[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.
[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.
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