Chantry and Society: In Progress

[Ashley McGowen]
It's with some slight apprehension that she returns to the chantry. They didn't clean up when they were here last; she herself was too overwhelmed with -fascination- with the scene inside, and had decided it best to remove herself. Presumably the others were worried about getting rid of the bodies.

She calls Wharil to ask him to meet her at the chantry: short and brief. And upon arriving and stepping out of her cab she scans the front of the building to see whether there are Awakened presences inside, whether it's even safe to enter.

The leavings of the rote she placed down last week are still there. When Wharil arrives, he probably wouldn't be able to even -find- the house were she not standing in front of it, marking its place: he would have overlooked it, because it looks like any other house on the street. Remarkably unremarkable. She's waiting outside, hunched up into her coat and waiting before she enters the place.

[Watch the Weaving is active, made the roll earlier.]

[Wharil Choc]
The temperature was creeping higher and higher. Too slowly so for Wharil. He'd all but gone missing during the past couple weeks. One could speculate that it was in response to recent world tragedies, that the Euthanatos had gone with his fellow harbingers of death to reap, collect, cull, and otherwise proliferate the terrifying stereotypes that surrounded them. Or, one could suggest a more practical idea, that he'd simply gone south for the winter like the tropical bronze-plumed bird that he was.

He may not have been out but he was available, answering Ashley's call with eager anticipation, and then hurrying to leave a certain mark on a certain mail box in some obscure, but specific part of the city. It wasn't the news that Gregor might have been waiting for, but they would need his help either way.

He arrives a short while after, driving past the block several times before he finally sees the Hermetic, and parks.

"Hey. Does something seem off to you?" he asks once out of the car with his coat done up tight and his messenger back slung over one shoulder and across his chest. "I think I got lost or something. That...doesn't usually happen."

[Ashley McGowen]
"I put something down to make sure Sleepers would overlook it. I didn't want the police or the Technocracy crawling around in here," Ashley tells him, looking sidelong at him as he reaches the house. She turns to regard him as he reaches her on the walk, hands jammed tightly in the pockets of her coat. There aren't any smiles today; she's trying to brace herself to go inside.

"There's still some Qlippothic taint hanging around, but it's old. And it's going to be a mess inside, unless someone like Ashton has come back to clean up."

[Wharil Choc]
Wharil's brows flinched together at the mention of Qui...Quili...Qlipl...the word he didn't recognize. Whatever it was, it didn't sound very pleasant.

"Good idea. Ashton mentioned that she cleaned up the bodies...but that was about it. She's a little...light on the details sometimes. I left a message for Gregor to meet us. I think he ought to be able to help us out."

[Ashley McGowen]
"Good. Chances are we'll need to speak with the node's guardian, if it's here. Ashton said that she didn't see it when she checked for it, though...which could be problematic." She turns away from him to face the house again, exhaling a slow breath.

"...Okay. It looks safe inside, so..." Well, safe is a relative term. But she heads for the porch steps anyway, breaking down the rote as she goes. His mind unfogged now, Wharil can see places where bullets (from a shotgun) tore through the lawn, though the blood has likely washed away by now with the rain and snow they've gotten since then.

Ashley reaches the porch, opens the door to the inside, chokes, and turns away coughing. The smell of decay is faintly present outside, but up close to the front door it's nearly overwhelming.

[Wharil Choc]
People who said you get used to the smell were either liars or psychopaths. You never get used to that smell. But you learn not to let it distract you. To Wharil it's not a reason to turn and squint and wretch. Its a reason to stay alert, and in his case, to unbutton his coat, letting the sides hang open so that he could relieve the weight on his left hip if he needed to.

"Hrm...must have missed one or something. Want me to go in first?"

[Gregor]
Wharil's phone crackles to life with whatever ringtone he is using for unidentified calls. When picked up, the static flush of wind over the receiver is heard, followed closely by a grumbling voice just off to one side of the mouthpiece. The words are incomprehensible and hurried, while the breath is laboured and thick. Someone had been running.

"Wharil? Wharil! What's going on? Have things fallen through?" Desperation. Were one to think him religious, you'd think there was a prayer somewhere lost in that tone of voice.

[Ashley McGowen]
"Go ahead," she tells him, squinting, eyes watering from the smell, as she straightens up and tries to get used to it. It's as clear as ever - Ashley, despite lengthy training, despite whatever she might have endured in other manners and what she's pushed through and seen, has not spent much time around the horrors of death.

And, as soon as he's stepped inside, she follows. The reason for the smell becomes clear as soon as he's inside: there aren't any bodies, but the inside of the house is splattered with old blood, urine, and feces. It's pooled in a spot toward the back, where the group found Jackson and Marla's bodies inside.

"The node's in the basement," Ashley tells him, raising her sleeve to her mouth and nose. As though he doesn't already know. And then his phone rings.

[Wharil Choc]
He jumps suddenly at the tweeting, droning rhythm, completely ruining that calm, prepared demeanor. Wharil smiles, here among the presence of death in the very air, and pauses at the end of the hall as one hand plucks the cell from the inner coat pocket easily.

"Grego--No. Calm down. Its coming together, but there's a secondary task at hand. We may have discovered the source of The Marauder's...uh...Its a little hard to explain. Can you meet us? We're at [insert address here]. There should be a guardian here. We'll need you to tell us what kind of state its in."

[Gregor]
There is a long pause on the other side, where nothing but the bustling of the wind can be heard. Not even breath. Then something solid strikes near the phone, before his voice comes back on the mouthpiece.

"I'll need some time."

* * * * *

It takes some time. Not a massive amount mind you, but some time nonetheless. Minutes tick by but eventually, a cab comes wandering up from the northern streets, closing in on the curb and idling. The towering creature that is Gregor emerges, dressed in the layered swarm of clothes not meant for the aesthetic. Mirrors on the backs of his palms, haggard in his features and eyes immediately falling on the Chantry House before him. His features are encased in a certain level of dread and his demeanor is one of conviction. No, resignation. No, resolution. Acceptance, is settled for.

The Cab peels off without much of a word or mention and Gregor looks on after it, as if saying goodbye to the lifeboat. He adjusts his jacket, pulling it tighter around his frame, before making his way hesitantly forward, jaw hanging slightly open and breath coming in soft plumes of white. Nervousness was not his occupation but his reflex. Caution and wariness. Careful and in need of certainties. Absolutes could be planned. Questions brought distraction.

"...Where are we...?" His gaze is exploring the House, as if it's mere presence had an affect. Punctuating and bold.

[Ashley McGowen]
Ashley quietly takes stock of the interior for a few moments while Wharil speaks with Gregor, her gaze tracing the couch over on the far end where they sat and talked about Dylan's disappearance (blood is splattered up the front) and the shattered coffee mugs in back. She's not getting used to the smell, but it's gradually beginning to bother her less, and presently she heads down to the basement to poke around while Wharil waits for Gregor.

She's looking through the area downstairs when they both head down themselves. It's at least much cleaner down here, even if some dust has settled over everything.

[Wharil Choc]
"That's fine." Wharil says as a sign off. He replaces the phone in his inner pocket, turns to Ashley, and sighs. But dear god, not too deeply.

"I'll wait for Gregor. In the meantime maybe you can check things out downstairs."

****

In the minutes it takes for Gregor to arrive, Wharil has already abandoned his coat and is on his hands and knees, box cutter blade in hand, muttering unhappily as he slices a into the carpet around the perimeter of the room.

"Fuck, Ashton. You'd think it was her first time. I know, I'll just pick up these chunky bits and leave all the gore around."

And in those minutes, Wharil

[Wharil Choc]
((That's a complete post. Ignore the last bit.))

[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 4 (Success x 2 at target 4) [WP]
(Dead Senses: Life 2. Diff. 5 - 1 for Foci. WP. Arete 2)

[Gregor]
His first reaction is a vicious balking as the stench of the interior claps him in the face. He steps into the Threshold and almost backs out again, eyes squeezing shut and brain frying several moments of staunching will to resist the temptation to bring up. Dead bodies left to rot were not the sort of things you stood against on a regular basis. Not if you were closer to the spectrum of normal, anyway. His hand remains over his mouth and nose for a moment longer, before eyes pry open to regard the distinct flicker of something(one) moving in the darkness.

He pulls his hand away, taking a quick breath and holding it before hand, nostrils flaring as the breath is released with a steady and slow control. All at once, the smells die away and he's left to breathe comfortably again, the bile retreating back into his stomach, eyes widening to their usual once again. Slightly wide and paranoid for the surroundings he's about to enter.

He climbs through the doorway, eyes falling back to the outside with that same sort of 'lifeboat gone' decision, before 'round a brief corner to regard Wharil on the ground, cutting up carpet with a box cutter.

"...Wharil?" It isn't timorous, but there is a vague sense of hesitation. He leans a hand against the doorframe, eyes lifting off the bodies, to find somewhere else to stare at.

"...Wharil what am I doing here?"

[Wharil Choc]
"Gregor!" he says cheerfully, looking up from his hands and knees, mere inches away from the leftover bits of recent, yet not recent enough, death. They don't tell you this in the movies. Its always years later that the young newlyweds move into the house, and weeks after that before they hear the first rumors that the previous owners were murdered. Right there. On the living room rug.

There's always someone else who has to come along first to do just what he is doing now. They rip up the carpet. They scrub and scrub at the hardwood or tile. They lay over new c arpet, usually white and pristine, and they never speak of this dark thing again. Not without at least half a bottle of whiskey and a great deal of prodding.

His coat was tossed over a couch as if he were merely a visitor there. They would be gone before the evening was done anyway, and when anyone came back the words 'Marla and Jackson are dead' will be completely bereft of real meaning. His gloves are still on though. It was cold in this house with no one alive to crave the heat. And it was dangerous work to be doing with shivering, unsteady hands.

"You made it. Good. This uhh..." He points recklessly with the box cutter, indicating the unspeakable mess behind him. "This is all that's left of them now. Hunters got to 'em. My suspicion is they got to Dylan. Made him what he is now. And then they got bold. And then they got sloppy. And then they got the attention of the hunters."

He stands now, administering his thumb to the switch so that with a minor click-clack the box cutter suddenly seemed less a weapon, more a tool.

"We trusted them. They were supposed to be taking care of this place and the Node. Who knows what they were really doing though."

He looked again at his work so far. The Carpet would only need to be rolled up and carted off somewhere, where it would preferably be burnt. That still left the floor to be scrubbed, and the pristine replacement carpet to be set. Obviously he would have to see to this himself. With all that though, it seemed inconceivable that the smell, as well as the image in their minds, would ever go away.

Wharil wiped at his brow with his sleeve and grabbed his coat anew, moving past Gregor and down the hall to the basement door.

"C'mon. Ashley's already downstairs."

[Gregor]
A hand moved out to clap Wharil by the arm. Not forceful, not particularly powerful either. Just firm.

"I asked you a question." His gaze isn't on Wharil, but on the destruction and half-clean up before him. "You tell me something about a Guardian, I tell you I need more details before I go down there. This is..." He swallows, minutely, minimally. "...This is a little above my...abilities."

[Wharil Choc]
He stopped, immediately turning and locking eyes with the man. There was no anger there. No unspoken threat at having been grabbed or touched or whatever it was. There was, noticeably, no smile either. No welcoming amiable look. He was serious. He was a little bit more than concerned as well.

A brief pause as Wharil's eyes flitted from Gregor's right to his left, and his mind searched for a beginning for details.

"Alright. Fair enough. You know what a Node is?"

[Gregor]
"...A node."

Quietly. As if searching for some sort of memory that was distant.

"...A place of power. A source point." He nodded at Wharil to go on, removing his hand and ducking around the Euthanatos to give him room to continue walking. It was sign enough that he was willing to explore this situation as opposed to simply deciding whether or not to go along. He was just...wary.

[Wharil Choc]
"Yeah. Even before there was a Council of Traditions or an Order of Reason there were wars over nodes. Over places where the universal essence pooled and bubbled up like wellsprings. They're increasingly rare these days, mostly under impenetrable Technocratic strongholds. But there's one here, under this house. If properly cared for it'd be enough to power whatever powerful magic either of us could ever use. If in the wrong hands, its an incredible weapon to be used against us, or against any of the millions of defenseless sleepers in this city.

"Now usually there's an entire Cabal looking after nodes like this, defending it to the death. Keeping it out of the wrong hands. But for the past...I don't know how long, there's just been one guy. And his guts are currently on the carpet in the other room. But he had help. A guardian spirit. Now usually the guardian defends the node from threats that we can't foresee or fend off on our own, and in return it gets to sip a little bit of that power every so often. I'm not sure how this one works though.

"Right now Ashley's down there checking out the power flow. We need you to try and make contact with the guardian, if he's still there, and see if the deal is still on."

[Gregor]
-A Guardian Spirit-

"...A Warden."

There is a brief touch of...Awe? Displacement in Gregor's tone. His eyes are on the ground infront of him and his demeanor is slow to change as he assimilates much of what Wharil is saying, comparing it to his own structures to find the corresponding subject. Some of it goes over his head, evidenced in the flicker of his features twisting in slight confusion, but others are nodded with a certainty both reassured and settled.

"...They're powerful. The Others fear them. If..." He pauses, eying Wharil as they come to the first of the stairs leading down. "...If his Conduit-" A beat, eyes closing, hand moving out to gesture vaguely. "..If the one that interacted with it is dead, then it's going to be wondering what's going on. Most have bargains as you suggested and often times it doesn't require an upkeep. Often times, it does. How long has the Condu-...How long as the one that cared for this place been dead?"

And down the steps. The echo of their footfalls, easily audible to Ashley below.

[Ashley McGowen]
In the basement, it's cold and damp, and it's not helped by the fact that the light is dim down here. It's in the center of the room, where it might normally grant the place a sort of hallowed feel; however, given the gory mess upstairs and the (unlit) candles scattered at intervals around the room, it probably looks more like a mausoleum at the moment. There's a hole in the floor around which a wall of stones has been built, somewhat like a well.

The walls are a bright white, however bare, and pillows lie about - large pillows with tassels, the type made for sitting on and relaxing on, all in cool tones, blues and dark greens and purples. It has a meditative sort of appearance and a distinctly eastern sort of flavor. Soft, welcoming, and yet ascetic at the same time.

Right now it smells like dust. Dust and damp cold...old stone and mortar, with the faintest trickle of incense that has seeped into the fabric and the walls of the place after long and frequent use.

"I don't know who the hell decided how to decorate down here," Ashley can be heard muttering as they descend, the light soprano echoing up the stairwell. The back of the Hermetic's head is haloed by the harsh light beaming down into the well; she is leaned over, looking into its depths - wondering - a palm resting against the top of one of the slate stones.

Where does it go? It's too dark to see the bottom. Somewhere in the back of her mind the serpent churns through the water, and she turns back to the other two when she belatedly hears them coming down the steps. She looks at them for a moment, deciding to interject briefly into their conversation, the majority of which she missed.

"The node's drained somehow, but it's still clean. Not permanently drained though, and no Qlippothic taint." She leans a hip against the very edge of the well, folding her arms and looking over at Gregor as the two men stop at the bottom of the stairs.

[Wharil Choc]
"About two weeks." Comes Wharil's voice over the pair's footfalls as they descend. "At least, that's when they were discovered, along with who we're assuming were the hunters that killed them. At least, that's where the evidence is pointing so far.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and takes in the place. "I dunno. Except for the color of the walls, i kinda like it. Oh, and Gregor, if you need any help, y'know, with any of this. Just let us know. Individually, I think we're all in over our heads."

[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 7) [WP]
"...Hello."

He nods at Ashley, the greeting something awkward and out of place and unapologetic about both. He moves past it without much thought or consideration for how it sounds or lands, stepping away from Wharil to case the room with an eye that has all but lost the aesthetic desire. His movements are slow and small stepped, eyes clicking left to right across walls and over decorations. The Well itself is regarded with an even whisper, inaudible beneath his breath. He wipes his gloves across his chest, stepping close enough to the well to lean over the edge and peer down inside. The frown on his features somewhat-

"...I've got some more comfort now that I know what you're looking for. Not exactly within my security zone but this is familiar at least." A weak smile, cast in no one's particular direction. His frown returns smoothly, eyes narrowed, head tilting to the side.

(Intelligence 3 + Cosmology 2. Diff 7. WP 'cause this is important.)

[Ashley McGowen]
to Gregor
Gregor can see that what he's dealing with is a rather powerful spirit. And in the Umbra, the traces of its webs are visible; it all seems to fit with the massive hole in the center of the floor, the dank air of the place. The node's guardian is an enormous spider, made up of many voices, many minds. Fierce, defensive and used to a long series of disappointments by the city's mages and the node's caregivers.

[Gregor]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
(Perception + Awareness: Let's see if we can decipher a possible essence leaning: Static, Dynamic, Entropic? CP adjust difficulty at your leisure)

[Ashley McGowen]
Wharil says they're all in over their heads, and briefly, Ashley's eyes flick to him. They haven't brought up Kage's suggestion since it was given the other day, and given his reaction and the way he stammered and shuffled out she's loathe to bring it up herself, but it's been in the back of her mind. Well, not always in the back, even.

Then she gives Gregor a nod, arms still folded across her chest, hands gripping either of her sides, as she watches him work. Almost curious about what there is to find down here.

[Gregor]
"...Ok."

He's backing away, nodding and staring at the walled opening, hands wiping against his layered clothes, then across the stubble of his face as if to scrub away some semblance of exhaustion. His eyes don't move to either of the Mages, brow furrowed.

"...It's angry. Very strong." There isn't necessarily something defeated in Gregor's voice. In actuality, there is a brief measure of...curiosity, even a desire to do something about it. He moves around the wall so that he and Ashley are opposite, though he remains well back from the edge. "...Choices turn inside it's head but the decisions are ultimately futile without a voice to lead it and they've been so very wrong in the past..."

He sucks his lips between his teeth, gaze lifting first to Ashley, then on toward Wharil.

"...I'll need some time to prepare if you want your answers."

[Ashley McGowen]
Ashley looks back at Gregor, blue eyes nearly swallowed up by their pupils in the dim light. She rests her hands on the edge of the well, trying to make sense of the things that he just told them. The voices have been very wrong in the past. Well, she wouldn't be surprised if the thing were angry, if Jackson and Marla turned against it.

"All right, Gregor. Take whatever time you need."

[Wharil Choc]
"Whatever you need." Wharil says with a reassuring nod. He gives the same look to Ashley, as if confirming that they would both back him up.

"Oh..." He adds suddenly, as if just thinking about something.

"Uhm...while I have you both here, I was thinking. How do either of you feel about...joining forces on a more permanent basis? As in...a Cabal?"

[Gregor]
"Just time. Just some time..."

He looks around and finds one of the large pillows, pushing back at it with a heel to tuck against the wall. He crouches and falls back into it, sighing, drooping, relaxing into the comfort. He leans against the wall, eyes closing as Wharil chimes in with another request. The reaction is an odd one: confusion, writ plainly there. He lifts his gaze to regard the Euthanatos, those features, hard lines of age and street life, turning it into a mask of scrutiny.

"...What's a Cabal?" A beat. "...And what do you mean by 'Permanent'?"

[Ashley McGowen]
There's a long pause from Ashley as she looks from Wharil to Gregor, and then back to the Euthanatos again. Entering into a new cabal is a rather weighty decision for her, emotionally speaking, but after Kage had brought up the topic and she's had a few days to consider it, her mind is almost made up. Gregor...well, she hadn't considered Gregor, but she has the seeds of respect for the man.

"It's a group of magi bound by oath, mutual respect, and an agreement to work together and consult each other," she tells Gregor. "Generally it's the group one performs rituals and rites with."

Another sidelong look at Wharil. "I think it's a good idea."

[Wharil Choc]
He nods in agreement with Ashley's definition. Wharil remains standing and, in fact, seems to plant his feet at the spot where he can regard the two magi in turn.

"Think of it as an alliance or a support system. And by permanent I mean...well, more than just every so often."

He seems to consider a while longer, then nods with assertion.

"I'll be right back." He says, and marches up the steps.

[Gregor]
Rituals and Rites with-

"That-" His head is shaking slowly, mouth hanging slightly open. The features are slack. Distant.

"...I don't...think I..." The eyes close, head still shaking minutely. "...There are things I don't want other people exposed to. Things, they shouldn't have...to be exposed to. Things that are-...are...Damn it." His head tilts off to the side, leaning up against the wall.

"We have a habit of being arrogant." A beat. "The Alters." Another beat. "Uhh...People that do what we do..." Eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them. "Both of you have commitments. Capabilities. Things you aspire to be and expect of others, whether you want to or not and...I'm the same way."

A Deep breath.

"If something like that were to go through? Well one of my expectations would be the Trust that what I'm doing is necessary." Swallowing again. "...I'll pay you the same respects." Reassurance? Resolve. "...But sometimes you're not allowed to know and I...I'm gonna need you to understand that." Another beat. "You and anyone else involved."

[Ashley McGowen]
Wharil says he'll be right back, and Ashley's eyes follow him as he goes up the stairs, puzzled and a little curious. Wondering what he's getting. And then she turns to look at Gregor as the man begins to speak once more.

Listening to Gregor talk is a little like watching the honey that has collected at the bottom of a jar slowly tip to the top so you can pour it out. Ashley is a person with an infinite supply of patience, contrary to how she sometimes behaves. She listens to Gregor's words, eyes intent, as though he's telling a story she's waiting to hear the end of.

"I think we all have things we'd like to keep to ourselves. Even from cabal mates. But if it extends to the work we're doing, I don't think it's unreasonable to have that expectation. It's just respectful."

[Gregor]
"...Of course."

Rolling his head to the side. Seemingly-

"...The Others are different." He stares at Ashley, head lowering so he is peering out from beneath his brow. "They want and demand beyond compromise and expect things. That goes beyond what you might expect. What I might expect-anyone...might expect. I don't imagine much of what you or I consider reasonable or otherwise is going to come into conflict but...where they're concerned? Might be different. If they ask for something, you might have to deal with the fact I'm going to say yes..." A pause.

Something dreadful creeping under his eyes just then. A moment. A Flicker. Gone.

"...Or no, without first consulting you."

[Wharil Choc]
He comes back down bounding, now that he knew the steps were reliable. When he appears he has his messenger bag slung over one shoulder and across his chest. he also has a three page document in his hand, fastened by a paper clip.

"I've already given it some thought. Er...obviously." He holds out the document, waiting for any one of them to take it.

"Its...based off of what I'm used to, as well as our current situation. Still a draft of course, and incomplete. But we can discuss whatever changes might have to be made."

[Ashley McGowen]
"Decide as you'd like. Just know that if I don't like something you do, I -will- bring it up," she says, after taking a few minutes to try to make sense of Gregor's train of thought, who the Others are. Oh. -Spirits.- "...And your work is your work. I don't traffic much with the Others you're talking about."

Then Wharil is bouncing down the stairs, and Ashley twists around to look at whatever he is pulling out of his messenger bag. She looks at what he's extending toward them and breaks into an amused smile. "You've given a -lot- of thought to this," she says, taking it so she can peruse it.

[Gregor]
"...That might change with this-" Spoken as Ashley peruses, reads over and eventually hands it to him for his own inspection. His own scrutiny reveals a frown or two. A flicker of something amused and finally a vague smile that could just as easily be relief as it could be acceptance.

"...How many people are you expecting to gather into this?"

[Wharil Choc]
"How many am I expecting? We three, Ashton, and Renee. Oh, and the apprentices of course, Emily and Enid.

"How much I'd want is a different matter. I'd like it if Kage would join our alliance. And Henrietta. And whoever else we know in the city. As you'll notice, part of the purpose of forming this Cabal will be so we can care for one another, and honor Dylan's wishes.

"I'd want all the magi in Chicago to join in with us. But...I'm almost certain that half of them won't."

[Ashley McGowen]
A cabal, for the Order of Hermes, is supposed to be very exclusive, a small coordinated group effort. A group of people one trusts and respects. And so the look Ashley gives Wharil is a bit leery. "...I trust Kage and Enid," she says, after a moment, as though that speaks for itself.

"...I mean. I see the purpose of a coordinated group effort and the point in having a magical society that's well connected, of course. But a cabal is...well, I'd like to watch a few people more closely before I'd want them at my back."

[Gregor]
Gregor's eyes narrow, flicking back and forth as names flit from Wharil's lips for his consideration. He takes each in, discarding those he knows and filing them away into familiar places. Those he doesn't know he latches onto and frowns over.

"...Ashton." A flash of displeasure runs over his features and is dismissed with an errant wave of the hand, the flash of a candle catching against the reflection on the back of his palm. He clambers back to his feet, the motion propelling him forward slightly, away from the conversation and toward that well again. The Document is held out toward Wharil once more, though he doesn't look at either of the two again.

"I don't really know any of the people you're talking about except Kage. I trust her but..." A pause, hands rising to gingerly lay across the edge of one of those concrete walls. "...I get isolation there. Ice broke before."

He stares down the opening. In the dark below.

"...I think I should do this before giving you my decision. That way you've got some better idea or understanding of just what you're accepting rather then some...weird homeless guy who can't sleep and shows up at doors in the middle of the night." He chuckles. Breathy and amused and purely internal. Something to prove, it would seem.

[Wharil Choc]
"Perfectly understandable." Wharil says to Ashley's response. What's more he says it with barely a flinch. The same sort of response he'd had when they first discovered what had become of Dylan Willis. A cold sort of acceptance that there would be some, many in fact, left out of their protective little bubble. And that was acceptable.

Wharil took the document back from Gregor, holding it in both hands now.

"Actually...Kage was the one who brought it up. You're right, I get the feeling that as much as we trust her, she's...a little more wary. But she's come a long way without being in any single tradition. And she lasted...well, she lasted who knows how long with the Marauder. And as far as I can tell she's no worse for ware."

He looks to the document again, this time holding it up as if for reference.

"She could be our Den-Mother."

[Ashley McGowen]
Ashley has to smile a little at that suggestion. "She'd be a good person for the job. I could...try to talk her into it. I know a few things about the cabal she was with before. Her mentor and the Hermetic he used to partner with." Her tone implies that she isn't sure whether or not she'll be successful. Dealing with other people on a friendly basis, persuading them, is tenuous ground for Ashley: one of the few situations in which she -can't- simply impose her Will on everyone else.

"I like what work you've done so far, Wharil. It's timely, and even if I'd prefer not to join with other people in a Cabal sense, maybe they'll take the hint and realize that they need to try to group together."

[Wharil Choc]
"Obviously we work pretty well together. And often. And...yeah. I'm hoping the others do combine their efforts as well. We can't go chasing them all down, but we can't let something like this--"

His palms turn up, not pointing at the node or the carpet filled with gore upstairs, or the house left undefended, or who knows what else left here by the corrupted pair of chantry guards. He didn't point to the odd distant, and random location where the marauder they were starting to call The Nameless Crow might have been. It was, however, all implied.

"--happen again. And we'll need structure in this Chantry, which doesn't necessarily have to come from a single Cabal, but I don't think I'll trust another solitary mage with that kind or responsibility again."

[Ashley McGowen]
"I would agree. The situation as it was was practically begging for a Nephandus to come along and corrupt one of them." Ashley's mouth thins, recalling her many arguments with Jacques about it, earlier on. "If other cabals form, a representative from each one on a council and maintaining the chantry might be appropriate."

She glances down at her folded arms and then back up at him. "Do you need help finishing the draft?"

[Wharil Choc]
"Absolutely." He answers with a bit of a grin, Wharil's eyes wander over to Gregor, who appeared to be wrapped in his strange mutterings, shivers, and startled conversation with the the guardian spirit. Wharil nodded toward a collection of cushions off to one side. They could work there. Quietly. And they could aid the other possible cabal-mate if it came to it.