What's out there?

[Enid Geraint] The text tone sounds at somewhere around eleven in the morning, and when Wharil reads it, the awkward pause is nearly 'audible', as it were; one wonders how tired of this the Arcane must grow. Who is this? blinks simply in his display.

[Wharil Choc] Its only a few moments later when the reply blinks back.

Wow. I was wondering when you'd get around to noticing this number. :p

And seconds later:

This is Wharil (Obviously) I'm a friend of Ashley's. A friend of yours. How are you feeling this morning?

[Enid Geraint] He doesn't have to see her to know she'd rolled her eyes at the second, though it's a few minutes before an answer comes back - likely she'd spent that trying to figure out if she'd ever met a Wharil before.

I'd remember a Wharil, it's not exactly common like Ben or John or something. And on its tail, perhaps surprisingly honest, I'm grouchy and don't want to deal with the holiday crap. You?

[Wharil Choc] You wouldn't, actually. Remember me, I mean. Maybe I should do something about that though. I don't care for the holiday thing in general, except Christmas. I can dig that whole 'time for giving' thing.

There's a pause in there, but before it goes on too long another message follows.

Don't really have much family to speak of anyway. But you do, so what's got you so grouchy?

[Enid Geraint] Just Dad and his friends, which is alright, I guess. Mom's in Stockholm, I think. That's to the bit about family, and then, There was stupid last night, and I have to go back - volunteer stuff. If people are only giving at Christmas, they're doing it wrong.

[Wharil Choc] For a while there's a long pause. Almost to the point where it seems like this mystery person has fallen off the face of the earth. Maybe he's out of air time. Or maybe the perv was busy getting his rocks off somewhere else. Or maybe--

Sorry bout that. Went underground for a while and just popped back up to reception. I didn't even know the El Train did that!

Whoever this is, he obviously isn't a native.

So what happened last night? You wanna talk about it?

[Enid Geraint] You're here for school? It's a way of narrowing down who he might be without directly asking - from volunteering, maybe, as well as the Ashley connection. Because the only other person she can remember that she and Ashley really have in common is Corran.

There was this guy. And I shouldn't even care, because it hasn't been that long since I lost my boyfriend. But I do. In other words, she'd been embarrassed beyond teenage endurance.

[Wharil Choc] Lost your boyfriend? Was he a set of keys? :p

Well this one had some nerve on him. It could be said that he didn't know. But then again, he used the word 'was'. As in past tense. And to boot, he followed it up with yet another text.

I'm sorry, that was pretty asshole-ish of me. So there was this guy and...?

And a second later:

Wait, do you mean Jarod?

[Enid Geraint] In between the bit about keys and the I'm sorry, there's a text that's simply this: ><

But then, there comes the rest and the answer is, I don't know, I only ever saw him the once. Maybe. This girl I was working with knew him. While Enid is quite adept with text speak and abbreviations, there are still character limits, so it's followed by, This can't be that interesting to you. But he was gorgeous and there was a scene and I think I was reduced to about twelve for a bit. Then there was talking to Ashley and I went home. She'd given the Hermetic a ride too, but that's left unsaid - doesn't seem important.

[Wharil Choc] A twelve year old, huh? You didn't drool, did you. Careful with guys like that though. You know what happens to the nail that sticks out?

[Enid Geraint] I may have. =P But he was kind of jerky, anyway. Brief pause, and then, Like candy. Tastes really good but doesn't last long, and then you're left with vaguely sore teeth. And the nail that sticks out gets hammered down, yeah, I've heard the proverb. But I think it'd be better than just being a shadow, you know? There but unnoticed and forgotten on the odd occasion someone does pay attention.

[Wharil Choc] It's not so bad. Comes the immediate reply.

A few moments later: This is so frustrating. Trying to get to the Chicago Water Tower can only find these giant buildings. Can't even tell if they're businesses or apartments. Asked the doorman and he said go around the corner.

And after that: This is a huge friggin corner. :(

[Enid Geraint] I suppose I should put on some clothes and head out pretty soon, anyway. Where are you? I'll get you to the water tower. She's little more than a baby, really, but she's still helpful - has a car, and is very much a native.

[Wharil Choc] East Chicago and Rush Street. I can hear the city humming. I think I'm close. Hey, how about I let you remember me next time we meet? Just don't tell the sleepers.

[Enid Geraint] Who would I tell? It's an honest question; the only people he's heard her talk to or about consistently are Ashley and her parents. And do you want a ride or not?

[Wharil Choc] Oh yeah. Didn't realize you were offering. You picking me up? I'll be the mayan guy in the black coat. As usual.

=================================================================

[Wharil Choc]
There was no holding down the magnificent mile. Cold weather or hot weather, rain or sleet, there were people on the Mile doing what people on the Mile do: Rush and move at the speed of the unyielding. This is where the mysterious texter said he'd be waiting. On this particular corner. On this particular corner dense with moving people. He'd also said something weird about 'letting her remember him this time'. As if one had an actual choice about whether or not they were remembered or whether or not they stood out in a crowd. Get real dude.

But wait! Who's that? There's a man standing above the crowd. He's grappling onto the corner lamp post, where the sign announces 'DO NOT WALK'. Oddly enough, no one seems to notice him. Or if they do, they're too busy going about their day. Something about him and his dark wool coat seems awfully familiar though.

[Enid Geraint]
The car that pulls into a convenient spot is an inexpensive, old compact car - the sort that indicates the owner hadn't had a lot to spend on it. Again, red hair is tucked under the hood of her sweatshirt (the one that gives her nickname as 'Your Honor' and has all the other bits about her school and position on the team, despite circumstances), and now, her hands are even tucked into her pockets in deference to the chill of the day. Her keys jingle as she fidgets, looking for . . .

. . . oh. Her brow furrows, and as so many times before, she knows she knows the man hanging on the light post, but she's damned if she can remember his name. She's holding on to the description, and he fits it, which means logically, "You're Wharil."

[Wharil Choc]
He smiles. His smile is like his eyes, something dark there, but glimmering and jovial nonetheless. Wharil hops down from his odd perch, joining the press of the Magnificent Mile pedestrians. And that really was some press. But Enid might notice that, for all the danger involved in standing still among a constantly moving crowd, the foot traffic seemed to purposely avoid Wharil. They flowed around him through some subconscious effort or weird string of coincidence. Not even when he smiles and says 'Yeah, that's me.' does he show any fear, or really need to fear, the unyielding crowd.

"And...like I said. I think I ought to let you remember me this time. You're becoming versed enough in the weird shit that is now your life to handle a little something like me."

And just like that, within the snap of an instant, it was gone. Whatever was guarding him, whatever force in the river of people that kept the tides away from him was pushed away. It started with a stiff shoulder that caught his. He gave a loud 'Oof!' and reeled from it. The next moment there was another abrupt bump and the guy actually turned to him and spat a 'Watch it, Buddy!' back at him. Wharil smiled awkwardly and tried to make his way back to Enid. A wall of people separated them. In the end all he could really hope to do was reach out his hand to her, hoping she'd take it.

[Enid Geraint]
There's a moment of watching.

It's cool and analytical, that watching, and removed from the subject of study, as if it has no personal bearing on her; while she is definitely shuffling to stay out of harm's way in this crowd, it seems, for that long moment, that she may not reach out at all. It seems that she might let him drift away, just another stranger, another someone she may or may not see again. It's cold, that moment of scrutiny by those eyes, and then, when it seems that no amount of reaching will bring them together, Wharil finds her fingers twining with his, and her tugging his arm with a surprising strength (track and cross country aren't just running, after all; weight training may be minimal, but there's some) until he's back at her side.

She doesn't let go right away, and while, for him, her resonance is nothing that different or exciting, it's not difficult to see how she might make someone (normal) else uneasy.

"Still want to go to the water tower?"

It's an easy question, asked as her hand disengages from his and finds its way back to her pocket and her customary friendly smile erases that bit of cold.

[Wharil Choc]
"Yeah..." He says with a bit of a huff, and he edges himself out of the flow of traffic, visibly alarmed by it, as if it were a completely new experience for him. The adjustment only takes a moment though, and before long he's smiling jovially again.

"Yeah, Water Tower. The guy said it was around here but...Do you know where it is?"

[Enid Geraint]
"I've lived in or near Chicago my whole life," she says with a smirk. "I can't tell you how many field trips there've been. You're just a couple blocks short, is all; you didn't even really need my help, I bet. Come on."

There's a friendly shoulder bump, and it's clear she doesn't really mind having been brought out earlier than she'd planned - not as much as she'd thought she did before she found him, anyway.

"So how many times have I looked like an idiot, not remembering you?"

[Wharil Choc]
"Only enough times to make several dazzling first impressions." He retorts with a smile. He does his best to keep up with her, but obviously has a hard time dealing with crowds.

"I've got a terrible sense of direction. Not gonna lie. And I was sorta hoping I'd have felt the water tower by now, but no luck."

[Enid Geraint]
"Why would you feel it?" This time it's easy and natural when she reaches out to take his hand; it's not a flirtatious thing, really, but comfort and stability (of a sort) offered in a situation that has him uncomfortable. Blocks on the Mile are long, after all, and even just a couple of them is a terrible amount of distance to be buffeted about if one isn't used to it.

"And." It's lightly teasing, almost warm. "They must not have been that dazzling if I don't remember them." Clearly, she doesn't really understand Arcane - but she takes it well in stride, anyway.

[Wharil Choc]
"Oh, I didn't mean me, I meant you. This is my first impression right here. Naturally, I'm cheating a little, but that's what we do, right?"

As she takes his hand, he looks to hers cautiously. Now it was that was protecting him is gone, Wharil's expressions are laid out like an open book. There's a bit of insecurity there, and a bit of bewilderment. He purses his lips for a moment, and seems willing to just let this thing be as he looks up through the crowd.

"Its just this theory I had. The water tower's the oldest standing structure in Chicago. It predates the great fire. That tends to mean something. Usually places like that have their own sort of vibe to 'em. Usually people like...like us...can feel that vibe. That's the first thing you learn, y'know?"

[Enid Geraint]
"I guess it is," she says about cheating, and there's something there - briefly cool, if not as slithery-cold as it had been when she was watching him before pulling him out of the crowd. The hand holding is just that - he's insecure in a place where she's comfortable (she said she'd grown up here, after all), and she's helping, in what little way she can. How things go beyond that has little to do with the initial intention - as is the case with so many things that happen.

They're human, after all, and perhaps more so in some ways for their Awakening.

"You mean . . . like the energy of a place, or person? That's not just people like . . . us. Normal people can feel that too, if it's strong enough." So she says with the confidence of someone who's felt things at least on occasion since before her Awakening. "I had a physics class where we talked about that kind of thing. See?" She points down the way, about another half-block, and indicates the tower standing above the buildings around it. "You weren't far."

[Wharil Choc]
"Yeah, I guess if you wanted you could call it energy. Energy from people and places. Energy from things. And yeah, normal people can feel it too. When its strong enough you get a little ping from people and places. And from ideas too. Universal concepts that not even your physics class can measure. But what about when its not? That's when you gotta focus yourself. There's a bit of natural talent involved, sure, but the other stuff...that takes training."

He stops as she points out the tower. And there in the middle of the street, he stands, eyes closed, and takes a few breaths.

Wharil shakes his head. "No. Still nothing. Lets get closer. Think we can go inside?"

[Enid Geraint]
"There's a lot of people around," she says with a shrug. "Maybe their energy is getting in the way?" It's thoughtful, curious, and she can't help trying, as they're walking (and her hand is still in his, unless he's pulled away - it's small, almost (but not quite) delicate. He can feel when she focuses, the change in her grip - it's slight, but there.

And they are, of course, still walking - covering the last bits of ground between them and the desired building.

"There's a museum at the base," she says with a shrug, after a bit. "Mostly just old pictures and excerpts from research papers and journals. And a gift shop. Tourists love that kind of stuff."

(Per + Aware)

[Wharil Choc]
Enid is obviously on to something, since her attempt to try and 'feel' the water tower ends up with the same result. The city, the cars, the people around her, it all results in a tumult of senses, a sort of static.

But through that static, one thing shines bright and clear: Wharil. She'd always been a little nervous around him, but now it was all the more clear. What's more, it wasn't just her. She could feel it coming off him lake a nervous radiation. Even the hand she was holding seemed to tremble with nervous energy. But only for an instant.

"A museum, huh? That's...that might work. A mini history of Chicago in the oldest standing structure in the city?"

Wharil takes the lead this time, moving assertively through the crowd towards the tower. When they're just outside of the doors and away from the fast moving crowd, he lets her hand go and opens the doors.

"After you."

[Enid Geraint]
"Thank you, sir," she says with a grin and a mock curtsy, then steps into the little museum; she hadn't been kidding, it's approximately the size of a gatehouse, one room with a tiny manager/security office off the side, and a third of it taken up by a gift shop with tshirts and coffee mugs and so forth. The other two thirds, however, has some very interesting artwork - photography dating back to the beginning of such, and some line drawings before, amongst all the text bits that read like historical marker plaques. The actual physical exhibits are few, though there is a scale model of the tower, showing how it works (or worked, maybe), and a few period tools and materials.

"So . . . what are we doing here?"

Enid's been before; this is nothing new to her. She's more intrigued by Wharil, now, given what she'd sensed.

[Wharil Choc]
"We...wait. We?"

He rips himself from eyeing the details of the interior to give Enid a quizzical look. One which slowly grows into a smile.

"We...are looking for the City Father. See, Chicago itself has its own energy too. Not just the geographical location, mind you, but...the idea of Chicago. Its something real, even if it doesn't exist in the physical. You can interact with it if you know how. And if you don't know what you're doing and you go meddling with things, then Chicago interacts with you. Usually to exact some kind of punishment."

He circles around the room, away from security booths, eying the photographs arranged about the room curiously.

"Am I still making sense, or is this creeping you out?"

[Enid Geraint]
"A little of both," she says with a shrug. "And yes, we. Unless you want me to go? I don't have to be at the soup kitchen for a while yet."

There's very much the impression that she'll go if he says he wants her to; she's apparently been raised to give people their space if and when they want it. It's a thing. But she's clearly curious, in a girl-in-class sort of way; she soaks up these teaching moments like a sponge, whether or not she truly understands what's going on.

"And you mean the part that people write poems about. Kipling was one - I had to do a report - and there are others." She pauses, and then, "The part that makes Chicago just Chicago, right? Instead of another Detroit or Milwaukee or New York or DC or whatever."

[Wharil Choc]
"Exactly!" He says with a gleaming smile, and slightly too loud to boot. Still unused to these things, Wharil barely notices the odd looks he gets from the few tourists milling about.

"That's exactly it. Its the spirit of the city, in the truest sense of the word."

Its then that he casts a look about, licking his lips nervously. Wharil only ever 'felt' nervous and jittery before. Now he actually was.

"You wanna...you wanna look?"

[Enid Geraint]
She blinks, and glances around - it's a holiday weekend, and so there are more tourists than usual, what with various friends and family being home to visit and all. "With . . . everyone around like this?"

It's her turn to be nervous, though it's not as pervasive as his nerves - for her, it's just normal though her hair does float a bit in the static; she's not good at control, yet. At least nothing's shocking her, and nothing's shorting out.

[Wharil Choc]
"It's just peeking. A shift of the senses from one reality to the next. As long as we don't go barking at ghosts or something, we should be fine."

He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a small, weathered leather pouch. He loosens the drawstrings at the top and dips a finger in. But then he pauses, and when he speaks he does so softly.

"Magic is...pretty wild. Pretty powerful. Its a force that happens every day whether most people know it or not. Thats why we call them--"

Wharil jerks his head to the side, indicating a crowd of tourists gawking at th exhibits. It seemed possible he was referring to them specifically, but it was even more probably that he wasn't.

"--Sleepers. They're a part of it all, but they've got their eyes closed. We're awakened, which I'm sure you've heard before. We've got our eyes open, and we not only perceive all this, but with training we can understand it. And we can harness it. Focus it."

He licks his lips just then, casting another glance about them and stepping even closer to her as he peered into the leather pouch. "Close your eyes." Wharil says. And when she does she can feel his fingers pressing lightly against her eyelids and brows, and leaving a cool, powdery substance there.

[Spirit 1, diff 4 -1 for resonance. Sharing successes]

[Enid Geraint]
There's hesitation, but she does end up closing her eyes; there's nothing quite as good as learning through experience, after all, even if she thinks all her book-learning gives her a grounding that's a necessary part of understanding . . . well, anything, really, not just these weird bits.

He touches her, and she flinches just a little; it's unnerving to be touched when one can't see what's going on, after all, and more so to be touched so near the eye. It's a way of giving in, and Enid's never sure how much she should do that; she'd always been taught control and restraint, after all.

Then he's done, and again Enid reaches - blindly - for his hand; she's taking comfort this time, instead of giving it. She's young, after all, and new to all of this.

"What now?"

[Wharil Choc]
She can feel his hands on her shoulders, turning her around so that he stood behind her and they were both facing the same direction. "Now open them." Wharil says, but his voice seems different somehow, as if echoing out from somewhere deep in the earth.

When Enid opened her eyes, she would not see the interior of the Old Water tower. There would be no information desk. No gift shop. No security booth. There was only light. A tiny spot of blue light coming from some indeterminable location. The walls are there, though. Solid and white, but tinged by that blue light. And the door is open. Or, rather, the entryway is open. There are no glass doors here. Its just a large cavernous opening where tiny points of light float through, like fireflies, carried by a constant wind.

"He's not here." Wharil's voice comes from far away again. "But this is worth seeing. They're feeding the city. Its like...prayer."

[Enid Geraint]
Still, she's nervous; she leans into him, behind her, as she opens her eyes. And then there's blinking - like prayer, indeed, and Enid is reverent. Still, it's a long moment before she pulls out from under his hands (and yes, the static is really there - it settles, though, as she calms).

"Can . . . can I touch them?"

She can't resist reaching out for one of the little lights, and she wants to explore these walls, see what they feel like, and to peer out the door, and . . .

"What's out there?"

She gestures towards the door-that-isn't, the portal. He'd said they were just looking, but to her? This feels like another place entirely, and she's giddy, excited, like a kid brought to Chuck E Cheese for the first time.

[Wharil Choc]
"Careful" Wharil's far away voice whispers to her. "Its just your senses that I've affected. Just your perceptions. I like your curiosity, and while the thought of manhandling these people's love and reverence is...well...pretty cool. You're body's still stumbling around a tourist center in Chicago."

He pauses, and it takes another while for his voice to reach her again.

"Out there's the rest of the city, of course. But...it won't look like the Chicago you know, probably. Its all...manifestations of concepts and emotions. But like I said, its just your perceptions. Your body'll just be walking into traffic or something."

[Enid Geraint]
".....do they think I'm, like, talking to myself or something?" This gives her startled pause, and she turns to look at him; it seems like she's genuinely distressed by this idea, if relatively mildly so. "I've had enough of people thinking I'm crazy."

And, given circumstances not so long ago, it's really no wonder she feels that way

Then, there's the other bit and she smirks. "You wouldn't let me walk into traffic," she says with the trust of a girl who's never been betrayed.

[Wharil Choc]
Wharil stands there, bright and smiling. His eyes seem to shine here, even if they are only dark twinkling things. His skin shines as well, warm and brown, and his smile gleams angelic His mouth doesn't move when he speaks, but it still echoes softly from somewhere distant.

"Well, you are being just a little loud. And no, I wouldn't."

The other man that stands with Wharil doesn't shine. He doesn't even reflect the blueish light around them. He's a silhouette, a body of roiling blackness, or of pluming smoke made to look like a man, large and burly at the shoulders. His hands rest near his hips like a character in a Western Poised to draw. He stands close to Wharil, almost overshadowing him. Wharil doesn't seem to notice.

"This is a real find. But...its weaker than I thought it'd be. There are empty churches that are brighter than this place. Its not what I'm-- I mean, its not what we're looking for."

[Enid Geraint]
"You're not moving your lips. Am I? And am I really being loud?" This gets a furrowed brow and an attempt at quiet, and it furrows more deeply when she looks at the silhouette next to him - not his shadow, but sort of . . . with him? Of him? Some preposition that relates him to Wharil, at any rate.

"Is that your . . ." There's a moment of scrabbling for the word she's heard a time or two, but then, she's brought up short again, with a furrow that's decidedly frown instead of just puzzlement or similar. "Should I not be talking about this, then? Here, I mean? Also, you're really, really . . . pretty."

It's not the right word, but neither is anything else. It takes a moment to realize what she's said, and then there's blush, and momentary stammering, but there's not really anything to be said to make it better, so it ends with, "Do I look different, too?"

[Wharil Choc]
"Yes, and yes. I told you, your perceptions have been shifted away from the physical. I can manipulate my vocal chords and vibrate air all I want. You won't pick it up unless I speak into the spirit realm."

Wharil's form wavers for a moment. His head turns to try and see what she would be referring to, and despite the shadow man being right there, his eyes seem to brush over and beyond it.

Wharil smiles brightly at the compliment.

"You look...yeah, I guess you do. Mind you, you look like any other awakened in the sense that you're a little brighter than any 'normal' person. A little bit...sparkly."

Some things were beyond words, it seemed.

"You ready to go?"

[Enid Geraint]
"So not, like . . ." There's wry, then, and for all that Enid's decided there has to be something - some god or pantheon - it's decidedly not a particularly Judeo-Christian view of things. "You look all . . . angel-y. Like the guys in Knowing, you know? With the rocks." There's a shrug.

And there's a question, and she shakes her head. "Just a sec," she says, and steps forward to run fingers over his forehead, his cheekbones, lips - she wants to see if he feels as different as he looks. And then, amused?

"Not like some Twilight sparkle-pire, I hope."

[Wharil Choc]
"Knowing? You mean the apocalypse movie? That's...creepy."

Wharil's figure grins, and he places his his hands on his cheeks momentarily, pantomiming his amusement.

"I look like a creepy white guy? That's can't be right."

And then she's touching him. His brows. His Cheekbones. His lips. There's a warmth at her fingertips, and a tingling. The light around him plumes slightly, and Wharil's eyes squeeze shut. He seems to lean in against it slightly. And then--

When his eyes open, there's the sound of laughter. There's the smell of cotton and magazines, and the sweat of tourists. The light inside is a dull fluorescence. The only constant wind is the air conditioning. They're back in the water tower, among the security booth, the information counter, the gift store and the photographs. It all seems pale in comparison, like an old newspaper. Even Wharil seems paler. And as his hands reach up to take Enid's by the wrist and lower them from his face, he's lack of smile is very noticeable.

"I...think that's enough for today." He says. His lips move this time. His voice reverberates and reaches her ears.

[Enid Geraint]
"Not like a . . . you know what I mean," she says with amusement and a roll of her eyes, and then he's leaning into her touch (if only lightly, slightly). She smiles, enchanted (in the truest sense), but then there's eye closing and sudden noise and laughter and a press of people --

and Wharil isn't smiling

-- and Enid stumbles with it, jostled by someone behind her. She blushes that impressive shade of red-head red when she bumps into him, and is standing up, out of the way again quickly.

".....sorry," she mumbles, uncertain, and then stronger, with a shrug, "Okay. You wanna get coffee before I head to the soup kitchen?" It's all friendly, casual invitation, as if there hadn't been possibly inappropriate touching moments ago.

[Wharil Choc]
"Sure." Wharil says with a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He moved to the front door, holding it open for her again.

"You can learn do that for yourself. All you need is a method of understanding, which you're already on your way to knowing it seems, and a focus. Or, you can work on controlling what you already know."

[Enid Geraint]
She blinks, sticks her hands in her pockets - no holding of hands this time, and leads back towards where she'd left her car. "There's a Starbucks," she says by way of explanation, still uncertain. And then, "I think . . . wouldn't it be better to have control first? I mean, not that I don't want to learn more things, because I totally do. It just seems like . . . I don't know. Progress just for progress is silly and dangerous if you don't have a strong foundation."

It's question as much as statement.

[Wharil Choc]
"Man you're good. Better than me when I was new. Only now, you've gotta figure out what it is that you do know."

He struggles through the crowd again, this time without her help. He waits until they're in the car with the doors and windows closed before speaking up again.

"There are...nine spheres of magic. And there are nine traditions who specialize in one of them. What you excel in is going to be determined by which tradition you join. And...yes. You will have to choose. If you want to excel, that is. Folks don't give their secrets out too easily around here."

Wharil stirs slightly, peering out the window at nothing in particular.

[Enid Geraint]
"Corran told me some of this," she says, somewhat subdued now - embarrassed, most likely. She is seventeen, and had found herself in the midst of making a scene in a very public place. "So'd Ashley. Different ways, but same thing." Then, there's a furrowed brow - the coffee they'd grabbed (she'd paid) to go is held in one hand (her car is old and lacks cup holders, at least ones that work) and the other's used to pull the car into traffic - she drives carefully, and well.

"Oddly enough, so did my mom. Sort of. But . . . even more different than you, Corran and Ashley. And . . . not so much with the magic stuff." There's a chuckle then, wryly amused. "So not so much like, I guess. But it had a similar feel, you know? Just . . . it's hard to explain, I guess. Where am I taking you?"

She's seventeen, and thus a fairly self centered, self involved being - most kids her age, especially American kids, are. A look his way as she prepares to turn, though, gets a curious, "Just watching it all go by?"

[Wharil Choc]
"Your mom? That's...weird."

With what he's shown her today, she might realize that Wharil's idea of weird was something completely seperate from most other people.

"I'm on foot. Nearest subway station would be fine."

"Just watching it all go by?"

Wharil turns to her and smiles. Really smiles, full and bright just like before. "Just...I dunno. Y'know how babies make you think a lot about life? Well you're making me think right now. Making me think I've been neglecting my own responsibility to learn more. And to allow myself to be curious once in a while."

[Enid Geraint]
".....I'm not a baby," she says, a bit petulant; it is, of course, the most important thing to a girl about to graduate high school and fly from the nest, as it were, to be seen as at least near adult. "And my mom's . . . kind of intense. It's why she and my dad split up, I think - they love each other and are as friendly as can be, but she's just kind of . . . more. More than he can handle. More then the average bear. I don't know."

That's as she's turning, heading for a station, though she's not in any kind of hurry. "You should be curious," she says, finally - last, but not least. "There's a lot to know."

[Wharil Choc]
There's a bright burst of laughter when Enid announces that she's not a baby.

"And there's a lot to bite you in the ass. I've just been trying to deal with this thing. Its got me self conscious as hell. Overly cautious. All of that."

They come to a stop near the station, and Wharil just sits there, looking at it for a while.

"Well, Enid. I hope this has been as much fun for you as it was for me. You've got my number, and you know who it belongs to now. So don't be stranger, alright?"

[Enid Geraint]
"Alright," she says. "And you have my number too, if you need a ride or help finding something or whatever. I'm kind of . . . lacking in things to do, right now." That's with a wrinkled nose, and now . . . well, she's still not really sure how much he knows about her. "I'm suspended from school. But it's crap, so Dad still lets me do stuff. May as well be useful, you know?"

[Wharil Choc]
Wharil's eye brighten at that.

"Oh yeah. About that. What would you say if I told you that you didn't have to wait for things to just blow over at school? What if I offered you a solution?"

[Enid Geraint]
".....I'd probably ask what you want," she says, with an eyebrow raised; it's always an odd thing, the balance of optimism and cynicism in teenagers these days. "And I'd say that, at my school, it's not . . . well. It's weird. It's as much about appearances as anything else."

[Wharil Choc]
He smiles at that and cracks open the door but waits in his seat.

"That's true just about everywhere. There are still some details to hash out. I'll let you know when I'm sure. Take it easy, Enid."

[Enid Geraint]
"You too. Thanks, Wharil," she says, and watches him safely into the station before she takes off, headed for whatever she takes into her head to do before the soup kitchen.

Just waiting for my friend

[Wharil Choc] These girls share more in common than they might ever know. They're both new to this world, or at least new to seeing it from this special new vantage point. And perhaps they both notice things.

For instance, loading dock in the back isn't as empty as one would expect. Its wet and its cold, and its a far sight less comfortable than it is inside. But still, for at least one person its preferable to being inside. He's sitting against the exterior wall, but well under the overhang, kept warm by the layers of filthy, ragged clothes that obscured most of his form. A gnarled hand attached a painfully bony arm reaches out to stab at a morsel of meatloaf, and the same trembling hand carries the food carefully up to a hollow, toothless mouth.

He chews. Or she does. Its heard to tell really. And while it seems like a struggle, the pitiful creature does eat, all the while being encouraged by a nearby voice.

"That's it. That's it, Jackie. You're doing great."

For a reason neither of them were probably ready to understand, he's hardly noticeable until he speaks. Until he moves. Until he lifts his head and turns to the two girls that have just joined them outside. Before he was a shadow on the periphery. Now he's just a guy in a long, dark wool coat. A guy with beautiful but bright eyes, and a smile that grows slowly, but glimmers brightly.

"Hi guys. What are you two doing here?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily hadn't noticed him at all, until he spoke. She hadn't really seen that the pile of rags and shapes was a person, either. For her part, she didn't recognize W-- that guy-- at first when he spoke either. Recognition dawned slowly, and incompletely enough that the mild confusion never left her features.

Emily rubbed her arm absently. "We're working inside," she said, casually, with a little shrug. She looked over her shoulder a bit when she said it, too, which shifted her weight a bit and hid that fact that she was so surprised to find anyone out here. Much less W... what's his name again? Emily's fingers fluttered up to her neckline, but didn't pull out her locket just yet.

[Enid Geraint] Enid had noticed the guy sitting out there eating; she'd been about to move towards him, to offer help to go inside where it has to be more pleasant than out here, even with the plethora of unwashed amongst the more recently destitute. There's no reason to sit outside in the cold damp, after all; there are tables enough inside.

And then there's . . . someone, who practically appears out of nowhere, and for all that Enid's younger and quite likely an inch or two shorter, she places herself between the newcomer and Emily. It's an automatic thing, one that would puzzle her if she realized she'd done it. She'd never been the sort to be all protective or defensive, but then? Things change. At any rate, there they are - two young girls on the wrong side of town.

"Soup kitchen night," she says, almost in unison with Emily's 'we're working inside', an eyebrow raised warily - this guy is pinging on her nerves (or is it that he's nervous?) and it's bugging her that she knows she knows him, but can't think of why. Or how. Or a name.

"What're you doing here?"

[Wharil Choc] "Both of you? Both of...you?" His smile turns slightly incredulous and he shifts his head to look at them from an angle.

"Hm. That's...uncanny, really. Maybe theres--"

The bundle of rags starts coughing, hacking and lurching so hard that he drops his fork into the plate with a clatter. Wharil reaches out with no hesitation, despite the smell, patting firmly at what might have been a back, or maybe a shoulder. The coughing subsides, and the struggle feeding ones self continues.

"I'm just...waiting on my friend here." He says, smiling wryly at who knows what.

[Emily Littleton] She's distracted by the incredulousness in his tone. Emily's gaze shifts to Enid, and almost as quickly as the younger girl defensively stepped in before her. The taller, older girl has an misplaced sense of calm about her that doesn't match to her expression. Dark eyes, of a nameless color in the halflight here, shift back to the young man and his friend.

"Can I get you something?" she asks, her voice softened with compassion and confusion. "Water, maybe?" Emily doesn't know what to do for Wharil's friend, who is clearly too close to the edge of their life. Her question trails off and she stands behind Enid, watching the pair with a worried expression.

[Enid Geraint] Enid's brow furrows, eyebrows drawing in together; it has the potential to be quite the Look, as she gets older, but for now she looks like what she is - a petulant teenager. Arms cross in front of her, and furrow deepens into a scowl. It feels patronizing.

She's seventeen.
Patronizing is for little kids.

"Sure, both of us. Why not? I mean, it's not like we're long lost sisters or anything. Are we?" It's a bit of levity, anyway, as she looks back at Emily (who isn't that far behind her, or completely blocked, just . . . protected), and there's that wrinkle of her nose even amongst the scowl. "Anyway, a lot of the colleges do community service hours with the soup kitchens. It's not that weird."

[Jarod Nightingale] Suddenly, it was like someone had shown a blinding spotlight on a part of the city that wasn't made to be lit up. Cabrini Green was gritty. Forgotten. A part of the city that the more upper class residents would just as soon forget about. In theory that group included people like Jarod. And yet... here he was.

And not by his own designs, either. He was here because someone - a man - had dragged him here. Almost literally. The two of them were standing outside of the soup kitchen, and Jarod, in his long coat, buttoned black silk shirt and designer jeans, was staring (no, a better word would be glaring) in stony silence at his present companion. The shorter of the two, an extremely pretty blond who looked like he might have been around 25 and dressed like he was in grad school, smiled with glib satisfaction and crossed his arms across his chest.

For all his good looks, however, he truly did not compare to the black-haired man staring down at him. Not on a normal night, and certainly not on this night. Tonight, Jarod was so beautiful as to be almost difficult to look at. Perfect in a way real people never were. But there he was... alive and breathing and very much real.

And exceedingly irritated, from the looks of him. Finally he gave an annoyed little growl and rolled his eyes, gesturing for the other man to go in before him. "Fine, but we aren't staying."

[Wharil Choc] "Uhm...Wait. Waait a minute. Are you?"

Where Enid had meant to make light of it, the strange man in the dark wool coat actually seemed to be taking it seriously.

"Me? No, I'm fine. Thanks though."

His hands shuffle through his pockets until he manages to find a packet of cigarettes. A fresh one. He taps it four times against his forearm before opening it.

"Jackie, you mind if I smoke?"

The huddle of rags stops eating. It turns slightly and speaks in a strained, raspy voice. "But...angels don't smoke" Jackie says. Wharil freezes. He stares at the bundle of rags. He puts the packet of cigarettes back.

"Oh...shit."

[Emily Littleton] Sometime in the early evening, Emily had covered up her layered tees with a charcoal lambswool sweater. Paired with jeans, it usually made a reasonably nice, reasonably preppy ensemble. This evening, however, the stripes of grime on her jeans from a long day in the warehouse negated and sense of college-brat-chic the ensemble might have had. Her deep brown curls were bound back at the nape of her neck in a bun, but tendrils had begun escaping and formed a loose halo around her head.

"Um... no," Emily replied. No they weren't sisters of any sort. They looked nothing alike at all, and came from opposite ends of the world as far as families went. "And what did you mean by...."

There was a commotion inside, and Emily broke off her query to check it out. She drifted back toward the open door to see the people inside had bunched up in tighter groups and were pointing out the front at something. No, someone. Adjectives like unearthly and gorgeous were bandied around, along with less friendly words.

"I... think something's going on out front," she said, with a worried undertone. The usual things that went down in Cabrini, at lesat according to the news, were more than she was equipped to handle.

[Enid Geraint] Around the corner, in the area to the side of the soup kitchen, three mages (and a bundle of rags playing the role of homeless man number two) talk as two of them are on break from dishing up filling but relatively tasteless meatloaf. Emily peeks in through the door and Enid's not far behind her; the raised eyebrow and cynicism are unbecoming, really, though it's quite likely practiced. Enid's never seemed the overly cynical sort, after all.

"It's either a photo op for someone, or a junkie. Should I call the cops, just in case?" She's got a mobile, fished from the back pocket of worn and ratty jeans topped by a green shirt with her school and position on the track team in yellow, though without the nickname this time. Straight red hair is in a neat ponytail and any tendril-y bits are held back by an elastic band. It's not particularly flattering, but it works.

"No one wants any trouble. And there's gonna be if they keep talking like that."

[Jarod Nightingale] It was very easy to make assumptions about this man. Snob might come to mind. Although he was dressed a little more casually than he had been the previous night (no more suit-and-tie), he was still obviously ill-placed in this setting, and he knew it just as well as everyone else did. As the two men entered, Jarod folded up the expensive black umbrella he'd been using to keep himself dry and looked around. When the blond who'd dragged him here strode off in the direction of the offices, he didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to follow. On the contrary, he hovered at the perimeter, looking on like some alien species observing animals in a zoo.

But here was the thing. It wasn't so much that he thought himself better than the people here (although he probably did)... it was that the sheer smell of the place seemed to make him genuinely uncomfortable. He was very careful not to touch anything, and couldn't manage the mask the little wrinkle of his nose that occurred of its own volition when he stepped inside. Dirt (and not the natural, earthy kind, but the squalid grime of the inner city), unwashed hair and clothes.... meatloaf.

Frankly, he looked like he felt a bit ill. But for all that, and for all the expectation of trouble... he simply kept to himself and stayed quiet. Simply waiting for his companion to finish whatever it was he'd come there to take care of. And then... he spotted the group of slightly familiar faces hovering across the room, and his eyebrows went up in surprise.

[Wharil Choc] Wharil didn't seem too concerned with what was going on inside. "Follow your instincts, Enid." was the only real instruction he gave as he peered down at the homeless man eating on the loading dock.

[Emily Littleton] "I'm going to go take a look. I'll be right back."

Without waiting on anyone's approval or response, Emily stepped through the door and wove her way between tables, chairs and people toward the line that eclipsed most of the front door. With firm but polite Excuse Mes, she wended her way through the throng and stepped out until she could see what caused all the commotion.

Her breath caught in her throat, much like everyone else's had, and she stared at Jarod. Momentarily rapt, Emily just stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Then she shook her head, but not the shocked expression, turned on her heel and headed right back to Enid and Wharil.

"I..." she stammered as she came out the door. "He..." Again, no complete sentence, just an oddly agape mouth and a few syllables. "Gorgeous," she said, decisively, but none too helpfully. "And here." And, oh God, she looked like hell.

[Ashley McGowen] If it weren't for the fact that the office is closed, Ashley would be one of those people that tries to work over the holidays. Not because the woman is necessarily a workaholic - though one certainly might think so, given her various duties - but because there's simply no one she really wants to see.

But the office -is- closed, classes are called off, even the Order of Hermes chapter in Boston is shut down, and that leaves her without much to do on a Wednesday night. And rather than staying shut up in her apartment she's wandered down toward the riverfront. It could be that she's there for something, it could be that she just so happened to walk this way. Either way, Ashley isn't telling.

She spots the others outside the building while she's ambling down the sidewalk, and squints for a few seconds as she gets closer.

"Wharil, Enid. Hi."

[Enid Geraint] Enid also looks like hell, but as she hasn't seen the gorgeousness that just walked out of a movie about gorgeous stacked on beautiful inside of awesome (in the truest sense) yet, she's in full possession of her wits. After the knee jerk, ".....how do you know my name?" and Look snapped back at Wharil, she's stepping inside to see what can be done. She's not going out as far as Emily had, though she can see someone headed towards the office door, and a whole lot of grimy (and less grimy) homeless and/or destitute folk flocking around some unfortunate soul.

Or, she assumes unfortunate. She can't see who's at the center of the knot, but can feel tension and discontent and awe and wonder and all sorts of things, both bad and good, ratcheting up exponentially by the moment.

This is what happens when normal people are presented with things that are to beautiful to exist; even people who appear as gorgeous as Jarod does tonight on screen seldom look much better than average if one runs into them on the street.

These people are not normal; these are people who are on there last dime and last drop of hope. A hand finds its way to the fabric of Jarod's shirt, and another grabs almost blindly at some bit of him - the former is a young girl, younger than Enid, even, and the latter a myopic old man with glasses that would put Professor Trelawney's to shame. It won't be long before the group around Jarod is a mob in the truest sense, and Enid's confusion is edging up towards the red of the 'WTF' meter.

"Dude, I can't even see who they're surrounding. What the heck?" She still has her phone, but doesn't know that calling the cops would be the best of ideas. Then there's Ashley, and though the younger girl doesn't quite relax, there's a sense of 'ooh, a grown-up' about her - a sort of relief. ".....I've never seen them act this way. There've been bad nights, sure, but not like this."

[Wharil Choc] The man in the dark wool coat, now named Wharil, nods. "Hey Ash. Oh, check it out. this is Emily."

One hand turns to point at the stunned young lady.

"And she 'just happened' to be working here with Enid tonight. Isn't that weird?"

[Ashley McGowen] "I've learned to just let these little instances of weirdness just sort of wash over me," Ashley says with a half smile at Wharil, though, upon settling her eyes on Emily, she can't figure out exactly why this would be particularly weird. Unless the woman is one of them, of course, which is entirely a possibility. "Nice to meet you, Emily. I'm Ashley."

Enid calls her attention to the crowd near the door, and Ashley frowns, a bemused expression flitting across her face. "I don't know. I'll have it under control if they come this way, though, don't worry."

[Emily Littleton] Outside, Emily could find her head and start to think clearly again. As the surprise of seeing Jarod again, and here, faded away, she began to realize why Enid was immediately so concerned. Jarod was beautiful in a way that inspired envy (and anxiety) in people who were well-enough off. But these people were not well-enough off. They were destitute, craven, deprived in a way that made Jarod's visage like a mirage. He was so removed from their existance that they wouldn't even dream of men like him, and clearly someone so lofty would have something to give. Something that could be taken to elevate their own position in life.

It made her a little queasy to think about.

Emily looked up when Wharil introduced her, offering Ashley a pleasant but somewhat distracted smile. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and her word were a jumble of several faint accents at once. Too many to place. Emily's hand reached up to her neckline, and her fingers closed around a small silver locket. After a moment, a breath or two, the girl starts to relax and there's a palpable sense of calmness around her. It is faint, but undeniable to Awakened senses.

[Jarod Nightingale] The staring he could handle. The murmuring, the shocked expressions... these were not unusual. They were expected. He ignored them.

What he could not handle... was the touching. And for more reasons than anyone here was ever likely to know about him. That oh-so-carefully crafted aura of aloof detachment would eventually slip. No... it didn't simply slide away, it shattered. Like a thousand little pieces of neurosis raining down. His eyes (dark blue, for all that the shade seemed so impossible when paired with his ethnic features) took on a frightening intensity - like a cornered predator who was about three seconds away from lashing out - and his nostrils flared, and those hands that dared to reach out and actually touch him... he ripped away as if they stung.

He could have done a lot of things just now. Likely, he almost did. But better judgment prevailed in the end, and instead he simply pushed his way back through the crowds and out the front door, leaning against the brick wall outside and taking in deep breaths. He didn't say anything. Didn't acknowledge the others. Simply closed his eyes and breathed and let the light rain fall down on him.

[Enid Geraint] The old man bursts into tears, once Jarod is away, and the young girl murmurs about angels and gods and devils and goodness knows what else and Enid frowns as the room slowly returns to something more akin to normal (now with twenty percent more murmuring about aliens and government entities poking at people's brains); food sloppers go back to food slopping and Enid, who saw what happened (or rather, saw the crowd break for the hasty, obviously upset exit, says, "I'll be right back," and cuts through the crowd to (against her better judgement, given Emily's reaction) check on him.

"Hey," comes the voice, quiet, non-intrusive and young, and with no attempt to touch. "You alright?"

[Ashley McGowen] The calm aura that surrounds Emily is rather offset by Ashley's; despite her small, trim, almost scholarly appearance, Ash has an uncomfortable presence. Something about her feels vaguely predatory - perhaps it's in the way she seems to size up the flocks of people inside the kitchen. Either way, it's a lurking, oppressive presence, one that tugs at the untouched corners of the mind.

She looks at Emily again, briefly, and then watches Enid, eyes following the girl as she approaches the man that seems to have caused the scene.

Once she's noticed Jarod, her eyebrows raise. "I know that guy," she says, with a hint of surprise that indicates that she hasn't really learned to take these odd occurrences as much in stride as she claimed.

[Wharil Choc] "What guy?" Wharil asks. He hasn't moved from the man in rags who weakly shovels food into his mouth and chews, fatigued but with relish. He was, like he'd said, here for him.

[Emily Littleton] Ashley's aura made it very unlikely that Emily was letting go of that pendant any time soon. She toyed with it a little, but didn't consciously recognize that she clung to it like a life raft in stressful situations.

"Yeah..." Emily's tone mimicked Ashley's surprise. "Jarod, is it?" She looked between Wharil and Ashley, hoping someone would confirm the name. "I met him last night, in a coffee shop."

Then she paused, and looked over at Wharil a bit more intently. But the name she was trying to remember (his) would not leap to her mind, nor would the circumstances under which they'd met. "And... you were there...?" she asked him, nowhere near as certain about this fact as she'd been about Jarod.

[Wharil Choc] He turns to her, nodding and smiling amiably.

"Yeah. Huh. That guy. And he's attracted a crowd, has he?"

Wharil shrugs, leaning back against the wall and glancing to Ashley.

"The nail that sticks out. Man, I'm telling you. If we don't get some organization around here..."

He just shakes his head, letting that complete the statement.

[Ashley McGowen] At Wharil's question, Ash simply points toward the attractive model. "Yeah, Jarod," she says, with a sidelong look out of her right eye at Emily. "He and I investigated a house in Bronzeville a couple of months ago. Never turned up anything." She takes a seat near Wharil and the man in rags, though she edges a little away from the man as soon as she sits down. "Wonder what he's doing here. Doesn't really seem to be his type of place."

"We need organization, you're right, but it sounds like every other attempt has failed miserably."

[Jarod Nightingale] By all accounts, one should not be concerned for the man in the long black coat. Never feel sorry for someone whom fate had so clearly smiled upon. Especially not when there were so many people whose own luck had been disastrous. And here he was, clearly upset by the interaction, for all that he desired not to show it. Disgusted. Unsettled.

Suddenly, he wanted a shower more than anything in the world. But his self-control was coming back now, and he opened his eyes when the red-haired teenager addressed him, blinking back a bit of rain that had caught in his eyelashes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." This was stated a little coldly, his voice flat and emotionless. "My date obviously has a sense of humor." And from the looks of things... it wasn't one that he appreciated. And speak of the devil... the blond poked his head outside, then grinned when he saw Jarod standing there.

"I leave you alone for five minutes and you damn near cause a riot."

Jarod leveled an absolutely frozen look at the other man. "You know, I've got an idea... how about you take the train home?"

The blond's smile faltered, and he frowned. "Oh come on, don't be like that."

"I've got other things I need to take care of, anyway. I'll call you." And he said it in that dismissive way that could just as easily have meant he never planned on speaking to him again. The blond seemed a little taken aback, but he accepted the response with a sigh, turning to walk down the street towards the nearest El station. Somewhere down the way he muttered: asshole, and whether Jarod heard it or not, he didn't react.

Instead, the Verbena looked at Enid as if he either expected her to leave or do something interesting.

[Emily Littleton] Ashley got a slightly quizzical look from Emily when she mentioned the house, but that faded into a general cluelessness that the brunette didn't try to too hard to obscure.

"I'm going to go check on them," she said as Ashley and Wharil settled into talking shop. "Do you want anything, Ashley? There are some water bottles in the back. I can bring you one," she offerred politely. Her dark eyes (to deep to tell the color in this halflight) flicked between Wharil and Ashley for a moment, and something about her posture seemed to say she was excusing herself giving them privacy to discuss their business.

After an answer, or a long enough pause, Emily slipped through the doorway again and headed for the other exit. She slipped her hands into her jean pockets and slumped her shoulders a bit as she walked. Oddly, she felt less on edge around the throng of homeless people that the small grouping on the loading dock. She was trying not to ruminate too much on that as she stepped out the front door and looked around for Enid.

She got to the doorway just in time to see the lovers' quarrel. Taking in the frozen tone, the retreating blonde, and the way Jarod was looking at Enid, Emily suddenly felt just as edgy here as she had out back.

"Everything... okay?" she asked, her voice forced into a level tone.

[Enid Geraint] He looked at her

(Oh holy shit he looked at me he's gorgeous will he give me his autograph can I have his babies what the hell am I thinking I don't care oh god)

and she very nearly stopped breathing; her hand rose from her side, where it was hooked into the pocket of her jeans (worn and dirty, with food bits here and there - but with a long sleeved t-shirt proclaiming her captain of a ritzy private school's cross country team) and stopped, hovered between them for a moment with her staring at it, mortified; the battle with herself was visible, but eventually her hand just smoothed hair that was already in place neatly (if not very attractively) and settled back at her side.

"Um. Okay then. I . . ."

And then, thankfully, there was Emily - and Enid nearly as incoherent as she'd been upon returning from seeing Jarod there.

"I'll just . . . um. Get back to work? Or go talk to Ashley. Or. Um. Something."

Though she doesn't leave yet; one gets the impression of a star struck fan, and if Enid realized it, she'd close herself in a room and swear she was never coming out from the embarrassment.

[Wharil Choc] "Did Marla send you? To the house, I mean."

Wharil didn't say much to Emily's offer. He just smiles pleasantly and waits for Ashley to either accept or not.

[Ashley McGowen] "I'd like a bottle of water, please," she says. Then she watches Emily go, mildly confused. Maybe she was mistaken in her evaluation of the woman.

Looking back at Wharil, she shakes her head. "There was a trail that started in Chinatown and I followed it out to the house. Jarod did the same, I think. We checked out the house but we never really found anything conclusive."

[Emily Littleton] Enid's embarrassment was palpable, and not only because she was blushing so hard that her face gave off heat. Emily placed a hand on her shoulder and said gently, "I think Ashley wanted a bottle of water." It was an out, offered in the easiest tone of voice possible as soon as the younger girl stopped stammering.

[Jarod Nightingale] A nicer person would have been more gentle. Jarod could be nice, when he wanted to be. Evidently, now wasn't one of those times. Or at least... it hadn't been. He watched Enid's reaction, taking in her embarrassment and her dazed expression, but he neither commented on this nor felt the need to alleviate her discomfort. If she wanted to go, she'd go. If she wanted to stay, she'd stay. At the least, perhaps she ought to be grateful that he'd quickly placed her into the category of: too young, which, although it tended to mean he'd be dismissive, was at least more appropriate than a few other reactions he could have had.

"You do that then," he added, and at the least... his voice did sound less icy. More neutral. And he glanced in Emily's direction as she repeated the sentiment that Enid had already expressed. Was everything okay? Why yes, everything was just ducky. He cocked his head a little when he looked at her, and then... miraculously, he smiled. It lacked emotion, but it was better than glaring.

"I must have caused quite a fuss to get so much attention."

[Wharil Choc] "Hm." He says thoughtfully. "Well, I guess they can't all madcap adventures, eh?"

Just then, the man in rags sets his platter aside. He breathes. Its a noticeable thing as it seems to take some sort of effort. The struggle seems to get Wharil's attention. He kneels, one hand against the homeless man's back, another reaching out to hold his hand.

"Jackie?" Wharil says softly, glancing nervously at Ashley. "You with me Jackie? I think its time. Don't worry though. I'm here."

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley watches the exchange between Wharil and the homeless man, and is quiet for a long moment. Really, Wharil's nervous glance coupled with what she knows about his Tradition tells her everything she needs to know - or enough to jump to conclusions, depending on what's going on.

"Need to leave, Wharil?"

[Enid Geraint] Blink. Blink.

Enid's red turns nearly purple and she almost trips over her own feet as she turns to not-quite-flee the overwhelming mortification of the situation (she's in high school, and pretty, popular girl or not, she knows what it's like to have people laughing and talking and pointing and staring, and this feels about like that). There's pausing in the back room to gather not one water bottle but four, and she's still red to the tips of her ears when she looks back at Ashley (and Wharil, whose name she'd heard but forgotten about the time of her second step away), but can't quite meet eyes. "'m not going back out there," she mutters, clearly missing the subtlety and nuance to what she's encroaching upon as she offers out the three extra bottles of water.

[Emily Littleton] "I didn't expect to see you here," she said warmly, but the undercurrent was plain enough. (Someone like you ...). She was stereotyping him, and Emily knew it, but he was more out of place here than she was. Emily tucked her thumbs into her back pockets, feigning nonchalance. It came off fairly natural, if Jarod could forget that she'd ducked out of the room when she first saw him that evening. This time, however, Emily had Enid to worry about and the undoubtedly underage high school likely needed Emily to be a bit more grown up than scurrying around corners and falling over herself.

Even still, it was difficult to look at Jarod without staring. To look at him as a person, not a deeply attractive and somewhat surreal man.

"If you don't want to cause a fuss, you may want to come around back. There are fewer people." Not enough to form a mob, or close him in. As she's talking to him, Enid evaporates and Emily's left talking to him, fielding the stares of passersby. She is not as used to unwanted attention as Jarod is, or the whispers. She looks dirty and unkempt next to him, dark smudges on her jeans and wayward curls peeking out all over her head. People would whisper, point, snicker. Even the people that wandered by here might stare.

She shifted her weight a bit. "Are you okay?" she asked again, wondering if the answer might change now that Enid was elsewhere.

[Wharil Choc] "No, I don't think he can actually...go...anywhere."

Wharil sits this time, not kneeling but matching the emaciated homeless man's position. He tucks himself in close, holding him in a close embrace.

The man heaves. His throat makes a choking sound and his trembling hands reach up to grab at Wharil's coat collar. That only results in both bodies leaning into one another.

"You guys mi--Okay. Okay Jackie. I got you. You guys might not want to be here for this."

[Ashley McGowen] Enid reappears, and all her comment gets from Ashley is a half smile that verges on a smirk. She reaches over and accepts one of the bottles of water. Then the homeless man begins to choke and Wharil embraces him, and Ashley's attention turns back to the Euthanatos.

"I haven't actually seen this done before," is all Ash says. It seems to suggest that she is staying, watching with an air of interest.

[Enid Geraint] "Haven't seen what done before?" That comes first, as she turns to look at Wharil and Jackie, intending to hand them water (which instead gets set on a nearby pallet); there's just a second of study, of hearing that coughing breath, of making a snap judgment which leads too, "He needs help. I'll call an ambulance." This is with more resolve than the bit about the cops was, earlier, but even relatively uneducated in the medical sense, she knows that guy's in trouble.

[Jarod Nightingale] She hadn't expected to see him here, and he actually laughed at that. It was a small laugh, with an edge that was still a little cold. "Can't say I expected to see me here either. The guy I was with... apparently he volunteers here a lot. Much more giving soul than I'll ever be, I'm sure." He sounded neither pleased nor apologetic about this. Simply stating a fact.

The rain was still coming, dampening his hair (though somehow the only affect this had was that he managed to look like he'd just been in a wet photo shoot), and he reached up to run a hand through it before reaching down to re-open the umbrella at his side and step away from the wall. That was when Emily asked him if he was alright, and he sighed softly, though the look on his face was slightly amused.

"Do I not look okay?"

[Wharil Choc] Wharil snaps over his shoulder "What do you want a postcard?"

But the man, Jackie, seems to demand his attention beyond whatever annoyance he might feel at that. Jackie coughs. Its loud and wet. Wet enough for Wharil to suddenly turn his face away, eyes and mouth squeezed shut as he wipes it off in the shoulder of his coat. This is about the point where most people quit. Where their disgust overrides their compassion and they say 'Fuck this shit, I'm going home.'

Instead, as Jackie pants like a tired dog, Wharil hugs him closer.

"Ambulance. Yeah, good idea. No rush though. Right Jackie? No rush."

His face comes closer to Jackie's face. He finds his ears, and he whispers.

[Emily Littleton] Until this point in the evening, Emily had managed to stay relatively dry. Now the failing rain was causing little beads of moisture to sit on the surface of her wool sweater. Soon that would soak through, turning to heavy dampness not unlike Wharil's jacket from the night before. While Jarod managed to look stunning, even when wet, Emily looked even more bedraggled as the dampness besieged her curls.

"You look..." She made the mistake of meeting his eyes mid-sentence, and had to bite her tongue. All of the adjectives that came to mind were either too candid or inappropriate. Her mouth twisted wrily, a faint echo of his amused expression.

"I guess you're okay then," she said, and the words were a little breathy and significantly less resolute. "I'm glad you're okay." Emily kicked herself for the repetition a soon as the words left her mouth. His words registered a bit more fully with her, and she belatedly caught that he'd been here with another guy. That made him a little easier to talk to. Slightly. Not hugely, but every little bit helped.

[Ashley McGowen] Wharil's response prompts a raised eyebrow, and Ashley quickly comes to the realization that this isn't really Tradition business, it's Wharil trying to be there for a dying homeless guy. That makes it a far less interesting occurrence.

Jackie coughs, and in that moment, he's just a dying man and something Ash normally buries deep down finally kicks in. She stands up. "Come on, Enid," she says, taking a hold of the girl's shoulder and guiding her out of the room.

"Wharil will take care of him."

[Jarod Nightingale] Not terribly far away, a much more serious scene was taking place. If anyone ought to have been able to notice this, it was a Verbena. A life mage. But Jarod wasn't trying to sense much of anything right now. Not in the mystical sense, at least. He was just standing out on the sidewalk, listening to the delicate patter of raindrops on his umbrella, and gazing quite fixedly at Emily.

He looked more than okay, so logic dictated that he must, in fact, be okay. A rather flawed logic, unfortunately. Beautiful packages could hold some very unpleasant surprises. But then, he was the one who'd directed her to draw this conclusion in the first place. Perhaps he'd known exactly how she would react. Perhaps he'd been counting on it.

"Hmm," he intoned gently, and the sound was almost like a purr. "Do you really not know what you are?"

[Emily Littleton] Emily's brow furrowed, and she instinctively rocked back on her heels a bit. His tone of voice, and the odd query was enough to catch her off guard. Her head canted a little to the left and she looked at him intently. It may have been the first time she really looked at him, rather than at the assortment of features and perfections that made up his outward mien.

"Come again?" she asked, in that mismatched accent. The words were slow, reaching toward something without really knowing what it was. "What I am?" This, from a vision of a man, was enough to lace her words with incredulousness. No answer that she could imagine would warrant his sussurations or attentions.

[Enid Geraint] "But . . ." there's hesitation, but Enid is young yet; she may have become something new, or whatever, but for the moment it's like a little girl playing dress up with her mother's high heels. Ultimately, she allows herself to be drawn away (leaving the two water bottles for Wharil and Jackie), to a place where she can glare up at Jarod, who'd (inadvertently or not) caused her such discomfort.

Once inside and away from Wh . . . at's-his-name and the homeless man, there's a moment taken to call for the ambulance - she does remember that much, at least, and even if she had called promptly, it's unlikely they'd have showed up sooner. This is Cabrini Green, after all.

".....this has turned into the weirdest night I've had in a while." Which is saying a lot, given her recent weird nights.

[Ashley McGowen] "That happens, when a lot of us get together at the same time," Ashley says. "I doubt the ambulance is going to get here in time, though. Wharil decided to be there for him for a reason."

They're out in the hallway, and she can see Jarod and Emily from where they are standing. Ash diverts her attention from them for a second to glance over at Enid again. "You're handling it well, though, all things considered."

[Jarod Nightingale] "Awakened," he elaborated simply. And if this confused her further, well then... he'd obviously have an answer. She must be, of course. After all, here she was surrounded by fellow mages, and the girl practically glowed with quintessence. If anyone bothered to try and sense Jarod's own prime energy right now, they'd be able to see the residual threads of resonance clinging to his body. It had not been long ago that he'd wrought these changes upon himself. Beautiful though he was by birth, there was always the temptation to smooth out even the tiniest of imperfections. Tonight, he didn't look different so much as... flawless. A subtle change, but present nonetheless.

"Or maybe I'm mistaken." He wasn't. Or he wouldn't have even broached the topic.

[Emily Littleton] Awakened. Twice in so many nights, she'd heard this beautiful man speak the word. Emily looked away from studying his features, away and down to where she could see the raindrops landing on the wet pavement. Where the lamplight of the entry way began to smudge and fade away into the darkness. She considered the word longer than most might, especially those to whom it was unfamiliar.

Though her pattern was bright with quintessence, that metaphysical energy did not cling to her the way it did to Jarod. There was no whisper of recently worked Wills, nor any taste of personal resonance to her. The only clear imprint came from that small locket, now nestled beneath her sweater away from view. Even tucked away, it had a faint tinge of resonance. Especially on nights like this. It was directly at odds with Emily's countenance and comportment. That tiny beat of resonance was calm, collected and reassuring. (Home.)

"Maybe you are," she said softly, after having given it (too) much thought. "I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm just a Student." The way she said the word was vaguely European. In that accent, it meant University student. Scholar. But something in her eyes wanted to be more than just that. She looked away and squared her shoulders quickly, hoping he hadn't picked that much up.

[Enid Geraint] "There's not much else I can do but, right now, is there?" Which means, more or less, that she's a tough it out and break down in private (or with Mommy or Daddy) if she must kind of girl. It's not a bad way to be, in some ways, but it makes it difficult for anyone outside of a fairly small circle to offer help or comfort, if they were so inclined. There's a shrug, then, and she sips her water - chugs about half the bottle, in fact, before fidgeting with her own necklace (hidden under her shirt) as nervously and unconsciously as Emily does. She'd joked about being long lost sisters, earlier, but there are enough similarities to be remarkable, for anyone who goes about reading too much into that sort of thing.

"I have to get through the evening regardless. Then I can go home and have some tea and go to bed." 'And not come out of my room for three days', implies her tone.

[Ashley McGowen] It's a very Tytalion way to deal with ones' problems. Very Hermetic. Will through because the struggle leaves you no options.

"Mm," Ashley says, in a manner that doesn't really betray how familiar she is with that manner of dealing with it. She unscrews the cap on the bottle of water and takes a long draw from it. "Take a compliment, Enid. And then go home and do that."

Just Coffee

[Emily Littleton] It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere around town. Even though Thanksgiving was still a few a days away. Carols were playing on the overhead speakers, but the thrum of holiday shoppers drowned out the tinny cheer. Emily sat, ensconced in a corner table by the window, idly staring over the screen of her laptop and out the window. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, but just the abstract patterns the rain made on the glass.

[Wharil Choc] Wharil was still on the fence about Christmas, but he was pretty sure where he stood about thanksgiving. It was horrible. But, those were secret thoughts for a secret cynic. One could never tell he felt that way of course. take for instance the playful way that he hopped from awning to awning, overhang to overhang, in a futile attempt to avoid the rain. It takes him on an odd, all around path that seems to run out of hops at a certain cafe along the Mile.

A sudden long, black wool coat appears in front of Emily on the other side of the window. The guy in the coat is slim. Young. Too young to dress like that. His wet hair clings to the sides and back of his head as he leans out to peer further along the sidewak, and peer back the way he came. And then he turns around completely, looking inside the cafe through window. He peers over the heads of most people, scanning the room to see who was in there.

And eventually his glimmering dark eyes fall on Emily frightened, momentarily, to find her there. And as a result, he smiles. And that smile seems to glimmer as well.

[Emily Littleton] Emily started. She flinched a little, in surprise, and her eyes slowly focused on the plane of glass between them, then refocused on the man outside the window. It happened quickly, all in so many blinks of an eye, and then she was smiling back at him with warmly laughing eyes and a little shake of her head.

You see, it wasn't so much that she hadn't been looking at anything at all. The city had a rhythm. Every section of the city had its own beat, pushing on through the holidays, the summer, the inbetween days all the same. And the city's beat was decidedly different that Wharil's which made him stand out against a background thought like raindrops sliding down the glass.

In her surprise, Emily's right hand fluttered to her neckline, pulling an old silver chain out from under the neckline of her sweater. Tugging a little more on the chain produced a small silver locket, which she wrapped in long, agile fingers and obscured from Wharil's view. Just verifying this thing existed seemed to calm her, center her, and make that smile something more playful and less... surprised.

The young woman tipped her head a bit to the side, eyeing Wharil's dripping locks and black wool coat, then finding his dark eyes for just a moment. (Glad somebody's having fun.)

[Wharil Choc] For a moment his eyes settle on her own and...they seem to get lost there. The eyes don't change. If anything they widen, taking in more of the stranger on the other side of the glass. His brows, on the other hand, come closer and closer together by degrees. When she reaches for the chain and amulet around her neck, his palm seems to touch at the glass. It takes him a moment to even notice this and when he does he looks at his own hand as if it had betrayed him, or snuck its way there without him even knowing.

A moment later he was coming in through the door. He flashed one of those smiles at baristas that eyed him as he entered and went, not to the counter to order, but through the arrangement of ables and chairs and straight to that corner seat.

"Hi." He says, standing and dripping in front of Emily.

[Emily Littleton] (This guy's a trip!) She watched him with something between amusement and interest. Jingle Bell Rock played in the distant background, overrun by the clinking of coffee cups on saucers and forks on plates. When Wharil stepped away from the window, she rolled her shoulders and looked down at the laptop screen... which had gone dark due to her inattention.

The door swung open, and the smell of rain rushed advanced across the threshhold on a swell of cooler air, heralded by the sound of cars on the wet pavement outside.

The door swung closed again, and the holiday cheer was once again contained by the cafe. Here are there were brightly colored bags, guarded by early bird shoppers, kept close beneath tables or in nearby chairs.

Her table was unadorned with such festivities. A messenger bag sat limply in the chair beside her, convalescing after having purged its contents in a swath of notebooks and electronics across the table. A lone coffee cup was nestled near her laptop's exhaust port (keeping warm? keeping close?). Something that looked frighteningly like calculus was garlanded across the open notebook page, adorned with neat little lemmas in the margins and the odd phrase or two in English (like signposts) here or there.

Her hand dropped away from the necklace, finally, as she noticed him drawing nearer to her table. Emily reflexively reached out to pull her gadgets away from his dripping as she looked up at him, a bit perplexed. (Do I... know you... from somewhere?) The smile returned, dimmed slightly, then steadied.

"Hello." He was dripping. Her word lilted oddly. He couldn't, at first, place the accent. And if he tried, it only got a bit more muddled. A little West Coast, a little British Isles, vaguely... unclear.

"I..." she started, faultered, and began again. "I'm terrible with faces. Do we... have class together?" More words, settling into a less jumbled accent, but still indistinct on the origin.

[Wharil Choc] "I--" he starts, then his brows twitch together and he smiles. "Yeah. I uhh...I think we do."

He looks down at the puddle forming under him, then begins to shrug off his coat.

"Oh man. This thing is gonna be hell to get dry. Do you mind if I sit?"

[Emily Littleton] She nods, and pushes a nearby chair out a bit with her foot. "Sure. Make yourself comfortable." She's friendly enough about it, especially after a cursory glance around the cafe turns up no empty tables. He seems friendly enough, so she's got no reason not to... be... friendly.

"I guess it's raining harder than it looks," she says, glancing sidelong at the window then back to his dripping coat, as she starts tucking some of the auxillary clutter back into her bag. It happens quickly, but she's sorting things into particular pockets. Not randomly, but quickly enough that it seems a bit haphazard.

There's a little pause, while he's getting settled and she's tidying up, closing the laptop, where no one says anything at all and it starts to get... tight. Just a little edgy. Like maybe she's nervous. Maybe Wharil makes her a bit... or she's not used to nice young men inviting themselves to join her for... coffee. "Emily," she says, to fill the space. Extends her hand. "Littleton."

[Wharil Choc] The pleasant young man sits down after draping his coat over another chair. He gives here a pleasant smile and, while he doesn't shake hands, he does give a little wave.

"Will" he says. His name apparently. "You're not a native are you? From Chicago, I mean."

[Emily Littleton] For a moment she looks down at her extended hand, and all the various forms of greeting friends and strangers in her adoptive homelands flash through her mind. It's not something Will sees as much as feels. The momentary fear of having forgotten herself in the presence of... of new people who don't know. Or do know, given his next questions.

Her hand goes back to the locket, wraps her fingers around it. She inhales, exhales, and slips it back under her sweater's neckline. Calmer.

"Goodness, no," she says, and that differentness has slipped in around her words again. "Not that there's anything wrong with Chicago," she adds.

[Wharil Choc] He smiles at that response, though perhaps not as brightly as he had before.

"Yeah, me either. Its pretty great here though. And the hot dogs? To die for! I was lucky enough to be around here during the summer, when a guy could be out in the open without getting soaked. How long you been around?"

[Emily Littleton] The hot dogs were pretty good. And Whirlyball was damned fun. "Two and a half years, give or take," she said, but with an undertone that said plainly that she could give him the datestamp down to the minute if he really pressured her. Two and a half good years, by the sound of it. Or at least better than some years in her past. "Didn't really get off campus much until lately, though."

A pause. An oddly poignant smile. "Guess I didn't really see the city until recently." Not for what it was. Her hand starts to move toward the locket again, but she stays it. Reaches out for her (empty) coffee cup instead. When Emily looks back to him, there's still warmth and friendliness in her features but their tinged with something else now too.

For a moment.

And then she shrugs it off (or tries to...). "Got any plans for Thanksgiving?" she asked. "Most of our classmates have gone home already..." It's a leading question, somehow, and Wharil knows it.

[Wharil Choc] That oh so pleasant smile falters slightly, and comes back tinged with embarrassment.

"No, not really. Not too much family for the family holidays. Uhm...I'm sorry, but I couldn't help noticing...is that a locket you have there?"

[Emily Littleton] His answer was familiar. She nodded a little, and let it go.

When he mentioned her locket, her hand felt for the chain and brought it out from under her neckline again. "Yes. It was my grandmother's," she said, moving her hand away so he could see it a bit clearer.

It's old, oval shaped and silver. Faintly engraved, though most of the design has worn off over time. What engraving remains is brought out by the dark patina silver develops. It's plain to the eye, but seems to give her a sense of comfort.

[Adam Compton] Business and Entertainment. This was indeed Adam's kind of neighborhood, and with the stores open late for Christmas shopping, it was busy even this late in the evening. A slave to his cravings, Adam finds himself standing in line at Starbucks, the bitter aroma of coffee hanging in the air as he stares at the menu board. In his head he's silently eenie meenie miney mo'ing over the list of coffees, and when he finally get to the counter he orders. "Grande Vanilla Bean Mocha please. Extra whip." He smiles at the female Barista, one dark blond brow cocked as she asks if he wants chocolate sprinkles, or a flavor shot. "Sprinkles. Yes. And unless it's a Vodka flavored shot... I'll pass."

His winning smile has the girl blushing in no time, and when he pays he tells her to keep the change, which has her blushing and grinning. This is after all a neighborhood of ands.

[Emily Littleton] In this neighborhood of ands, it's easy enough to miss the co-eds in the corner... one dripping, and the other looking like she'd been there for quite awhile. His (sopping) coat is thrown over one chair. Hers is warm and dry, hanging on her chair back. There's a notebook on the table, a messenger bag in a chair, an empty coffee cup, a blue ink pen.

They're talking about something, but not too close. Perhaps classmates. Or a blind date. No shopping bags around the table. A cell phone. A laptop tucked into the messenger bag.

In this neighborhood of ands, it'd be easy enough to miss Adam--handsome and flirting with the barista--on a casual sweep of the room. But she doesn't, and she's looked away from Will (Wharil) just long enough to be curious but not rude when she turns her attention back to the damp young man at her table.

[Adam Compton] On a typical night, he doesn't linger in Starbucks. The smell of the place makes him want to drown himself in espresso. Tonight however, he gets his steaming Vanilla Bean concoction and instead of heading for the door, heads for an empty armchair. Maybe it's the music playing (jazzy Christmas music no doubt) or the fact that for a chilly, wet evening the place isn't packed for a change. Whatever the case, he eases into the once plush, now weathered and flattened armchair, setting his coffee to one side and picking up the newspaper that lays on the table beside him. The pages flutter together in a flurry of sound that is lost in the upbeat tune of jingle bells as sung by a woman who wants to be Billy Holiday so badly she can taste it. In his perusal of the paper, he glances up from time to time. His gray blue gaze flitting over the other patrons.

He doesn't seem to linger on any one person, for any particular amount of time. The paper distracts his gaze almost as often as it is distracted by the other patrons in the small cafe.

[Wharil Choc] "That's..." His eyes dance over the plain locket, and there's almost a look of reverence on his face. "That's really something. And a hand me down? That makes it extra special."

Those dark glimmering eyes don't wander away from her. They come to meet her own eyes, in fact.

"Nice little bit of Magic you've got there."

[Emily Littleton] She'd gotten a couple comments on it before, but they were usually in the vein of how sentimental not reverence. Her expression shifts, a little taken aback, a little protective, then just a smile.

"Th... thanks." Will makes her nervous, and Emily shifts in her chair, tucking one foot up behind the opposite knee, leaning back a little, running her fingers through her hair, then back to the locket (exhale). "But it's not magic... it's just..." She shakes her head a little. "A little piece of home."

If he was alluding to something, she didn't catch on. Odd, because all that calculus in the notebook seemed to say she was rather bright. In looking away from him, her gaze settles on Adam again. And his newspaper. He's the sort of person who ought to look familiar to her, but she settles for familiar enough and can't place him either. Oh-for-two tonight.

[Jarod Nightingale] If there was any particular location where Jarod might be found in the city... Mag Mile was definitely high up on the list of likely possibilities. Tonight, of course, was no exception. He didn't even need to drive. The shopping district was right around the corner from his apartment, so he'd been walking down the sidewalk amidst the milling crowds until his eyes lit upon the sign for the coffee shop. There he paused, contemplating, before reaching out to take the handle and open the glass-paned door. (People like him didn't technically need caffeine, of course. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a hot drink on a cold, wet evening.)

After stepping inside, the tall, exotic-looking man reached up to run a hand absently through his black hair, giving the shop a brief once over before he stepping into line at the counter. Jarod Nightingale looked like he belonged here. He had on a fashionable knee-length black coat over a Prada business-suit (also black), and everything about him, from his expensive haircut to his handsome features to the coldly confident way he held himself seemed to scream money. Status. Perfection. A very well crafted creation if ever there was one.

There was something that gave him pause as he looked up at the menu and contemplated his selection. Something familiar tickling his senses. Giving a lazy blink (almost feline), he glanced first at Adam, then at the table where Wharil and Emily sat. Finally, he laughed gently, as if at some private joke. Then it's his turn to order, and he asks - not for coffee - but for a cup of Earl Grey. He waited but a moment for the barista at the end of the bar to hand him his drink, then he walked over and pulled up a chair next to where Adam had seated himself. Jarod unbuttoned his coat and hung it carefully on the back of said chair before lowering himself into it and leaning back.

"Any interesting stories today?"

His features were a mix of Asian and Caucasian. Something in between. But his accent was entirely American.

[Wharil Choc] 'Will' Huffed at that, smiling as if Emily had told them both a joke that neither really understood. "Are you...sure...about that?" He asked curiously.

[Adam Compton] "There are interesting stories every day." He speaks with a low humored chuckle in his even tone as he looks at the stranger, folding the paper in half and offering it up. "I miss Calvin and Hobbes though."

The section of paper he has folded is indeed the comic section, which if turned away, he shrugs and sets back on the table at his side. A long fingered (manicured and smooth) hand reaching for his steaming cup of sickly sweet vanilla cream liquid. He slurps a sip from the tiny hole in the white plastic lid audibly, then glances apologetic at the nearby table. His gray blue gaze catching, and lingering briefly on Emily's. "These new comics... " He taps the paper, which is either now in Jarod's hand, on folded on the table next to him. "...they don't have the wit, and the heart that that scribbled kid and his pet stuffed tiger had. Y'know?"

Adam has an easy way about him. It pulls people in, sets them at ease and makes them feel at home. Just like that shiny locket the girl at the next table is wearing. Adam is charismatic, charming, debonair even. The sort of man that people would describe as having "it".

[Emily Littleton] Emily's eyes widened as Jarod joined Adam, no longer comfortable idly looking over there either. He was... she felt herself mentally tripping over words and blinked, then looked away. Staring would be rude, and that was exactly what would happen if she let herself look over again. (Maybe just once more.)

Instead she pulled her notebook to her and fidgeted with the pen. In a few minutes she began doodling idly in the margin of her nearly perfect page of equations and symbols. Chattin' with Will. Leavin' the pretty people alone. Not that Will wasn't pretty.

"You mean sure, like beyond all probable doubt sure? Or sure, like beyond the realm of possibility sure? Or maybe sure, like violates a physical constant of the universe sure?" She shrugs a little. "Most of what I study in school would have been magic a century ago. Where technology's headed now... science... the way we interact, conceptualize ourselves, all of that is pretty magical." She says it off the cuff, like she's been thinking about it a lot lately. "Guess it means what sort of magic you mean. I'm not sure there's any magic out there that can make a bunch of motel rooms and rented houses feel like home, 'sides a lot of wishful thinking."

She's smiling, but she's shrugging again too. Fingering that pretty bit of silver with her fingertips. Looking to Will for a bit more explanation. It's the holidays, and she's obviously alone. Not going home (most of our classmates have left...). Rough time of year for some.

[Wharil Choc] His face bursts into that smile again and he laughs, quiet and polite. "I uhmm...I think that's enough of an answer, actually."

He looks over now at the two young men who've sat down. The two talking about stories. For a moment his eyes settle on Adam, still smiling, and then move to Jarod.

This one he recognizes. Barely, but with certainty. And in fact...its suddenly seems important.

"Ah." he says, as if just realizing something. "I know you, right?"

[Jarod Nightingale] If Emily had wanted to stare, it would be likely that this would not seem out of the ordinary to the man in the prada suit. People stared at him... frequently. (In fact, he got paid to let people stare at him.) Of course, he wasn't working right now. He was waiting for his tea to finish steeping and apparently making idle conversation with a stranger who was likewise both charming and attractive. (That may very well have been a recipe for trouble. These sorts of men usually competed with one another for the spotlight. Then again... )

Adam waxed philosophical about Calvin and Hobbes, and Jarod smiled just a little. That knowing sort of half-smile that curled one corner of his mouth up just a little higher than the other. It was hard to tell if he agreed or not, but he didn't seem displeased by the answer. He didn't take the paper, but he did glance at it briefly before setting his cup down. (That was the thing about tea. One had to be patient for it. It said something about him, perhaps.)

"I think I can see that. Can't say I generally read the comics any more, but I liked that one when I was a kid." He paused, as if mulling something over. Starkly indigo eyes trailed along the man in front of him, as if he were... analyzing him, somehow. Filing away little details. "I see I've walked in on Awakened night at the coffee shop. I'm Jarod, by the way." And here he offered his hand in a more formal greeting.

[Jarod Nightingale] ...And then there was a vaguely familiar voice addressing him, so he glanced in Wharil's direction and nodded, offering the dreamspeaker another of those knowing smiles. "Knowing isn't quite the right word, but we've met. Glad to see you survived the zombie apocalypse." He could be a bit glib, on occasion. When he had the mind to be. And of course, no one in their right mind would suspect he was actually being serious.

[Emily Littleton] Will laughs, so Emily chuckles. Laughter brightens her features, even as her mouth twists a bit into a wry smirk. Then she finds herself looking over to the neighboring table--exactly where she had told herself not to look, in case she ended up staring again--when Will's on the cusp of making introductions.

Emily is not as classily attired as the others. She's wearing jeans, and had previously been wearing some well worn sneakers (but those were tucked under chair now, exposing some cheerfully colored socks). She's wearing layers of last year's styles, possibly picked up second hand but nicely matched. Her hair was loose, and pushed back over her shoulders and away from her face.

There's something about the way Will says magic and Jarod says Awakened that gives her pause, and that she doesn't readily assimilate these words will probably go unnoticed to most. She's normally quite good at slipping her confusion behind a friendly smile, and figuring things out as conversations unfold.

Her gaze has settled on someone again. This time Adam.

[Wharil Choc] "Shh." he hisses quickly at the mention of zombies, and his head nods toward Emily. "Some of us are uh...still stretching. If you know what I mean."

[Adam Compton] "If you liked it when you were a kid. You'd still like it now. Like... cotton candy. Big League chew. Dr. Pepper slushies. You can't not like them if you liked them once upon a time." Flawed logic perhaps, but he seems to be able to make even flawed logic sound like the Gods honest truth. It is what he does afterall.

Jarod goes on to mention awakened night, and like a good little soldier, Adam's brow furrows, one slim dark blond brow arching in question. Awakened night? Pardon? Despite the subtle tilt of his mouth that is a barely hidden smile as he takes a sip of his sickly sweet brew. Pale gray blue eyes peering over the lid of his cardboard cup at the new girl. It's like an itch he has to scratch... women in the room. His smile broadens, becomes a voice of welcome without saying a word as he sets his coffee aside once more and leans toward Emily. "Hi. Adam, it's nice to meet you."

His smile flexes with barely contained mirth and charm, his gray blue eyes dancing with an inner light.

[Emily Littleton] Adam is immediately familiar as he dons the winning smile, and accessible eyes. Emily can feel a familiar tug at the corners of her mouth, finding herself grinning back at him. What's worse, is that Adam is better at this game than she is. But the familiarity of it, the helloes, and nice to meet yous, with smiling nice young men (who are not also a little unnerving and somewhat sopping).

"Emily," she says, and for a moment she's relaxed enough to let the muddled accent come forward again. Borne not of one place, but of having spent too long (not long enough) in too many places over too many years. The strongest note is slightly British. "Pleased to meet you, too."

"They must have had one hell of a Halloween party," she adds wrily, as an aside, at the mention of Zombies and Apacolypses.

[Jarod Nightingale] The look he gave Wharil when the other man attempted to shush him was... one of those expressions that seemed to say much without having need for his mouth to actually open. It was simultaneously disapproving and vaguely amused. As if the other man had ruined his fun.

Adam insisted upon the appeal of childhood adorations, and Jarod, for his part, is rather enigmatic in his response, taking it in without either agreement or disagreement. Instead, he simply rolled his shoulders in a light shrug of contemplation and replied with, "Perhaps." Of course, two could play at that game. Adam didn't confirm or deny his suspicions, but then... that didn't really matter. Quintessence was all around them, and tonight Jarod could feel it like the hum of a tuning fork.

Adam was momentarily distracted by allure of the sole female among the group, and Jarod glanced between he and Emily for a moment, thoughtfully. "Evening," he added to Emily with a small nod, after Adam had gotten his introduction in. Jarod's own greeting wasn't so warm or openly charming, but nonetheless he gave the girl a steady gaze. Curious, perhaps. He was a curious sort of creature.

"Sadly, it was a bit of a drag. Still, a shame you couldn't be there. Would have made things a little more appealing."

And then he smiled... and he didn't look cold or distant anymore. He looked... rather inviting, in fact.

[Adam Compton] Her wit is rewarded with a winning smile, a mild chuckle that is stifled a moment later by his beverage. Hot. Sweet. His tongue laps a spot of whipped cream for the stubble of his meticulously trimmed goatee as he turns his attention back toward the two men. Wharil and Jarod. Blue gray eyes roll toward Jarod as he flatters the lone girl in the mix, and he lifts a hand to rub at his svelt beard, the gesture obscuring a faint smile. Leaning back in his chair, he sips his drink again, glancing toward Wharil. "Adam."

He leans out from the confines of his armchair again, offering a hand. Smooth and pampered, toward the young man. His smile is professional and entertaining. A combination that suits not only the district, the neighborhood, the occasion, but also the man himself. "Nice to meet you."

[Wharil Choc] "Hey have you seen Dylan since that night?" he picks up almost immediately. Almost as if he hadn't just shushed him. Almost as if he had already offered his name and hadn't just shifted the conversation to his own designs.

Again.

[Emily Littleton] Adam was smiling and charming. Jarod was smiling and... gorgeous. Wharil had been gregarious to come in from the rainstorm to say hi. And smiling.

It was almost enough to make her believe the world had been wonderously turned on its head. Em' glanced down and found her notebook still full of equations, impenetrable maths, and squiggly-lined doodles. She was still, undeniably, a geek -- at least intellectually. And yet three very interesting, engaging young men were all, at intervals, smiling at her tonight. Her roommate was never going to believe her, and it wasn't like she could ask the three of them if she could take a picture with them to prove it. If they were her college classmates, that would have flown, but Jarod and definitely Adam knew that game better than co-eds.

Emily laughed a little. It was a prettier laugh. An almost playful laugh. "Aiya..." she breathed the Chinese word effortlessly, amused. "You guys are..." she caught herself, and just kept grinning. "Nice to meet you, too, Jarod."

There was a little pause, and then she said to no one in particular: "Nights like this are good for the soul you know."

[Jarod Nightingale] "I haven't seen any of you since that night. Until now, of course." Unfortunately, Chicago's sole Verbena Disciple wasn't exactly known to mix regularly with the local mages. There was something to be said for avoiding trouble, but then... there was also something to be said for entertainment. Which was why he'd sat down amidst them tonight. Say what you like about the awakened, but they were seldom boring.

Emily's choice of wording caught his attention, and his eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly. One didn't typically hear women of non-asian descent speak Cantonese as if it were natural to them. Then again, Emily had one of those accents that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Perhaps she was an army brat. Jarod himself had an oddly generic accent. It didn't seem to possess much in the way of distinctive or peculiar inflection. He could have come from just about anywhere. (But wherever it was... he didn't talk like a native Chicagoan.)

"Anyone ever tell you that you have an absolutely fascinating accent?" He finally commented with a hint of that smile remaining on his features. He leaned over and grabbed his tea, lifting off the lid to pull out the bag (it was one of those pyramids that contained actual tea leaves, although the quality still left a little something to be desired) and deposit it on his plate before popping the lid back on and taking a sip. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly. Palatable, but not his favorite.

[Emily Littleton] Emily quirked an eyebrow enigmatically and smirked. "Yes," she said clearly and about as generically as she could. Which still sounded vaguely foreign. "Maybe once or twice," she said, but could keep the last word from listing back toward her hodge-podge pronunciation.

"Has anyone ever told you the same?" she asked, and she wasn't entirely being coy. It was a little unsettling to hear perfect American English from someone with Jarod's compexion. She had expected him to make her a little... homesick. It wasn't the right word but it would do.

"I hope your friend," this Dylan person, "is alright."

[Adam Compton] Introductions are made, and Adam reclaims his hand, glancing at the Verbena whom he hasn't introduced himself to yet. Not that it matters, he's been present for the other two intros, and three times in this case isn't the charm. It's redundant. So he returns his attention to his caffinated concoction, taking a quick sip as he looks from one face to the other. While he is a practiced hand at being in the lime light, center stage, life of the party. He's just as content to watch, and listen to other people interact. It's what makes him a good lawyer (liar).

Emily hopes that Wharil's unseen friend is alright. Adam smiles at her, a smile that says isn't that a nice thing to say, even as he's wondering if she means it, or if it just seems like the right thing to say? Jarod compliments her accent. Fascinating. He calls it, and Adam smiles a smile that says that's right. Fascinating. My new word of the day. Wharil.... where the heck has Wharil gone? He glances over at the dark skinned young man, a brow cocking faintly. The pretty boy, and the smooth talking lawyer have taken a little of the wind out of the co-eds sails. And Adam finds himself honestly hoping that the pair weren't on blind date, or a date of any kind. He'd feel back. He's a lot of things, but a cock block? Well that just cuts to the quick.

[Enid Geraint] It's late, really, for anyone under the age of eighteen to be out and about, but there Enid is - and she looks under the age of eighteen. Looks can, in fact, be deceiving, but in this case aren't; still, the girl tucked into stylishly faded and frayed jeans and an overly large hoodie (hood up, tonight - to protect from the rain, perhaps, as it comes down when she enters, revealing a thick mass of straight, red hair) proclaiming the name of a local private high school and its track and cross country team across the back, steps up to the counter and orders her drink, pays with a credit card, and steps around to the barista end of the counter to await her drink (which is in the process of making the coffee-laden place smell of apples and spicy tea as it's heated) while looking over the assembled.

She doesn't meet anyone's eyes, or talk to anyone - this is strange, perhaps, given that her bearing is that of one of those confident girls; the sort who's always in the popular crowd relatively effortlessly, and it doesn't matter that she's a jock, or a nerd, or a band geek, or whatever else she does. The attention is starting to wear off, and of this she is glad. Still, she's ever wary, given her experiences of the last month.

Eyes land on Wharil, briefly, and she does a double, then triple take; he shimmers around the edges like a mirage, a dream, and one that she's had before. She can't call up a name for the life of her, nor anything else about him, just that she knows him . . . or rather, that she should. Soon, the barista is getting her attention and handing her a drink; she turns back to him, smiles, says thanks, and then wanders to read a bulletin board not far from the little knot of people - not exactly a group, but close enough.

[Jarod Nightingale] He could, if he wanted to... sound like he was from a lot of places. But normally he sounded like he was from nowhere. The anonymity of it suited him. Jarod laughed gently as Emily returned his compliment, taking another sip of his mediocre Earl Grey before glancing briefly back at Adam.

Emily hoped that Wharil's friend was alright. Dylan wasn't Jarod's friend, so he couldn't really contribute to that sentiment. Point in fact, Jarod didn't have any male friends. He either slept with them, or he competed with them for one thing or another. (Usually women.) Generally, said men decided for themselves what category they'd be placed in. Even in the modern world, everyone was really just animals at heart. Predators and prey. They wore their true selves behind their words. Body language said a lot more than most gave credit to.

And what of his own body language? Fluid. Graceful without being feminine (there was a difference.) Controlled.

(Predatory.)

"I suppose they have, though it depends on what accent I'm using at the time. I've lived in a lot of places. As, I imagine, have you." This was in response to Emily, and then he was back to Adam again. "And where are you from? Can't say you quite sound mid-western."

[Wharil Choc] Wharil was there, but lost in thought. His hair, wet and stuck to the sides of his face, gets frazzled by a hand as he snaps out of it, letting out a bit of a spray of water as he does so. He considers Jarod for a moment, and his eyes then settle on Adam. One gets the distinct feeling he was committing their faces to memory, and then he stands.

There's that smile on his face again. A gregarious thing that glimmered with good nature.

"I think you're in pretty good hands here, Emily. These guys party hard sometimes but they're mostly harmless."

And there's a bit of playfulness in him now as he turns his gaze to Jarod once again.

"Like a kitty cat."

He reaches for the long wool coat he'd folded over the back of a chair at their table, and tosses the thing over his shoulders.

"I'll see you in class." He says to her, and nods to each...

"Jarod. Adam."

..before leaving.

[Emily Littleton] Emily looks up as Wharil gets ready to leave, and the night that started with an innocent attempt at her physics problems turned a little stranger. "Thanks, Will. I'll see you around, ne?" she asked, smiling warmly. "Stay dry..." she quipped, lightly teasing him.

But as soon as he was half out the door, she found herself wishing she'd written down his name. Glancing down at her notebook, she discovered she'd lacked any sort of foresight on that one.

"Should I..." she looked at the other two men, feeling the conversation shift back towards a tete-a-tete again. Go, she meant. Emily motioned a little bit over her shoulder, vaguely asking if she was intruding. "I mean... " she lets it trail off and looks around the coffee shop, which is thinning out for the evening.

[Adam Compton] "Mid-west." He nods at Jarod with a slowly broadening smile. "Born and raised."

Not in Chicago, but Jarod didn't ask for details, and Adam isn't offering. Wharil makes his farewells, and Adam nods one in turn. He doesn't bother with nice to meet you's... he'd exchanged those upon meeting these people. Again with the redundant. Blue gray eyes catch sight of the young girl as she comes in out of the rain. A passing glance, nothing more. Adam isn't one to judge who should be where, at what time of night.

"No." He grins at Emily. Yes, grins. An expression normally saved for 8 year olds and shit eaters. "You're not interrupting anything." Mind reader, no. People reader, yes indeed. And before it becomes creepy, his grin melts into a smile, which melts into an expression of calm repose. Besides, his cheeks are starting to feel the ache of all these random smiles, and he needs his jaw limber. For later. If his mind could grin, oh how it would be.

[Jarod Nightingale] Wharil called him a kitty cat, and Jarod fixed the man with a look that was amused on the outside, but held rather longer than it needed to. It wasn't the kind of stare a house-cat might give. One might imagine something a bit larger, and more dangerous. But Jarod couldn't turn into a cat. Yet. Wharil had seen him with his claws out once already, though. Both figuratively and literally.

Enid entered, and he glanced her way briefly. Wharil left, and Jarod focused on his tea again as he waited for Adam to respond to his question. When he responded, Jarod seemed to find this a bit curious, but he didn't probe further. People didn't always like to answer personal questions, and he wasn't one to be obnoxious about it. Instead, he repeated Adam's sentiment to Emily, giving a light shake of his head. "Only if you want to. I certainly don't mind the company. Though I imagine if you linger too much longer, you'll end up getting a fair bit of attention."

This was stated with a surprising amount of matter-of-factness. Not playful or flirty, but rather, observational. He knew himself. And he knew what men like Adam were like. "Unless the pretty blond wants to take some of it. But so far he hasn't shot me any prolonged stares so I'm pegging him as either straight or open-minded only when drunk."