Visiting Garrett

Lena Reilly
Garrett has had quite the ordeal over the past several days.  It started, of course, with his near-death and near-hideous grease burn-related scarring at the hands of some monstrous creature at your local McDonald's.  When he was brought into Denver Health Medical Center, he was in a near-comatose state and there were people here who feared that even if he did survive, his quality of life would not be something that anyone would wish upon their worst enemy.
There were others, like Ana Sanchez, who knew better.  Particularly when Dr. Morgan took on the psychologist/professor's case.  Some would call it a miracle; others would say that it simply wasn't as bad as it looked and the doctor simply cleaned Garrett up.  Neither is accurate, but perhaps the first would be more so.  And it was only a matter of time before Garrett was largely whole--still in pain, but no longer on the verge of death and no longer hideously burned.
This is not a risk Luke Morgan takes often in the hospital, but when he must...he must.
Throughout it all, Lena has been in the waiting room.  She did so for Pan and she does so for Garrett.  Luckily she doesn't work during the week if she doesn't want to so she's not missing out on any gigs.  She sits in the waiting room for the third day straight; she was there when Kalen arrived and she had told him what happened.  She remained there after Kalen went in to talk to Garrett.  And she waits there still, still dressed in the same hoody and jeans from when she first came here (the same from the restaurant).  She is a little on edge (even compared to how she's been); she doesn't have Sera's fear of hospitals and in fact is used to them, but this is her first time in a medical facility since Hydra.  And she's finding herself around her fellow Awakened, which has put her on edge as of late.

Grace
[Awareness+Perception!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Lena Reilly
[[Oh yeah, that magedar.  Spec: Uncanny Instincts]]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 5) ( fail )

Lena Reilly
[[AHAHAHAHAHA someone's Awareness got turned back off.]]

Grace
Unlike some of the Mages in Denver, Grace has no specific fear of hospitals. She doesn't think them crawling with Technocrats ready to whisk away unconscious people away to secret locales, she doesn't have deeply ingrained phobias. They're not a place to die to her, nor do they weird her out with their static nature.
Doctors, now they can be assholes with God complexes, but that's another story.
So, she's not skittish here. Especially not with her companion in tow. It's good to be somewhat solid when you're bringing a kid to see his dad in the hospital.
"So, yeah, the room should be up here--" she says to Jake, halting a bit as she runs into the wearily pulsing beat. Wow. Must be here for Garrett too?
"Huh," she says, looking around for a sign, for a waiting room. Finding it isn't difficult. And then she leads her charge not to Garrett's room, but to Lena.

Garrett Franklin
It's been a long few days, but in it Garrett's been getting better faster than he has any business doing - there's still pain and stiffness, but the burns and bite are healing at a breakneck pace that leaves the injured man itching as much as anything else.  He still sleeps at least as much as he's awake and drinks insane amounts of water, with his appetite slowly returning to something healthy for him and then more than, keeping up with the rapid caloric burn that goes along with healing from anything that quickly, regardless of the means.
The first couple days, when he was awake, he asked that people make sure his son went about business as usual as much as possible - he didn't want the boy here, upset by the condition in which he found his father.  Better to have him finish out the week before break, and then spend all sorts of time together at home.
Or, you know.  To at least have a couple days without eye rolls and sighs and the like.
In his room now, Garrett is awake.  It's the tail end of dinner time, and so he sits - there's a list of people allowed in, and Lena's probably even on it based on having been there when it all went down.  Kalen is a given.  Grace was grudgingly added by virtue of being the one Kalen sent to take care of Jacob - because of course Garrett wants regular updates.  Obviously, Jacob is allowed, under certain circumstances.
Like now.
[Aware!  I'm not sure if there are mods, so rolling base.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Garrett Franklin
[Minus one, apparently.  Not rolling another, because . . . eh.  Probably shouldn't anyway!]

Lena Reilly
While she's been waiting outside keeping vigil over Garrett, Lena hasn't actually been in to see him while he's been awake.  She's checked on him when he's sleeping, just to make sure that he's okay.  But like with all mages as of late, she's kept her distance.  She doesn't know Garrett well and feels out of place here right now.  But she's still here.
After the Hydra incident, Lena's sixth sense shut down.  It's hard to say (and she herself couldn't honestly say) whether it was an voluntary if subconscious on her own part, or if it had just burned out after she experienced what it meant to die.  In the last week or so it had come back, but this whole incident has buried it again.  And thus, she doesn't know that Grace is coming until she comes into view.
Lena's already read all of the magazines, or at least the ones she cares about.  So she has her headphones in with a laptop in front of her, doodling with a remix.  It isn't any serious work...more something to pass the time.  She looks up when she sees someone approaching and her eyes widen a little, back straightens.  She yanks the earbuds out and shuts the laptop, standing up.
"Oh, hey."  There's a brief flicker of something that might have been an attempt on a smile.  It's gone quickly though.  "Uh...come on, I know where he is.  It's right around the corner."
She picks up the laptop, moves to take Grace to where Garrett's room is.

Garrett Franklin
Jacob, for the record, doesn't look much like Garrett other than around the eyes, where blue irises peer out from a biracial face.  (He doesn't look all that much like his mother, either, but the only person currently in Denver other than his father who knows that is Kalen.)  What he looks like, right now, is a scared teenage boy - not because of the hospital, no.  His father is a doctor, after all, and not just the PhD-ed kind.
"I'm Jake.  Jacob," he offers for Lena, who he's never seen before.  And for Grace, now that he's saying something, "I looked at the map online before we came.  Didn't show the exact room, but did show where the wing is, anyway."

Grace
So, introductions are in order, but it seems Lena's a bit... off. Grace is happy to see her, but not happy to see that she still can't smile.
Not that Grace can blame her at all. Off is sometimes the only appropriate state to be in. She gives Jacob a reassuring if awkward smile, and says, "That's Lena, she's a friend."
And, following behind the Ecstatic, she tries to introduce Jake to the back of Lena's head. "Jake's family. He's cool," she says, mimicking Sera's usual statement indicating the nature of an unawakened person.
It's only when they get to the room that Grace picks up a bit of actual nervousness. Garrett's not actually on a list of people she thinks it would be fun to see. Especially not in a hospital. Maybe... hopefully... he's asleep?

Lena Reilly
Jacob gets a look over Lena's shoulder and also a brief attempt at a smile.  "Hey, nice to meet you."  It isn't much more than that though.  It may well come off as standoff-ish or dismissive, even if it isn't the intent.
They pass by a nurse's station and Lena nods a little to one of the nurses on duty, a hispanic woman.  She gets a suspicious narrowing of the eyes in return.  Grace and Jacob get the same.  Ana Sanchez lets them pass on and a few doors down, Lena knocks and then opens the door to Garrett's room for the other two.

Garrett Franklin
When they come in, Garrett's awake and sitting up; his eyes skim right over Lena to the taller boy behind her not out of rudeness (at least not intentional), but out of parental concern.  "Hey," comes light, easy, comforting - Garrett the doctor first, almost always.  "How'd you do on that chemistry test?"
Jacob, going from scared teenager to petulant son in seconds flat, snorts.  "Kalen made me go, if that's what you're asking.  You gonna make it out of here, old man?"
Garrett rolls his eyes, sighs.  "Glad to see a few days of minimal supervision hasn't changed your attitude any.  Thank you, Grace, for bringing him."  Nurse gossip means he knows that Lena's been sitting vigil, but for now all she gets is a look that says the Hermetic knows, and appreciates.  "Is everyone alright?"

Grace
Grace raises a brow at Ana. Weird. (pot meet kettle). Much to her dismay, Garrett is awake. Talking. To her. And then, her eyes just dart elsewhere.
"Don't listen to him. He asked to come," she says, to the ceiling. Hell, Garrett probably knows that. Jacob is his son. And it's not like this act isn't something that Grace herself has been dealing with over the few days she's had to watch and make sure he's kept fed and at least isn't off sleeping in a tree somewhere, or whatever it is that teenage boys do.
"Everyone's..." she looks to Lena, with a little pause, like... fuck, is anyone alright? "Good, we're good. No more attacks since or anything."

Lena Reilly
The banter between Garrett, Jacob and Grace goes on while Lena stays at the door, curls her hair behind her ears.  This is a group of people who know each other, and she's entirely peripheral to that.  (And that's on top of the usual reasons that she's sketchy lately, whatever they are).  It's the awkwardness of not belonging compiled with the damage of...well.  That other thing.  It's a potent mix.
She holds the laptop to her chest, letting the three talk before Garrett asks if everyone's okay and Grace looks at her.  She nods a little bit and puts up a smile.  It's a false one, but it's still a smile.  "Everyone from the restaurant is okay, except the the shift manager and the guy who was cleaning the grease trap.  And we couldn't have done anything for them anyway."

Garrett Franklin
[Oh, let's go with Awarepathy.  It's Garrett's second nature.  Emotional states specialty, right number of dice this time, I think.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Grace
Grace is afraid she's going to do again whatever it was she did at his place the last time they met, and this meeting will end up going sideways for reasons she can't fathom. She's also concerned for Lena.

Garrett Franklin
No, no one's fine.  Some are better than acting it than others.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, Garrett seems - maybe is - the picture of stability, of well-being, at least on a mental and emotional front.  When he's not . . . well.  There are buttons one can push, but they're few and far between - and now, he's a tired forty-something in a hospital bed, surrounded by his son and mages he only barely knows.
Lena's assessment of the McDonald's situation gets an understanding nod - he'd thought he knew that, but it's always good to have confirmation.  And Jacob's assertion that 'Kalen made him go' gets amusement flickering across his face, so elastic and clearly accustomed to smiling and pulling ridiculous faces.  "Before or after teaching you how to steal a car?"
".....he said he promised you he wouldn't do that," Jacob replies with exaggerated irritation, even as he goes to stand nearer his father - not touching, no, but at a casual near parade rest sort of stance, with his hands linked behind his back.  Now, situated behind his father as he is, it's easier to see a resemblance than it had been in the hall, or in the car, or any other place.
To Lena and Grace, Garrett smiles reassuringly - he knows both are wary and uncomfortable, and it's natural for him to do his best to put them both at ease.  "I owe you both more than thanks, from what I hear.  If there's anything I can do when I'm out of here, I hope you'll let me know."

Grace
As nervous as she is, it's hard for Grace to keep hold back a huffle of laughter at the idea of Kalen teaching Jacob how to steal a car. Stealing cars is easy. If they have OnStar or something like that, you can steal them from a distance. Not that she'd do that or anything, oh no. But it would be fun.
"Oh, uh... you don't owe me anything, really," she says. Now Kalen, on the other hand...
There's just not much that she can think of that would make her want to brave Garrett to ask him for a favor in return. Dire. Need. It would have to be that.

Lena Reilly
Lena continues to watch at the door, and she even gets a look in her eye that approaches envy at the interplay between Jacob and Garrett.  The dynamic of family...she appreciates it.  She knows what it's like, and she envies that they are able to have it.  That in itself is enough to bring just the minutest bit of legitimacy to the faked smile.
"It's fine," she says when Garrett expresses her appreciation.  "I'm just glad you're going to be okay."  And that's all true.  She doesn't know him, or his son.  She barely knows Kalen.  And (if you ask her), no one here really knows her.  But she is glad that she could help, and she would do it again in a heartbeat.
And then comes a beat, and she nods to them.  "Well, you guys have stuff to talk about, I'm sure.  If you need me, I'm gonna be in the waiting room."

Garrett Franklin
"Actually, if you don't mind . . ." the look for Grace is almost apologetic, as is the nod towards the door and Lena's retreating back - it's to be expected, perhaps, that father and son might want some time alone.  Perhaps the Grace and Lena will talk or perhaps not - but as it is, visiting hours are limited and especially so for minors, even family.  "I'll see you again soon, I'm sure,  If you'd like, anyway."
"Pffft, like she wants to be around you, Dad.  You creep her out like whoa."
".....not helping, Jacob."  Or maybe he is - the younger Franklin man humanizes the elder, in a way, even as he makes the impression of 'authority figure' all the more obvious.

Grace
"Yeah, It's no problem, I'll ah... catch up with Lena," Grace says, biting her lip at Jake, like seriously? She's going to tell him off for that later. Something like, Do not tell your dad that I creep him out! Wait... no.. that he creeps me out!
But yeah, Lena, right. "Hey, Lena, wait up... they want some bonding time or something," she calls out to the other woman, and falls away from the hospital room.

Lena Reilly
She doesn't give an answer to Garrett's comment about seeing them again soon, just gives a shrug that is non-committal.  And then she's out of the room.  And then there's Grace following her out of the room, and calling for Lena to wait up.  She tenses a little bit but does slow down, so as to let the other woman catch up.
"Yeah, I figured," she says in response to Grace.  "It's generally best to have family around when you have to stay in a place like this.  Doctors say that it helps in your recovery."  She shrugs.  "I'd say it's bullshit, but you and I both know that the power of having a certain mindset is nothing to scoff at, right?"
It's her attempt at a joke, even if it does fall flat.

Grace
"I'd say it also depends on the family in question, but they look like they..." she purses her lips. 'Get along' really isn't right, is it? "Well, they're close."
She walks down the hallways for a while, silent. Maybe the unstated bit in that last comment says something about her own family.
"So, have you been here since the... thing?" she asks. Yeah, the thing. The horrible McDonald's Monster. "I didn't know you knew Garrett that well..."

Garrett Franklin
[Thanks for the scene!]

Lena Reilly
[[Thank you too!]]

Lena Reilly
Depends on the family in question.  That brings a sardonic twist to Lena's lips, and she nods.  Grace is absolutely right in that respect.  Still, the fact that...
She shakes it off.  Never mind.  Her attention turns back to Grace when she asks if Lena's been here the whole time, and she nods.  "Yeah.  And I don't.  That exchange right there that you witnessed is literally the first time that we've said words directly to each other.  I don't really know him at all, except that Kalen cares a lot about him and Sid is distinctly wary of him."

Grace
"He's like, Kalen's adopted father," she explains. "I don't really know him that well either. I've only met him once."
And it's a bit of a lie that. She knows a lot about him. Too much, actually. Knows things she wishes she didn't know about Garrett Franklin. But actually figuring him out, knowing him as a person? Not so much really.
Grace gives Lena  a bit of a respectful glance, that she's the kind of person to stay in the hospital with someone she doesn't know at all. "Why, though? I mean... why are you still here? I mean, Kalen watches over him like nobody's business. He's not alone."

Lena Reilly
Lena opens her mouth to answer and...nothing comes out.  Which is not to say that she doesn't have anything to say.  She does.  She could probably give far more detail into her thought processes behind it and her emotional response that makes her stay here than most people would be able to.  But she doesn't...she holds back.  Lena was once close to being able to share this stuff and now...
No.
So instead her mouth is open for a couple of moments, and then she just shakes her head.  She has to say something after that.  "Because I just...it's the right thing to do.  Kalen needs to sleep sometime.  And there are other people who need him...the whole film thing.  I just...think someone should be here."
She shrugs it off and begins walking again, toward the waiting room.  "I have to work tomorrow night anyway, and Saturday as well.  From what I understand he's being let out on Sunday.  I don't really have anything else to do until tomorrow so I might as well, you know?"

Grace
"You need to sleep sometime too," she says. "Honestly, it really does help a body heal to sleep."
So, you know... get some, Lena? Please? And there are other people who need you too... But she doesn't say that.
"You're working tomorrow? Maybe I'll come see. Where at?" she asks, because it's an utter crime in her opinion that she has never been out to see either Sera or Lena perform. And she could brave the public, the crowd, for something like that.

Lena Reilly
Grace's admonishment that Lena needs sleep too gets a little shrug from the Cultist, a shake of her head.  "Not as much as you'd think."  And that's actually the truth; sleep is a rarer thing for her and she's learned to be just as fine on less hours than most.  "It's a thing.  Too much caffeine over my life, I guess.  But whatever it is, I can do just fine on a few hours a night."
She nods a little bit in response to Grace's question, looking away from the hacker to a spot on the wall.  "Yeah...at the Beta Nightclub.  It's off Blake Street between 19th and 20th near Coors Field.  Lemme know if you stop by, I'll get you into the booth.  Less trouble dealing with the crowd there."

Grace
"I'd like that, the booth I mean. It's a date," she says, gives Lena a little smile.
It's not that she doesn't notice the glances away, or the awkward pausing or what have you from Lena. But Grace is a creature of awkwardness. Her mind and eyes often drift away even if she's not uncomfortable in the least. And she'd never draw attention or even care if someone did the same to her.
So, she remains friendly and oblivious to whatever might be bothering Lena. If she stopped to think about it, well... Lena's change in behavior would have to be that. And she'd still be friendly and open anyway in response. This place is too public, too lacking in privacy to really talk about such things. But she can be here, for a while at least.

Ninjabread

Serafi­ne
It hardly feels like December anymore, even in the high plains of Colorado.  The sun came out and the temperature hit a balmy sixty-something degrees.  Colder out here, on the eastern slopes of the rockies, outside of the warmth of the city, where long shadows of the rising mountains to the west tuck into the contours of the land but still: warm,
warm,
warm.
That warmth is fading now, faster than it ever would in summer, because the ground is cold, has been frozen through, has endured the onslaught of night after night below freezing, even when the low drowse of the midday sun was enough to tip the temperature upward, and the solar radiation melted whatever lowland snows accumulated during the November storms.
Outside on the driveway: the sound of an engine.  Which sounds like any other engine from a distance.  Sera is not the driver.  When she comes out to the chantry, someone else brings her.  She is sober more often than not lately but nevertheless, the old ingrained habit will not die.
She does not intend to remain sober forever.
Or even: for long.
The kitchen door swings open a few minutes later and Sera and Dan come sweeping in.  Sera is carrying a covered platter and Dan has more supplies, is hefting them with the thoughtless ease of a young man carrying a case of beer and a couple of fifths and other assorted party supplies.
Just in case.
Wouldn't want to run out.
Beneath her breath, our Sera is humming a half-remembered song.

Pan
[herp a derp]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1

Grace
[Nightmares!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 3, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[Percept+Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Pan
On the one hand he promised Sera he would pray inside because the weather is so mutable and the ground so cold and he's nowhere near to retirement age but on the other hand the priest prays a lot. Coming in from outside doesn't get him spending any less time on his knees.
He has the decency not to pray where the apprentices can stumble upon him. His resonance dredges up disquiet in more than a few of them. So he stays in the room he's chosen to occupy while he stays out here.
Sera can feel him Working when she and Dan walk into the kitchen. It isn't just the glaring bright of the wards and ban he's placed all around the place. The shield against mental intrusion that he keeps up that the demon won't hijack their dreams if they choose to sleep here. This is active and now and he's at it when the door opens and she starts to humming.
But he knows she's there. He'll stir soon enough.

Serafi­ne
Perception + Alertness
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 4 )

Grace
Grace can't stay at home anymore. And no, it's not because of bad memories, or lack of funds, or anything like that. It has more to do with the fact that the Chantry now shines like a cold lamp, fortified with Pan's own personal brand of protection.
And she needs the protection.
She's moved a few things here, just the basics like shampoo and a couple changes of clothes, like she's having some extended sleepover until the whole 'demon' thing is settled. It makes it easier now that the semester is over, she no longer has to go into town every day.
Mostly it's quiet, save for... you know... people being sent to the hospital. Let's say, it's more of a punctuated silence. Every now and then, things go 'bang' really loudly.
Like, say, Sera swooping in with Dan, slipping some of that primal charm in with Pan's overwhelming brightness. She looks up from the couch in the living room, where she was busy with a hot laptop set up over her crossed legs. "Sera?"

Serafi­ne
Sera almost always knows where they are.  The others: any others.  She feels them behind her eyes and at the back of her throat, beneath her skin and at the root of her tongue.  She just feels them, they have a like a frequency she hears better than all others.  She just tunes them in.  Pan up there praying, the active brilliance of it, bright behind her eyes.  Sera sets one of the platters down on the kitchen counter and pulls a plate out of the cabinets and it is an absurd plate in the shape of a reindeer and Sera piles some cookies from the platter onto it and grabs one of those fifths as Dan turns around to head back outside and bring in the remaining supplies because the holidays require alcohol, one way or the other.
He pauses to give her a kiss on the crown of her head, grabs her upper arms with his hands as he does so, pulls her back against him and holds here there for a long moment.  Sera closes her eyes and turns her head back into his body and it all lasts no more than a moment.   Grace says Sera? and Sera calls out really rather brightly all things considered, "Yep!" and follows it up a moment later by heading into the living room, her plate of cookies in one hand, her fifth of Stranahan's in the other.
"Grace."  You really can't escape her, Grace.  Sera's path takes her behind the couch and she bends down and presses her mouth to the crown of Grace's head.  Then, she offers Grace a cookie.
They are gingerbread people.
Ninja gingerbread people.
Ninjabread, if you will.

Grace
Since this is Sera we're talking about here, Grace expects a bit of close contact. It's not even much of a 'thing' anymore. Like, if the sun is shining, one will get a tan. If Sera is in the room, one will get kissed, or hugged, or hair ruffled. There's no point in denying it. She's just like, this touchy-feely force of nature. So, the kiss to her head isn't a surprise or even an annoyance. It just is.
"Kung-fu cookies!" Grace exclaims, smiling with some measure of actual glee. "We should have gingerbattles."
She takes the cookie, which is shaped like an angry punching dude complete with icing face and fists, and makes a little 'hiyah!' noise.

Serafi­ne
"Dee made them," Sera returns, giving Grace the edge of a faint but rather sparkling, rather sparking little grin at the noise Grace makes.  Which is girlish and gleeful and lovely.  "Or, I don't know.  Her bakery makes them.  They're a hit with the fucking hipsters."
As Sera is something of a hipster queen, she should know, right.
"I don't remember, have you met Dee?" Circling around the couch, Sera sets the platter of ninjabread cookies down on the coffee table.  The whiskey bottle swings from her left hand as she moves, thoughtlessly a part of her.
It looks like Sera is ready to fling herself into a corner of the couch.  Close to Grace, naturally, except her dark eyes track upward to linger on the doorway, the stairwell.  Pan's resonance behind her eyes, beneath her skin, she breathes him in.
"My housemate.  Our bassist?"  Not that they really have a band anymore.  When the fuck was the last time they played out? "She can kick Hawksley's ass at Scrabble, too.
" - sometimes.  I am glad you like them, though."

Grace
"Yeah, I met her once. I got gingerbread in exchange for Ginger, remember?" Not exactly 'in exchange for', more like it was just there and everybody's the sharing sort.
Grace smiles at the mention of Hawksley and Scrabble. Yeah, bet he is a mean sucker to beat at that game. "Hey, I should challenge him sometime. See if he can beat the master," she smirks. Of course, he probably could.
"It's good to see you, Sera."

Serafi­ne
"Careful what you wish for, love."  It is Sera's own name that brings her attention back to Grace, directly and entirely.  The way Grace says it, perhaps.  There is something both intense and intent about the graze of her dark eyes over Grace's profile, which is a counterpoint to the lazy langour of her really still rather sad half-smile.  So many layers of immediacy.
"Bastard takes that Scrabble shit seriously.  Won't even be distracted by cupcakes, so plan your approach carefully, yeah?"
Then a pause, a noise in the back of Sera's through.  The quieter sweep of her mouth and a certain gleam of - well - something in Sera's eyes.
"Good to see you, too, Grace."
She could ask how things are, Sera.
She doesn't though.  There are still things that Sera just doesn't want to know.

Pan
The women have a few moments to themselves where they share each others' presence and the ninjabread cookies without the priest looming nearby and then a door opens down the corridor and the presence Sera could feel from the driveway steps across the threshold.
He looks as if he's just risen from a nap. That disjointed grogginess born of returning to reality after having spent so much time nestled away from it. He is not wearing his boots inside as he has the last several times Grace has come in from outside. When he comes out he is in his socked feet. Wears black slacks into which he has belted whatever he's wearing under a blue sweater.
Yes. Blue. Try not to faint. It's cold outside.
"Grace," he says. "Sera. ¿Qué tal?"

Grace
"Oh I take that Scrabble shit seriously too. It's strategy with words, how could I not?" She slowly shuts the laptop, and puts it on the table in front of the couch, just because shitty news stories about murders aren't the thing to be looking at right now.
Sera looks good. Sounds good. And while they're talking about Scrabble, there's the subtext of something else. Like, if they're talking about Scrabble, things can't be too terrible. It's a conversation carried without words.
And then, there is a Pan in the room. "Hey, Pan. I have a kung-fu cookie," she says, as if that explains exactly how she's doing. With that, she bites its foot off. Lovely.

Serafi­ne
"You, dormilón."  An edge of irony to the curl of Serafíne's mouth, and edge of intimacy in the affection inherent in the diminutive.  Her gaze cuts up from Grace to find Pan without hesitation, the minute the bomb-bright blast of his presence sweeps through the room.
And she knows he isn't sleepy, knows he wasn't sleeping.  Knows better than most, doesn't she, how far away magic can take you when you're Working.  Knows better than most what it means to disappear into something wider and deeper and greater than yourself.
So, her eyes are on his eyes, then his mouth, then his body.  The priest has filled out since she last saw him.  Not much, not enough, but he looks more like himself than he did the last time Sera saw him.
And in the month since he returned, not once has his sleep been disturbed by a particular drunk and disorderly Cultist who comes to find him when her trip goes wrong or a particular sort of whim takes her at four fifty three a.m.
And Sera looks more like herself, too.  Not wholly.  How could she?  She never will, not even with that bottle in hand, not until she's draining it dry and spinning herself off into some stranger's arms.
"Dee made them."  Sera explains, of the cookies.  "You should have one..
"Or five."
He should come over and give her a hug, too. But Sera does not tell him that.
There are some things he should just know.

Pan
Grace has a kung-fu cookie.
Pan squints out an approximation of a smile and then huffs out a laugh as he crosses the room to join them at the coffee table. He still hasn't gotten around to shaving the beard from his face but it's trimmed at least. He's trimmed his hair so it will not brush his collar either.
And Sera still has a bottle of whiskey in her hand but Sera has had a bottle of whiskey in her hand practically nearly every time he's met her. If she could have gotten away with it she would have brought it into a confessional booth that fateful night back in May.
"Maybe I will have five," he says and he loops an arm around her shoulders to give her a hug. Indicates Grace's cookie over the top of her head. "You go for the feet first, eh?"

Grace
"It's a really delicious foot," she says. "Seriously, Dee is awesome."
Perhaps Dee will always be associated with gingerbread to Grace, now that she's had it twice. Gingerbread, and Sera. Who is more like Sera today than Grace has seen in a while, and that is wonderful.
And also wonderful is Pan's hug, which Grace watches like she's enjoying some kind of documentary on human personal interaction rituals. See, this is what normal people do.
Excepting, of course, that Pan and Sera are not normal in any sense of the word.

Serafi­ne
Pan loops an arm around her shoulders to give Sera a hug and Sera, in turn, wraps her arms around his torso.  The bottle is full, is actually as yet unopened, and the weight is solid against the small of his back as her arms wrap around him.  Sera rests her cheek against the priest's chest and closes her eyes, soaking in his brilliance, inhaling him all-at-once, then shifts in his embrace, turning to stay close to him while including Grace in the immediate sweep of her gaze.
"She's been feeding me like whoa," says Sera, and she has gained weight since her ordeal, put a layer of healthy fat beneath her skin, enough, at least, to cushion the spare frame of her bones.  "Pain chocolat pretty much every day.
"I'll have Dan bring the left overs up here for you, instead of tearing them up for the birds in the back yard."  Then, a tip of her head against Pan's shoulder.  The slightest nudge of her nose.  Affectionate, even intimate.  And still rather sober, for all that.
"You gonna get together with Rafa over the holidays?"

Pan
For the duration of the embrace Pan lets his chin rest atop the crown of Sera's head. Like he's greeting a daughter. Like loss is something that was real in their dyad and every time he sees her is some sort of a blessing for him. Then she folds herself against his side and Pan gives her upper arm a quieting rub and keeps his arm around her shoulders. If she wants to stay rested against him he can stand as long as she can.
"Eh," he says to whether he'll be getting together with this Rafa character. "No, I don't think so. Last I heard he was out of the country. He sent Rosa a postcard from Peru a couple weeks ago."

Grace
"That would be nice. Pain chocolat is... what? Chocolate bread?"
Grace doesn't know who Rafa or Rosa is, and considers asking, before... no. It might be personal.
Instead, she munches her gingerbread man, feet first. Not the merciful kind, to start with the head, Grace. The cookie just scowls back regardless, now angrily punching the air without legs.

Serafi­ne
"Chocolate croissants," Sera informs Grace, giving the would-be VA a lazy, solid sort of grin.  "The real kind, made they way they do in French.  No icing, not too much sweetness.  The chocolate filling dark and maybe a bit bittersweet, all complex and interesting.
"That's what pain chocolat is.  Ridiculously healthy."
Then, turning to Pan, lifting her chin to look him full-on in the eye.  "Get his number from Rosa - I know she has one - and give him a call at least.  You may not remember but he came when you were in the hospital. Had both him and Shoshannah staying at my place, then.
"Just call him, okay?"

Pan
He doesn't remember. Sera can tell that he doesn't remember because she's looking right at him and he isn't making any attempt to conceal the fact that he's thinking about it. Eyes canted slight towards the inside of his skull like he can find the memory in there somewhere. Even Grace who finds it difficult to read people can read this.
This is the son he told her about. Occam's razor. Who the hell else would Sera be on him about contacting during the holidays with everything that's going on.
Pan reels in and releases a breath and gives her a smile. She'd asked this of him once when he'd come back to a central gathering place splashed in his own blood talking like he was simultaneously propelled towards and holding the others back from where they all needed to be. Evil made flesh less than three miles away.
One of them is in the hospital now. A few of them will be going up into the mountains to deal with this demon in not too much time. It's not a coincidence. He needs to call his son.
So he leans down and holds the back of her head still with one hand and plants a dry kiss on her hairline and then steps back like he's going to escort her out.
"I gotta ask you a favor, actually. You staying or going?"

Grace
Ugh. The talk of calling people, especially people who must be family to Pan? Yeah. That brings up memories of the time Sera asked Grace to call her mom, a thing which has not happened yet.
Must the Cultist always be so damn right all the time? Because it's not easy things she asks, yes? Maybe Grace can see that in Pan's eyes, in that roaming thinking gaze. Like yeah, she does that to everybody it seems.
She'll need like... 5 chocolate croissants to get get through that particular quest. For now, her cookie is finished off. Comfort, thy name is sugar.

Serafine
Sera closes her eyes when Pan leans in to plant that kiss at the edge of her hairline  Lifts her face to his, naturally, the way some flowers follow the movement of the sun across the skin.
He asks if she's staying or going, and there's a moment where something quiet and awful and skittish sheans across her expression, visible but only just, like the rainbow hue of oil over water.
"Going," Sera tells Pan, rather quietly, admits really and it is an admission.  Grace and Pan are the only people she might run into here whom she really wants to see.  So: going, naturally.  But the expression subsides as soon as it rises and Sera moves onward.  "Just bringing supplies.  You know I'll do anything for you.  Just give me a minute to check on Dan."
And, so saying, Sera slips out of Pan's embrace and heads back toward the kitchen, disappearing for the nonce to check on the booze she brought.
The important stuff.

Pan
Pan is gone five minutes maybe no more than ten and then he comes back into the house with the Cultist having parried his attempts to help drag things inside but not his request for aid. She would never deny him anything but whatever he asks of her he asks in relative privacy.
Then he comes back inside and he comes back to Grace's little cookie oasis of solitude and picks up one of his own ninjabread.
He goes for the head first. Puts the poor little guy out of his misery.
"I heard there was a bit of a mess up in the city the other day," he says after he's swallowed. "You alright?"

Grace
"I was here when it happened," she shakes her head. "I'm fine, really. Didn't get chewed up or anything."
Someone else did. "You know Garrett Franklin perhaps? He wasn't so lucky."
And you know, as much stupid crap has gone between herself and Garrett, she wasn't happy to hear about that. Not in the least.

Pan
Not the most appropriate thing in the world to be eating cake shaped and decorated to appear humanoid while discussing an incident that involved the consumption of body parts and near-death but Pan is himself human. Humans need to eat.
He finishes off the ninjabread man and relegates his hands to his pockets.
"Truth be told, I never met him," he says. "I take it he's the one in the hospital?"

Grace
"Yeah. He's kind of... Kalen's adopted dad. Anyway. Kalen's been a bit understandably upset about it," she says. She doesn't include herself in people who are still upset over Garrett, though.
"I guess it was just another case of Denver being Denver," she sighs. "I swear, it's like, you open your eyes, and all the sudden everything's all zombies and demons and McDonalds coming to eat you. I never knew Denver of all places was such a hellmouth." I was blind, and now I see. Grease monsters.

Pan
"Eh, it ain't just Denver."
Pan takes another breath and sits himself down on the furniture cat-corner from Grace. Doesn't deign to touch her. His body language is open yet constrained at once. Fingers knit together even though he isn't planning on staying here long.
"Not much consolation, I know. Your world opens up when your eyes do. World itself don't change but your understanding of it, yeah? The things you're willing to see and accept when you do see them? That's all that's making it seem like so much crazy shit's coming out the woodworks now you know what's actually going on. Gotta make sure you're open to seeing as much good. Huh?"
Unsolicited advice. Must be like a vampire. You invite him in once and the house may as well be his from then on.
"How's Kalen holding up? If he's been around the house this week I ain't seen him."

Grace
"I'm open to seeing the good, Pan. I think I am at least," she gives him a little smile. "We're the good. We have to be, otherwise..." Well, otherwise, zombies. Or viruses. Or whatever the end-of-the-world of the week happens to be.
"Yeah, you haven't seen Kalen because he's sticking to Garrett's side," she says. "He can be quite the caring guy, don't let the icy exterior fool you. But he's okay, if a little... protective of Garrett right at the moment."

Pan
"Well, I can imagine why."
All he can do is imagine. He wasn't there and he's never met Garrett. But Sera did say his own son was there while he was comatose in the hospital. This son who didn't know him until he was nine years old. Isn't much of a stretch that a kid Kalen's age would develop filial feelings towards an older member of his own tradition.
"I never noticed the, ah, ice, though. Consider me unfooled."

Grace
"Heh. The first time I met Kalen, he glared at me a lot for getting in his personal space and daring to talk to him," she says, leaving Pan to imagine that one. Grace isn't the kind to get in anyone's personal space, right?
"But, now, he likes bringing me takeout just to make sure I'm eating," she shrugs. "Sometimes, he takes a bit to warm up to a person is all."

Pan
Though he was listening as she explained her impression of Kalen and he even smiled a bit at the notion of Grace getting up in anyone's space enough to offend another person that smile slowly disappears when she mentions Kalen's evolved role in her life. Nods to indicate he's heard her before he shifts gears.
"You eaten anything today besides junk food?"

Grace
"Oh yeah, yeah. Shoshannah makes enough food for an army, you know that," she says. "Hummus is not junk food, right?
"I do hope Sera's eating more than just pain chocolat, though..."
Grace looks a bit pensive. Sera looks better, but appearances are just that, right? She was skeletal not a month ago, and after what they went through... Well, red meat would be a little more preferable to chocolate croissants, nutrient-wise.

Tremor Dervish
The roar of the vintage war era motorcycle crept up on the Chantry like a rapidly approaching storm.  The thunderous chugging of the machine led it up toward the front door of the house before the engine died with one last monstrous gulp of air.  Tremor kicked down the stand and slung his leg off from atop it.
The hollow features of shaved head accentuated his skull, giving him a grim look by default.  It probably wasn't helped any by a few pink polka dots of freshly burned flesh pock marking his face and scalp.  The beast at the McDonalds had slain his leather jacket (at least, it was airing out and the prognosis was not good.)  In lieu of that, he was wearing a heavy flannel shirt which, despite the weather, was unbuttoned and hanging open.  Around his torso was fixed a long stretch of ace bandage that was holding sloppily placed wads of gauze to his others burns.  His heavy biker boots plodded up to the front door where he paused to knock.

Pan
He knows how much food Shoshannah prepares. It's thickening his muscles and pouring fat over them. The reminder and the question both make him burst into off-guard and brief laughter before she expresses concern over Sera's eating happens.
"So do I."
Hope she's eating more than bread and chocolate. It'll do until she's back to her fighting weight but her fighting weight wasn't very high to begin with. Most of Serafíne's calories come in liquid form.
The priest could feel the seer coming before he approached the door but it isn't until the knock sounds that he contemplates standing.
And Pan doesn't believe in hollering across the room to communicate with someone on the other side of a door so he gets to his feet and crosses the room to open it.
"Mister Dervish," he says and steps aside to let him in. "Hi." Not until the door is shut and the younger man has passed through the invisible airlock between outside and in does Pan tell him: "You don't gotta knock next time. If you weren't supposed to be here you wouldn't be able to find the place. That door ain't usually locked."

Grace
Grace tries, once, to save Pan a trip to the door, but then just plops her butt back down on the couch when she realizes what she's doing. Pan's an adult. He can answer the door if he wants to. And besides, the last time she tried saving him a few steps, she only ended up hitting him in the face with her phone, so. There's that.
Her own, more limited perceptions, still notice Tremor. A new sensation. But Pan's not obviously concerned, and apparently knows this person. That's good enough for Grace.
When they appear from the hall that leads to the outside, she gives the new guy a wave, and a little smile.

Tremor Dervish
"Hey.  I get you.  Still feels weird...  Somebody's home and all.  What if I walked in and no one was here?"  The tall, stringy punk shrugged sheepishly as he pushed the door closed with a gentle, measured, certainty that belied his giant hands and stringy, looming form.
"I was hoping to get some news about Garrett.  Last I saw him he was being pushed into an ambulance.  Shit like that doesn't sit right with me.  Back in the day, you might as well have been turning someone over to the 'Crats if you sent them to a hospital."
He watched that portion of the ordeal from a safe distance.  Tremor was not the kind of guy that filed out police reports.  Not without spitting, either on the cop, or the report.  Probably both, just to make sure.
He glanced past Pan to wave at Grace, but, seemed to wait on the other man's cue as to when it was appropriate to move deeper into the house.

Pan
Back in the day, Tremor says. Pan looks over his face and he considers his own words. Like so many are clustering around the base of his throat and he isn't sure which ones to let out into the world. Like folks today aren't still worried about being 'transferred to another facility' and nobody ever hearing from them again.
He goes with: "You remember the War?"
Skepticism or camaraderie depends on the other man's answer but Pan's well into his forties. He's powerful but not of the echelon that disappeared over a decade ago and left the rest of them to fend for themselves. Not even an Adept in the city. He and Garrett are the closest they've got.
Either way he leads him into the living room where a plate of gingerbread cookies decorated to look like ninjas sits on the coffee table and introduces the two silent-waving young'uns to each other.
"Tremor, this is Grace Evans. She's an apprentice. Does stuff with computers and phones and... I don't understand it, but I'm sure you will. Grace, this is Tremor Dervish. He just got into town... must've been last week. Maybe you can fill him in on what's going on with Mister Franklin."
Sounds like he's excusing himself.

Grace
"If we found you by yourself in the Chantry, we would string you up by your toenails to a ceiling fan, and then turn it on," Grace replies, completely deadpan. "It's tradition. Hi, Tremor. Nice to meet you."
The silly nature of the conversation is meant to put Tremor at a bit of ease regarding Garrett's prognosis. And his other fears as well.
"Garrett's still in the hospital, last I heard. He's doing better though, and I guarantee you he is being watched like a hawk by someone really fabulous at killing bad guys."

Tremor Dervish
"Yeah.  I remember."  He confirmed with a solemn nod.  It was hard to place his age.  The eyebrow rings, the punk trappings, that sort of stuff seemed to indicate a youth that his hollow features just couldn't back up.  He was at least old enough to have been on the front lines during the final years as many of the last great chantries were scoured from the Earth.
It was an understatement, his remembrance.
His boots were clean this time.  He'd made sure.  His heavy thunderclap footfalls sounded behind Pan as he followed the man into the living room.
"Nice to meet you, Grace."  He made a smile.  It was a little awkward.  Maybe a little goofy.  It was an honest expression on a face that wasn't intended to, or used to, expressing it.  He provided a nod to Pan that seemed to be acknowledgement of his intended departure.
Now that he was more immediately available to size up, the tattoos snaking down his arm onto his wrist were visible, as was the large, prominent eye etched onto his left palm in black ink.
"I'll remember to wash my feet."  He supplied helpfully, before he paused and nodded again slowly as he seemed to hesitantly take Grace's word for it.
"Well, good.  If things go south, consider this my preemptive offer to help.  He stood his ground, put up a good fight.  Might have been a little overzealous with the Zeus, Lord of Lightning routine, but, hey, it happens."

Pan
At the confirmation that he remembers because he was there Pan clasps a hand onto Tremor's shoulder. It's brief and then they move on. He introduces them. He picks up another ninjabread man. He lingers a moment to make sure they're getting on alright.
Garrett's still in the hospital. Watched like a hawk by someone really fabulous at killing bad guys.
He smothers a smile and bites the head off his second cookie and wanders off into the kitchen.
[i'm turning into a pumpkin. thank you for the scene, guys!]

Grace
Grace kind of raises a brow at the whole 'Zeus, Lord of Lightning' comment. Garrett? The dude's scary enough with his whole, 'I'll just go enter your mind and clean house' routine.
For a description of Grace, well... she's not nearly as noticeable as Tremor. Not nearly as noticeable as anyone, really. In blue jeans and a grey turtleneck jacket, she basically looks like she could belong anywhere, look like anyone. She also doesn't seem in the least concerned about Tremor's appearance, except for one thing...
"So, you were there? I notice you look a little, uh... burned."

Tremor Dervish
"Yeah... when he blew that thing up... it kinda... went everywhere.  And was on fire."  He recalled with a grimace.
"Luckily the only permanent damage on my end was my good jacket and a Iggy and the Stooges T-shirt.  Garret wasn't quite as lucky."

Grace
Grace gets this look on her face like she can just imagine, and doesn't want to. "Eww."
Yeah, eww.
"Sucks about the jacket though. If something took this out," she says, tugging at her turtleneck, "I'd be a little pissed."
Although, why really? It's the plainest thing you could think of as far as outerwear is concerned.

Tremor Dervish
Everyone had a preferred wardrobe.  Tremor didn't think that was entirely unreasonable.  He'd washed other people's blood off that jacket before.  It was a bonding experience.  For all he knew, that was her bad motherfucker tactical turtleneck.
He shrugged.
"Dad used to say... never wear anything to a fight that you wouldn't burn in a dumpster afterward.  He had a good sense for that kind of stuff."
He related his father's wisdom while he rounded a chair and carefully lowered himself into it.  He was likely being cautious on the account of his injuries, but, given his size, it looked like he was being crammed into an ill fitting glove.  His long stringy body folded and finally sprawled out so that he wouldn't have to double over his injury.

Grace
It is her bad mofo tactical turtleneck, actually. And part of that tactic? Looking like nothing special.
"This would stink horribly if you burned it in a dumpster. It's some kind of special plastic. Also, I don't think it burns too well..."
She looks around as if giving serious thought to the idea of burning her clothing. But then, she notices the way he moves, the way he's careful about his injuries. It's something she can do nothing about, but she grabs a cookie and holds it out for him. It looks like an angry guy performing a leaping kick. Red icing eyes glare out from gingerbread. "Have a kung-fu guy."

Tremor Dervish
"Plastic?"  That actually did raise his pierced eyebrow.  The little rings punctured through it washed upward as if floating on a wave.   "Well, 'doesn't burn to well' is good.  I'm finding this out now from experience."  He joked before he flashed a big, toothy grin.
He wriggled to the side in his seat to reach out and take the cookie, which gave him a slight grin.  "Reminds me of a Go-Kamisori-Gama I once met."
He looked at it fondly for a moment before he finally took a bite.

Grace
"Go-Kamisori-Gama? Sounds Japanese," she says, with an unspoken 'but what does it mean' in there somewhere.
This guy, he probably has stories. Grace thrives on stories. Spins them. Trades them. Perhaps Tremor wouldn't want to tell them all, and she gets that more than most. Which is why the question is no demand. She's heard a litany of horrors from one person who went through The War already. Once was enough.

Tremor Dervish
"Mmm."  He emitted, before he had a chance to chew and swallow.  "Ninjas.  Well.  Mage-Ninjas.  They're not really what you think though... Ninjas were early adopters for technology and innovation for most of their history."
He didn't look like the kind of guy that knew a lot about history.
"The modern version are as likely to use ancient mystical trappings as they are cybernetics.  They caucused with the Akashics up until things started to get grim.  I don't know if there are any left in North America, or where they lay politically now."

Grace
She gets this inspired-to-awe look on her face, "Mage ninjas? With cybernetics? Oh wow. Dude."
Grace has been around for just long enough to have only a few good stories. Well, and one very bad story, actually. Pan cautioned her to keep her eyes open to the good things rather than just the bad, but shit... the bad is everywhere.
Cyborg Ninja Mages though? Even if she has to live through the stories of others, it's a kind of living. And she's still new enough to this to be truly awed at times.
So they talk their stories. And eat little gingerbread guys. And maybe Grace brings up the other kind of Ginger, the one that goes on your phone -- to reach out and touch a phone-sex operator's remixed voice command menu. Grace doesn't look the type to have set that up, but she'll explain the benefits and drawbacks of the Denver Mage community's secret encrypted social network.
And gloat. A bit. Perhaps. It is a good story.

I'll Do Me, You Do You

Sid Rhodes
[1-2-3 not it!]

Kalen Holliday
[Nightmares]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (3, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Alyssa Solomon
[[Not it!]]

Kalen Holliday
[*L*  You want me to start this.  Aw.  This will only take a century.  :)]

Kalen Holliday
Kalen is sitting in the corner of the couch in the living room, reading a book on cosmology.  There are a handful of other books on the table, with index cards in them marking various pages.  There are sheets on onionskin paper spread over the table with his small blocky script.  He's not taking any notes now though, his pen is on the table and he is curled up around the book.
He seems to have made peace with the fact that there are Christmas decorations everywhere, because he is not giving them wary sideways glances anymore.  So...probably he no longer suspects of being haunted, or about to animate, or whatever his strange issues with Christmas ornaments were.

Kalen Holliday
[Oh.  Awareness.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )

Sid Rhodes
Sid took the day off from work so she could finish up the last of her final exams for the semester.  One would think that, now that it's all behind her for a few weeks, she might take some time to relax her brain.  If she's coming to the Chantry surely it's to flop into a bean bag chair and zone out to television or a video game, something.  She doesn't, though.  Her mind is never at rest these days, she's never able to completely shut down (or at shut down as Sid Rhodes could ever get).
It's the weekend, and that means coming out to the Chantry house and studying other things entirely.  Her truck parked in the drive some time ago, but she didn't go inside, not immediately.  Her first order of business had been to see to the plantlife, the green growing living things around the Node and fill them with a vibrant energy of growth.
When she comes in finally it's through the sliding glass patio door.  Kalen, reading in the living room, may be too engrossed to hear the slide-slide of the door opening and closing, but maybe he catches the stomp-stomp-stomp-scrape scrape as Sid stamps the wet and the snow from her boots before grinding her feet into the mat placed there for just that purpose.  He knows it's her, he can sense the curling twist of her resonance.  Sid, however, does not reach out.  The only people given access to the House have been met and vetted by someone or other at some point in time.
She makes her way down the hall toward the front entrance and the coat closet there, but pauses when she notices the young man curled up on the couch.
"Hey," she greets as she unzips her jacket.  Her hands are bare and pale against the dark grey fabric of her hooded sweatshirt.  Her eyes go to the book.  "What're you reading?"

Alyssa Solomon
[[I always do this after I type up my post, you'd think I'd do it before: Awarness]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Alyssa Solomon
Last time Alyssa was seen, she was helping Sid take a bloody-nosed Pan from a brew pub.  The Hollower had dropped them off back at the chantry so that they could recover...after all, this wasn't the kind of nosebleed that you went to the hospital for.  And then she had headed off her own way, snarking something about how her one good dress shirt had been ruined.  (She really didn't care, but it allowed her to snark.)
One might think that she was going to be gone for a while after that, but such was not the case.  The late '80s model Acura pulls its rickety ass into the driveway and the goth occult investigator slips out, flicking a cigarette out past the property line into the street.  (You see, out there you aren't potentially pissing off a guardian spirit.  And that bear looks like it could get hungry at times.)
She sighs a little bit, twisting her neck left and then right to pop it, and makes her way to the door with her heels clicking on the sidewalk approach.  She's a little bit simpler than she was the other day in a pair of jeans and T-Shirt under the longcoat.  She's stuck with the fedora and purple color scheme to her cosmetics though.  She senses those inside and recognizes Kalen's right off; Sid's, she thinks she remembers.  After all, yesterday was a bit hectic.
And then... Knock knock.  She knocks because she expects people to do so at her place.  It's just polite.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen tucks an index card into the book he's reading and sets it down on the table.  "Just about cosmology.  It's kind of neat."
He glances at the door when Alyssa knocks, and then he sighs, pulls out his phone, and sends her a text that says, 'Come in.  It shouldn't be locked.  We're in the living room.'  Because he is not in a mood to come climbing up the stairs to go get her.  He has the perfect space to curl up in.  Why would he move?
And then he looks back to Sid.  "Anyway.  How are you?"

Sid Rhodes
"Oh," she says, that single sound never the less full of interest and curiosity.  She didn't know there were books about that here.  She'll have to find some to read herself later.
But first, there's a knock at the door, and she tilts her head.  "I'll get it," she says, because she has to hang up her hoody in the hall closet and pull off her boots, anyway.  She makes her way the few steps further and opens the door, brows lifting when she sees who's standing there.  Just yesterday they shared a ride back out here to get Pan to someplace where he could comfortable recover from the Universe's backhand of doom.
"Hi," she says, and steps back away to give the woman room, tucking her hair behind her ears.  "You don't have to knock.  It's usually open."  She slips her sweatshirt off and goes to the door in the hallway.  "Coats and things just go in here," she says, bending to pull her boots off and set them somewhere to dry.  She'd done her best to wipe them off when she came inside, but there are still little traceries of wetness in the hallway, tracing her path back and into the dining room.

Alyssa Solomon
The occultist takes a step back after she knocks and can't help but give a little look around the outside face of the building.  It's her third visit but she still hasn't committed the place to memory...an important step should she ever need to send a message through a little Correspondence magic.  She's taking in the various nooks and crannies of the sight when her phone gives a deep, maniacal laugh in the voice of Vincent Price that signals a text message.  She pulls the device from her pocket and is just reading it when the door opens to reveal Sid.
She looks up when Sid gives greetings and steps back.  There's a little smirk and she holds up the phone.  "So I hear.  It's an etiquette thing, I guess.  Too many chantries I've been to have...particularly formal rules.  Knocking is the least thing you have to do most of the time...duly noted, though."
She steps inside, slipping the longcoat off and putting it in the closet.  Before she goes away from it though, she grabs a couple of things out of it.  The phone, her lighter.  "You guys have a place where people are supposed to leave weapons?"  She says it as she reaches behind her back and produces her .45, held flat in her hand so that her fingers aren't wrapped around the handle or (of course) the trigger.  She holds it out for Sid to take if she so desires.  "I try not to leave home without it, but this is your guys' chantry, so I do wanna follow your rules and such."
The fedora, for the record, stays on her head.  She may be all about etiquette right now, but some good manners have to take a backseat to one's personal image.

Sid Rhodes
Alyssa explains that it's an etiquette thing while Sid hangs up her sweatshirt and as she removes her boots.  It's not that Sid doesn't understand, but that she doesn't often waste energy on politeness.  Some of it is because of that permanent state of wariness, some of it's because she's out of practice with that sort of thing.  When she's standing upright again, Sid's shoulders lift in a slight shrug.  "You know Pan."  And Kalen obviously, but Annie gave the keys to this house to Pan before they were passed on to anyone else, and outside of yesterday's magical debacle, Sid has heard that Pan is known to have good judgement.  And he was going for a beer with Alyssa.
A beer.
Sid saw Pan in a bar only once before, the night she met him and Sera.  Neither of them had anything to drink that night.  Neither Pan nor Sid that is.  Sera performed with a bottle of alcohol in one hand from which she drank quite freely.
So yes.  Knowing Pan will get Sid of all people to tell you that it's alright to waltz right into the Chantry, even if you've only been inside of it a small handful of times.
She's just turning to head into the living room when Alyssa asks about weapons.  Sid turns back, looks down at that offered gun, and she frowns at it.  But her head shakes.  "I don't have any, so I don't know.  Kalen!" she calls, and she takes a few steps backwards until she's in the doorway that opens into the living room.  "Is there a place for weapons?"

Kalen Holliday
"Why wouldn't you just keep them on you?  They match everything!"  Kalen calls back.  "Seriously though, I think we keep them wherever.  There aren't any small children to get into them or anything.  Um.  Why?"

Tremor Dervish
The motorcycle implied by Tremor's mode of dress the other day came chugging up the drive toward the Chantry.  It was a war-era Harley.  Not the sort of vehicle that was designed for middle management types to indulge their midlife crises, but, rather, a weapon forged for the express purpose of killing Nazis.  Parts of the bike had been sandblasted and re-primed without paint, but, the fuel tank still bore the original faded army green emblazoned with a big white star.
It eventually died after one last thunderous chug, and Tremor swung his leg off from atop it, unbuckled his helmet, and dropped his goggles into it like a bowl.
He stood at its side regarding the front door for a long moment before he eventually worked up the nerve to approach.  He couldn't help but feel a little naked without his gun.  Firearm ownership was its own sort of worst case scenario plan for any uncertain situation.

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa's thing isn't as much politeness for politeness' sake; there will come a time, as she learns that the chantry is more lax about these things, that she'll have no problem just walking in and dropping onto a couch somewhere.  She may even track in a bit of mud (though not intentially) or accidentally bleed on things.  But she's learned over time to start formal and then go toward informal until you find where the okay point.  It's a habit that is far less likely to get a Prime bolt shot up your ass.
So she shrugs and nods, and tilts her head to listen with a bit of a grin when Kalen responds about the weapons.  She shrugs it off then, slips it back into its holster at her back.  "Hey, works for me.  You'd be...well, probably not surprised over how some places look askance at people walking in with handguns loaded with anti-spirit ammo."
And that's when she starts her walk toward the living room...though it stops when she picks up on that rumbling sound of destiny that comes from Tremor's Resonance outside.  "Hail hail, the beer gang's almost all here.  All we need is a priest."

Sid Rhodes
"Anti-spirit ammo?" asks Sid, but before Alyssa can answer there is the rumble of a motorcycle.  It doesn't sound like Lena's, and besides, Sid hasn't seen Lena at the Chantry since...when was that?  Anyway, it doesn't sound like Lena's bike and Sid doesn't know anyone else in the city who drives a vehicle that sounds like that.
She moves past Alyssa to the doorway and peers outside.  Despite all of the precautions of the place (the wards, the bear, the near impossibility of finding it without guidance), it's no safer here than anywhere else.  Sid peers out, and she sees the approach of the tall bald man just as Alyssa announces his presence.  She opens the door before Tremor reaches it.
"Hi," she says.  She didn't smile for Alyssa, and she doesn't smile for Tremor, either.  Probably, neither of them expect her to.  But there is a note of welcome in her voice, regardless, and she steps aside in invitation and to make room.

Kalen Holliday
All they need is a priest.  Which might prompt Kalen to move enough to make tea.  It might not.  He seems very happy in his corner of the couch and at least Alyssa has seen the ridiculous production that is Kalen limping around to bring people things because he refuses to ask anyone to help him.
He can sense Tremor but Alyssa is right there and she has a gun, or some kind of weapon, and she seems very willing to use it.  Not over eager, but he can trust her not to hesitate if should be shooting.  He still stays where he is.
They'll come back.  Most likely.  There are only so many places to sit in the chantry.  The living room, all covered in Christma-they are going to have to get Tremor a stocking now that he's come here.  Kalen scribbles a note on an index card and then tucks it out of sight in a book.

Tremor Dervish
"Hey."  He returned.  He stood there before her dumb for a moment before he began to head up through the door into the building.
There was a little apprehension there.  He wasn't sure what he was getting himself into.  For all he knew there was some big name Master here whose bitch he was about to become.  Even the fact that he knew about the location put him in a precarious position.  He grinned sheepishly at Sid as he stood just past the threshold.  He looked like some dio de los meurtos decoration; a scarecrow with a skull on top grinning cheerfully at his descendants, and at least partially unaware of the morbidity.
"I don't know what to do.  Normally when it's our guys, we wind up getting drunk together and I wake up on someone's sofa.  Sometimes the sofa is on another planet, or whatever.  Or I find myself there after the acid wears off... I guess I'm saying... should I take off my shoes?"
He looked down at the big clunky black boots he was wearing, up to Sid, and then back down again.  He seemed slightly disparate from his resonance.  Maybe even a little docile and dopey.  Like a St. Bernard that knew it wasn't supposed to jump up on the couch, but really wanted to figure out a way to get closer to you.
The Fateful, Thundering man was something they hadn't really seen yet.  It was just an implication.  An insinuation.

Alyssa Solomon
Anti-spirit ammo? is what Sid asks, and while the arriving Ecstatic cuts them off Alyssa doesn't forget the question.  It's something for them to get to later.  Instead she just smiles a little and shrugs, giving Tremor a little upward nod when he walks in.  The Cultist isn't quite sure what to do and Alyssa can understand to some degree, although she parhaps has a bit more experience with multi-Traditional chantries where things are a little bit looser.  At the very least, she doubts there are going to be any psychadelic interludes.
"I'm not, but I keep these babies pretty clean.  And they're a pain to get back on in case of emergency, so..."  She shrugs and those heels carry her into the living room, where she nods to Kalen.
"Oh sure, don't get up.  I see how you are."  It's said as a tease and is pretty clearly denoted as one from the half-grin.  She knows and gets why Kalen isn't getting up to go see who's at the door.  "How's tricks, Lord Flambeau?"

Pan Echeverri­a
Not even twenty-four hours ago this same group of people was clustered around a table at a perfectly nice brew house up in the city and they had been having a perfectly nice time and then as is wont to happen someone started bleeding and they had to disperse.
Throughout the clomping and the arriving and the talk of where to put shoes and weapons the priest has not made himself known. It's hard to tell if he's here or not based on the presence of his resonance because the house may as well be his resonance. This place's defenses pull with light so intense it practically forms a physical barrier between the Awakened and the outside world.
They weren't strong enough to keep out fear-hungry nightmare creatures and they may still not be strong enough but they're better than nothing.
One moment the four young people seem to have the place to themselves. The next the back patio door barks open and brings a rush of cold into an empty kitchen. By the cadence of the bootfalls and the depth of the voice behind the cough those who are more familiar with the priest can recognize that he's here after all.
He doesn't come straight into the living room to see who's here. He takes off his coat and starts clattering around at the stove first. Tea ain't gonna make itself.

Sid Rhodes
Sid has to tip her chin upward to look at that skull-like facade, which she does.  Thumbs hooking into the pockets of her jeans, she stands with her back to the wall.  At one point her brow knits with some clouded emotion as she listens to him, but when he's finished her eyes lower and she shrugs at him.
"Those things could still happen."  Maybe that'll help him relax a little.  She wouldn't know.  Sid has almost no experience with Chantries outside of this one, she avoided them like plague-infested asylums.  Alyssa explains that she's keeping hers on.  Sid looks at her, then she looks up at Tremor, gives him a look to say Do what you want before turning away.  Her own feet are wrapped only in wool socks.
She enters the living room after Alyssa.  From behind the woman she gives Kalen a look that's both baffled and amused.  It's still strange to hear him banter at people like that.
Pan's entrance through one of the other rooms causes Sid's ears to perk.  She doesn't go hunting for him, though.  Maybe she saw him outside a little while ago, or saw his bootprints in the snow and made some assumptions based on the size and the direction they were headed.  He lives here now, though, for now at least.  So it's not hard for her to guess even without reaching out with her senses to find that bright resonance who's just come in from the cool outdoors.
Sid moves around so that she's not still behind Alyssa, moving to where she can take a seat and not give anyone here her back.

Kalen Holliday
"Raised in a barn?"  Kalen asks Alyssa with a laugh.  "Come now, Angel.  You of everyone here should know we are Knights before we are Lords."  There is no real censure, he can play too.  Does, even.  "Tricks are good.  How've you been?"
He smiles when hears Pan come in and start up a rattling in the kitchen.  He keeps listening for minute, because he has still not forgotten finding Pan being baffled by the stove, but Pan has seemed better.  Still....
He's still smiling as he watches Sid find a place to settle.  And Alyssa and Tremor, if they come in and settle.  Or hover.  Or whatever they do.

Tremor Dervish
He seemed to decide it was probably better to err on the side of caution.  The only real way of knowing his boots weren't clean enough would have been someone commenting on dirt he'd already tread in.  He unfastened the big buckled straps on his boots and pried his long, skinny feet out of them.  Like his hands, they were improperly proportioned even to his already improperly proportioned body.
"So... I guess I have questions?"
He asked as he followed Sid into the room.
"Stuff like... are you guys a Cabal?  Who's in charge?  What are you guys about?"
Tremor hovered at first, but eventually sat down after asking his question, with his big skinny hands spread out over his knees.  He reached up to unbuckle the straps holding his jacket secure and opened it to reveal the plain white t-shirt beneath.

Alyssa Solomon
"Ahh, true...well, even better."  She chuckles a bit and moves to take a seat on one of the chairs near Kalen.  The fedora is slipped off her head now, settled on a knee that raises to cross over the other.  "I always trucked with the guys on the field over the guys at the back of the line.  Or at least I did since I Awakened, anyway."
Pan's Resonance is everywhere and it does in fact mean that she fails to notice that he's around.  But right on queue, she says all they need is a priest and he makes his presence known.  Her attention shifts in that direction and while she pauses a moment to sort out who it is, it isn't the wariness like she had when Kalen and Grace rolled up to her place before they'd met.  This is the home of other peoples after all, and she isn't particularly worried in here yet.  It's something ingrained deep within her that chantries are places of refuge and even though she knows she isn't very good luck for such places, she's not ready to pull the firearm out or anything.
Tremor then starts asking questions and Alyssa perks up a bit.  She doesn't know the full deal, but she has a bit of an inkling thus far.  It's not an inkling she's stepping in to explain though because...well, it's simple and self-explanatory.
"These guys can answer that better than me.  I'm newish to the city myself, or at least to these guys.  All sorts of Cabal-free."

Pan Echeverria
He comes out of the kitchen to grace the rest of them with his presence. Considering his nose seemed as if it was in the mood to hemorrhage the entire way back from the city yesterday he doesn't look any worse than he usually does. With his boots left by the back door he loses half an inch of height but he doesn't miss it.
"Good afternoon," he says to the room, and then to Sid: "Did you get them their handbooks yet?"

Sid Rhodes
The new people have questions, and of all the people currently loitering around the living room, Sid is the one best equipped to answer them.  She's been here since the quiet time of Denver when it seemed there were no Awakened for miles and miles.  She knows nearly every Mage who's come into this house since it came into their hands.
But then Pan enters, and before she can begin to formulate an answer to the questions asked by Tremor and shared by Alyssa, he's asking Sid if she got them their handbooks.
The corners of Sid's mouth quirk in a ghost of a smile.  "We ran out while you were on vacation."

Tremor Dervish
The whole business of handbooks sounded a little ominous to him.  He was the kind of guy that preferred a manifesto, or, heretical theses nailed to the door.  He followed Sid and Pan's words back and forth with little understanding and much interest.

Pan Echeverri­a
"We ran out?"
He plants his hands on his hips and looks at the others like he's just realized they can hear everything they're saying.
Poor Tremor doesn't seem to realize he's joking. That makes it funnier.
"I guess we're just gonna have to, ah... las apañaremos, we'll make do, then, huh?"

Kalen Holliday
Kalen laughs when Tremor starts asking questions and settles deeper into being curled into the corner of the couch.  He opens his mouth to answer but then Pan and start bantering and he just laughs again.
"I would tell you," he says, turning faux-serious eyes on Trevor.  "But they were out of handbooks when I got here.  I...have...no...idea."  So serious, those oddly pale of of his, and wide, and apologetic and...no.  No.  That can only last for so long before Kalen gives up on that and resumes looking amused.
"You guys should get on that.  Tremor and I are going to be so confused.  And there's that whole Indiana Jones-esque series of tunnels in the basement you should really print a map to, too...."

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa takes the comments about handbooks and such with a bit of a chuckle.  In truth, she isn't quite in an inquisitive mindset; she has a decent idea of what's going on and she accepts it.  The less hierarchial stance suits the Hollower well; there's a very good reason she didn't stick with the Order of Hermes after she Awakened.  There was a time...but once she woke up everything changed.  (There are other reasons of course, but that's a big one.)  She's simply not ready to offer explanations for them when there are others here that can do so.
Besides, the last time she offered a bit of opinion on how things are here, it turned into a bit of a heated argument.  And it's not that she doesn't enjoy getting all up in the grills of holy men...but c'mon, the guy is barely twenty-four hours from having his head slammed in reality's door.  He deserves a break, dontcha think?
"Well, if you get any new print runs of the handbooks in, lemme know.  One of my tables in my apartment is just a little bit uneven, I could use something for that."  She keeps the grin off her face, but not out of those violet-painted eyes.  "Seriously though...I think what you guys have set up is pretty solid, from what I've seen.  It's all laissez faire and that's really the best way that we work these days.  No offense to those who organize in Houses within the room, but from what I've seen the chantries who try to cling to the ways from when the Ascension War was still going on tend to weather the storm the worst.  Adaptability is survival and all that shit."

Pan Echeverri­a
The priest weathers her swearing well enough but he's also been known to swear on occasion himself. He does a lot of things the abuelitas of his congregation wouldn't approve of. Some of them don't exactly approve of the things he did before he became a priest but they're willing enough to overlook the things he did.
So he stands beside the couch where Sid sits and bobs his head in an almost imperceptible nod and when she reaches the end he clears his throat.
"Couldn't've said it better myself, Miss Solomon."

Sid Rhodes
Tremor takes the bantering seriously, but eventually it stops and the truth comes out.  Pan clears his throat.  Sid nods.
"I only know of one cabal still in the area.  Everyone just...works together.  For mutual survival and all."  She does not mention Ginger, but that's Grace's thing.  Or Team Striped Horse's.  And neither of them are here and Sid isn't going to suggest the tattooed biker man seek out Grace as she is now.  That won't end well for anyone.
A pocket of her jeans vibrates, and Sid shifts where she sits so she can pull out her phone.  Her mouth tightens very slightly, and she rises.  Quietly she wanders down the hall to go upstairs, no words of farewell, nothing.  She'll probably be back, though.  Maybe.

Tremor Dervish
Tremor began to grin slightly to the extent that he began to get in on the joke.  He'd seen people try stuff like this before.  Mostly Cultists, due to his affiliation.  The problem was that, while most people liked to think about and focus on the Joy, namely, the sex drugs and rock and roll, Envy, Rage, Hate and Lust were all passions too.
Things like this worked until they didn't.
He had to respect them for trying.  Maybe they could keep a handle on it.
He continued to watch the others discuss to see if he could pick up on any more specifics.

Tremor Dervish
He nodded at Sid's explanation, and watched her go before shifting his attention back to the group.

Kalen Holliday
Sid's mouth tightens and she heads off with her phone and for just a second Kalen frowns.  It's a fleeting, understated thing, gone as soon as Sid is out of sight and he returns his attention to the three people left in the room with him.
"I understand not all of the Order has the introduction to being Awakened I did.  I try not to hold it against them.  Also, to refrain from showing up for formal meetings high as a kite.  Ohhhhhhhh...they almost killed me.  Formal House meetings...I don't even know anyone else from my House here."
"This place...."  He says, still all relaxed but slightly more serious, to Tremor.  "It's young yet.  In this life.  I'm not sure it knows what it's going to be exactly."

Alyssa Solomon
[[Awarepathy on Tremor: How are you feeling about all this, hmmmmmmmm?]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Tremor Dervish
Tremor barked out a laugh at the idea of a Hermetic showing up to their meetings high.  All the ones he'd ever met were so dignified and stern.
"I'm sorry."  He said as he realized how briefly loud he'd been.
"I just... the mental image was awesome.   But, yeah...  I get what you mean.  It's cool you guys are making a go of it together."
And he meant it.  He seemed to think it was something worth trying, previous experiments notwithstanding.

Alyssa Solomon
Kalen does some explanation and Tremor is listening...and during that time it's Alyssa's turn to go silent.  While the Cultist may be focused on the explanation from Sid and Kalen, the Hollow One is more interested in Tremor himself.  She leans back in her chair, idly spinning her fedora on her knee while she looks the man over, watches his body language.  It's not that she's skeptical of him, exactly.  It's simply that she knows a few things here and there about the group he came from.  And she's distinctly curious about how he's taking this take on things.
And thus she gets a sense of the skepticism he has over this idea.  There's a slight arching of the brow, though she doesn't address it right away.  Instead her attention goes right back to Kalen and she chuckles at reference of showing up high at formal meetings.  "Yeah, I'm sure that went over really well.  I had someone who was training with me show up drunk.  We were underage at the time, I should say.  The Bonisagus was about ready to have an aneurysm."

Pan Echeverría
After Sid takes her phone call the priest stands in the same spot for a moment not because he forgot what he was doing but because he isn't sure if he ought to stay put while the initiates talk. Looming as he tends to do.
He has the self-awareness of one who knows the effect his presence and his stature have on other people and besides the kettle is on the stove and it wouldn't have boiled any slower if he had stood there watching it. Out here though he cannot keep an eye on it so when the bubbling gives way to shrieking that sound cuts through the stillness of the house.
Oops.
When he exits the living room it is not in the hurry in which he left the brew house yesterday. The kettle shrieks until he reaches it and even before the incident this summer the man didn't move very fast.

Kalen Holliday
There is that tea kettle shriek and for a few seconds Kalen's eyes go distant and vacant like he's somewhere else altogether.
And then he focuses on Tremor again, attention seeming heavier than before for all he's still curled up and calm.
"So, now that we have not answered those questions to the best of our ability, do you have any others?"

Tremor Dervish
"Nah... I think I get it.  For what it's worth, I'll do what I can to keep an eye out for your interests while I'm in town."  He said with a slight smile before he rose from the seat he'd taken.  "I think it's cool.  You seem like good folks."
"If you need to get a hold of me while I'm in town, my RV's at the Dakota Ridge grounds not too far from here."  He confided, as he seemed to think it would put them on a bit more even footing if they knew where he was sleeping.  "Speaking of, I got to run into town and see if I can find a carburetor before places start closing.  I'll be seeing you guys soon, I hope."
He provided them a small smile before he rose and headed back to his boots.

Alyssa Solomon
Pan goes running (relatively speaking, of course) for the screaming kettle and Alyssa is as intrigued by Kalen's reaction as anything else.  She's quiet and curious, but Kalen has other things to address and he asks Tremor about whether he has any questions.
When the Cultist gives his first impression a positive assessment, she smiles a little.  She keeps her attention on him as he leaves, that fedora absently spun on her knee as she watches him go.  It's only after the door is shut that she turns her attention away, back to Kalen.
"He'll be an interesting addition to this potpourri of magi you've got floating around this city.  Curious to see how that plays out."

Kalen Holliday
"Yeah.  It should be something to see."  He smiles a little.  "But at least Denver is never boring."

Alyssa Solomon
She chuckles a little bit.  "Yeah, I'm starting to get that.  It's been a while since I've been somewhere that's been particularly exciting.  St. Louis had its ups and downs, don't get me wrong.  But I steered clear of Tradition stuff and they steered clear of me."
She doesn't sound like she minds overly much about that.  It was a different situation for her then than now.  She hadn't found someone who was newly-Awakened who she'd taken a shine too.  But that's neither here nor there.
"So what about you?  Was wherever you were before now as thrilling as here?"  She knew that he had bad luck with chantries similar to her, but she didn't know the details.  It's not that she's prying, she's just curious.

Kalen Holliday
"It was quieter, mostly.  Loud for a minute.  And then silent."  He doesn't tense, but his expression edges toward non-existent, like it often does.  "Then I moved around for awhile.  Spent some time in South America.  Eventually drifted back here."

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa listens to Kalen more or less dodge the question, and she raises an eyebrow.  He has his secrets, and she's not going to press.  "Ahh.  Well, okay then.  Fair enough."
She sighs and gets to her feet then.  "I'm gonna go out for a cigarette, if you wanna join me."  It's not an invitation as much as it is a statement.  He can come or not come; she's fine with either.

Kalen Holliday
"It is a long and mostly boring story that ends tragically.  I don't enjoy telling it.  Perhaps later."  He smiles, but his eyes are most of the way to distant now.  "I think I'll skip on the freezing.  But I'll be here, if you come back."

Grace
[nightmares!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )

Alyssa Solomon
She gives him a casual shrug when he explains himself; there's no offense here.  "No, I get it.  I've got a few of those stories myself.  Far too many really, and I don't really enjoy talking about them either.  Just saying, it's less awkward to people if you just say 'I don't feel like talking about it.'  Leaves them less wondering if you want them to delve deeper or not.
"And fair enough," she says with a little nod about the desire not to go outside.  "I'll letcha know."  A little smirk, and she slips out the double doors onto the patio.

Grace
Grace walks in through the front door carrying her laptop bag, and a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She's wearing wintery gear of heavy boots and a coat, with jeans  underneath, and a somewhat tired but relaxed look about her.
Some time trying to sleep in the brightness of Pan's wards has taught her some control over the sixth sense that she knows would have her feeling uncomfortably watched the entire time, so she doesn't notice the swirl of energy about the place from those who have been here, or are here.
Whoever it is, they have to be friends, she thinks.
She slips those heavy boots off, then the bags, then her coat, and hangs that up in the hallway, before dragging her belongings into the living room.
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

Grace
[Also, whoops, I don't know where that roll came from. It was good, but unnecessary... Sigh]

Kalen Holliday
"Noted," he says to Alyssa.
"Hey, Kit!"  Kalen can feel Pan's wards almost as much as he can feel the corner of the couch he's curled up in.  He does not look tired, but he does look very calm.  All that glorious light is searching for the first sign of their enemies.  Searing and holy and vigilant light.  Kalen thinks it's indescribably reassuring.  Enough so that he's started napping in the chantry.

Grace
"Hey, you," she says, smiling back at Kalen. "I brought some stuff in from my place. I don't really have much of a reason to go back into town for a while, now the semester's over. So... you know... Might as well be safe here."
She reaches down to the duffel bag and tugs on a zipper, releasing a certain fluffy stuffed lion. "Also, brought this guy," she says and squints at him. "You never told me it was a 'special' lion when you gave it to me, you know."

Kalen Holliday
He laughs.  "Oh?  You couldn't tell when you picked him up?"
"I've been staying here more too, it's kind of nice.  But, not always, because kittens.  If you have all those things, you might want to actually take over a room until you go back."

Grace
"You were still around, I thought it was you," she explains. "Why?"
She looks around the room after that, pondering for a while. "I... hmm. I suppose I could. I haven't slept in a bed in a while."
"Also, what do you mean 'because kittens'?"

Kalen Holliday
"I have kittens who live in my house.  One is actually Shoshannah's kitten, because she Named it, but they both stay with me.  Sometimes I wish I could bring them here.  Shoshannah really likes them.  Also, I think like half the chantry could do with snuggling kittens more."
"There are beds here for that very purpose."

Alyssa Solomon
It's a quick cigarette...and not because she cut it short.  Someone knows how to make the most of their time and just because Alyssa doesn't mind the cold all that much doesn't mean that she enjoys it.  So in short order it is sucked down and she's opened the door, slipping back inside.
She grins a little bit when she hears them talking about kittens.  "Why do I get the feeling these are not kittens to be fucked with, if they're under your care?  I'm imagining trained attack kittens that need to be muzzled, lest they rip your eyeballs out and play with them instead of balls of yarn."
She looks over at Grace and gives an upward nod.  It's amicable enough.  "Hey hey."

Grace
"But, the upstairs sleeping couch... It is kinda comfy," she says, and sits down on the couch opposite Kalen.
He doesn't answer her question of why the lion. Maybe it's something that he doesn't want to say? In any case, she looks down at it in her lap, trying to puzzle it out anyway. "I guess I just was wondering if there was some kind of... Magey thing I didn't know about consecrated gifts. Cause, it's kinda cool and all, I just don't want to be the dumb noob when somebody comes by and says 'Oh yeah, when you get the consecrated fuzzy animal toy, it's customary to return the favor with anointed fruitcake' or something."
"You also never told me you had kittens! What are their names?"

Grace
And then Alyssa walks in, and Grace is suddenly very happy that she has turned a blind eye to the surroundings. It doesn't smell like blood. "Alyssa, hey. Attacking is pretty much what kittens do, and their claws are like little daggers, so sharp. But you'll let them maul your hand and then coo at them because it's so cute. No kitten is to be fucked with, I don't think."

Kalen Holliday
"There is no customary response," Kalen says with a faint smile.  "Please do not annoint any fruitcake for me."
"Shoshannah's kitten in Pomegranate, and my kitten is Persimmon.  They are sisters.  Also, they are like monster sized kittens.  Ah.  By which I mean Bengals."
He laughs at Alyssa.  "Maybe some day.  Someday they will be attack kittens.  But I do not have that skill yet."  Yet.

Alyssa Solomon
"Oh, trust me," she says toward Grace as she moves to take a seat back in her chair.  "Cute has never been enough to lower my guard.  In fact, cute usually sends my guard up through the roof.  Nothing cute has good intentions.  You can take that to the bank."
The fedora gets settled back on her knee as she assumes the same crossed-legs position.  "And if you want attack kittens Kalen, you'd better get cracking on it.  Harness that evil ferocity into a just cause before it's too late and they unleash it on you."  She's still playing of course, and it's evident in her tone.
She doesn't have attack kittens, of course.  Hell, Kalen and Grace have seen her place; there's a good reason she doesn't even keep plants.  Some people are good at making things live.  Alyssa's skill falls toward the other side.

Grace
"Oh I hoped there wasn't any of that involved, I hate fruitcake," she says, and then turns the (ridiculously cute) stuffed lion to face Alyssa. "Be on your guard, then. Rar," she says, utterly deadpan.
Whatever has happened lately, Grace seems remarkably de-stressed. Joking, smiling, even. She tilts her head back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling for a bit, but there's a slight smile on her face to go along with that too.

Kalen Holliday
He watches Grace threaten Alyssa with the stuffed lion and for a second he goes still.  Not tense.  He just didn't expect that from Grace.  Maybe before the virus, but not now.  And then he laughs.
"So how long did it take you to figure it out?"  He asks, and he's asking Grace, but that's only so clear.

Alyssa Solomon
Grace jokingly menaces Alyssa with the lion, and in response the Hollower raises her eyebrow with a grin.  "Ricin.  Or anthrax.  I'd put at least half of whatever Kalen makes in a month on it."
She settles in from there, letting the two talk as she leans her head back and lets her eyes drift half-shut.  She's not sleeping or even sleepy, just zoning a little bit as she lets the two speak.

Grace
"A few minutes after you left, and you were still around. Sera explained it to me. I may have smelled it," she says at the ceiling.
"I didn't die of anthrax," she adds, though there is a bit of a dampening of her mood at that. Anthrax eats you alive. It's similar to something else.
Strange how the little things bring up bad memories.

Kalen Holliday
"I just thought you might appreciate it.  I'm glad Sera could explain."
He frowns a little at Alyssa, because he can't even understand where that came from.

Alyssa Solomon
There's a moment when Grace's expression dampens and Kalen gives Alyssa the look that she looks a little...disappointed, perhaps?  Though at who or what isn't sure.  Hell, maybe it's at herself.  The comment certainly seemed to be a natural continuation of the joke about cute things being dangerous, and it's possible that she is annoyed with herself for stepping on uncertain ground.
What comes next might belie that idea though.  Alyssa sighs, takes the fedora off of her knee and sets it aside.  That gives her license to lean in a little and look at Grace.
"Listen, Grace.  You've gotta get past this.  I get it...from everything I've been told, you nearly died of something really horrible.  And so did your friends.  And from what I understand, it was mentally traumatizing too.  But you've gotta let it go and look ahead, not behind.  And I'm not telling you to suck it up and get over it, though someone else might.  It's not about not being tough enough.  It's about living your goddamn life in defiance of what fucked-up psychopaths decided to do to you.  You live this way where every innocent joke or smell of blood or whatever small memory sends you into a depressive mood, then the psychopaths got a consolation prize on their way to Hell."
It would be too much to say she's gentle about it.  She doesn't speak in a soft tone, she doesn't lower herself physically to make her less threatening.  But she's not overtly hostile or callous either.  Talking about tools for dealing with pain is matter of fact for her.

Grace
Grace eyes Alyssa with a brow cocked, like she's not sure what even brought on this lecture, I mean... "Wow, the extent to which people will go when their jokes fall a bit flat."
She readjusts a bit, sitting up in her seat. "You know, I have said the exact same thing to others before. I think the words I used at the time were 'fuck the Hydra, they don't get to win'. I do get the point. And I am getting better, I think."

Kalen Holliday
Kalen's eyes move between the two of them, but he does not intervene.  He may not be particularly thrilled right now, but he doesn't seem angry.  Grace isn't like a pet, or a doll, or a child.  She can defend herself.  So, for now at least, he lets her.

Alyssa Solomon
She half-smiles and shakes her head.  "Ehhh, I think the joke hit its mark pretty well.  Listen, maybe you are getting better.  I mean, who the fuck am I to judge, you know?  All I know is that after I said that, you got a look that would be vaguely comparable to how I imagine you might look if I'd said I'd run over a baby lion just like it on the way here."
She shrugs.  She's not paying attention to how Kalen's reacting and to be honest, whatever reaction he gave probably wouldn't change what she did or said here anyway.  "If I'm way off base then fair enough.  I'm not actively trying to piss on your parade.  Just offering some advice based on my own perspective.  I've said my peace."

Grace
"Did I?" she asks, and it's a genuine question. Did she just appear utterly crushed? Is it so transparent?
"Well, anyway, after I said that, Sera took me to task for being overly simplistic, tying labels of 'winning' and 'losing' to our situation like they had any real meaning, or like if we aren't happy shiny perfect human beings afterward, we lose. And she was right. It's always going to be something more complex, somewhere in the middle, and that's okay. Maybe I never go back to a Starbucks, but then, I never really liked their fucking coffee anyway, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's going to change me. I get that, I accept that. But I'm trying to make that change something I want it to be."
And Grace gives a lecture of her own. But she's not mad, not horribly defensive. Maybe a little of this is her telling these things to herself, so that she might believe them. But she's also said her peace. And at that, she resumes staring at the ceiling, fluffy cute lion in her lap.

Kalen Holliday
"Well, Starbucks does have, at best, mediocre coffee," Kalen says, gathering the books he was working with and rising carefully.  "I should get these back downstairs.  I'll be around."

Alyssa Solomon
"She's right," the Hollower says with a shrug.  The fedora gets plopped back on her head.  "It's incredibly simplistic and it doesn't have any basis in reality at all.  Not that there aren't sides, but...you know.  Anyway, just because it's simplistic and unrealistic doesn't mean that it's not important advice that you can just throw away."
She sighs and rises.  "Anyway.  Doesn't matter.  You do you, I'll do me.  I should probably get back home myself.  Got some work to look into."

Grace
Grace gives a bit of an odd giggle at the ceiling, "As opposed to you doing me, and me doing you? Alyssa... I had no idea."

Alyssa Solomon
That gives her a grin and laugh.  "Cute.  That's the spirit."
She points her thumb and forefinger gun-style and "pulls the trigger," so to speak.  "Seriously though, I gotta go.  Catch you around.  Don't have too much fun around here."