Two Apples, a Banana, and Grapes

Pan Echeverri­a
[corr 2/mind 2: shoshannahhhh, where are youuuuu]
Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (6, 7, 7) ( success x 3 )

Shoshannah
[nightmares]
Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Shoshannah
For someone with no life outside of the Chantry and minimal transportation into the outside world, Shoshannah has been remarkably difficult to find of late.  During the eight nights of Channukah, the menorah that appeared on the mantle was lit every night, and it's since been removed and put away to make room for a more traditional Christmas sort of decor.
She hadn't been lying in the slightest when she told Connor that she liked to decorate.  Shoshannah is a girl who thrives on pretty things, and she has remarkably good taste for her age.  Unfortunately, her remarkably good taste also isn't cheap, so anything big she wants to do takes place in stages.
And so the stockings are hung by the chimney with care, one for each Awakened person she knows in the Denver area, whether or not she's seen him or her at the House.  There's a tree, and goodness only knows how she wrestled the giant tree into the corner where it stands tall and full, skirted and everything.  (In all likelihood, she got Sid or Kalen, or both given the sheer size, to help her.)  This is where she's found, with music playing on the stereo - traditional hymns, mostly, but the occasional pop tune fits in here and there - as she flits here and there, too and fro, adding holly berries or strings of popcorn or lights or decorations . . . like Halloween, Christmas isn't a halfway thing to her.  She may have more personal connection with the more spectral holiday, and more religious connection with the Jewish festival of lights (Pan, Sid and Kalen all received little presents outside their room all eight days - little bags of gold and silver-wrapped chocolate coins, dreidls, and so on), but Shoshannah is an equal opportunity interior designer.
Someone comes in, and she's actually half way behind the tree - maybe she feels the resonance, maybe she hears a step on a creaky board, who knows.  Regardless, there's a, "Hello," that's a kind of cheerful that only comes when Shoshannah's buried in a project or speaking with spirits.  Maybe she's in a forgiving mood . . . but this isn't a good thing to count on.  The Dreamspeaker is almost never in a forgiving mood.

Pan Echeverri­a
A week has passed since the scrying that brought Thakinyan's eyes aimed maybe not at the Chantry itself but more so at the person waving a light right in its face. Nothing has happened but from the preparations and the general air of anxiety hung about the place one could almost feel as if something was about to happen. A storm gathering.
Callisto is still guarding the place and the very air around it hums with an intense light that isn't physical but still feels very real and strong and frightening to anyone who doesn't understand what it is. Even to some who do understand what it is.
It's easier to weather the sanctity projected by his resonance if you think he's a fucking hypocrite.
Shoshannah has been difficult to track down. He might have done well to just park himself in the living room and wait for her but their paths haven't crossed yet. It's almost as if she's been avoiding him. When he comes in today his cowboy boots thump on the hardwood floors and she can hear him take and release a breath.
She sounds cheerful. He isn't falling for it.
"You been busy, huh?" he asks from the threshold.

Kalen Holliday
[Nightmares]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 6, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Shoshannah
She takes her sweet time emerging from where she is - it doesn't matter that it's the back of the tree and no one will see it for more than thirty seconds as they come in from the cold.  In this, if little else, Shoshannah is a perfectionist.  So the initial response makes its way through tree branches and needles, is quiet but fiery hot.  No, not so forgiving, then.  And perhaps Kalen, when he enters, will feel relieved to have that tone not directed at him . . .
. . . though the tone he's gotten recently has been the mostly-polite one that Shoshannah generally reserves for people she's just met.  She's just got no idea how to function in that particular direction these days.  It hasn't been tight or strained or anything, it's just been . . . passionless.  And Shoshannah, bless her heart, is a creature overflowing with all sorts of passion, so it feels artificial and so. very. distant.
Anyway!  The answer, coming all incendiary and hard through the tree, is simple enough.  "I guess.  I don't like not doing anything."  Her wards were blown away then well and truly surpassed, Callisto will only watch, other spirits - and people, for that matter - tend to stay away when Shoshannah's in a mood.  (Unless they're ghosts that want something, but that's a different matter entirely.)
"So have you."  Pointed.  Harsh.

Pan Echeverri­a
"Mmh."
It's a noncommittal sound. Could just as easily be agreement as it could be dismissal. Without any point to denying the accusation he doesn't make the attempt. Everyone knows something happened here last weekend even if they don't have details and it wouldn't take a psychologist to sort out why Shoshannah could possibly be cross with him.
A psychologist would also have his work cut out for him in this place. Half the people living here are adept liars and the other half aren't and half of that whole refuses to let down their guard whether they're adept or terrible at lying.
He doesn't move to help her with the tree. This is her project and he has to know how that would go anyway. So he stays on the threshold. That's the only answer she gets from him.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen comes in, as quietly as Kalen can, which is still easily audible.  Christmas seems to be all over the Chantry now.  He seems unsure what to make of that, even though he's already seen it.  His eyes wander over stockings and the tree and all the decorations slowly.  Perhaps he is concerned they are multiplying.  Or haunted.
Shoshannah's tone does not get that same lingering consideration.  That, at least, requires less of his attention.  "Hello, Dove.  Pan."  Shoshannah is perhaps used to Kalen's greetings with no expression, but Pan had started to get smiles.  Or at least something.  It's likely not even that he's tired, because he looks as though he may actually have gotten some sleep.  Again.
His attention slips off of them and back to the decorations as he circles the room to study them.

Shoshannah
"Hello," comes for Kalen, still colored with the irritation Shoshannah showered upon Pan, but subdued somehow.  Pan hasn't been treated to this particular view of the girl before, and it goes away quickly as she emerges from behind the tree and returns her attention to the priest.  She's only an Initiate to his Disciple, only a teenaged girl to his hardened ex-con War survivor, but she looks at him like an indignant daughter might look at her dad.
It's comical, really, given the part where it's obvious she's nothing of the sort.
"How's it look?"  It's not easier to stick to safe subjects, not by a long shot.  But one has to practice control at least on occasion to get any - perhaps that's what Shoshannah's doing.  Turning over a new leaf, as it were - and that is strained, this small thing where she tries to stay to the superficial and light, as it always has been.  She's the opposite of the Indigo Girls song - his place is of the light, hers is of the dark.
"You know, both times I scryed him, I went out of my way to not draw attention here."

Pan Echeverri­a
If Kalen feels like the priest is ignoring him then that isn't entirely true. His eyes flick to him and he gives him a terse smile but he doesn't greet him with words because the bulk of his attention is on the girl who has yet to come out from behind the tree by the time he's wandered in.
That he calls her dove goes without comment.
In his studying the Hermetic can read everything he needs to by the dichotomy between them. How Shoshannah is raring up for a fight while the priest stands with his feet an easy distance apart and has his hands tucked into the pocket of his black trousers. She is indignant and he is patient.
Mr. Echeverría was not the best parent to his biological son. He spent eight of the boy's first nine years in prison and when he got out he was absent not because he did not want to mend the bridge but because the child's mother was justifiably upset. Upset that he landed in there in the first place and upset because he got out in eight and a half years instead of the twenty that he got put away for. Upset that she had to raise this kid with her parents' help and now here he was out on parole and the boy kept asking where's Dad where's Dad when can I see Dad like it didn't matter to Rafael that Dad was a fucking maniac who killed a guy with his bare hands.
They did mend that bridge. Time has a tendency of helping. But there isn't anything Shoshannah can do or say that's going to wound him and that has to just stoke her anger's fire all the higher.
"Mm hmm," he says. "Remind me what happened when you scried this thing, again?"

Kalen Holliday
Kalen looks between the two of them for a second, but Shoshannah seems to be trying to be social.  So instead of just slipping out, he stays in the room full of Christmas and Shoshannah and Pan maybe fighting, and says, "I'm not sure any of us know what our best option is in this case.  Maybe, and it does pain me to say this, we should just talk about these Christmas things."
He picks up one of the decorations, turns it over in his hands, and sets it down gently.  "I think they are very suited to the holiday.  I don't know about the tree decorations though.  Are they supposed to be symmetical or in charming disarray?"  He stops speaking, and then adds quickly.  "I'm not mocking you.  I only barely remember decorating Christmas trees.  I simply don't recall.  I know all the formal ones are symmetrical, but that always seemed so...like formal dining sets.  I don't see why you would do it with your family."

Pan Echeverría
He cuts Kalen off after the suggestion about Christmas things. Unfortunately. Sorry, Kalen.
"Mister Holliday, we're not discussing plans, I'm asking Miss Mitchell what happened when she looked for Thakinyan on her own. Please."

Shoshannah
".....Miss Mitchell?"
He could have slapped her with similar result - her face is instantly pale and splotchy for a smattering of seconds that might almost go unnoticed if Pan weren't looking right at her.  She rocks back, too, and then there's a wall slamming firmly into place, solid, riveted and reinforced steel.  It's amazing how quickly she can revert to who she was when they met in May.
It might seem like backing down.
It isn't.
"I confirmed what everyone already knew, got a look at what the house was like.  Got spotted, too, but so did you."  It's not that she's ignoring Kalen, either - it's that for all that passion she holds, all that feisty-ness, she's not as willful as she might appear.  This isn't a time that's good for splitting her attention.  "And what happens to me, alone, is a lot different than what happens to the House."

Pan Echeverri­a
She shuts down. If anything it sounds like the priest is starting to feel his blood pressure creep up. He doesn't raise his voice yet but he also doesn't have the laconic air of someone who doesn't give two shits about the outcome of the topic they're discussing.
"You're right. It is a lot different. We can defend the house and the people inside the house. We can't do anything to protect you if you're alone."

Kalen Holliday
"Didn't you tell me to come here not two minutes after I told about there being people hunting me, Dove?  You belong here too.  Probably more than I do.  You and Callisto can actually hang out, you have a place here.  I think you actually infuriate people less than I do.  We're already in this fight with Thakinyan.  There is no reason to be off doing it alone."  Kalen's tone actually goes from only distant to half-gentle.

Shoshannah
We can't do anything to protect you.
You belong here.
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.
"I belong in dark, cold places that light doesn't touch."  It's the first time she's said it, though the way she acts it's likely no surprise to either of them that she might think that way.  Each of them knows different bits of what people have said of her all her life (people she's cared about, people she hasn't, and it's coalesced on her, around her, been caught in her teeth like a pomegranate seed) that make this view make sense, at least from her perspective.  And that statement sits between them after it's uttered, with plenty place for interruption if it occurs before she gets the next out.
"There's no reason to protect me.  Lots of other people need," read: deserve, "it more."

Pan Echeverri­a
He takes his hands out of his pockets when Kalen starts to speak and crosses his arms over his chest. But he lets him talk.
And the Dreamspeaker says nothing he hasn't heard before. Because of course she does. Of course she does not belong up here with those who would bring flowers up from the grass with their bare feet. Who would bring bread and water out of nothing. Who would seek to have peace and understanding flow through all of humanity because we're all made of the same things anyway.
Peace and understanding are not tenets of Shoshannah's philosophy. And Francisco Echeverría may be understanding but he is not peaceful. He shot and killed John Brogan and he would shoot and kill Lucia Montanari and Joshua Keller if he thought it would end this.
"I hate to have to be the one to break it to you," he says with his arms still crossed, "but we need you safe. Shoshannah. All of us. Lots of other people besides you. I need you safe. You hearin' me?"

Kalen Holliday
And what would Kalen add?
That he also needs her safe?  That he cared what happened to her?  He tried that already.  Once.  Twice.  Again and again until he forgot how to breathe.
She.  Never.  Believed.  Him.
He doesn't try now.  Not again.  Instead, he does what Pan was probably hoping for from the beginning, he slips out, past Pan with his crossed arms at the threshold and heads in the direction of the kitchen.

Shoshannah
Oh, Kalen, it's not you.  She never believes anyone who says similar things (not Lena, not Sid, and she'd only started to be brave enough to think maybe she could believe Pan when he had his stroke and went away for so long).  Would you, after nearly nineteen years of the opposite?  Shoshannah's searing, freezing blue eyes track after the Hermetic, then back to Pan as her warmer-clad arms wrap around her middle.
Holding herself together, perhaps.
"Yeah, I hear you."  I need you safe, too, but that doesn't matter much.  "But this isn't about me."

Pan Echeverri­a
Pan is not small or fragile. He's lost a lot of weight since August. But Kalen did not know him in August. What he has before him is a tall man who is used to being much heavier. Who even wasted as he is still has a strength that comes from his core and from the solid frame supporting this mortal body.
He was standing in the doorway between the living room and the dining room when this conversation started and Pan has to physically descend the steps to get out of Kalen's way that he might pass. But he does descend the steps. He makes room for him. If that makes Kalen think that he wanted him gone from the moment he stepped into the room then that's Kalen's prerogative to think so.
He is capable of a lot of things but Pan cannot force people to feel or think anything they do not want to feel or think. People are people no matter what they believe.
This isn't about Shoshannah.
Pan draws a breath and lifts his eyebrows. He'd uncrossed his arms as he came down from the threshold and now he rests his hands on his hips.
"I prayed here that night 'cause I needed the light." He means the Node. "If it weren't for them wards you put up, if I tried to do it somewhere else, I don't know that I could've kept him out. After it busted through the demon tried to get inside my head. He didn't get his claws in me, but he tried. That's why I did it here."
He takes a breath and lets it go like a sigh.
"You kept me safe. Yeah?"

Shoshannah
Shoshannah is tall, and there's deceptive thought about tall women where maybe they're stronger, or less feminine, or . . . who knows, current culture is stupid about body image.  She's also rail thin, run through with wiry muscles that will fall away before too much longer now that she's not living out of her bike's saddlebags, setting up a tent wherever she wants to be, doing odd jobs for food (or the money to buy it).  Maybe those lines will soften into curves now, or maybe not - it seems like they should, but then she always runs so hot, so full of energy and tension.  Maybe her intensity keeps her as she is, tall and waif-like.
A ghost.
A sullen, abrasive, confrontational ghost.
"Sure.  Whatever."  Obviously, she's not buying it.  After all, she'd blocked herself off too, and the thing still managed to give her nightmares, to attach to her somehow.  But, as she'd said, this isn't about her.  "They need you a lot more than they need me.  You shouldn't do stupid things."
Naturally, she excludes herself.  If she were asked, she'd say she didn't need anyone.  And of course she's comfortable enough with Pan to say such things, even (especially?) when she's irked.

Pan Echeverri­a
If he had made a habit out of arguing with nonbelievers then Pan would have a lower success rate than he does now. The people of the Church of the Good Shepherd are impoverished and forgotten and yearning for a better future for their children. Rosa would argue with him until her lungs forsook her that they needed him more than the people out here at this Chantry need him.
Shoshannah does not believe him. It does not matter to him whether she believes him or not. It doesn't alter what he does or how he does it.
He puts his hands back in his pockets. Of course he shouldn't do stupid things. None of them should.
"Iron sharpens iron," he says, like she knows this already. "And one man sharpens another."

Shoshannah
Shoshannah can argue, anyone who's spent an time with her at all knows this.  Now, though, she doesn't and it's not because she doesn't want to, but because she knows it won't do any good.  Irresistible force, meet immovable object.
".....right," she answers as if she knows it as well as he expects her too, and also as if that's not an answer.  "Next time you ask me to take care of a place, try not to destroy my wards, yeah?"

Pan Echeverri­a
There it is.
Pan laughs like he'd been worried the fire had gone out of her for as weak as her chastising has been this entire time. It's rare that he laughs like this. When he does the haggardness goes out of his face and he looks younger.
He and Ana are the same age but she wears it much better than he does. Prison and drug addiction will age a person.
"Alright," he says. "I won't do it again." He indicates the kitchen with a tilt of his head. "I'll leave you two alone now, huh?"

Shoshannah
"He doesn't want to talk to me."  The shaking of her head negates it as much as her words do, and it's beyond obvious that she believes it fully - Shoshannah's a bad liar when she uses words to do so, despite her ability to omit like no one's business.  "But if you've got things to do, you can go do them."
She says this even as she's closing the distance between them in a handful of ground eating strides - there are advantages to being tall and still moving like a lanky teenaged boy.  It takes her next to no time to get to him, unfurl her arms and wrap them around him instead of around herself.
"I'm glad you're okay."
And then, if he wants to, he's free to go.

Pan Echeverri­a
As if he needed her permission. It charms him that she still says things like this after all this time but Pan just smiles and nods.
Though she's tall her head doesn't quite reach his shoulder and when she puts her arms around him the most she can hope for is to hook them around his waist. Time was she had to contend with a spare tire and a decent layer of fat protecting his bones and muscle but she can feel his ribs through his shirt now. The skin on his arms feels loose but when Pan pulls her in with them around her shoulders they're still strong and his heart still beats beneath her cheek even if it almost stopped three months ago.
He doesn't have anything else to say. Defensive as she wants to be he knows when to sheathe his proverbs and his prophecies.
So Pan stands still as long as Shoshannah will submit to the embrace and when she's had enough he releases her.

Shoshannah
Shoshannah doesn't submit to much, and when she does it isn't for long (at least not in public, where just anyone might see), so Pan has an armful of Dreamspeaker for about five seconds before she's slipping away and going back to her decorating.
Everything's a process.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen is gone for awhile.  And then he pokes back in from the top of the stairs, like he did not just walk out and ignore them for however long.
"Does anyone else want tea?"  He asks this like nothing happened at all.

Connor
[I CAN SENSE THINGS MAYBE: awareness]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Connor
[YEA SUCK IT, ONES *double-birds*]

Alyssa Solomon
[[Awareness!]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Alyssa Solomon
She's been here once.  It was brief, and she just got the basic tour, but the fact is that she's been here.  And, like it or not, Alyssa knew that once she became introduced to a Chantry, there was no going back.  You can keep yourself on the outside when you don't have any other Awakened to associate with, but she's found herself not just one (a newbie at that, who she's remarkably protective over despite her inclinations toward pessimism), but now a whole household of mages.
She has some reservations about taking Connor here, to be honest.  She never has trusted the places; they always seem to blow up or burn down at the most inopportune times.  But there's no getting around it; it'll happen eventually.  And so she drives Connor in her red '89 Acura Legend out to Morrison and the Awakened home that lays within.
It's disgustingly cold, but Alyssa doesn't pay it any mind.  The more you deal with the Restless Dead, the less you concern yourself with cold.  And that's why she's still rocking the longcoat and not a heavy wool something-or-other, with a turtleneck and jeans underneath and a pair of heavy boots.  Despite her goth leanings, she doesn't often go heavy into the makeup because...well, it's silly.  And she's a lot of things, but silly isn't one of them.  And so it's just heavy eyeliner, dark crimson eyeshadow and matching lipstick.
The car pulls up into the driveway and she kills the engine, looks over at the young man in the car with her.  "Just don't get feeling too much like it's safe here.  They've got some decent protections up and the spirit guardian is impressive, but all of that could be brushed away."  She stubs out her cigarette in the nearly-overflowing ashtray, then shrugs with a half-smirk.
"Let's go say hi."
And with that she gets out, the sense of blood-spattered feathery wings announcing her presence ahead of her.  Probably better than she can sense, at this moment anyway.

Connor
If Connor Whitman's thoughts were to be displayed in text on a screen, they would read quite simply
WE'RE GOING ON A FIELD TRIP!!1
It's Alyssa's idea, though he's been meaning to go since forever.  Since he found out the place existed.  That was the same day Shoshannah wrote two numbers on the inside of his palm in front of Kalen and Grace.  He hasn't called it or texted to it.  There'd been a weirdness in the air that day, and in the history of Connor Whitman his policy with weirdness is...to...avoid it.  So he's been avoiding the house and avoiding Shoshannah and not seeking out Kalen because dude where.  Where does he even beging?
Not all of that avoidance has been on purpose, it should be said.  Connor divides his time between work, hanging out with (aka learning from) Alyssa, hanging out with a hundred other friends, and more work.  It takes a lot of time and energy to put together a business proposal for a business loan, especially when the business in question has been illegal since always.  He's been busy.
Then Alyssa asked if he wanted to go to the House and instantly he forgot about the weirdness.  He forgot about the stuff going on with Shoshannah and Kalen.  He forgot everything and he nodded his head vigorously, sending his dark curls swaying this way and that, and he said, "Yeah!  Cool, let's go."  And then he bundled himself up for an arctic expedition.
The figure that climbs out of the passenger side of Alyssa's Acura is...what...around average height for a male of the species?  Every other aspect of its appearance is obscured.  There are jeans which aren't too tight tucked into heavy winter boots, though the hips are a bit too narrow to be a woman's.  The contours of the upper body are hidden by a black winter coat (650-fill duck down, waterproof, with fleece-lined handwarmer pockets), the hood pulled up over a black knit beanie.  The face is hidden by a bright orange scarf and a pair of snow goggles.  Snow goggles.  Someone ask Connor when the last time he went up onto a mountain was, they'll find those goggles have never been sprayed by powder once since their purchase.
He does not resent Alyssa for her natural cold resistance.  Some people are made for this weather.  And then there's Connor.
He's been given a warning.  Alyssa doesn't think this place is very safe, but Alyssa greets strangers to her door with a gun, so Connor isn't really sure what that means.  Even so, they're going to go say hi to the storm, the angry defensiveness, the impossibly bright light of illumination.  If a single patch of Connor's face could be seen Alyssa would know that he's grinning ear to ear.  She can tell, though, because he bounds ahead of her to the front entry of the house, toward his friends and toward warmth.

Pan Echeverri­a
[awareness?]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

Pan Echeverri­a
[don't hurt yourself, old man]

Shoshannah
[me too!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Shoshannah
[It's okay, Shoshannah'll take care of you.]

Connor
[well if you're all going to notice him before he hits the door, let's see if he hits the door: dex (no ath), diff +1 because I'm sure it's icy]
Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (4, 9) ( success x 1 )

Pan Echeverri­a
By the time Kalen comes back Shoshannah has had enough of the hugging and Pan has started to head back down into the library. Not like none of that ever happened but like he's used to it happening and he expects it's going to happen again at some point. The Dreamspeaker's anger is an ancient and unending thing and he doesn't seek to banish it so much as he just weathers it when it's directed at him.
Does anyone else want tea? stops him before he's gone too far down the hall. He turns back with a hand on the corner of the wall and considers. Does he want tea?
Is the Pope Catholic?
"Yes," he says. "Thank you."
And then he's stopped again by the sense of someone approaching. Someone bloody and winged. Someone who knows an awful lot about salt. He glances to Shoshannah but doesn't move to answer the door himself. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall and watches to see what she does.

Shoshannah
Shoshannah senses someone - two someones, to be exact - and a part of her has to steel herself to answer the door but another part is pleased, excited even.  There's someone she knows out there, then, and there she is heading to that big door and entry way (all thick, warm socks that slide on the floor and long, legging-clad legs under a comfortably, casually, stylishly chunky, tunic-lengthed, and cowl-necked sweater.  So the door opens before Alyssa and Connor get to it, but only by moments, to reveal a certain Dreamspeaker, all legs and eyes accentuated by the aforementioned sweater with her long, wavy-black hair floating around her in the static created by her every move.
"Do we have any oolong?"  Comes for Kalen as she's passing him, and then there she is.  "Hello."
It's formal, all things considered, and her tone is completely different than the one she'd had with Pan moments ago.
"Come in, it's freezing out there."  The restless dead don't make everyone impervious to the cold, but then Shoshannah's from a different place entirely.

Kalen Holliday
Of course Pan wants tea.  Sooner or later Kalen is just going to stop asking him.
"I'll check for you, Dove.  But, probably.  If not I'll pick some up next time I'm coming by, but you might have to have something else meanwhile."
He pauses, watching Connor and Alyssa coming through the door Shoshannah has opened.  He does not venture outside, but he does come as far as the doorway.  "Angel!"  Alyssa gets a flash of a grin.  Connor doesn't have a Name yet. Yet.  But he also gets a grin.  "Connor!  Do you two want tea?"

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa knows Connor by now, and she knows that the warning will be taken in stride.  Meaning that he'll hear it and then stride ahead with enthusiasm.  There's no surprise that he's grinning and racing ahead like a kid rushing toward the greatest candy store of all time.  She shakes her head with a chuckle, then raises her voice and calls out:
"You know that if you crack your head, the hospital isn't right down the street or anything..."
And then there's a moment where she realizes how that sounds, and she has an expression as if she wants to smack her own forehead.  You're fucking twenty-nine years old, woman.  You don't have a twenty-two year-old kid.  And she sighs, shakes her head once more and follows after.
She senses the Resonances as she gets close to the door; she's too wary, noting the magic that surrounds this place, to hone any further at that moment.  But she recognizes all of them: the hostile defensiveness of Shoshannah, who she's met once on the street; the bright light of the priest from the grocery store.  The rumbling storm that she associates with Kalen by now.  She's non-chalant as she walks up behind Connor, letting him do hellos and such while she gives a brief nod and walks inside.  She gives the interior of the house a quick glance, examining the walls and noting the location of any and all relics in sight.
Which, of course, there aren't really any.  So she looks back to Pan and Kalen while she lets Shoshannah and Connor talk.  "Kalen.  Father.  Nice to see you guys again..."
Kalen's nickname for her gets a little smirk every time.  She appreciates the ironic humor of it.  "Depends on the tea, I guess.  If you have anything green and Asian I'm all for it.  I don't cotton to the herbal stuff usually, not floofy stuff with names like English Breakfast.  If I wanted an English breakast, I won't be in the middle of the USA.  That's like going to Taco Bell and calling it Mexican."
Not that she doesn't eat at Taco Bell; Connor could attest to that with some of the bags he may have spied in the backseat of the car.

Connor
Connor goes running for the door and as soon as he's out of sight Alyssa can hear a booted foot slide several inches on the cold, icy pavement of the walkway.  There is no ensuing thud as a body hits the ground, and when she comes around the bend Connor is fine, just fine.  But for a moment there he whoa whoa slip slid and windmilled his arms before catching his balance.  He hops from foot to foot a moment, impatiently waiting for Alyssa to catch up.
The door opens ahead of him and he turns his head toward it, and there is Shoshannah standing there.  "Hey!" he greets, and despite the muffling effect of his scarf, she can hear how bright and happy he is to see her there.
Come in, it's freezing out there, she says.  Well, she doesn't have to tell him twice. He stomps his feet outside, trying to knock off the little bit of snow that's clinging to his soles.  A gloved hand pulls down his scarf and there's that billion megawatt smile, so much brighter when set in a dark face.  The smile is for Shoshannah, and then for Kalen.  It does not diminish when he sees the tall imposing intimidating man taking a lean and watching the door, but Pan gets a wave of a hand before Connor bites down on the tip of the middle finger, pulling his hand free of the glove.  He steps away from the door to give Alyssa room to get in and Shoshannah room to shut the door, all while continuing the arduous process of peeling out of his winter gear.  The gloves come off first, revealing large palms with long, dexterous fingers.  Then he pulls his goggles off and puts them in a different pocket before finally unzipping his coat.  Underneath it is a navy blue t-shirt with a black dragon's crest against a gold circle (the symbol of Ender's dragon army).
Alyssa expects Connor to talk to Shoshannah, but she got that greeting and then his attention was diverted by so many things.  All the things.  Other Mages, a new place, and it's so fucking huge.  Somewhere there's a spirit guardian but if it's outside then running off to meet it is not on the itinerary for today.
He is the most aware of Pan.  He's the only person in the room that Connor hasn't met, and he gives off this air, right?  This air of I Don't Start Fights But If You Do I'll End It.  That's not the only reason Connor is aware of him, though.  No, in Connor's short time spent Awake others like them have almost universally greeted him with looks of pity and despair, and he's wonder if this guy's going to do it, too.  "Connor Whitman," he says, greeting Pan finally and holding out his hand to him for a shake.  He turns away to call to Kalen, "I'll have anything that's hot, even if it's fake hot like whiskey."  His attention returns to Pan, who if he accepted that offered hand will find that it's still being held by the much younger Indian man.  "It is cold outside!" he says like this is possibly news to people who live all the way out here.

Pan Echeverri­a
The older man wears all black and is the source of that all-encompassing almost-holy light and he seems to be more interested in observing what's going on than actually participating. It would be a reasonable assumption that Alyssa calls him father because he's a priest.
This particular priest's hair needs a dye job. It was black once but half of it has gone silver if not white and the white has found its way into the beard he's kept trimmed but has yet to shave off. It's wintertime and he won't stand at a pulpit until this demon business is sorted. He's not trying to impress anybody.
At Alyssa's crack comparing Taco Bell to Mexican food the man Connor has not met yet laughs a short-lived laugh and tamps down a show of repulsion and stands up straight. Puts his hands back into his pockets before he crosses the room. He has to take his right hand back out of his pocket to greet Connor but that's alright.
"Good to see you again, Miss Solomon," he says.
And then the two men's paths converge. He looks Connor in the eye and gives him a genial smile that doesn't show teeth before he takes the young man's hand in his own. He informs them that it's cold outside and the smile grows warmer.
"Is it?" he asks and flicks his eyes towards the patio doors. "Thanks for the warning. It's been so sunny lately, I thought the weather might've changed its mind."
Nobody thinks you're funny, Father. Finish shaking the kid's hand so he can go on about his day.
"Francisco Echeverría. Celestial Chorus. Good to meet you, Connor Whitman."

Connor
"That's how it gets you," Connor says with mock solemnity.  "The sun and the ice melting, they make you think it's warm outside but it's totally not, man."  The shiver that passes from his shoulders up his neck into the base of his skull is not exaggerated.
"Celestial Chorus, what's that?" he asks, relinquishing the father's hand so that he can fold his arms over his chest, tucking his hands beneath his arms.  It makes him look thoughtful but all he really wants is to feel his fingers again.  "Are you into like space and stuff?  Or is it like religious?"  Apparently what Connor wants to do when he goes on about his day is stand around chatting up a priest in the hallway of a house of magic.

Shoshannah
"This is Padre," Shoshannah says, gesturing at Pan for Connor's benefit.  "And you know Kalen."  It's a thing to be noted, perhaps, that though Shoshannah is as friendly as she gets with both Connor and Alyssa, she gives the latter a wide, almost wary berth.  Perhaps it's conscious, but more likely it's not; there's a discomfort there, something that tugs at the younger Dreamspeaker,  Or rather, it pushes her away.
And of course there's formal introduction from the good Father, which Shoshannah wouldn't have given - she only rarely gives it even for herself, and then it's usually through spirits.  And the two men talk, and Shoshannah is flower turning towards the sun with the two of them there, together - so much light and even if (though) she doesn't think she belongs to it, it feels good.  Bright, and warm.  It's a thing to put on for awhile, and then maybe wander away back to the depths and dead.
"Hi, Alyssa.  Good to see you both."

Kalen Holliday
Kalen laughs at Alyssa.  She sees all irony, but Kalen has heard stories about Angels.  He knows them as beings as easily creatures with bloodied wings, triumphant in their terrible majesty as entle ones that bear lilies and tidings.  There was irony too, but from the moment he met her Kalen thought of Angels.  "I missed you."
He traces Connor's entrance with a faint smile, and has to resolve, yet again, not just refer to him as a golden retriever.
Or scratch him behind the ears.  But.  It's.  So.  Tempting.
Instead he just laughs again, and waves a hand to point out the bar.  "There is a kind of bar over there.  I'll make you tea."  He is still smiling when he heads off to make the tea, listening to Connor chat up Pan like they are new best friends because now Connor has seen him and why not?  Why can't they be best friends?

Pan Echeverría
That suits the priest just fine. He looks at Connor with the same interest he'd give any other young person he hasn't met before and even when he reveals himself not to have a clue what his tradition is no pity appears.
Everybody has to start somewhere.
"Eh," he says. He tucks his hands back into his pockets and stands up straight instead of holding up the wall now. "You could say that. Everybody calls themself a Chorister believes the same thing. We're all made of the same stuff space is made of."

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa is distracted a moment as Connor introduces himself to Pan.  Truth be told, she has been interested to see how this would play out.  She wasn't able to get a good bead on the priest during their brief meeting at the supermarket but she knows Connor and knows he would be drawn to that bright light like a moth.  The corner of her painted lips curl up a bit when Pan throws out the little joke, and it quickly becomes bemused when Connor responds in kind and asks about the Chorus.
"That's one of the Traditions," she says in answer for Pan.  It's a natural instinct, taking on the pedantic role as she has done for the newly-Awakened man.  "They're specialists in Prime and believe in one great creator.  God, if you will."  She leaves it to Pan to explain further if he so desires, looking to the older man with a little shrug.
"Connor's newly-Awakened.  I've been teaching him most of the basics before getting into Traditions and all that."  There's no chagrin at not having told the young man more about Traditions; she is confident in how she's teaching him and if he doesn't know everything yet...well, there's a lot to learn.
"Good to see you too," she says to the Dreamspeaker, before looking back at Kalen.  There's a slightly raised eyebrow when he says he missed her.  "That's a new sentiment.  Usually it's 'Oh fuck, you again?' or 'Oh God no, keep away!'"  She smirks and shrugs.  "I'm a people person, what can I say?"

Pan Echeverri­a
[manip + subt: can we not throw shade at the hollower, pls?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Pan Echeverría
When Alyssa clarifies for her student the priest looks over the young man's head to read her expression and the shrug that comes with it. Anyone looking at him for a reaction can see he doesn't quite agree with her explanation of the tradition. He wears a skeptical expression that fluctuates as she goes on: ebbs at the news that Connor is newly Awakened but reappears again when she says she's been teaching him the basics.
"Folks are gonna call the One whatever makes the most sense to them," he says, like a footnote.

Alyssa Solomon
[[Oh what the hell, why not?  Awarepathy!]]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Shoshannah
"And some of us don't call him - or her, or it, or they, or whatever - at all."  This is, of course, in response to the talk of God or the One or whatever the cool kids are calling that creative energy these days.  It comes from a girl who thinks she's outside of that grace, a mistake (if such a thing can exist), a blemish.
But even if she's right, being her comes with a few little perks, too - having remained living isn't all bad, she figures most of the time.

Kalen Holliday
Not so long ago, when he wanted to bring Pan blankets but then remembered how long that would take, he'd asked Grace to do it for him.  And, if Grace were here, then maybe he would have asked her to bring everyone their tea.  And she probably would have, and it would have been quick and easy and relatively painless.
But none of these people, for all that he may have kissed them or wrapped their hands around cups of tea or laughed off how they pointed guns in his face when they met him, but not one of them is he willing to ask to ask to help him with mundane things.
He brings the first cups of tea, still steeping but gloriously warm to Connor and Alyssa because it is cold outside.  Connor was acting like he just came in from Antarctica.  He extends the mugs to Alyssa, both caught by their handles in one hand, because he can't even manage trips to the kitchen without a cane and gets only the one hand to carry things.  "Yours," he says.  "Is the blue one."   And once Alyssa takes hers, he offers the other one to Connor without a word.
His attention flits between Pan and Alyssa, and he smiles a little.  It seems less for either of them directly and more for the situation, and its warmer and softer than most of his expressions have been tonight.  Maybe wistful.  He's either not trying to keep from having feelings show up on his face, or he's doing a terrible job of it right now.
But he doesn't try to discuss God, or Gods, or nebulous Ones with them right now.  There is more tea to go get.  And he is so very determined about going to get it.

Connor
Connor does not for a moment make anyone question his "rank" within Awakened society.  He is new.  Every new tidbit of information gleaned fills him with awe and wonder.
At least Pan is taking him seriously.  He doesn't hear that question, put the pieces together and look at Connor all Aw you poor thing.  Meanwhile behind him Alyssa is watching them, or watching Pan talk to Connor, like a surly watchdog.  She'd bristled up a bit when Claudia smirked at Connor, who honestly didn't know how to respond to the woman's smirk of greeting.  But she doesn't have to worry here.  Connor falls into easy conversation with a man twice his age talking about stars and the universe.  "Are we?"  He asks the question like he's never heard that theory before.  Someone hasn't heard of Carl Sagan or Neil DeGrasse Tyson or so many others.
He looks back over his shoulder at Alyssa, thick brows hefted upward above wide dark eyes.  "Oh right!" he says.  He knows there are things called Traditions now, sort of like there are many political parties.  Except there don't seem to be two frontrunners, which has made remembering them harder for him.
"What," he says, and the word is flat and disbelieving as well as disapproving when Alyssa says that usually people are unhappy to see her.  Well, some people are morons, apparently.  Connor tips his head bit to the side and says, "I'm always happy to see you."  Which is true.  It's hard to imagine Connor not being pleased to see anyone, though.
Back to the talk about Prime, at the mention of God Connor's expression shifted.  The young man can lie, he can keep his cool with the best of them, but truth is most of the time he doesn't bother.  Especially not when getting to know new people (unless they're pretty, or something weird is going on).  He looks like someone just suggested he eat a human liver with a side of fava beans.  The idea of it is not terribly appealing.  He perks up again, though, when Pan clarifies that people will call The One whatever makes sense.  "So Celestial Chorus isn't just a bunch of Catholics?" he asks, intrigued.
Until Shoshannah speaks up.  Connor gives her an understanding little grin.  "We're not talking about individuals, though, right?" he asks to Alyssa.

Connor
[belated awarepathy?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Shoshannah
No, they're not talking about individuals, but Shoshannah simply shrugs, not bothered by the part where she doesn't really know how to socialize normally.  Or where she's not a Chorister, and she totally stepped into a conversation about a tradition of which she's not part.  But she does, in fact, follow Kalen to get her own tea, and maybe Pan's too.
No 'back in a sec' or anything, just there then slip-sliding down the hall in a cloud of static because she can't help acting like an eight year old in sock feet on wood-or-tile-or-something-more-interesting-than-carpet floors.
"You could have said something, you know," she says and though there's disapproval it's relatively light, and it's the most she's said to the Hermetic in ages.

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa's been, despite her surlier demeanor, a generally genial sort.  Part of that is Connor's influence, and part of that is that no one's gotten on her bad side to date.  I mean sure, there were guns involved at some point, but that was precautionary and she's more joked about the fact that she can be a bitch than she's actually been a bitch.
Another part of it is that no one's immediately marginalized her, and whatever she sees in Pan's skepticism sets her off.  It's not an explosion of rage or anything that drastic.  Instead it's the way that her chin lifts, her eyes narrow a little.  She's taken this tone with someone else before--Claudia when she decided to tease Connor with an ominous statement--but it wasn't this severely set.
"Father, you have a problem with something I said?"  It's said very specifically in a manner that indicates she knows that he does and just wants him to vocalize whatever it is.  She takes the tea from Kalen but doesn't think to murmur a thank you, and she doesn't address Connor's comment right now.  Some people let things lie and hope that they're nothing.  Alyssa isn't one of those kinds; she prefers to keep everything nice and out in the open.
In short: fuck civility if it means deceit.

Pan Echeverri­a
The man can be persuasive when he wants to be but he cannot lie worth a damn. Something dangerous about a clergyman who cannot lie. Means he believes the things he says. Those are the sorts of people who find loopholes in their scriptures and their holy books when the words of other men don't mesh with their principles.
She caught the fact that he was trying to occlude his thoughts and Pan does not flinch or shrink away from her. His eyebrows lift like to ask if she really wants to do this here. But he's starting to learn that the women of this Chantry don't have much problem airing their grievances across a crowded room.
So let's start from the beginning:
"Forgive a silly question, but you don't intend to take on Connor's initiation, do you?"

Grace
[Nightmares!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 4, 4, 6, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[Awarepathy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Connor
Alyssa doesn't answer his question.  Instead, the tension in the room ratchets up a notch or two when she calls the priest out on some kind of problem he had with something she's said.  Connor takes a step to the side and back, because if something's about to go down he doesn't particularly want to get caught in the crosshairs.  He just GOT here!  He hasn't even seen the house beyond this hallway.
For a moment, it seems like a temporary escape opens when Kalen comes in with cups of tea held in one hand.  Connor all but dives forward to take them from him, but he gets to Alyssa first.  He takes his own, and moves like he's going to follow his friend over to the kitchen, but Shoshannah's headed that way.  Connor likes Shoshannah, and he likes Kalen, but the two of them together makes him uneasy.  If he has to choose between the tension in the hallway and the weirdness that exists between the two Initiates, Connor chooses the one that didn't leave him with the vague feeling that he'd just been used for something.
Of course now he's stuck in a hallway with a priest and an occultist starting a discussion about him and what sounds like his future?  Maybe?  Initiation?  What does that mean?  What he doesn't know it means is that it's different for every Tradition (remember, he knows that there are Traditions, but learning more than that is slow going for a man of his intellect).  What he thinks about are the markings painted in blood on Alyssa's walls.  He hopes initiation doesn't have to do with that.
Wrapping his long-fingered hands around his cup, Connor sips his tea, looking from Alyssa to Pan and back again with widened eyes, and fantasizing about doing an about face into the other room where the bar is.

Grace
Grace pulls up in the driveway, noting the new car she doesn't remember. Pan's overwhelmingly bright shields still guard the place, but even in the cold spotlight she can make out a swirl of people about tonight. It's going to be... interesting again.
She closes and rubs her eyes before cutting the engine and stepping out into the freezing air. Some day, she'll acclimatize, will lose the desert and gain the mountain for good, but right now she wraps her coat around a bit tighter, and trudges through the snow like an outsider to the concept of snow. When she gets to the door, she just lets herself in, and prepares for... whatever.
That's when the taste of blood hits her smack in the face. Lovely. But, hey, Alyssa's here? Good, then she can hand over Eleanor's freaking card and be done with that...
She shakes her boots off, takes her coat off, and the sound of talking mixed with Christmas hymns wafts down the hallway. Ugh. Christmas. They celebrate that here? With music?
When she walks into the living room, she looks haggard, because honestly, it's final's week. She's wearing boots, jeans and a green sweater, all utterly commonplace and 'normal', for all that she doesn't seem normal at all.

Kalen Holliday
This time, Connor probably could have followed with him.  Kalen isn't a mood to fight.  Hell, Kalen walked away from a fight to go make tea.
"I could have, yes.  I didn't.  But thank you."  There are only three mugs left.  Kalen picks one up.  Hesitates, and then lets Shoshannah pick up Pan's if she seems to want to.  "That one," he points to one, "is yours.  We did have oolong.  It probably still needs a minute.  I really should get us some mugs with those little things to hold a teabag.  They're very clever."

Shoshannah
For varying definitions of 'celebrate' they do indeed do that here.  as they had Chanukkah.  And will a great many things that require extensive feats of interior (and probably exterior, though Shoshannah hasn't gotten to that yet - and really, what's the point when no one will notice?) decorating.  It's tasteful, elegant and rich, this, sumptuous in the vein of upper class Victorian society or something.  A Christmas Carol, hold the Crachetts.
In the kitchen, Shoshannah hears the door open and there's another familiar resonance, and a hint of smirk tugs the corner of her mouth as she takes, yes, both her mug and Pan's.  "Your Kit is here."  No tension, no reproach.  It's just a statement - apparently, Shoshannah's given up on all of that for real.  She has, after all, fallen into something pleasant with Kalen - or it would be, if she were the sort to be pleasant.  Instead, it feels artificial.  It isn't, but it sure feels that way.  "I've got Pan's.  You can make her some tea.  And you're right, those mugs are very clever."
And then she's heading back into the living room - or the entryway, since no one's made it far from there - or they hadn't, as of when Shoshannah left initially.  There's tension there, and so instead of offering a tour (Pan or Kalen or Grace can give it as well as she can, and Pan can add people to the library list if he, and they, so desire) she smiles for Connor.  "I'm going to fidget with the tree a bit more and then go work on my translation some more.  If anyone needs anything, I'll be in the office."

Alyssa Solomon
Deep inside Alyssa, there's a calming voice.  It's a rational voice and to her, it's a woman's voice (but not her own).  It keeps her relaxed sometimes when she might be on edge; counsels her to let her pessimism and natural suspicion of regimented Traditions aside when it threatens to rear up instinctually.  She tells herself that they're not all the same, and that individuals do not all show the failings she's seen in certain .
Right now it's counselling her: Be calm.  Don't take the bait.  It may not even be bait.  You've only just met this man.
She has a hard time hearing it though, over the blood pounding in her ears.  Still, she doesn't fly off the handle at him.  She doesn't launch into a vitrolic assault of him (or people she thinks are like him).  Instead, her lips part in a look of surprise when he asks the question.  Her interpretation--right or wrong--is that he seems to be of the opinion that her handling his initiation would be a remarkably poor idea and thus it would be ridiculous to even suggest such.
"I don't see why that's a silly question," she answers after that beat passes of surprised silence.  "If he fits within the Hollow Ones or doesn't fit a Tradition, then yes, I intend to do so.  Why wouldn't I?  I may not have your quantity of life experiences, but you have no idea how long I've been studying magic with a capital M, or with whom."
Is she defensive?  Damn straight.  And it's enough that she doesn't notice Grace come in, or hear Shoshannah's declaration that she's toddling off, or any of the rest.  (That blood pounding in the ears thing.)  But for her, this is an incredible amount of restraint.

Alyssa Solomon
[[EDIT: "If he fits within the Hollow Ones or doesn't fit any of the other Traditions"]]

Pan Echeverría
While a moment earlier he was having a pleasant enough conversation with a young man who seemed eager to speak to someone who wasn't going to treat him like a child for the newness of his presence in their world Pan hadn't hesitated before switching gears to address Alyssa. Alyssa who is angry and feels like the angel of death.
Yet as she speaks a greenstick fracture of confusion knits itself between his brows.
"My 'quantity of life experiences?'"

Connor
"I think she means you're old, man," Connor supplies helpfully into the middle of that tension.  Hey, Pan asked, and look at them.  Pan is the one who looks so gaunt, with the grey and the white in his hair and his beard.  Alyssa is not yet thirty.
It's not intended to diffuse the tension, and in fact may do the complete opposite depending on how Pan feels about his age.  But Connor doesn't hold back.  Not usually.
And then there's Grace, opening up the door and bringing with her a whole mess of dark clouds to rain inside the house.  Connor straightens when he sees her moving to join them, and the look he gives her is only a little cool, but seems all the colder for the warmth and brightness that came before.  What draws his attention away is Shoshannah.  He offers the Dreamspeaker a faint smile and a nod.

Grace
Oh wow, yes, Christmas music is the perfect backdrop to what's going on right now, isn't it? Christmas music and Christmas trees and all that fake gaiety and jolliness, and a 'family' fight. It's a beautiful thing, this time of year. Getting to see old faces and new, as they turn red and bicker with each other.
Spite, it goes well with fruitcake.
Also, oh shit. If she thought that she, in her current state, could stand between the blood-winged angel and the fire of God and make them back off, she would. Instead... she just tries to escape to the kitchen wordlessly, hopefully unnoticed. This is totally not her fight. She gives Connor a look that says 'So very sorry, man', however. And if he doesn't get why, her eyes then pointedly suggest Alyssa and Pan.
Kalen's in the kitchen. Somebody not fighting and hopefully not being weird. He gets a weary smile, and the single word, "Hey."

Kalen Holliday
As always, Kalen grins when Grace comes into his sight.  Because...Grace!  He can see her mood, so he doesn't go with the manic greetings she sometimes gets, but there is still that grin.  "Hey, Kit.  There's still hot water if you want tea, or we can start coffee."  He looks like he's still gotten some sleep, which is really remarkable for him.  And, despite what's going on out in the hallway, he seems perfectly calm.  "How are you?"

Shoshannah
[thanks for the scene!]

Alyssa Solomon
Pan asks for clarification on what Alyssa meant, and Connor helpfully supplies it.  From the look on Alyssa's face, it's both an accurate and very wrong clarification.  There is a moment where her eyes widen and then threaten to roll, before she swallows it down and then shakes her head.
"No, no.  Not old, or at least not in a bad way."  Do not strangle anyone, Alyssa.  You should be able to make it more than fifteen minutes in a chantry before strangling someone.  She sighs.  "Look, as far as I'm concerned, for our kind age is a good thing.  Most of the time, unless you Awakened way late, it means you're capable of surviving.  So yes, the best way I have to put it is 'Quantity of Life Experiences' because it's the most accurate version.  Most people, when you say 'Older,' take it as a fuckin' insult."
She gives Pan a dry look.  "And believe it or not, I wasn't trying to insult you.  Your pretty damned clear regard for me is doing enough of that for this whole house, thanks.  Anyway, the important part of that sentence was what came immediately after that: you have no idea how long I've been studying magic, where or with whom.  So please tell me your dismissal of my instructional skills is based off more than my Tradition and the fact that I thought the point where people were getting names down wasn't the best point in time for an in-depth lesson on the Chorus, especially when there was a Chorister right here to explain it better than I could.  Just like I wouldn't want you to tell someone what a Hollow One was when I'm standing right here."

Pan Echeverri­a
Like he's never been called 'old' before.
Pan glances away from Alyssa to give Connor his attention for the duration of his translation and processes it for a couple of seconds before laughing. It isn't a boisterous laugh but Connor can rest easy knowing that he at least found the remark charming.
"Thank you, Mister Whitman."
But that isn't how she meant it and she goes on to clarify what it is she meant. The entire time Pan keeps his hands in his pockets. Doesn't close himself off or grow defensive. He listens to her.
Before he responds Pan takes in a breath and rubs his brow with an unadorned hand as if he's got a headache. Any time anyone asks him how he's doing these days that's the answer he gives: I have a headache. Or I'm tired.
It's almost like a blood vessel burst in his brain over the summer and he's lucky to be alive right now. Weird.
After a few seconds of coaxing away the discomfort the priest lets go the breath and puts his hand back in his pocket.
"My... problem, Miss Solomon, was the fact that your information wasn't accurate. I wouldn't expect it to be. And yes, part of that is because of your age, but it's a very small part. You're right. I got no idea how long you been doing anything. My being concern don't mean you're a poor teacher or you're gonna lead him down the wrong path, just means I don't know the first thing about you and I, ah. I care about the well-being of the people who come into this place. That's all." A beat. "I apologize."

Connor
"Connor," he corrects, quick and amicable.  "Mister Whitman was my dad."  But enough about him, there's a disagreement being hashed out and...and Grace is giving him an apologetic look.  She's correct in that his initial response is perplexion, but when she makes to look at Pan and Alyssa Connor rolls those big brown eyes of his and returns his attention to the other two.  They're spilling information like water from a bucket and Connor wants to mop it all up and keep it for himself.
His eyes shift from one to the other, almost impatient.  Well, actually he is impatient.  Are they done yet?  Are they sympatico again?  Connor has more questions!
There!  Pan's apologized.  They had a misunderstanding and now steps are being taken to come to its conclusion.  Connor looks at Pan, and then he looks at Alyssa.

Grace
"Uuugh finals, is how I am," she explains, meaning her mood is more tied to circumstances of temporary work and tiredness. "Finals are like... the last exams of the season. The biggest, the gnarliest, the most important." She knows Kalen doesn't know much about the mundane world she comes from. Best to explain. "And like, everybody works for weeks beforehand to make sure all the stuff is known."
Well, okay, not everybody, but everybody who is like Grace sure does.
She leans in to get a bit closer to Kalen (but you know, with the way the two of them are, that's still pretty far away) and whispers "So, what's going on in there? They about to go nuclear?"

Kalen Holliday
"I doubt it.  It's shockingly difficult to go nuclear with Pan.  He doesn't really escalate and then there you just sort of lost there like, 'we can only do so much with these bayonets.'"  Strictly speaking, that isn't true.  Kalen knows enough about what Pan can do, pieced together from stories and their handful of encounters, to know that Pan is more dangerous than he is.    
Kalen smiles.  "But you never know.  Shall we go see?"  If he could still move like he used to and Grace could stand human contact, he would offer her his arm.  But he can't and she can't, so all he has is that smile.
Unless Grace protests, he starts leading into the hallway to rejoin the others.  She'll catch up easily enough.  She might be leading when they get there.  But for at least those first few steps he leads.

Alyssa Solomon
Alyssa frowns a little when he looks headachey, but she doesn't immediately move to his side and see if he's okay.  The reasons are twofold: first, few people like being treated like they're fragile and about to fall apart.  And second...well, they're in an argument and while it's de-escalating, you just never know if that could be a ruse of some kind.  And Alyssa doesn't take chances like that.
Then he speaks and explains.  And she listens, just as he did.  The tension has simmered because of that break in escalation (and let's be frank: that's no in small part because Connor made Alyssa backtrack and explain so credit to the fresh-eyed one), so she isn't just waiting for her turn to counter him.  She does smile a little when she says the information wasn't accurate, but she lets him finish.
"It was as accurate as one sentence about any Tradition--or even Sleeper philosophy--would be.  Which is to say it's true and yet completely inaccurate.  Something to build on and clarify later."
She lets out a breath though, and nods when he offers his apology.  "Thanks.  I get that...that you care.  I just have..."  She pauses there, choosing her words carefully this time.  And as she does so, her glance can't help but drift to one of the windows where she distinctly has no reflection.  Once she realizes that she's done so, she looks back quickly.
"...bad experiences with certain types of people.  And for a second you reminded me of them.  So...sorry about that."

Pan Echeverri­a
"Eh, don't worry about it. I got that effect on people. Probably the quantity of life experience."
There. Saber rattling over. He's back to thinking he's funny. Pan rests his hands on his hips instead of leaving them in his pockets and draws another of those deep breaths and looks back to Connor.
"She was right, though. Prime is the building block of reality, yeah? Makes up everything we know. Folks in my tradition focus their studies on mastering it."
Oh look. Kalen and Grace are back. Pan looks over not as if he hadn't realized they'd gone but as if he has the energy and attention to share with them now.

Connor
Alyssa backs down a bit and even admits to something personal.  Connor glances over at Pan, and while he's looking over at the old man he sideways-shuffles over to stand next to Alyssa.  They make such an odd pair that it may seem a bit far-fetched that Connor would follow her to become a Hollow One.  But she was the one who found him the night of his Awakening, when his eyes were still dazzled by the things he'd seen.  She's the one who's been helping him out since.  And she's the one who made him aware that this side of reality is a dangerous one.
He nudges her with his elbow.  And then he looks over at Pan and he can't help it, his face splits in a broad smile and he laughs.  Pan is back to where he thinks he's funny, and he's found himself in a room with a young man who agrees.
"It is?" he asks, intrigued and forging past the friction and into the realm of learning that he likes to be in these days.  "I would've figured it'd be like, I dunno," he looks at Alyssa.  "Life or something.  Or the particles in stuff, y'know?"
And oh look, Kalen and Grace are back.  Connor meets Kalen's eye and gives him an upward nod, lifting his cooling cup of tea in an expression of gratitude.

Grace
She doesn't particularly like being around fights, but Grace likes being around Kalen, and the voices from the living room don't sound quite so indignant anymore.
So she walks in after Kalen, just as Pan is explaining the essence of Prime. Good. Spat over. Grace would call it the Source. Source code, that is. Pan's probably not got that idea. But she listens along with Connor anyway. She is a student in two worlds now.
Speaking of Connor, she gives him a smile when she returns from the kitchen, hearing him talk about the essence of all things. It's not that the dark clouds are gone from her, but they're slowly, slowly drifting away. Or maybe, it's just that finals have left her with nothing except for tests to think about, and that's a bit of a relief. Whatever the case. She looks tired and stressed, but not dead inside.
"Mmm, it's more like what life and particles and 'stuff' are made of. You have to think more basic than that, something that everything in the universe has in common -- where it all comes from."

Kalen Holliday
And so he leads Grace back.  Kalen is just glad Pan is paying attention to something.  It's probably just as well he missed that little headache tell.  God knows he doesn't need to be more overprotective of Pan.  That's rather like a puppy set on defending a mountain lion.  Well, giving full credit to Kalen...maybe a puppy a full halfway to being a proper dog.
Kalen holds out a hand with two mugs in it toward Pan.  "Yours is the blue one."
Connor gets a smile as Kalen leans into a wall and takes a sip of his tea.  For the moment he seems content to listen.  His eyes track to the decorations in the other room again, but only for a few seconds before they return to the little gathering in the entryway.

Alyssa Solomon
She looks over at Connor when he shuffles next to her, and it's true; they are incredibly different people.  She's old for her age (in attitude), and world-weary and cynical.  He's young for his age and bright-eyed and enthusiastic.  And yet she found him, and that is impactful for him.  And she, as much as her Tradition (or "Tradition" depending on who you speak to) has a reputation for being devil-may-care, dangerous wild cards, takes her instruction of him (and thus looking out for him) seriously.
Connor laughs at Pan's joke and for Alyssa, the comment doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.  Is it all that funny?  In Alyssa's estimation...eh.  But the situation makes it funnier than it otherwise would be and so she grins a touch.  It doesn't hurt that he credited her for being right...not because her ego needs boosted, but because it's a further concesssion to a middle ground between the two.
Connor says he figures the Chorus would have focused on Life, and she shakes her head.  They've talked a bit about Prime and how it works, in theoretical concepts.  Ways that Connor can relate, because that's how it works for Hollowers.  "What Pan said.  Prime's about that energy that magic itself is based on.  Resonance, Quintessence.  Some might call it holy energy, or what particles are made up of," she nods to Grace.  "I'm a bit more toward the good Father's thinking.  It's the essence that powers everything, and it's...more than just scientific.  But it's all the same, depending on what we're calling it."
Ahh, the versatility of an Orphan (Hollow One.)  Same thing.  (Fuck you and your provincial, Hermetic mindset.)  Hey, tell me I'm wrong.  (...shut up.)

Pan Echeverría
His is the blue one.
"Thank you," he says as he takes the by-now cooled mug from Kalen's hand.
And he doesn't look faint or sapped but he is distracted briefly as he listens to the two apprentices speak. A glance over at Alyssa to see if she wants to field this. One can imagine based on how often Pan interrupts that he holds his tongue more often. He believes in some outdated and incredible things but he also believes in a lot of universal and fundamental things.
Like the best way to learn is by teaching someone else.
Like everything dies eventually. And one of these days these young people are going to have to make decisions without him looming over them. He looms just by virtue of standing in the same space as them. He can't exactly help it. He loomed when he was an apprentice.

Connor
For what it's worth, Connor didn't mean anything about the Chorus.  Pan said that Prime is the building block of the universe, and Connor thought the building block would be life.  Life, living organisms all along a scale from subatomic to, well, more complex things like people.
Grace chimes in with her idea, and Alyssa with hers, and Connor looks at his sort-of mentor and he's got that look on his face that she knows he gets.  Like he's trying, honestly he's trying to process this.  There are some things that he picks up quickly, but these are whole new concepts.  They're talking about how they view the universe, basically, which is something Connor's only considered when he's high.  They can all see the gears working.  It's Alyssa, though, who can see the steam.
"I think I need..." he says, and he looks forlorn at the closet where his coat and gloves and hat and scarf and goggles and and and -- are all packed away.  What he needs is a cigarette, but it's going to take forever to get ready for the arctic tundra again.  He turns that forlorn look on Alyssa.

Grace
"More than just scientific?" Grace raises a brow. She's a goddamn information monk. She takes some things quite seriously. But oh well, it's Alyssa's loss really, that she'll never look at math and science with an eye for their intricate beauty. Grace shrugs.
Of course a machine is more than the sum of its parts. Of course the universe is more than just science and math.
But eh. Maybe they would pity her for thinking about it the way she does, if any of them besides Kalen even knew the slightest details.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen is watching them all quietly.  Sometimes they will say something that makes him smile.  Sometimes he is definitely thinking about the connections they're making.  Grace has seen how much he can love tying together similarities in their paradigms, for all he isn't doing that now.  She's also seen this look, she and Pan both saw this look, open and relaxed and maybe even peaceful, the night he was watching both of them together at the table in the kitchen.  About ten seconds before his expression vanished with the kind of suddenness that can say nothing good about whatever thought process led to it.
This time its been longer than ten seconds and he seems fine with it.  His tea isn't hot anymore, but whatever he may have told Pan about the possibility of boiling tea with his mind he just sips at it warm.
He doesn't say anything until Connor is looking at where his coat is and at Alyssa and trying to figure out all the things that he says anything at all. "Time."  He doesn't say the word so much as he breathes it.  Because to someone who can see time and fate trail outward and spiral and weave into impossibly beautiful designs, time isn't some concept.  With her patterns and her threads and the warnings that sear themselves into his memory.  Time is mysterious and barely knowable and malleable and always pressing on his skin.  And just for a second, he lets Connor hear all of that wonder.
His voice is more normal, but still quiet when he adds, "You'll hear a lot of things.  But mostly you need time."

Alyssa Solomon
Grace thinks that Alyssa is at a loss because she doesn't have an appreciation of science and math, but that's not true.  The woman has an appreciation for both.  But just like there's hedge magic and then Magic, there's science...and then Science.  That's the difference.  Of course, one would have to know about Consors and hedge wizards and psychics for that and that's a bit more in-depth of lessons.
Still, the Hollower looks at Grace when she raises that brow, gives a nod in return.  "Yes, more than just scientific.  Prayer isn't scientific, but it's powerful in the right hands.  If you can scientifically explain why I can touch ghosts after painting the third pentacle of Jupiter on my hand in my blood via science, than more power to you."  She shrugs.  It's not a mocking tone, it's actually rather matter-of-fact.  "It's all science in a way, but it's all mystical too. Regular science is just another word to explain the unexplainable in a world where reality has changed drastically over the last several of millenia.  It's like looking at two different paintings of a bowl of fruit.  One may be literal and one some kind of expressionist Picasso-esque piece of work, but they're both all still a picture of a bananna, two apples and grapes."
Kalen tells Connor that he just needs time, and Alyssa answers the forlorn look with a bit of a smile.  "C'mon.  I could use a break to cure my nic fit."  Because she knows that look.  And it would seem that he doesn't want to bundle all up, so she sighs and slips off her longcoat, hands it over.  No really...the cold doesn't bother her that much.

Connor
Connor has been mostly ignoring Grace since she left the kitchen.  At that tone of hers he looks at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully for all of about two seconds.  Alyssa gives them all a lesson on perspective - and paradigm - and that draws his attention away.  So, he needs to let go of some of his (somewhat limited except for certain areas) scientific knowledge.  He needs to let go of what he's learned thus far in life to make him more open to a new interpretation of the universe.
Well that's easy enough.  He has enough marijuana in his possession (not on him of course) to choke a small herd of buffalo.  The question is, does he dip into his budding (hah) stock to help with his spiritual enlightenment?  Only time will tell.
A long, low laugh pulls itself out of his lungs when she describes those still lifes.  A banana, two apples, and grapes?  Heh.  Heh heh heh.
She offers him her coat and he accepts it gratefully, even though for him it's not going to be enough.  This is Colorado and as he told Pan not so long ago, the sun and the snow melting is a deception.  Fifteen degrees is still fifteen degrees.  But he doesn't refuse it.  He needs to go outside and get some "fresh" air.
Just in case he's not still around where he can see him when they come back inside, Connor says to Pan, "It was nice meeting you, pahd-ray."  He taps two fingers of his left hand to his brow and flicks his hand outward.  Then he follows Alyssa outside, pulling from the pocket of his jeans a small, folded slip of paper.

Grace
At first, Grace thought Alyssa meant to put down the scientific viewpoint, as in, it's 'just' science. Not like all the other things out there that are better than science.
So, Alyssa explains, and Grace grows thoughtful, but not about what you'd expect. Something about Eleanor's comment. About how raw she was. How she keeps taking everyone's comments in the worst possible light. Like she's angry at something, and it's not the ones she's targeting.
"I can, actually. It's like how you can take over a computer by sending it a picture of a cat and asking it to display Mr. Kitty. The picture you craft has words inside, hidden variables, hidden code, and it gets run instead," she says, though her voice isn't in the vein of mockery or anger, just... questioning. "There's all sorts of ways to do it. Strange symbols that get translated into other things during the process of the computer parsing them, another way of hiding code, of tricking a thing into running it for you. And that's just regular old hacking anybody can do.
"I don't mean to say it's all hacking and you're all wrong about how you view things. Just, yeah, I mean... I can explain it. The parallels I've seen among everybody else's views are kinda... striking."

Connor
[thank you for the scene!]

Pan Echeverria
Pan watches Alyssa and Grace with a detachment that goes beyond not wanting to get involved. He looks as if he zoned out for more than a minute.
It hasn't happened enough times to assert itself as an aggravation but he still looks dazed when he realizes people are leaving and he's been standing here this whole time with his mug.
Connor calls out to him to say it was nice meeting him and calls him pad-ray and the priest lifts his mug in silent if bemused salute back at the young man.
"I'm gonna go lie down for a minute," he says.
So he does.