A Priest, a Goth, and a Hacker Walk Into the Supermarket...

Grace Evans
[[[I'm just gonna say that the initial rolls carry over from The Chantry, which were:
Grace Evans
[lol. Also, Nightmares!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 1 )
Grace Evans
[And Perceptness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4) ( fail )]]]

Pan Echeverri­a
[i like rolling awareness]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Alyssa Solomon
[[Awareness for me too!]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Grace Evans
[I like the idea of Grace being weird when she senses a resonance all wrong XD]

Pan Echeverria
Earlier this evening the priest had been down in the library finishing up whatever it was he was studying. This business with the possessions sent him down there to expand his list of entities and occasions against which he could pray for the Lord's protection.
Demons are now on that list.
Shoshannah keeps the kitchen well stocked but he needed to go to the store for a specific type of salt that they didn't have at the house and as he was shuffling through the house he ran into Grace and asked her if she was doing anything. Since she wasn't she was charged with driving into town.
Consider it repayment for bashing him in the jaw with her phone last night.
---
Now it's now and the two of them look like they're on a day pass from the local drug rehab clinic.
Grace still carries the same under-eye bruises as the other women recovering from the Hydra virus and Pan walks as if walking is still a new and somewhat daunting task for him. They both are underweight and exhausted. Nobody wants anything to do with either of them. The fluorescent lights inside the store don't help.
They reach a certain part of a certain aisle and Pan's eyes narrow. He senses something winged and bloody. Doesn't smell sulphur but that doesn't set his mind at ease. He looks behind them. The weight loss has taken most of the fat from his body and it's especially noticeable in his face.
His green eyes don't blink as he looks for the source of that dark resonance and between that and the beard he wears he looks like a lunatic who hasn't started raving yet.

Alyssa Solomon
Fun fact, true believers: Alyssa may set people at unease, and she is well aware of that fact.  And while she doesn't particularly care, she also doesn't go out of her way to push it.  This is less about anyone else's unease than it is about the fact that she likes to not stick out in people's minds.  It's a whole "avoiding the Technocracy and witch hunters" thing.  You understand.
And so, folks, this is why she heads all the way out to Morrison to do her shopping.  It isn't that Morrison is used to people feeling weird or anything like that.  But for some reason or another, this is the grocery store that has the least amount of mirrored surfaces.  Less reflective glass means less chance that someone will notice that she doesn't leave a reflection in the mirror.  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why she is making her way down an aisle with one of those little baskets.  That basket contains a twelve-pack of Corona, a carton of clove cigarettes and a few apparently random items: Band-Aids and gauze, rubbing alcohol, candles, bleach and a package of Red Vines.
And yes, Pan feels that Resonance creep out over him.  The tickling brush of feathered wings, sticky with fresh coppery blood.  Just like she senses Grace and Pan.  She recognizes Grace's shifting motions; Pan's blinding light she doesn't.  She squints a little behind a pair of Lennon shades and turns to start walking out of the frozen foods aisle to locate them.
They hear the three-inch heels of her shoes click against the tile first.  And then she comes into view, wearing a pair of black, close-fitting jeans and an old Sisters of Mercy shirt (from their last tour, and it is not a recreation thank you very much).  All of that is underneath a leather jacket, her dark hair falling straight down over it as she heads in the direction where she sees Grace.  Pan catches her attention and gets an appraising eye as she comes up.
"Well hey there, stranger," she says to Grace with a bit of a smirk.  "Funny running into you here."

Grace Evans
Going out in public to an unfamiliar place always has Grace a little jumpy anymore. She's got two things on her mind. One, that going out in public even with a 'friend' like Pan didn't help the last time. Two, it didn't help the time before that either. Bad shit still happens. As well as looking like she's on a day pass from rehab, she acts like it too, like she's on constant watch for an attacker.
But she owes Pan. And, you know, you can't live in an underground bunker. Well, you can, technically...
There's something about supermarkets that's more than a bit distasteful to Grace. The advertising, the subtle mind games, like putting the expensive items at eye-level for grown-ups, the sugary items at eye-level for kids, it all combines together to form some kind of marketing miasma. I mean, have you ever really looked at a supermarket before? There's no greater den of commercialism, with thousands of products specially designed, specially placed, and people specially herded into them and out of them for lazy commercial efficiency. If it feels like a trap, that's because it is.
They're walking down the aisle, and Pan goes into alert-mode. It's a fairly easy tell. Grace doesn't yet sense what it is that he might be reacting to, but she looks for it, whatever it might be. And that's when it hits her -- the overwhelming nausea, slick and black, and the last time she felt like this, she wasn't even fully Awake yet. Must be stronger, with her eyes so open now. She remembers the man, black suit, black sunglasses, that cliche of a person. One she's fairly certain has done something terrible to Gadfly.
She tugs on Pan's shirt a couple times, her eyes wide with fear, and she whispers, "We've got to get out of here. Now."
She starts walking toward the door in that nonchalant, 'I'm totally just a normal person' way. Until she hears the heels clicking. Mr. Goodson wouldn't be wearing fuck-me heels. And then, Alyssa's voice. Oh. Well, that makes sense now. Alyssa does make her want to vomit. It's totally not personal.
She turns around quickly, tries to smile at Alyssa, tries to smooth things over with Pan, too, because her warning must have made him think the wrong thing.
"Alyssa! Hi! You're not who I was just expecting, ha, ha... Alyssa, this is Pan, Pan, Alyssa. She's a friend. Really."

Pan Echeverri­a
They didn't grab a cart or even a handbasket because they just needed to come in for one thing and this place is massive and over-lit and crowded so they were having a minor challenge even finding the aisle where the salt would be.
This is a computer genius and a man of the cloth. People who know their way through cyberspace and guiding the lost and the blind and the wretched towards salvation. They shouldn't have near as much trouble finding salt that hasn't been treated with iodine.
Normally Pan is dressed in all black because it conceals an array of stains and it's easier for him to get dressed before the sun is up if he doesn't have to worry about coordinating. Today he's wearing his loyal black cowboy boots but he's also got on a flannel shirt belted and tucked into a pair of stonewash jeans that he must have bought when Reagan was still president. Nothing fits him properly.
"Claro," he says, to the matter of needing to get out of there now. He doesn't argue. He just wraps his hand around her elbow to keep from losing her and starts walking with her towards the exit.
Which is when the heels start to click and a tall raven-haired woman comes into view. She doesn't look like an Nephanda but one can never tell. Grace seems to know her. The tall dark not-all-that-handsome stranger takes his hand off her elbow to step forward and properly introduce himself.
"A friend, huh? Francisco Echeverría. Hi."

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa is used to people being a little bit wary of her; its a natural reaction to someone who gives off the feel that she does.  And that's nothing to say what happens when they meet up with her oh-so-sparkling personality.  Still, there's a little raise of the eyebrow when she notes that the two were turning to walk away.  Although Grace has explained to her that her Resonance clashes with her stomach, so that does make some sort of sense.  And her explanation that she wasn't who the Virtual Adept-to-be was expecting draws a little upturn in the Hollower's lips.
"Well, I was hoping for Neil Gaiman myself, but I guess you guys'll have to do."
She turns her attention to Pan when he steps forward to introduce himself.  He gets another once-over from the woman; less tactical this time, and more taking the whole blinding light that is the Chorister in.  She nods amicably enough and switches the basket from her right to left hand in order to extend the former.  "Alyssa Solomon.  Nice to meet you, I guess."
She gives a quick look around to see how much privacy they have, noting with some satisfaction that they don't have anyone in their immediate vicinity before looking to them both.  "So what brings you two out to this mecca of mass commercialism?"

Grace Evans
"Salt," says Grace, which doesn't explain much. "We need to find un-iodized salt. For cooking purposes."
As opposed to... whatever. Ritual purposes maybe? Grace doesn't know or understand the magics that might utilize such things, but she does try to keep an open mind. After all, Alyssa uses blood. Salt would be preferable.
"And, oh man, I love Neil Gaiman," she adds, turning to look around her as someone passes by the odd triad.

Pan Echeverri­a
It appears as though the priest is content to stand and listen to the two women talk but the wariness that had taken up residence in his eyes with the sensing of Alyssa's resonance doesn't completely dissipate as they stand here. Aside from the fact that his unrelenting and intense an outsider can glean little of his magick or his tradition from it.
Some days it feels like a road flare and other days it feels like a searchlight. For people like Grace it never feels comfortable. Nothing comfortable to be found in bright light. It doesn't have warmth in it like the sun would.
He has no idea who Neil Gaiman is and doesn't feel like explaining why they're out here for salt. The tall haggard-looking man puts his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and commences to stand there like a scarecrow. At least he looks around occasionally to keep his eyes on their surroundings and doesn't just stare at Alyssa.

Alyssa Solomon
Fun fact the second, kids: Alyssa does use blood in her magick and in fact a lot of blood.  She uses it in all her magic.  But it isn't all that she uses, and salt does fall within her purview.  The only reason it isn't in there with the candles, gauze and Red Vines is that she has a ton of it at home, bought recently.  That being said, she did get it from here and so she nods a little bit when Grace says they need it for cooking, gesturing with her hand.
"It's this way.  Come on, I'm sure they've restocked since I've been through and cleaned them out."  She starts walking to lead the way.
Pan's intensity and quiet draws her attention, of course.  The woman is no stranger to quiet types among the Awakened community; some prefer to stay quiet and let others do all the talking, either because they don't want to unleash their secrets or they don't have much to say.  Alyssa is not the silent type, though she doesn't prattle either.  Her talk is often to lure people into conversation, or to get reaction.  It's always with a purpose, either way.
"And here I thought I was the only of our sort to frequent this particular place."  She looks over at them as she walks, hands coming to rest in the pockets of her jacket.  "Do you guys live close, or make an effort to come out here like I do?"

Grace Evans
Alyssa says 'our sort' like a goth, a nerd, and a priest have something obviously in common. They don't, apart from the pervasive strangeness that, to outsiders, must be a bit off-putting.
"Oh, the house is nearby, yes," she says, hopefully with just the right level of cryptic.
"Thanks for helping us find the salt. It's crazy, like this place is laid out to make you go down all the aisles first until you find what you need. I wouldn't put it past them."

Pan Echeverri­a
Either Pan doesn't particularly want to waste time talking about salt or the superfluousness of modern grocery stores or the fact that Alyssa and Grace already know each other but Alyssa hasn't been by the Chantry yet is niggling at him. The man can be persuasive when he wants to be but he isn't a liar.
Which is ironic if one wants to stop and think about it. A priest who doesn't know how to lie has to be either gullible or psychotic to believe in the things he preaches.
"Alyssa," he says. Now that it's more than just him and Grace they are beginning to draw even more attention to themselves. Alyssa and Grace could be classmates or relatives or just friends. What they're doing with a lanky middle-aged Hispanic guy raises more questions than it answers. "How do you know Grace?"

Alyssa Solomon
If Alyssa is worried about what people think she's doing in this odd little trio, she doesn't show it.  And that's because she isn't worried.  It's true that she's closer in age to Grace than to the Father, but she's got a good six years on the other woman herself.  And in truth, she's more likely to be found in the presence of a Catholic priest than a computer hacker on a regular basis, so she's equally comfortable with both of them in theory.  Grace gets the edge only out of familiarity.
"It's a consumer world, don't you know," she says to Grace with a little wink.  "Corporations like to hold onto their illusions that money makes the world go around."  Of course, they know the truth of what really keeps the world going--consensus.  But the illusion is important.
Pan then asks how Grace and she know each other, and the Hollower chuckles.  "Yeah, funny story that.  Grace and her friend Kalen stopped by after I caught a message from someone else asking for some information.  Once the guns were put away, we started talking and making along just like friends."  If friends made you queasy by virtue of their Resonance, anyway.
They come around one of the aisles where the spices and soups are lined up.  She holds her hands out to the section of items that Pan and Grace require.  "Ta da.  Uniodized salt, at your service."

Grace Evans
Between the crass temple to merchandise, and the lingering nausea that Alyssa brings with her, it's hard to tell which is worse. Grace tries to keep up with things, to behave with some semblance of normal, but it gets to her, you know? All those people in the crowded market, each one of them could be a threat. And Alyssa's presence already had her adrenaline running, so, it's back to looking up and down the aisles. For enemies. As if she even knows what one would look like.
"Kalen was a bit displeased about my stepping in front of the guns. But it worked," she says, which must sound just peachy to Pan. But seriously? It wasn't the scariest thing in her life. Not by far. "Oh, Alyssa, how is Connor? I saw him at a bookstore and I think I made him mad.
"And oh. Salt. Yes."

Pan Echeverri­a
The number of things Pan has stepped in front of in the interests of protecting people smaller than him probably spills over onto a second hand. Most recently he stepped in front of zombie dogs without blinking. One of the girls he'd tried to protect he'd only met once. She spent more time sitting in a hospital waiting room to serve as an intermediary between the nurses and the other Awakened than she had ever spent talking to him. All because he stepped in front of something dangerous.
Look where that got him.
He doesn't give her a warning look. Kalen like as not gave her a good lecturing after that. He watches the women for the duration of the explanation and then he looks away with Alyssa's flourish. Salt. Great.
There's somewhere in the neighborhood of a dozen different types of untreated salt. Pan plants his hands on his hips and lets out a deep beleaguered sigh as he stares at his options. They should have just gone to the gas station. The limited inventory would almost be worth the criminally high markup.

Alyssa Solomon
"Kalen seems to be displeased by a lot as a rule," she says with a little shrug.  "That's sort of the way his folks are, though."  By his folks she means Flambeau, though it may well just be interpreted as Hermetics.  She's not about to expound on her deep familiarity with the Order of Hermes in the middle of a supermarket.  "And he seems pretty solid overall.  Anyway, you're right; it worked out just fine."
She gets a rueful grin on her face when Grace mentions Connor.  Don't mistake it for any sort of attraction or romantic fondness, because that's not it at all.  It is fond, but more of the fondness of someone who is bemused that they've ended up with this little puppy that (against all likelihood) they've come to like.
"He's going okay.  You made him mad?  That's got to be an accomplishment."  Alyssa has seen multiple sides to the newly-Awakened Mage, but as she well knows, he's an irrepressable kind and it's difficult to really piss him off.  "What happened?"
She glances back at Pan when he looks over the different types of salt.  "Depending on what kind of cooking you're doing, I'd go with that stuff."  She points at a generic brand down the aisle a bit.  It doesn't stand out because of its bland packaging.  "It's not the fanciest wrapper, but it's the purest.  I've found it far more effective for my recipes."

Grace Evans
"I don't know what happened," she says, "Lately, I've just been... I don't know. Ticking people off for no apparent reason." There is, of course, a reason behind all of that anger she's been receiving. Part of it's blunder, part of it's the trauma of dying over and over again in her mind, making her retreat into protective self-centeredness.
"Pink Himalaya.." she mumbles, picking up a strangely shaped bottle of salt that caught her eye. Because it was pink. But a look at the price tag makes her put it back. "Shit, this costs twenty bucks. Who buys that?" she sighs. Shouldn't be this hard to find just salt.
But then, of course, Alyssa shows how she is the expert at all things sodium chloride. Grace begins to pick up on the idea that maybe Alyssa means something else by 'recipes'. She goes over and picks out the generic brand, doing a quick check to make sure that it does not have any additives. Shoshannah would probably send them out again to get better salt, and, well, Grace has nerves, you see?
But the price is a hell of a lot better than twenty bucks for a little unique packaging. "Looks good. Let's get out of here for real, Pan. Place gives me the creeps."

Pan Echeverri­a
At the word 'cooking' the priest pulls his eyes away from the relentless array of boxes and lets them land on the gothic witch stood a few feet away from him.
With his hands planted the way they are and his feet unmoving and his knees loose like he's used to standing in one place without moving for a long time and his posture sloping for his height and the history behind the height the women can read plenty about the man. Even without talking to him. He looks as if he has walked a long hard road and hasn't lost the will to keep going. He looks tired and used to being tired. Not entirely unlike a parent. He does not look depressed or hopeless or even resigned.
The man accepts a lot of what goes on around him without comment. Someone once likened him to an aging labrador with a bad hip. Still capable of friendly companionship and fierce protection of those he loves but slow to move any other time.
So: Alyssa points. Pan looks after her finger. Finds the unobtrusive box amidst all the rest of them. She finds it effective for her recipes. He finds the euphemism in it.
His eyes come back to her and he says, "Thanks," but Grace beats him to picking the box of kosher salt off the shelf. They're not going to be putting it in food anyway.
Then she suggests getting out of there and confesses that the place gives her the creeps and the priest nods. Puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes like that's supposed to give her strength. Once his hand was callused from hard work and strong from it. It has lost its calluses and much of its meat but not its strength.
"You read my mind," he says.

Alyssa Solomon
Grace isn't sure what's going on, and there is a part of Alyssa which understands.  If you look very close, you can see some sympathy in her for Grace's position.  Being traumatized by virtue of being Awakened is new to the hacker, and Alyssa almost remembers what that's like.  That being said, the key word there is almost.  And while that sympathy is there, faintly, she reacts more in a way that is casually understanding more than it is empathizing.
"Well, don't stress it too much.  Usually when I almost die, I'm a lot more of a bitch than you've probably been lately."  It's said with a bit humor, but it's not a lie either.  You wouldn't want to be around Alyssa when she's just scratched and crawled her way back from the mouth of the Underworld, simply out of the sheer desire to deny that mouth a bite.
"Besides, Connor's quick to get over such things.  I doubt you did any permanent damage there."  A little smile when Grace looks at the little bottle.  "And that Pink Himalaya is a different type of salt altogether.  It has its uses, though luckily they don't come up for me often."
She looks over at Pan when Grace gets the box of salt, watching him for a long moment.  There's a curiosity there in the woman's eyes.  Clearly the priest is more of the unflappable type, and that just makes her all the more curious to see what makes him tick.  She doesn't poke at the moment though, doesn't prod.
The two make their move to go, and Alyssa grins a bit.  "Hey, you should have been here when the woman and her ten kids were running around.  It was ten times worse then."  She's done with all of her shopping too, so she starts to head for the registers with them.

Grace Evans
Pan thinks he's granting Grace strength, but instead what she gets is a weird cant to her body as that shoulder stiffens almost unconsciously at the unexpected hand on it. No, priest. Bad touch. Bad touch. "Um no, I can't... er..." He's joking about the mind reading, she realizes a little too late.
But soon, he removes his hand, and she... well relaxes isn't the right word. But she starts walking toward the register with her box of salt. From behind, she hears Alyssa giving her some comforting advice. Almost dying makes you a bitch. That's normal. And Connor will get over it. No permanent damage done. For all of the uneasiness that Alyssa brings, her words are never biting. "I hope not. I like him."

Pan Echeverri­a
Today Pan learned that Grace doesn't want or like people touching her. So it has been noted, so shall he not put a hand on her shoulder again.
He removes it as soon as he realizes she's trying to buck out from under him. It does not take as long for him to draw this conclusion as it does for Grace to realize he was trying to be funny when he said she read his mind. She stammers and tries to walk it off and he lets her.
Before they reach the land between the end of the aisle and the front of the store he gently takes the box of salt from her hand. This little jaunt was his idea and it's not like the salt is going to end up in the kitchen cabinet with everything else. He glances between the two women one last time and goes to stand in the 10 items or less line at the far far end of the platoon of registers.

Alyssa Solomon
Pan's taking his salt to "10 Items or Less" and Alyssa could do the same.  After all, it's not like the beers are counted separately.  But the problem with that is that you have to deal with people.  So instead she goes next to that aisle, to those automated self-checkout spots.  It's close enough that they can continue to talk if they want, at least.
Alyssa has also learned today that touches--or rather, ones she doesn't expect at least--are not welcome.  And that's fine because the Hollow One isn't a toucher either.  At least, not that way.  The slight tilt of the head, the stiffening of her body...these draw an intent look from Alyssa that passes between the two.
Yep, sounds like mage behavior to me.
"So you guys headed straight back, or is there more on your shopping agenda?"  More small talk (which is never small with Alyssa).

Grace Evans
"I think so. At least Pan didn't tell me about anything else he needs," Grace says, a little thankful that the priest's touchy, spotlighty self is gone off somewhere else for the time being.
"We're um... working on that project, back at the house," she says, again with the cryptic speech. "So, it could mean a trip to another store, I don't know."
Hardware? Maybe they need the purest hempen twine, or stones forged by volcano fire (sold in big bags as landscaping material). Whatever. It's for the cause. But she really hopes this is all they need.

Pan Echeverria
He doesn't know anyone who lives in the town of Morrison or the surrounding area. He has never been inside of this grocery store before. He doesn't know the middle-aged woman with the huge permed hair and sour attitude who's manning the register he goes through and she doesn't know him. The two young women can't exactly hear the conversation they have because the priest's speaking voice is low and somewhat gravelly and the cashier's is battered from years of smoking mentholated cigarettes and trying to have conversations with people in crowded bars.
Whatever. She thinks he's funny. Something he says as she's ringing him up makes the surly woman crack out a hoarse laugh and say, "Yeah, right!" before her voice drops down again to give him his total.
He doesn't need a bag but he takes the receipt because the machine prints one out whether he wants one or not. The bill he broke came out of his wallet but the change he folds up and stuffs his hip pocket.
While he waits for the two women to make their way through the self checkout he leans against the wall by the restrooms and crosses one ankle over the other. Folds the receipt into a smaller rectangle and ultimately stuffs it inside the folds of the cardboard box's top.

Alyssa Solomon
Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  The self-scan machine makes that electronic sound with each item swiped over it, the bill rung up.  Alyssa is paying less attention to it than she is Grace.  They're working on 'that project,' and the occultist knows of only one they could be working on.  It's the one that Kalen had asked Grace to his warehouse/home to discuss.  She nods a little bit to Grace, taking out a debit card and swiping it through the machine.  It's not in her name, though it's not identity theft.  All the money is legitimately earned.  It's the Hollower being careful, is all.
"Ahh, right," she says as she keys her PIN in and grabs the sack.  "Yeah, that kind of project can require all sorts of different ingredients.  I've had my share of urgent shopping runs...it's why I try to keep well-stocked."
She heads over with Grace to where Pan leans, nodding at him and speaking to Grace.  "Well, if you guys have anything you need from me, let me know.  I've been busy myself between Connor and work, but I'm happy to give a hand if it's needed."

Grace Evans
"Oh, I know. You've been a big help... to Kalen," Grace says. Really, she didn't get much out of that spirity conversation, and stayed mostly out of it, or lost, one of the two.
"There have been some further developments. But..." she looks around the place. "It's not a good time."
She turns to Pan after that, "Hey, we need to go anywhere else?"

Pan Echeverri­a
He puts both feet flat on the ground before he peels his back off of the wall and stands up straight. Though he flinches and retroactively braces his abdomen with his hand he's already looking more hale than he did when he came back to the Chantry yesterday.
Pan tucks the box of salt in against his side like it's a book and puts his other hand back into its pocket.
"Not unless you need something while we're out," he says. "Alyssa, thank you again for the navigation."
The man's sense of humor is dry as a desert.

Alyssa Solomon
"Well, as long as I'm helping someone," she says with a sideways grin.  There's no bite to the tease; she's known more than a few Virtual Adepts and most aren't too good with spirit matters.
She arches an eyebrow when Pan flinches, but she doesn't say anything.  That's not her concern and while she's not been overtly rude to any of the mages she's met in Denver (yet), that includes asking about things which aren't her business.  She has enough on her own plate.
"Glad to help.  And nice to meet you."  Again, the words are amicable enough.  Just wait until they see someone get on her bad side, though.
She looks over at Grace then.  "Well, this is my stop.  If you guys need anything, you got my number.  I'll catch you both later."
And with that, she's heading off her way.

Pan Echeverri­a
[WRAP.]