multiple minds meeting in a room. No bloodshed. Clear, measurable outcome. That's a damn good meeting by my standards."



[Ashley] "I suppose so," she says. "I have the feeling there's going to be bad feelings from Israel and Solomon, though, about Ashton being elected to Sentinel."



It's something she knew would likely happen, and something he likely knew would happen, when they agreed to do it. Still: she hasn't spoken to Israel yet. Ashley doesn't like politics, just views them as a necessary evil, and if there's fallout she isn't looking forward to it.



A beat. "I'm...I'm not really happy with the way my job got shuffled around, either, honestly. I'm still going to have all the responsibility I did before. With half the authority." She shakes her head, takes a bite of one of the samosas. "Otherwise I'd say it went well."



[Wharil Choc] "Israel, no. I'm sure she saw it coming from the very first time Solomon exploded in front of all of us. The tension in the room subsided since then, but it certainly hasn't gone away. She's very perceptive, that woman. In ways I've only seen in..."



He smiles there, between bites and chews and swallows of curry. Its a particularly smug smile.



"Solomon on the other hand...He's still too unpredictable for my liking. Personally, I hope this doesn't sour things within their own Cabal.



"And you...yes. You got the short end, I think. You get to be everybody's least favorite person. You should get a habit and a ruler to smack people's knuckles with. But! Try to look at it objectively. If it were anyone else in the position, perhaps someone you didn't quite trust but managed to lobby enough to get the right votes, would you want them having that much authority?



"I know its a bit over-altruistic and possibly naive a thought but...what we're doing now, we're doing for the future of this place. After we've moved on."



[Ashley] "I don't know if she did. That's the problem," Ashley says with a sigh. "She and Solomon are really close. I don't think she realizes how unpredictable he seems to everybody else." A beat. "She and Solomon beat the hell out of Basil on chantry grounds a couple of months ago. They said he threatened them, but I talked to Emily...there wasn't a threat. Solomon read too much into what Basil said and overreacted. He's a loose cannon."



She thinks about the rest of what he says for a second, and then a pair of blue eyes flick over in his direction. Mildly surprised, their anger fading.



"...I guess I didn't think of it that way. I mean...yeah. When I go, I guess there might not be anybody who'd be suitable as a deacon." Ashley trusts herself. But she does remember Marla and Jackson all too well. She frowns again, a little, and says, "I feel like I've worked hard and I...I've been responsible and people look to me, even, so I can't say I'm -happy- about it. But it's a good point."



Another beat, another moment of quiet chewing. "...Thanks."



[Wharil Choc] And to that, he smiles proudly.



"For communicating ideas and giving a clear picture to my cabal? Just doin' my job."



And eats some more, though he eyes the samosas for a moment.



"Curious thing happened to me on the way from work the other day. I saw a spirit. Wasn't looking for it, I just...saw a spirit, manifested. It rode the body of a homeless man. Manipulated his emotions. Compelled him to find other people. Then...he mutilated himself in front of them. Cut himself with a box cutter. Made them watch while he begged for help.



And then there were five of them, riding five other people.



After I'd tracked them down I did some research. There's a name for them, in sanscrit. Eaters of Sorrow. I've been calling them grief mongers though.



"I think one of them hitched a ride in a group of awakened. I'd never seen them before though. One was named Thomas, the other named Molly. You and Alex both have mentioned Molly now. Might be the same person.



There was another one too. Short girl. Really short. She was fighting off a grief monger physically. I don't need to tell you that's...impressive."



[Ashley] Ashley listens, interested, finishing the rest of the samosa she has while he talks. Noticing the way he's eying the bag, she nudges it toward him with her other hand. There are quite a few in there. Warm still, in spite of the walk over.



"I didn't realize spirits could have that kind of effect on the mind," she says. "I should really try to educate myself on them, though. It's sort of frowned on when my House learns it, because we have a messy history with it, but..." A shrug. There really aren't a lot of other Hermetics here to call her on it, to worry.



"Basil said a really short woman showed up here without permission for entry," she adds. "I wonder if it's the same one. I was already looking for her."



She looks thoughtfully toward him. "So the spirits...do they basically feed on people who are unstable, or what?"



[Wharil Choc] "Nnnnoo. Well, my research said they can't survive in the absence of sorrow, but...my research material is also thousands of years old and translated through three different languages. But, it was a clue. It seems they have create some sort of sorrow in their victims; grief, depression, etcetera; before they make themselves at home. And then they spread, like a disease. That's what the whole mutilation was. For all those people watching the homeless man mutilate himself that might have been a perfectly normal, mentally balanced day in a string of perfectly normal, mentally balanced days. Seeing the man cut himself, though, hearing him scream? That little seed of pity, disgust, or fear was enough for them to take root.



"In the case of that Thomas guy...I'd lost track of one of the victims and he'd just walked into traffic. Thomas tried to comfort him." He looks sad for a moment, prodding again at the curry in the bowl without eating. "He died in his arms." He says, and pushes the bowl away.



"I think I like him. Thomas, I mean."



And instead, he reaches for the bag of Samosas.



"Anyway, what's really remarkable is that they were even there at all. Everything I've found say these things don't exist in the physical world. They don't walk around and hop on people's heads. Usually they find other ways in, either called by someone or something powerful as a punishment, or they sneak in through dreams. And yet, here they were, doing just that.



"That demon...I don't know if its completely over yet. Just like with D--the crow, there may be a lot of residual cleanup that needs to get done."



[Ashley] She raises her eyebrows, listening, pondering. It makes sense to her, even if she isn't altogether sure what there is to be done, short of tracking down individual spirits, short of trying to establish a foothold with the Sleepers in the city.



About Thomas trying to comfort the man, about the man dying in Thomas' arms, Ashley sighs. Runs a hand through the hair at the back of her neck. There isn't a great deal of sadness there - she doesn't have much to spare, when it's not someone she has a personal stake in - but she is momentarily disquieted. Then she says, "I like Thomas too. I drank with him for a couple of hours. He sort of reminds me of me, when I was younger. Minus the Cockney accent and...you know, his chav-ness, but all the same."



Her mouth quirks a moment, as though she's trying to detract from what he just told her about the spirits, to turn her thoughts away. "But...them being here as fallout of what happened with Edom would make a lot of sense. Is there something I can do to help you?" There's a thoughtful pause as she takes another forkful of curry. "...Do a ritual to fortify Sleepers citywide, maybe, until you can track down the source of the problem, and deny them a foothold."



[Wharil Choc] "Eh, the grief mongers, they were just an outbreak. I'm pretty certain I rounded them all up. Nothing in the news out of the ordinary since then. No highly public mutilations or mass suicide so...I think we're good.



"Besides, the entire city? I think that would attract the wrong kind of attention. We're not the only ones in this city, remember?



"No, I think we just need to be vigilant."



[Ashley] She nods, at that. Nods again when he brings up the point that they aren't the only ones in this city: she tends not to think about things like that. "Then I'll be vigilant. I'll let you know if I hear about anything."



She pauses and looks over at him, and says, "I'm going to be in Boston for a little while, by the way. Not too long, but I have an acquaintance who is going to mentor me in the Ars Mentis. And I may be...well, I'm thinking about training with the Verbena, too," she adds, and that's almost hesitant. Other Hermetics would not approve of her training with another Tradition; she is still exploring the option.



"So I may be gone for a bit longer than I think I'm going to be. But I'll let you know, and if I'm needed here it shouldn't be too difficult for me to get a Hermes Portal back."



[Wharil Choc] "You mentioned. The Verbena? Huh. You really are covering all your bases, aren't you?



"A Hermes portal? Uh...I don't think I'm ready to know what that is just yet. Do you need anything? For your trip?"



[Ashley] "I don't know, yet," she says, of the Verbena. "Holding membership to two Traditions, especially if they're that different, sounds like it would be a lot of work I don't have to do. But I'm going to talk to them, at least."



"A Hermes Portal is just the Ars Conjunctionis. You basically open a gate to wherever and step through," she adds. "I can Stride...maybe across the city, but I can't do anything like that yet." Still, it's really only a matter of time. "I don't think I'm going to need anything. Things seem...kind of relatively quiet here, so it seems like as good a time to go as any."



[Wharil Choc] He bites into a samosa, squinting a single eye at her in a confused expression as she goes on about striding and conjunctionis and...



"Riiight. Well, its gonna be quite the adventure without you around here, I think. Though, I guess we should decide on Li Daiyu before you go too."



[Ashley] Ashley misses the confused look; she's still happily working her way through the curry. He's lucky he didn't get her started on her theories -behind- the Ars Conjunctionis, which is a discussion that might have spanned fifteen minutes or more: this, at least, he has been spared.



She nods. "Yeah, we should. Have you gotten a chance to talk to her?" She pauses, then adds, "When and if you decide that you're ready to bring her in, I am."



[Wharil Choc] "I haven't no. But, I'll hold that as a standing yes vote. Personally, I'd like it if there were more of us but...You work with what you've got."



[Ashley] "...Hopefully we'll hear something from Gregor," she says, prodding for a few seconds at what's left of the rice and sauce.



There's a glance up and over at him, quick, but she meets his eyes. "You seem like you're doing better, though." It was actually why she came out to the chantry to find him. She doesn't say that.



[Wharil Choc] "Better than what?" He asks quickly, reaching for another samosa.



[Ashley] "Than staying in the library and leaving to shower," she says, with another look in his direction, this one tinged with wry amusement. "Hell, you worried -me.-"



Having abandoned the curry, she too reaches for another samosa, though she seems content to let him keep the bag.



[Wharil Choc] "Oh. Yeah. That. We all have our moments, I guess. Have you met the kid, by the way? Turnquist?"



[Ashley] When Alex is mentioned she nods, taking a bite of the samosa she just picked up. "I met him last week. He's still very much an apprentice, but I think once he grows up some and gets some more experience he'll do well. He's not a coward, which is a good start."



She pauses, brushing some crumbs from the thigh of her jeans with one hand. "I'm glad Daiyu called attention to him, though. He seems like he really does need mentorship. I mean, you guys...with Jhor and everything like that..."



[Wharil Choc] "He's too little a coward. That's the trouble with him. Sometimes...sometimes we should pay attention to our fears instead of pushing on through them all the time.



"But...he'll be alright, I think. I hope, that is."



[Ashley] "You don't gain anything by hanging back. Even if you push through, and something terrible happens, it's worth it in the end. It tests you." It was largely her approach when she looked into Dylan's mind: she's proved herself right, in her own way. Even if most of her allies and friends seem to agree that she herself could use a little more caution.



"He'll be okay. I have every confidence in you and Ashton to mentor him."



[Wharil Choc] He opens his mouth, about to say something, but hesitates. In the end he just smiles, and takes another bite of the samosa.



"Thanks for lunch, by the way. The rate I was going I was likely to forget."



[Ashley] [Do I notice this? +1 for being emotionally special.]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 10, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)



[Ashley] "You're welcome," she tells him. "People buy me food...a lot, really, so I figured I was probably due."



There's a second's silence as she brushes her hands together to free them of crumbs, and one last look in his direction. "What?"



[Wharil Choc] He looks up from his samosa just then, eyebrows raised. Then, simply shakes his head.



"Mm. Nothing. Just...a bit of flagging confidence. But your own confidence means a lot. A whole lot. Thanks."



[Ashley] Ashley raises her eyebrows at that, leans a shoulder into the back of her seat, and eyes him in a manner that might suggest that the very idea of self-doubt is totally foreign to her. She certainly manages to act as though it is, anyway.



She says, "Why? You're a Disciple, and we've...I mean, look how much we've dealt with in the past year. We've built a city, and you're always working on your own projects, and...I mean, I probably wouldn't have dealt with the Jhor as well as I did without you helping me. Alex is lucky to have somebody competent around to teach him."



Beat. "And, just so I never have to say that shit again, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think highly of you. So if I don't walk, assume you have my confidence."



[Wharil Choc] He shrugs, popping the last of the samosa he was eating into his mouth and brushing off his fingers before placing palms flat on the counter.



"Sorry. Its an old caveat I obviously missed. You spend too much time looking at the cracks and you'll miss the beauty of the thing."



Finally that smile breaks out again. That true smile that makes his eyes smaller, but just as bright.



"Don't get all bent out of shape. I promise, you'll never have to say that shit again."



[Ashley] "Don't apologize," she tells him. He gets a grin in response, the sort that indicates she'd still probably say it again (well, if she had to.) She gets up to take dishes to the sink, leaving him with the samosa remnants (there's still a good half a bag) and glances out the window to see whether the rain has let up.



It's walkable, at least, and she has clothing to pack together still. Books to gather. So Wharil gets a hug, albeit a brief one, and the addition of, "I should go get my stuff together. Call me if the node blows up, or...you know, I'm not going to even joke about it." A touch of wry weariness, that.



And, unless he has something else to grab her for, once everything is cleaned up she'll tug her shoes back on and make her way out of the chantryhouse.



[Administrator] Ashley has left Chantry

Chat with Alex

[Administrator] Wharil Choc, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)



[Wharil Choc] If there was anything truly remarkable about Wharil Choc at first glance it was probably how understated he was. But was it a natural aspect of the man, or something practiced? Something trained into him.



Take, for instance, his residence. If you think about the seasoned Euthanatos you might expect somewhere deep in the inner city, surrounded by the hard-edged society he's supposed to martial, by stereotypical views. And yet, instead, here he is in Lakeview. In a neighborhood where the housing market crash has struck hard. Here he is living in a modest fixer-upper. Here's his compact hybrid parked out front.



Here's a perfectly normal, understated home, for a perfectly normal, understated man.



[Administrator] Alex, welcome to Lake View (Northside) (Now)



[Alex] When an apprentice goes to meet a disciple of his tradition there are many curious expectations, strange little imaginings on what the secret life of the other entails. For instance, when Alex goes to see ashton, no matter how many times, it is always strange to see Marcy and read to the girl while possibly discussing matters of horrible natures. It is no different the first time Alex calls on Wharil.



Alex looks up from the address in his phone to the house in front of him. Surely not. Well, maybe. A hybrid? Not wharils. Not a disciple Euthantoi's. Still, the address matched the information given to Alex. He paces, hesitantly at first before quickly striding towards the front door. His hand raps upon the surface. Once, Twice.



[Wharil Choc] At first, silence. After a while though, there's the soft sound of a footfall, then growing louder and louder as galloped down stairs. When Wharil Choc opens the door he's smiling wide, as if truly happy to see the apprentice.



"Hey!" He says, foregoing even first names. "Come on in. I've got Pizza and Beer upstairs."



He's not wearing the black slacks and sports coat, and the stark white shirt he was wearing when they first met. His hair isn't pulled back neatly in a ponytail the way it was that night either. Instead he's wearing jeans and a vintage t-shirt, the letters 'PTI' in fading block font on the front. His hair is left loose. His feet are bare.



"You have any trouble finding the place?"



[Alex] Alex had been nervously rubbing his newly healed foot along the bracket of the doorway when it opened. His head lifts. This was a different Wharil, one Alex had not seen before. No formal greeting, no traditionalist names for the apprentice. Alex smiles.



"Hey, Sounds good"



Alex lifts his feet, stepping casually into Wharil's domain. He wears a simple fitted grey t-shirt, black jeans. His boots are missing, ruined, destroyed, in their place is a pair of skate shoes. Ashton had found that most disturbing.



"It was shockingly easy to find Wharil, but I guess that's a bit of a common trend, I mean ashton doesn't exactly live hidden away either." Or does she.. perhaps that was the point..



[Wharil Choc] "Plain sight. That's the key. It sort of helps that I don't keep much more than purely material things here. I guess it also helps that I don't spend as much time at home as the average person does."



Wharil starts up the carpeted interior stairs. From here Alex can see that there are more apartments on the bottom floor. Doors leading off to either side. He can also see, however, that the apartment itself looks as though it was in the middle of renovation, and then all work completely ceased.



The apartment upstairs isn't much different. There was drywall that had yet to be painted in some areas, and the doors didn't exactly seem sturdy enough to be permanent. Someone had doen the bare minimum to make it livable, and then stopped. Presumably to rent it out to someone like Wharil Choc. Still, this hadn't stopped him from putting up the bare minimum of decorations, if they could be called that.



Instead of paintings and pictures, the walls were decorated with framed magazine articles and newspaper clippings, mostly covering correspondences from war-torn areas like Darfur, or relating the situation in Myanmar after a devastating tsunami. There were even a few about apartment superintendents who'd cut off water supplies from residents and Water companies who'd been caught price gouging, all during three years of drought in Charleston, South Carolina.



Similarly, scattered about the place were tiny souvenirs, presumeably from these places.



In the kitchen, Wharil sits at a flimsy looking card table, upon which were an open box of pizza, and six pack of dark beer.



"Have a seat. Help yourself."



[Alex] The place was clearly a fixer-upper, still being fixed. And upped. Plain dry wall, unfinished doorways, there was an abundance of space in the house but it had yet to be utilized. Upstairs he pauses, eyes raking over the media articles. All related to strife in one way or another, coincidental or deliberate.. Wharil would probably say there was no difference between the two. A curious thing, for wharil to have these on his wall, theres curiosity in Alex's eyes, mixed with hope, hope that wharil is simply an avid news follower.



Waltzing to the table he slips into a chair, his hand reaching first for the pizza. His stomach was rumbling, Riley had made sure he was fed before she left this morning but he hadn't eaten since.



"Have you spoken to Ashton recently Wharil?"



[Wharil Choc] "Not since I last saw you, no. Why do you ask?"



He too takes a slice of pizza. There are no plates. Not even disposables. He perches it all with the fingertips of his hands as he bites off a corner, and waits for Alex to continue.



[Alex] The bite stopped halfway, eyes flicking upwards from the tasty handful to meet Wharil's. His hand drops, he chews.. Gulps..



"I came across some rather interesting information.. Rather disturbing information.. About a women named Hero."



The pizza, forgotten, hangs from Alex's hand half eaten.



[Wharil Choc] Information? He chews a bit longer, though he places the slice he was working on back into the box and reaches for a beer instead. There's an opener handy, and he pops the cap and sets it down in front of him, nodding to Alex with a clear mouth now.



"Keep talking."



[Alex] Alex takes the opportunity to finish the slice of pizza still in his hand, chewing it quickly before swallowing.



"It's not the information that worried me the most, well, the information is certainly a great concern. But also HOW the information came to me. From a blathering girl who.. let me tell.. she ain't one of us thats for sure."



He wasn't sure on Molly's tradition, she worked like a VA, spoke like a hermetic but gave off the feeling of a cultist. It was most strange.



"This girl.. she told me.. Well she told me that there.. " He pauses, frowns, eyes studying Wharil.



"She told me there is a Master from our tradition whos Atmen has been split whilst crossing the gauntlet, and that a piece of it is now in a cultist named Lara. She also told me that this master is now trying to get that piece back." A pause. "Ashton confirmed, gave the master a name. Hero."



[Wharil Choc] Well that was certainly interesting. Wharil probes the sides of his cheeks with his tongue, leaning back into his chair and picking up his beer.



"This girl, did she use exactly those words? She said it was his Atman?"



[Alex] He pauses a moment, thinking on that. Had she said Atman? Or had he simply heard Atman.



"She said soul. She also said this .. shard.. caused lara to awaken.. I interpreted."



[Wharil Choc] He nods. The beer still lingers in his hand.



"I don't suppose you know where either of them are? Hero or Lara?"



[Alex] Alex reaches for his own beer now. opening it and taking a small swig before answering.



"Hero? no.. Ashton may know more about Hero.. from what she told me she knows little more than a name.. Lara I have seen recently, this month at least. She is still in chicago from what I know of. I think she is friends with.. a. well " rose tints his cheeks, only for a second. "A girl a I know." He took a sip of beer.



[Wharil Choc] Another nod, a slow drink of his beer finally, and he sets it down. Wharil sighs.



"What do you think we should do?"



[Alex] A blink, eyes staring at Wharil questioningly. What do you think we should do?



"Well.. I mean.. I'm here to help Wharil.. if you are just curious to see what my opinion is on the matter well then.. " he pauses. "Ashton and I agree. We both feel that it is our responsibility to deal with this problem and that outside help should be limited as much as possible.. However we need more information and that may require looking elsewhere.. Ashton believes my friend Riley is the best option should we need it." it was obvious that he was still unsure about how much he liked the last part of this idea.



[Wharil Choc] "Riley? From Cabal-Three. The Adept, right? And do you think we can let Riley know without the rest of her Cabal finding out?"



[Alex] "I think.. I think it would be a hard thing to guarantee.. She can't lie to save herself Wharil, even if she wanted to."



[Wharil Choc] "Chela." He corrects, though softening it with a wave of the hand. "This is Tradition business now. You're right though. Not only are they a cabal of friends, they're a cabal of snoops. But..."



He takes another swig of his beer, using the opportunity to think to himself.



"What do we really need from them? They're pretty good at information gathering, but from what I've heard they're pretty sloppy as well. But right now there's a potential master out there hunting down a newly awakened girl, and we're hunting both. Lara, as you said, is easier to find. So lets find her, and lets keep Hero from finding her for as long as we can.



"This is where Cabal three can come in. If we can get them to hid Lara without knowing why, or better yet, without knowing that they're even doing it, then we'll improve our chances."



[Alex] A worried look appears on the young Apprentices face, something about the plan seemed to sit uncomfortably with him.



"I think.." A pause and he narrowed his eyes. "I think I could work my way into Cabal 3.. then perhaps there wouldn't be a need for so much secrecy.." The beer is placed back upon the table, a hand running back through his hair accompanied with a sigh. "Unless there is another way.. perhaps WE could hide lara.. maybe she doesn't know.. maybe if she knew she would let us help.."



[Wharil Choc] "She should definitely know, if she doesn't already. Of course, the opposite is true. If she refuses our help we have to let her be. But I still want to follow up on this Hero. And I intend to."



He takes up the beer bottle again, and takes up his pizza in his other hand.



"I encourage you to join Cabal three. They're not particularly powerful or learned, but they offer things you seem to lack so far. Like friends. And...trust. But don't do it if all you really want to do is manipulate them. When it comes to getting them to turn a blind eye, we'd have probably had more luck with money than subterfuge."



"How's your training with Ashton going?"



[Alex] His mouth opens, a protest forming on his tongue as Wharil speaks of Cabal Three.



"Hey.. I've got frie-" Cut off by the continuation of his elder.



"My training.. well.. I haven't really had much training lately.. unless you count the incident with the nephandus "training".. No.. I dont know what Ashton intends to do with me yet.. She hasn't made it clear.

And just so -I'm- clear.. I wouldn't manipulate Cabal 3.. my suggestion for joining them was to limit manipulation.. "



[Administrator] Alex has left Lake View (Northside)

The Grief Mongers

[Thomas Taylor] Stumbling out on tot he street he has a grin about him. his left hand comes up thumb to his lips as he brings it before his eyes and sees the blood there. His lip has a bloody crack down bottom where it was busty open. He stands straight, tidying himself up from the small rukus he had...



Still the point was made who the hell in there right mind thinks baseball is better than football. He turns around and quite loudly "COME AND 'AVE A GO IF YOU THINK YOUR 'ARD E'NUFF!" He then sticks up two fingers and pulls a smoke from his pocket



[Natyana Wapanee] She stops, blinking at the outburst of the strange man. Her slow steps slow even more, and she simply watches.



[Administrator] Thomas Taylor has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Administrator] Thomas Taylor, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Administrator] Wharil Choc, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Thomas Taylor] He pulls out his zippo and puts it to his cough lighting it as he grimaces a moment as tobacco smoke mixes with his cut...still he blows the smoke upwards and turns to walk away nearly bumping straight into her, his eyes looking upwards he does not see her.



[Natyana Wapanee] Having been watching the fiery, yelling man, she has time to attempt to scramble out of the way. But with him having nearly two feet over her, a much longer leg clips hers and she frowns, doing a little hop to finish her attempt to move out of the way. "Watch it buddy"



[Thomas Taylor] "Whoa..." He jumps back, the cigarrtte nearly falling from his lips, but he does not loose it that easily just keeping his grip on it. He takes a step back...then another...fuck me it's a midget he tries to keep that realisation from his face but some of it fades through. his right hand comes to his lips and pulls the cig from them. His left hand comes to his side and a little bit in front of him "Sorry miss...." What do you say when you were not looking "Did not see you..." Bravo Tommy, bravo.



[Administrator] Thomas Taylor has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Administrator] Thomas Taylor, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Natyana Wapanee] An eyebrow twitches at him, and she gives him a little bit of a smirk. She knows the looks. You don't have to have empathy when you see them constantly. "Yeah, I know. It's fine, I'm used to it. You uh... got a little blood there" Scratches her finger lightly on her chin.



[Wharil Choc] With this many in a city it was easy to go overlooked. Too easy, in fact. Too much for a soul to take. Loneliness creeps in like cold under the door. Like a draft in winter. It cuts straight through you, down to the bone, and no matter what you do you simply can't make yourself warm again.



In the winter, its hard to notice it in other people. Everyone has the same bowed head, bent back walk. Everyone has the same self-hug, the same urgency to simply get where they're going and not be fucking stopped in the street by some jackass who doesn't really give a damn about them. In winter, everyone wants to be left alone. But in summer, when the sky is blue you can always tell when others are as well. You see them coming from blocks away. Take this guy for example. He obviously hasn't shaved in days. Smells like he hasn't had a bath in even longer. And he's got that bowed head, bent back walk that winter people do, despite his flip-flops and short jeans, and exposed arms under a dingy wife beater.



He's muttering something to himself, but as he passes the short woman and the taller man who'd almost walked over her, it sounds more like whining. Like mournful complaining.



"...You can't make yourself warm again..." He says. As well as "Their eyes aren't as sharp as their fucking teeth!"



He keeps walking. The gathering pedestrians wait at the corner. Delivery vans and taxis and folks picking their kids up from school to drop them off at karate practice all stream past in a non-stop flow of traffic. Their light is green, and the pedestrian light is orange, gleaming back 'Don't Walk'.



But the winter-walking man just keeps on walking.



[Thomas Taylor] He brings his left hand up and runs his thumb over his chin, a small redness in his cheeks at the noticing. "Yeah pet, sum thugs you know 'ow it is, so many heathens need to be corrected of there sinners path." He smirks taking another drag from his gig as he chooses widely to blow the smoke from his nose...less pain.



He gives her the one glance over "Look i am sorry, bad form pet, my bad were all robins right?" He puts his hand to his chest then gesture to her....



[Natyana Wapanee] Her eyes catch the muttering, hunched man, and she starts backing up a little. Eyes going back to Thomas quickly, and harden a little. "You do realize, calling me 'pet' sort of negates the whole apology coming off genuine, right?" Another smirk, and a wave of her hand at him. "Long as you call me something other than midget references, yeah sure. But keep that up and I'll have to headbutt you in the kneecap"



[Thomas Taylor] He felt that shiver up his spine, a nervousness creeping into him that was uncommon, not natural. His eyes look to the man then back to the woman "I call everyone pet...pet...." He takes a deep drag of his cough.



His head turns after the man a small comment in passing "You might need a blanket squire, 'elps with the potatoes out 'ere."



[Wharil Choc] The first car honks its horn long before the thud. The body's in the air when the tires from the second car squeal, but that doesn't keep the body from knocking spiderweb patterns into the windshield. The man makes it across the road at least. The pedestrians on this side of the street are shocked, hands over their mouths and staring wide eyed at one another. The pedestrians on the other side of the street are horrified. They all jump back in unison as the man lands on the sidewalk, his face and arms mangled, networked in blood. His leg twisted around. His teeth drip from his mouth as he continues trying to speak. His voice is still a complaint. Still a step below weeping.



The cars stop, which means the cars that were following them stop as well, which means that, temporarily at least, the cars that were moving perpendicularly stop as well. A crowd forms. People come out of stores and bars just to see the commotion, and add to it.



The man on the ground trembles and bleeds. No one helps him. No one seems to want to even touch him.



[Administrator] .Oo, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Natyana Wapanee] She starts to say something to Thomas, shooting a not so happy look about being referred to as pet. Yet again. But then there's this cacophony of horns and screeching tires that pulls her attention back to the heebie jeebie man.



Her jaw drops. Her eyes widen. "oh shit..." And her feet are moving. The others might just gawk, but she'll at least dig for a cellphone to call an ambulance with



[Administrator] .Oo has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Thomas Taylor] He blinks, mouth drops as this time the smoke does fall on the floor....like everyone else shock comes in as he watches like it was a TV and soon someone will run on and save the day, or the scene will change and we'll be in the hospital...



But it does not, then the adrenaline kicksas can he really just stand there and do nothing as the midget passes him he curses himself... “Sumbody fuckin’ ‘elp ‘im then!”he shouts as Tom runs out into the road hands banging on the car bonnets as he runs past to make sure they stay put as he stops by the man and looks down, smoke still pouring from his lungs and out of his nose. He goes to one knee...he had nothing for this, his voice caught in his throat. “...You’ll be okay squire, tis only a flesh wound.”The lie detectable on his lips....



[Natyana Wapanee] [least he landed on the side of traffic where she can see him.... perc + aware]

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)



[Administrator] Inconspicuous Turnip, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Thomas Taylor] ((Can he see anything but blood))

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)



[Wharil Choc] Its so very faint. So oddly innocuous. But its certainly there. There's a child in the crowd, huddled near the dying man. His skin is dark and ashen, and he holds himself in a low crouch, knees to chest, sheltering himself in ways that his tattered t-shirt and ragged, dirty shorts cannot. He looks around at the crowd, too frightened to move. And then, when Thomas approaches, he scurries back a few steps.



Seeing the crowd suddenly he scurries back forward and places both hands on his head, shuddering with ragged breaths and wide, frightened eyes.



***



Meanwhile, broken fingers reach Thomas, grabbing at his shirt collar, at his neck. It almost seemed like he was trying to pull himself up. Like he could fight through the pain of having his leg turned the wrong way and his face smashed in. He'd be fine. Just get him on his feet and he'd be fine.



But he's obviously not fine. Blood forms bubbles around his nostrils upon exhale. One could only imagine what it was doing to him when he inhaled. One could only imagine all the places that blood was coming from.



"I'm c-c-cold." He complains to Thomas. And his grip, instead of pulling him up, pulled Thomas down. Pulling him down like a drowning man. Like a dying man.



[Natyana Wapanee] It takes her a moment, but she does catch the child out of the corner of her eye. Thomas easily passing her with his much longer strides, though she's not far behind him. He's dealing with the man, and she looks around, wincing a bit, and she does indeed keep some distance.



Her eyes go to the child again. Child... dying man.... freaking out child.... dying man. "Fuck me." She hands Thomas the phone "I have it dialed, just hit send." And she weaves through people, heading for the kid



[Administrator] Molly Quincannon, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Molly Quincannon] Molly's actually out and about! With minimal bandages! Her knees bend and everything! So out she goes to do some shopping and enjoy the office-mandated time off.



And there's Thomas. Being pulled to the ground by ... okay, something's going on. She doesn't know the other person - the one dashing off elsewhere (and she's Curious, oh yes) - but she knows Thomas. She's curious about that too, and she knows the person being hauled down to the ground by someone who looks like he's been on the wrong side of a car wreck. So down the street she dashes in the general direction of Thomas - no first aid to speak of, but... "Um ... what the holy hell? Did someone dial 911?"



[Thomas Taylor] He does not get chance to move as the bloody hands grab his collar his eyes widen, then his right hand fall on instinct to stop him slamming onto the man, it lands with a slap in fresh blood as he holds himself there. He was not afraid of blood, he has seen and had his fair share but the coldness, that was new that was different. Then suddenly a phone is placed in his other hand, distracted he is dragged closer to the dying man blood from nose, mouth, his cries starting to speckle Tom's cheek.



But Thomas knew the world was fucked it was all going to end, thats the point the war was lost, the dreams had died.



What do you say to a dying man, what comfort can you give someone on deaths door that may only have seconds to live.... when it feels like he might take you with him "Dude, everythin' will be...robin...got the fixers on the dog..."



One phone close to his ear, his right hand stopping his decent onto the man body covered in his blood, red speckles starting to pop on his cheek....he had not even been here a week....



[Molly Quincannon] [[Perc + Aware]]

Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)



[Administrator] Inconspicuous Turnip has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Wharil Choc] The child doesn't see Natyana coming. He remains curled up. Shuddering.



***



"Sharper...than their...eyes."



These are the last things the man says. Slowly the bubbles from his nose and mouth stop streaming. Slowly his grip on Thomas's collar relinquishes. Slowly his chests and shoulders stop jerking and shuddering. His eyes remain open. His face relaxes.



And there's an odd sort of coldness that starts to fill Thomas's body. Slowly.



***



As Molly rushes over, there's some kind of movement in the corner of her eyes. The crowd remains at bay, staring at the only soul brave enough to not let a man die alone. The movement isn't from any of them. And yet, it comes from their direction.



It looks like a child. Bald headed. Ashen skin. It carries itself low to the ground. Sickly looking, stick thin arms and legs propel it in a sort of scurry. Its eyes seem so sad. So frightened. And yet, it reaches out as if comforting, and places a hand on Thomas's back.



[Natyana Wapanee] She drops low to the ground, not that that's an overly huge feat, and slips close to the child. "Kid... hey kid... where's your parents? You shouldn't be here with all this...."



At least some kind of shot at warning she's coming so she doesn't scare him too bad just popping up. The man is dying... not a chance for her to try and save him with all the gawkers. Try to save the child is her other option.



[Molly Quincannon] Well. That's ... bizarre. Molly doesn't have a spit's worth of Spirit, but this? This doesn't look normal. And it's reaching out for Thomas and she doesn't know what for and this is hardly the time to ask about it because there are way too many witnesses and she doesn't even know if they register this thing or not. However, there's a thing about personal space and creeping up on people and while part of her reckons that this might be a comfort issue on the part of the ... whatever-it-is ... she doubts it. She's not that overconfident when it comes to other people.



Thus Molly, with her usual overconfident air, barges through the crowd, kneels right next to Thomas and puts her own hand in the area of his back in what might be taken by the crowd for the sort of gesture of comfort this ... child-like thing is trying to give. However, what she's actually doing is removing the thing's hand from Thomas' back and keeping a hold on it. She'd rather be touching it than having Thomas be touched by it. If it's doing anything, she can cope with it. Thomas, taken unaware, might not be.



Why no, with the week she's had, Molly is not feeling particularly less than paranoid, why do you ask?



[Thomas Taylor] ((Willpower!))

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 8)



[Wharil Choc] The child starts at first, then turns big, frightened eyes to Natyana. He goes straight to her, arms open wide, clinging to her in a desperate embrace.



His entire body is so very cold.



***



The hand that Molly moved to touch suddenly moves away. And the child scampers squirrel like around the other of Thomas's head. It whimpers slightly, looking back at Molly with those sad eyes...



And then hisses at her with a mouthful of tiny baby teeth. The hands seem to grip tighter at Thomas's flesh, until the tips sink in. Deeper, and deeper, and in moments its gone.



[Wharil Choc] And the cold creeping over Thomas's body grows. It spreads, giving him goose flesh. And it grows deeper. To the bone. To somewhere deeper, somewhere that simple physical cold doesn 't usually touch.



A man has died before his very eyes. This might not be new to him, but it does remind him, somehow, of every other time it has happened. And of every time its happened to someone else. And of every time anyone, anywhere, has died. It reminds him of the toy he lost as a child and could never find again. It reminds him of the child that he once was, and can never find again. It reminds him so strongly of loss that the only thing he can think of doing is leaving this place. Getting away from all this death. Walk, and weep, and keep walking until its all gone.



And its so, very cold today.

to Thomas Taylor



[Natyana Wapanee] [creepy cold kid]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 7)



[Thomas Taylor] Thomas stands, slowly, with the bloody hand he goes into his pocket as he pulls out a cig and places it in his lips, red bloody fingerprints staining the otherwise bright white. The phone gets dropped by the cockney as the hand goes into his pocket and pulls out his zippo. Then he turns with nothing to say and starts walking...



He lights the smoke, it was so damn cold...



[Wharil Choc] The crowd buzzes with the same sort of murmuring as before. Newcomers come, they see a crowd. They see blood. They ask what happened and someone fills them in and the murmuring continues. All eyes are on the dead body on the ground, attention fixed there like some morbid beacon.



But there's also something else. From somewhere among the crowd, there's humming. Someone's voice calling out over the din of the chaos in a slow, low-toned dirge.



***



The child in Natyana's arms huddles itself close, and her body becomes more cold because of it. His bare feet chill her ribs as his legs wrap around her, and his fingers sink deep into her shoulder.



It hurts. Enough to get her attention. Hurts enough to let her know she was alive.



[Molly Quincannon] Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.



Okay, there's nothing to be done for the dead. Sad, but true. When Thomas drops the phone and stands, she stands with him, and when he walks away, she doesn't even pause to tell someone to ring someone else. There's nothing to be done for the dead, but there's something to be done for the living and she's not letting Thomas go far without finding out what the hell is going on with Thomas.



Thus she follows Thomas. More, she breaks into a run to catch up and get ahead of him so she can grab him by the shoulders and hopefully make him stop. Even more hopefully, meet his eyes. "Thomas? Thomas, talk to me, okay? What's going on? What just happened? That ... that thing just sunk its fingers in you! What do you feel? Thomas, fuck, don't make me slap you."



Then the humming starts and her hands involuntarily tighten on his shoulders, hard enough to dig into his flesh. Frankly, she's terrified. "Fuck that; if you don't talk to me right now, I am going to punch you."



[Natyana Wapanee] She gasps, eyes going wide. Ok... shock can make a person gold... but this? This isn't natural. This is just... wrong. She staggers back, hands going to the child's sides and tries to pull it off. His fingers digging in getting a wince from her.



"Hey... heyheyhey it's ok.... ease up kiddo, huh? That's skin, and I'm kind of attached to it. Where's your mom or dad?" She turns, eyes looking for anyone that might seem to be looking for him, and she narrows her eyes. The humming... what....? "the fuck is going on....?" the thought train winds up falling out of her mouth



[Thomas Taylor] ((WP Spent)) Thomas looks to her, all that fun, that lovable rougue she saw is gone, those blue eyes like the winters ice sucking all heat, smoke bellows from his nose as she feels him push against her. His eyes suddenly focus a moment like he can hear her



"Tis the brass out 'ere info-slut, want...no need to start wanderin'....jesus so fuckin cold, it's...'"



Then it is gone the eyes glaze over again like frozen in ice and he goes to move out of her grasp, no effort hardly any force just the resigned steps of a man walking towards the end...



"It's so fuckin' brass"



[Natyana Wapanee] [anyone got a crowbar handy?]

Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 4 at target 7)



[Administrator] Peeker, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Molly Quincannon] It's the middle of summer. It's over 90 degrees outside. What the fuck is he talking about?



Suffice to say that she is not letting him go. He's going to need to put a bit of effort in if he wants to get away from Molly at this point. In fact, she shakes him by the shoulders as hard as she can when his eyes glaze over again. "No, Thomas, look at me! No friend worth a shit would let anyone who looked like you wander around on their own and ... oh, fuckit."



She doesn't have Mind. She doesn't have Spirit. She doesn't have much of anything that would help in this situation. So instead of that, she slaps him as hard as she can, while keeping the other clenched firmly on his shoulder. She resumes the two-handed grip of his shoulders as soon as she can, ignoring the sting of her palm, and says, "You're not. Going. Anywhere. It is ninety-four degrees out here. It is not. Cold. There is something wrong. And the only place you're going from here is my place, if you really feel like you need to wander. Because you're not leaving my sight to end up like the ... like him." She doesn't point to emphasise the point; she simply lifts his hand, the one not holding the cigarette, to show the bloodstains on it. "So if you can do a bit of the Potterific to wake the hell up, then for Kibo's sake do it!"



[Wharil Choc] There's a man there now, standing over the dead body. Its summer but he's wearing a sports jacket all the same, black, and black slacks and hair to match. He too has hair the color of ravens wings. He too has skin that is bronzed, but not from the sun. He too kneels and touches a hand at the dead man's chest, not shying away from the blood.



Then he turns and scans the crowd, and his eyes land on Natyana, spotting her somehow, even below all the heads and the bodies. He pushes through them now, heading straight for her. He's humming.



The child turns toward the approaching man. Natyana can see now: those eyes, those frightened, sad eyes, they don't move the way normal eyes move. They're fixed in their sockets, fixed to look wide. And they pupils never change their pin-prick focus.



Something the man had said. Something about their eyes, and their teeth.



The child gets nervous, and Natyana warms. Not physically, but emotionally. Perhaps that pain gave her the jolt that she needed. Whatever it is, the combination seems discomforting. It opens its mouth, revealing ivory white baby teeth, and it whines as if in pain. As if from terror. It tries to dig its fingers further, but they barely scratch the surface of her skin.



[Wharil Choc] ITS HARV!!!!

to Peeker



[Thomas Taylor] His head turns a swift right, an audible slap resounding around them as his cig close flying in to the road. His head hangs to the side, a red bleemish already starting to show, he grins, faintly, ever so slightly, barely a touch on his lips.



It is not the first slap he has taken, it hopefully will not be the last but...a fire a memory...



((WP spent)) He looks back to her, a dim light in his eyes "If your goin' to knock me out then hurry up and knock me the fuck out info-slut...this thing is eatin' at my..."



Once more, those eyes glaze over save this time he puts a hand on her shoulder, muscles tense as he shoves her out of the way, injury or no injury nothing can stop him



"All those fuckin'sharp teeth...." He goes to move on, to wander till it ends....



[Natyana Wapanee] Too... many... things.... bouncing.... attention......



Her feels the weight of the man's gaze, and turns to look at him, but the child moving shifts her attention. She sees now, those strange eyes.. and... teeth? Shit. Teeth. What the fuck is that? "Awwww fuck. Kid don't do this. Lemme go, before something really bad happens..." She starts moving backwards, away from the man that approaches... too much attention. Can't think. Can't breathe. Pain... pain is good.



There's a clammy freaky piranha child trying to make itself a growth on my tits and the jolly black creepy limo driver heading my way. Maybe he'll bring the vaseline?



She grunts and wedges her hands palm out between her and the kid and shoves. Hard as she can.



[Peeker] Sup Dre! Just a lookin' in 'n watchin' heh

to Wharil Choc



[Wharil Choc] The kid holds on for dear life, even though is fingers slip against her skin. Even though she pushes it away from herself, it holds on to the pushing hand. It was like trying to get rid of a monkey. Or a very persistent squirrel.



His fingertips are black. She notices this when he grabs the child by the neck and plucks it off her like fruit from a tree. It struggles. It lets out a choked scream and those sad, pleading eyes begin to water.



The man...sings. The song is not in English or Spanish or French. The song is in a tongue that sounds like falling rocks and snapping twigs. He sings, and squeezes harder.



Moments later, it is gone. Dust that falls upward. Someone in the crowd eyes him with a 'wierdo' look, but soon seems to forget.



"Are you okay?" He says, turning to Natyana. He looks at her sidelong, curiously. "You saw it, didn't you? Yeah. You were fighting with the grief-monger."



[Molly Quincannon] Everything Thomas says gets stored in the hard drive that passes for her memory. He's not registering much, but she's not that strong; if he's trying to move her, he will move her, though the minute he puts a hand on her shoulder, she sets her feet to make sure he can't move her much. So when she shoves him, it's sideways, with a foot outstretched and a guiding hand shoving his head towards the nearest wall. Her fists won't do it to knock him out, but she knows full well how much a smack of the head against a wall can scramble the mental circuitry. Not three days ago, it cost her a few layers of skin on her legs, after all.



No matter how necessary this is, she mutters, "...sorry..." as he goes down.



[Natyana Wapanee] She just sort of.... stares. What is there to say when someone just comes strolling up and turns little boys to dust infront of your eyes? Not the weirdest thing she's seen, but definitely up there.



She nods, a little slack jawed still, then finally blinks her eyes and looks back towards the now dead man. "Shit. That guy, where'd he go?" Not likely referring to the dead man.. who... for obvious reasons wouldn't be getting up to wander off



[Molly Quincannon] [[Um, yeah; Dex + Brawl + WP = please dear gods let me take him down...]]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]



[Thomas Taylor] Soak

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 3, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)



[Wharil Choc] "Someone else? Near the dead man?"



His brows furrow as he tries to look through the crowd again, but this time it seems he can't.



"We have to find him. Lets hope he hasn't gotten far." He says, and grabs Natyana by the hand as he starts pushing through the crowd.



[Thomas Taylor] ((WP spent))His head hits the wall with a slam, blood trails down the wall as he falls to his knees, a coughing then a small chuckle from his lips...He had taken a hit earlier he was feeling both now his eyes starting to show two of everything



"Kick me in the fuckin' head info-slut, for fucks sake DO IT, hockey is for fuckin' pussies!"



He turns offering his head to her, one sharp kick should do it....his eyes already loosing that passion... "'ave a go if you think yer 'ard..."



It cuts off, he looks like he is trying to stand



[Molly Quincannon] [[And with the Dex + Brawl again. And the WP again.]]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6) [WP]



[Natyana Wapanee] She blinks at the strange man, nodding, and pumps those little sausage legs to keep up. "I didn't get a name, but he was with the road kill when I went to check on the freaking out kid. Gave him my phone to call an ambulance" Her eyes move around, but she frowns and shakes her head. Too much crowd, too many tall objects



[Thomas Taylor] Soak

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)



[Molly Quincannon] The 'hockey is for fuckin' pussies' thing does not cut it. Molly will get into bar fights when necessary, she will beat up on people when necessary, and this is as necessary as it gets...



But that doesn't mean she likes it. She's kind of afraid she's going to kill him, but she hasn't got any choice, so when she kicks him, it's steel toe-cap first, right to the temple. This may or may not be a manoeuvre she's used before. It seems practiced enough, and it also serves to slam his head into the wall again. He may not lose consciousness, but three hits to the head probably means he's not going to be moving too far any time soon. Still, just to be on the safe side, when he's down, she goes as far as to sit on him. He'll have to squirm a lot more than his current state suggests he should be able to if he wants to get up now.



"...I miss my stompy boots and suddenly hate my life..."



[Thomas Taylor] instinct take over and even in his cold state he rolls with the blow some blood already built up from the nose sprays onto Molly and the wall.



He is back on the floor at least but still concious, he could feel it eating at him, taking all that passion, taking every life lost, taking all his toys...she sits on him and for the mment he is pinned stars circle his eyes, blackness offering it's sweet release but thats the thing about darkness...it was cold so damn fucking cold



((WP Spent)) He screams, "FOR FUCKS SAKE, KNOCK ME OUT!!!!"



[Molly Quincannon] [[And again; this is going to be a very tired Molly and Thomas when all is said and done.]]

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) [WP]



[Thomas Taylor] Soak

Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)



[Molly Quincannon] "I am trying, you collosal ning-nong! It's not my fault you've got such a freakin' hard head!"



Molly is frustrated, and she is tired, and this was going to be such a nice day...



"Now shut up and go down!"



At which point she grabs him by both ears and slams the back of his head into the wall behind them as hard as she can.



[Thomas Taylor] ((Well you cannot botch a soak, but I think it is more than enough to take him down, 6 in total including what he took earlier))



Finally he goes down, she hears a thud which turns into a nasty sounding squelch his body goes limp beneath her, blood from his mouth and nose leaking onto the floor, a red stain where she planted his head. One eye already swelling and grit and grim from the wall, her boot and the floor scattered across his face...



He looks relieved or peaceful, those eyes closed those cold eyes finally shut from the world....



[Natyana Wapanee] Her head tilts at the sound of Thomas's yelling. She staggers a little, and pulls on the man's hand. "This way. I hear him"



[Molly Quincannon] There's blood on Molly's hands. On her face. Smeared across the lenses of her glasses. Thomas is out and, judging from the blood on the back of his head (Try not to panic; it's probably just a scalp wound. Scalp wounds bleed like a bitch, Floyd always said...), he's going to stay that way. So she stops sitting on him, shifting over to sit beside him instead, and takes off her glasses in an attempt to clean them. Unfortunately, there's blood on her T-shirt too, so even when she puts them back on, most of what she's seeing is smears of a friend's blood.



She buries her head in her hands and starts muttering, "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit."



[Natyana Wapanee] "Something tells me he's used to getting slapped" Smirks, shrugging. She squats down, not like she really needed to, but Molly's on the ground so it only seemed polite. Or something resembling that. "It's the reason your buddy here needed his ass kicked by a girl so he didn't go do anything stupid. It was leeching the warm and fuzzy out of him"



[Molly Quincannon] Molly looks over at the new mage and nods. "Yeah, I got that impression. He kept talking about how cold it was. It's ninety-something degrees. That's just freakish. I guess the wonderful world of Umbra is a bit on the twisty side just now? That's so never been my thing..."



[Natyana Wapanee] "It's not pretty over there, that's for sure. These things seem to be... I guess you could say reproducing from spreading that icky cold. This guy just walked up and plucked the kid off me, that humming thing he's doing is like nails on a chalkboard to them." She turns her eyes to watch the strange man and Thomas



[Wharil Choc] "Its a mourners chant." He says finally, breaking into the conversation in progress. "The grief mongers can only survive in the presence of certain emotions. Its why they look the way they look. Why they do what they do. Comfort the grief in the host, and they can't survive."



He peels Thomas's eyes open, looking into them. A dark smudge is left on his lids when he's done.



"That's it. That's all I can do. We have to wake him up. He's got to do the rest."



[Molly Quincannon] Molly winces. "Um ... so much not my department. Um ... sorry, what's your name? You haven't got anything that could help, have you? Best I can manage is a bottle of Mountain Dew poured on his face, and that'd just be nasty in his condition."



[Natyana Wapanee] She thinks about it for a minute, then pulls her little backpack around and pulls out a bottle of water. Pops the cap. "Natyana. What's yours? And that's actually up my alley about three blocks over. I deal with... well not those things. Never seen em before." She holds the bottle out and turns it upside down over Thomas's face.



She looks over at the man. "Thank you creepy tall guy"



[Wharil Choc] "I'm not that tall." He says curtly, then turns to Molly.



"You know this man, right? When he wakes up he'll still be under the effect of the grief-monger. He's more equipped to fight it off now, but he'll need your support. Talk to him."



[Thomas Taylor] ((come on shake it off Tommy boy...Willpower))

Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 4)



[Molly Quincannon] Molly nods and, when Thomas comes to a bit, she grins a little at him and says, "I ... actually found you some tea." With that, she holds up a bag of loose leaf breakfast tea and one of those little infusion balls. "This is not how I saw myself giving it to you, but ... well, there you go. And have you found any good pubs lately?"



[Thomas Taylor] He starts to cough and splutter as the water hits him, his one good eye opens...and his hand come to cover his face the pain from the cuts and head banging slamming it's way back into reality...



"....me...noggin...." Is all he can say right now the world still spinning, all he wanted was to go back asleep...he was still cold just not that consuming void he had before, the need to wander to jsut go...



[Natyana Wapanee] She puts the bottle back in her bag and looks to Wharil, then Thomas stirs and that catches her attention. She just stands back and lets them get sorted.



[Molly Quincannon] Molly smiles a little at Natyana, shrugs and leans closer to Thomas. "Okay, that's a start. Warming up any? Um ... oh, we should try ... how many fingers?" She holds up three in front of his face, just to check. "I think this is what they do on medical dramas."



[Thomas Taylor] He pushes himself up but only so he can lean against the wall. He looked a state, one eye half closed, a massive cut over his temple and more around the sides of his face. His ears looked red from the yanking or perhaps that's just the blood and his lip has busted open again. His eyes close as he takes a moment and there's that black finger print over his eye in startling contrast to the red liquid drying over his skin.



He looks up to Molly, the cockney is not smiling, he is still feeling it inside him, trying to make him Hollow...is that not ironic. Molly asked him a question, a few he thought he heard pub but does not respond right now.



His eye go to Natyana then to Wharil...his hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smoke, as he puts it tentatively in his mouth... "Put yer jazz down info-slut, I'll be..." He just shrugs, he is not sure what he will be, fine he hopes.



[Molly Quincannon] The name gets a weak chuckle and a roll of the eyes, and she moves to sit down next to him, putting the tea in his lap. "Fine? Robin? Embarrassed? Purple? What will you be?" She nudges his shoulder carefully with her own. "I'm hoping that the first two apply. So fill in the info-slut on what she missed, hmm? How's your day? And why is hockey for pussies, again?"



[Natyana Wapanee] She smirks and pushes the pack around and out of the way, shaking her head. "Where's my phone man? I handed it to you before I went after the piranha baby"



[Administrator] Peek, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Thomas Taylor] He does not smile, and it seems not to carry the humour she has seen from the man, true she only met him once but you doubted it was a show. "Hockey is apparently for chicks info-slut." He pulls out his brass zippo and lights his smoke once Molly has finished fussing over him, dropping things in his lap and shouldering him. He winces as smoke gets dragged through an open lip



He looks to the smaller woman again then back to Molly. "Does she..."



He just tried to waggle an eyebrow, alas all Molly saw was the swelling twitch.



He looks back to her "The road, by the..." The dead man, he should have no problems saying it, but for some reason he does.



[Wharil Choc] Wharil wasn't smiling either. He was peering at Thomas, looking for some kind of spark, or perhaps for something else?



He rubs his hands together as he speaks, spreading the soot over his palms evenly.



"You were with that man at the accident? You should know, there was something in him. Controlling him. Made him walk into traffic. Made sure everyone saw. You should know its in you, right now."



[Molly Quincannon] Molly snickers a little and does not entirely cease to fuss. She's supposed to keep him talking, but he's not engaging very well. And then the tall skinny guy whose name she still doesn't know speaks up and she sighs, dropping her head against the wall. "Seriously? I saw it go in him, but I thought you might have ... damn. I really had hoped it was just concussion, y'know."



Then, with a sigh, "Do you remember asking me to knock you out?"



[Natyana Wapanee] She had started to turn and go after her phone, but then stops. Eyes going to Wharil. "Do you have means to get it out? Or does he have to fight it off like I did. You caught mine before it got in."



[Thomas Taylor] He looks up to Wharil "Great, some strangers tells me somethings inside me, normally I 'ave to ring sum chick on the dog and pay outta the nose for that." He tries a smile it is dry, barely there like it does not reach his face.



He did a good deed, one good deed and look where it got him. "Look squire, 'ow can I get it outta me..." He tilts his head to Molly and offers her a smile, it is forced, blood starts flowing from the busted lip again as it cracks open with the gesture. "Moll, don't fret, course I do, you did robin...." His eyes go back to Wharil, he was obviously the one with the know. He tilts his head his ears were still ringing but he wanted to hear what Wharil said to Natyana.



[Administrator] gaping graduate students, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Administrator] a rock, welcome to Magnificent Mile (North Side) (Now)



[Wharil Choc] He nods, though he doesn't turn to Natyana. He's still got his eyes glued on Thomas.



"He has to fight it off. At least you're making an effort though. These things, they feed on grief. On negative emotions. You have to sort of...cheer up."



He shrugs, tilting his lips apologetically.



"You believe in meditation? Self actualization?" Two fingers go up to Wharil's own head, tapping at his temple.



"Go to your happy place."



[Molly Quincannon] Molly's Trad has a very broad definition of 'happy place', but some stereotypes have clung stronger than others. Molly doesn't fit the typical stereotype, but there are a few ideas that, in one form or another, cling strong. With an inward wince and a thought (I hope Chuck forgives me for this one...), she gently turns Thomas' head towards hers and kisses him. It's gentle, mindful of the damage to his face, and she's not exactly a fairy princess to lift a curse, but ... hey. For a journey to a happy place, a kiss isn't a bad way to start.



[Natyana Wapanee] She blinks. Once. Twice. Then swallows, and looks at Wharil. "Well alrighty then. Thank you for the help..... mister......?



[Thomas Taylor] He takes the cough from his lips as he looks like he was about to say something to Wharil when his face gets turned. His one eye squints at Molly as the smoke is blown from the side of his mouth "Pet, wat are ya...."Oh...hello!



He's not stop her, its a far better option than another wall beating, he knew it chicks dig a bloody man, so he just goes with the flow.... He can feel a touch of that void closing, some of that coldness fading....



If only she knew his really happy place was only a a couple of feet lower...



[Wharil Choc] Could they see it still, he wondered? Could they hear the squealing voice of the thing that looked like a child creeping its way out of his chest, clamoring to get out, to get away--



Only to have the sooty handed stranger grip it by its neck, just as he had last time.



The ambulance sirens are coming closer. People are beginning to drift away, traffic stirs sluggishly, and a man on the sidewalk is gripping a bundle of warm air to himself, turning closed eyes toward the sunshine, and singing in a strange language.



All kinds of crazies in this city.



[Molly Quincannon] Oh, Molly knows. Molly's neither naive nor virginal. However, even if this was where her heart lay, they're in public. This isn't lust, for her. It's love, yes, but of a friendlier kind - more like CPR than anything else. Sometimes, you have to reconnect to life. It's that simple.



She breaks the kiss, but stays within kissing distance as she looks at him. "Any easier?"



[Natyana Wapanee] She tenses. Yes. Yes indeed, she does see it. She looks at Wharil, then back to the two on the ground. "Are you gonna just... let it crawl around like that? It's kind of gross"



[Thomas Taylor] One eye blinks, as he grins to Molly "Told ya info-slut, Tommy 'as the charm, but we might want to go another round just to be sure pet? It is easier on the soul but tighter in me pants." He winks with his good eye, that spirit and passion is so back....



He taps her cheek gently as he glances to Wharil, there was that singing again.



[Wharil Choc] And then? Gone. Dust in the sky once again.



Wharil sighs, dusting off his hands.



"There. Not so bad, right?" He says with a smile. He turns toward the intersection as the ambulance pulls up, and the smile fades.



"Well, for you guys, anyway."



[Molly Quincannon] Molly looks over at the ambulance turning up, and then looks at Thomas. It's Wharil she answers first, though: "No. Not for some of us."



Then she smiles a little at Thomas and draws back. "I think you're okay. You sound a lot better. And I'm really sorry about your head..."



[Thomas Taylor] Tom's knees bend as he stands sliding up the wall using it as a support. He puts the cig back in his mouth and stagger towards Wharil putting his hand on his shoulder. "Look on the robin side, lil' fucker won't be doin' it again, all thanks to you, 'member that mate." He gives his shoulder a pat then staggers back to the wall.



"I need to get outta 'ere before the pigs show up, I don't look...well best term wud be respectable." He looks down to Molly. "Don't fret info-slut, no 'arm, no foul."



[Natyana Wapanee] She looks between the three, then turns. "Shit. My phone."



They seem to be sorting things, so would be a good time for her to slip off again. Least she won't have to listen to anymore midget references from the guy that has this amazing ability to have discussions that seem to end with fist-to-fast goodbyes. She looks to Wharil again as she walks over to pick up her phone.



[Administrator] a rock has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Molly Quincannon] On Thomas' mentioning how he looks, Molly looks through the smears on her glasses at the scrapes on her knuckles and the various spatters of blood and blanches. "I ... think I should probably go too. Um. Yeah. Later. Bye!" She gives Thomas one last remorseful, guilty, complicated look and then takes off for ... wherever the hell she's going.



What a way to make a first impression.



[Thomas Taylor] He waves his hand to Molly and looks to Wharil and then looks to find the little one, when he cannot see her his raises his voice "Look, thanks soot man, I owe ya one." He nods as using the wall he wanders away letting his mental blocks drop and his arcane spring into action, how else was he going to get home unnoticed.



What a fucking night...



[Administrator] Molly Quincannon has switched to Bronzeville (Southside) (Now)



[Natyana Wapanee] She scoops up her phone and moves back onto the sidewalk, blinking at the raised voice. She watches him wandering away, and shakes her head chuckling. "City life. Buncha freakin loons...."



She turns and heads for the trashcan, pulling her bag around again to dig out the empty bottle. Once that's done, she starts walking. No direction, just walks.



[Administrator] Thomas Taylor has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)



[Wharil Choc] There, crisis averted and world saved once more. He's still nameless among the four of them. And as foot traffic picks up again the pedestrians all sort of swim around him in that odd way, as if he barely even registered on their radars.



Which, in a way, is just the way he likes it.



[Administrator] gaping graduate students has left Magnificent Mile (North Side)