Guessing Game

Ian Lai
It wasn't fair, really. That terrible things could be happening in the world, and yet life around them continued on as normal. It wasn't fair to the people who lay cold and alone and dying. But it was the way the world was. Life continued. It had to.
(A cruel joke, that between the two of them (Sky and Ian) it was the one who radiated life and sunlight who was presently withering away. But that was also how the world worked, sometimes. The best people weren't always the ones who survived.)
Ian was running. He ran a lot, but tonight was different. Tonight was about exercising some measure of control in a situation where he had none. Because this? His body. His health. His work. This was something he could control. Something he could shape and perfect. It was also something that made him feel less... constrained.
He was a fast runner, graceful and light on his feet. And his expensive running shoes beat out a steady rhythm against grass and pavement as he swept across the park, keeping a swift pace as his focus hovered on the lake and the trees in front of him. He largely ignored the few other people he encountered, absorbed as he was in the movement and flow of his own body and the rush of wind on his skin and the atmospheric pulse of music from his earbuds.

Grace
[Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Serafi­ne
(also, awareness.)
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

Grace
Grace sits at a park bench, her bike resting against it. And yes, she's got her laptop out over crossed legs -- a position which, on a park bench, looks positively painful. Grace doesn't seem to mind though, absorbed in whatever is on that screen.
Or, as the case may be, absorbed in everything else as well. It's like today is a day for communing with the closest thing to nature that the city contains. A day to shake off the winter's utter paleness by soaking in the sun, the air, or the magick.
Because, let's face it, she is so in tune right now, she can feel the approach of Ian before she sees him -- that wisp of something almost predatory and so very graceful.
Grace was never graceful. Poorly named, really. She's all angles and jolts. And just like that, her head perks up out of the laptop, into the air, looking. And then, just as quickly, she waves to Ian as he runs down the path.

Serafi­ne
There's no telling why Sera's at the park or how she ended up there, but here she is.  Maybe there was a show of some sort, late afternoon at the bandstand, maybe it was a pop-up art-in-the-park thing, thrown together by the hipsters, weirdos, and the like who are her natural constituency.  Maybe she just wanted to get high on the grass and sprawl back on a blanket and absorb the sun while the world spun itself open, outward, all around here.  Regardless:
here she is, walking, arm looped through the arm of a tall, blond, bearded, tattooed guy (Dan!) against whom she leans quite solidly.
They're close.  She is actually his height which means: 6'2" tall tonight, which means that the platforms and heels of the thigh-high suede boots she is wearing combine to give her an extra nine inches which might be the reason that she is holding his arm so damn tight, laughing and altogether uncertain about whether she can make it to the next park bench without taking a solid fifteen minute break.
"Grace,"  Dan says, both greeting and imploring.  "Tell Sera that she if she relies on me to stay upright, she is not actually walking in those shoes."
"Don't listen to a word he says, Grace," this is Sera, catching her breath, slashing a wide, brilliant grin, unable to stand on her own.  " - these things are fucking awesome."
And of course, she extends one long, long leg to show off those damn boots.

Ian Lai
[Oh sure let's join the Awareness party]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

Ian Lai
There was Grace, with her laptop. And there was Sera, with her boots and some Sleeper that Ian didn't recognize. Ian could have breezed past them and continued on his way, and perhaps a part of him considered it, but as he approached the bench where Grace sat he allowed his legs to slow to a more relaxed, loping gate, before coming to a stop in front of her.
Ian wasn't wearing much. Electric blue running shoes and black track pants with silver stripes down the sides. An arm-band holding his phone was strapped around his left bicep, but the cord of his earbuds didn't extend there (probably bluetooth.) It wrapped snugly around the back of his neck instead, disappearing into his hairline. After regarding Grace for a moment he hit a button to pause his music and pulled the buds out of his ears.
"Hey."
Sera got a longer look, and a brief smirk of amusement. "He's right, you know. Try walking a catwalk with those things."

Grace
"Good God, Sera, those aren't shoes, those are stilts!" Grace says, but she flashes the Cultist a grin after that dire pronouncement. "Don't let Dan bring you down though. Rock those stilts."
Dan, let it be said, is not bringing Sera down. He is emphatically keeping her up. The irony of her statement is not lost on Grace.
Ian arrives on the scene then, slowing to a stop, making mention of a catwalk. "Hi Ian! Ahh, are you actually a model? I just thought you looked like one. I mean..."
Grace looks down at her laptop screen for a split second, frowns, and then shuts it with a click. Time to be sociable. She does like trying to be part of the social milieu, even if she might sometimes be terrible at it.

Serafine
"Fuck you," Sera to Ian, then, quite directly though the curse is remarkably good natured and is delivered with this widening lilt of a grin.  Her chin rises, not quite sharply but there's a certain inherent response-to-challenge that just seems to be written into her skin, in this precise moment.  Something about her directness, see, or the way she's straightening, unlooping her arm from Dan's even as the tall, skinny musician reaches out to steady her.
"Sera - " Dan is warning, and,
"I could totally rock a catwalk in these."
" - hey Grace," Dan to Grace, interspersed, see, while Sera favors Grace with a pair of rock horns - you know, index and pinky fingers raised - by way of greeting.  Then looks back to Ian.
"I just couldn't be arsed to.  You are actually a model, aren't you."

Ian Lai
This was an exchange he'd been through before, and Ian, while catching his breath, gave a light huff of laughter. "Yeah, I am."
He was neither proud or embarrassed by that fact. Sometimes people recognized him. Not often, but it happened. But he didn't do what he did for fame. And he didn't do it for the free clothes, either, though that was a definite perk. It was a job, like many other jobs - it paid the bills. Most people had their opinions, good or bad, but he'd long-since stopped paying those opinions much attention.
"Can't say I've ever had to deal with ten-inch platforms, though."

Grace
Grace gives a pair of rock horns back... to Dan, who never gave her any horns. Maybe she's just displaying her sincere solidarity with Sera at this point. See, Dan? Rocking stilts. Truly.
She appears, in spare moments, distracted by something. Her eyes dart along clouds or people, but she is paying attention. The way the two others bend reality around them, it has Grace randomly imagining a large cat slinking at the edge of a forest, hunting. They're talking about modeling, through all this mental wandering, and all she can think of to say is, "Oh, that's nice," while the sky turns overhead.
"Or, at least, I think that's nice. Do you enjoy it? I guess that's the important thing, huh? If they treat you like a living piece of meat or something, that's not so great."

Serafi­ne
"Six is usually her limit," the strange with Sera tells Ian, this flash of laughter, the brief brightness of his teeth all sharp framed by the rough blond beard he sports.  Sera is now standing on her own, and Dan's eyes are on her, aware but not wary.  Ready to catch her if she falls.
And Sera, isn't she always falling.
"Those tommy-gun heels are seven - "
"You never wear them."
"They're fucking ugly."
Definitely on her own, assuredly on her own, her elbows flung a bit out from her frame for balance, hands tucked in the pockets of her cropped leather jacket.  Which is naturally slung over a tiny black halter and cut-off short-shorts, although today Ian - shirtless as he is - may be wearing less even than Sera.
"So they are."
"Bet you never have to wear heels," Sera is saying to Ian, this follow-up to Grace's question about feeling like a piece of meat.  "Do you seriously walk in shows?"

Serafi­ne
(fair warning: I'm headed to bed shortly but I will totally write sera out the usual way.  i.e. she's gotta go pee. hah.)

Ian Lai
[Dex+Athletics -2 diff from catlike balance]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1

Ian Lai
Grace asked if Ian enjoyed modeling, and Ian shrugged. "There are worse jobs."
It wasn't really a confirmation, but he wasn't going to be the asshole who complained about being lucky enough to garner a six-figure income based on his ability to look nice in fancy clothes (or out of them, as the case may be.) There was more to it than that, of course. But it wasn't something he really felt the need to complain about in present company.
"You should give it a try," he offered to Sera. "They'd fucking love you."
And then, with a wry little smile, Ian leaped up onto the bench that Grace was sitting on. The motion was smooth and fluid, like a cat jumping onto a perch. And with another little hop, he stood balancing on the thin wooden slats that made up the back, legs straight and feet slightly arched. His body didn't so much as shiver.
"You'd have to get better at balancing though."

Grace
If Grace weren't absolutely certain that today, she would feel it from here if Kalen (on the other side of Denver) were to warm his tea with a few strange words, she would suspect Ian to be cheating. "Holy shit," she says as he jumps onto the bench, and then "Holy shit!" when he leaps onto the back of it.
She looks at Sera with her mouth open, and then back to Ian, mouth still open. "Okay. I think I can guess what you are now."
Akashic. Has to be. With that kind of skill? The bodily control that must take?

Serafi­ne
Somehow Sera is leaning against Dan again, resting her forehead against his shoulder, her long, narrow frame listing thoughtlessly into his.  The vibe between them is close, loving even, and rather reflexively he wraps an arm around her to steady her as she lolls into him.
Sera is watching Ian.  Of course she is.  He makes of himself such a display, hopping on the spine of the bench, just balancing like that, bare-chested, sweating in the failing sunlight and somehow this hits a note of correspondence somewhere inside her that feels strange, half-measured, half-remembered.
Something sparks in her dark eyes and her mouth seams around a lingering thought.  Ian has not mentioned the last time they met.  The truth is, Sera does not remember it, not as such.  Or at least, does not remember Ian-as-Ian.
She inhales.
Lifts her chin, rising to press her mouth to Dan's ear.  Murmurs something to him that has him rolling his eyes at her.
Lovingly.
"Seriously?"  he asks her?
Nodnodnod, she responds.
"Okay.  I'll give you a piggyback ride.  C'mon."  Then, with a brief, apologetic glance that encompasses Ian and Grace, both, " - we gotta run, may or may not be back."
Sera joins in on the maybe / maybe not goodbyes and, at Dan's invitation, climbs on his back for a piggyback ride.

Ian Lai
Ian grinned, and there was a lingering note of cunning and quiet confidence in the expression. Like he knew something that Grace did not (that there was a piece of the puzzle missing from Grace's attempts to piece together the picture of Ian's paradigm.)
"And what is that?"
He was genuinely interested to hear her guess - she was such a better player at this game than Alex had been (mostly because, as yet, she didn't seem to mind the fact that it was a game.)
Sera drew his attention a moment later. The way she leaned into her companion. The back-and-forth exchange the two shared. The... rather entertaining manner in which they made their exit.
"Later," Ian said, more to Dan than to Sera this time. And he watched them leave while standing on the top of the bench, turning slightly on the balls of his feet. There was a little vibration in his calf as he corrected the shift in his point of balance (enough to indicate that he was, indeed, human.) He took a couple of steps along the thin wooden board before hopping back down to the grass.

Grace
The natural gymnast dismounts from her park bench, and she perks up a knowing grin. "You're an Akashic, aren't you?"
Not a Hermetic, not a Cultist, definitely not a Virtual Adept or a Son of Ether, with how he ignored Patience's sensor array. If he's not an Akashic, then...
Hmm...
"If you aren't, then maybe... I should ask you how you see the world, and work from there, eh?"

Ian Lai
Ian laughed at that, rounding the bench to sit down beside Grace. His breathing had slowed, but the depth of each lungful of air was visible in the way his chest expanded and contracted. If Grace were a student of Life magic, she'd be able to sense the rapid flow of blood moving through his pattern - the heightened state his body was in from running. Even still, the awareness of him as a living thing was impossible to ignore - a being of skin and muscles, blood and sweat.
"I'll take that as a compliment, but no."
Grace asked him how he saw the world. If Sera and Dan had still been there, Ian probably wouldn't have answered. Instead, he looked out over the lake and watched the sun strike notes of burnished copper on the surface of the water.
"People try to box the world into this neat set of accepted parameters. And in the process, they neglect the parts of the picture they'd rather not see. I don't think I'm much better at that than anyone else, but I know that to understand myself fully, I have to look at both the mind and the body. I am my Will and my instincts. All of us are."
he looked back at Grace. "It's a trick question, you know. Sometimes the answer is no answer at all."

Grace
"Yeah, I can get that. You aren't your Tradition," she says, and ponders. She looks over the lake with him, and then turns to look at him all quick-like, still smiling.
"You're an... non-affiliated," she says, and what she meant to say at first was Orphan. But that's a bit derogatory, isn't it?
An answer may be no answer at all, but by this point it's not about getting an answer, and more about playing the game.

Ian Lai
"You know how the saying goes. 'I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.'" Ian grinned and pressed the tip of his tongue to one of his canines, a look that seemed to imply that although he might not have the resources or protection of any particular Tradition, the word Orphan really wasn't a fitting term in his case. More like: lone wolf (or cat, as the case may be.)
And when you thought about it, it did make a sort of sense. Tigers weren't exactly pack animals.
"Traditions interest me. But there's never been one particular group I could wholeheartedly throw myself into. If you want the quick and dirty version, it's this: I work like an Akashic, play like a Cultist, think like a Hermetic and feel like a Verbena.
"What about you, Kit?"

Grace
"What about me what? I work like a nerd, play rarely, think like a nerd, and if you feel me, I will probably hit you. Just a warning."
 It's a joke, but there's something serious wrapped up in that isn't there?
"Or do you mean, how do I see the world?"

Ian Lai
"You won't have to," Ian replied, and though his voice was calm, there was a kind of delicate gravity to his words. Maybe he'd given her the impression that he was someone who liked to push boundaries, but there was a vast ocean of difference between societal taboos and personal agency.
"And yes, I meant: how do you see the world?" He sat back and picked up one of his feet, resting the heel on the lip of the bench with one arm draped loosely around his knee. The position was casual (relaxed.) He seemed more at home in this setting than he had in the library.

Grace
"Hmm. It's always so difficult to explain. I wish I had a napkin," she says, and what does that have to do with anything?
"Long story very short, it's that the world is made of data which our brains process into an experience. So fundamentally, this park bench is not precisely made of atoms, but at a deeper layer, those atoms are described by bits.
A bit more in-depth, those bits aren't discrete, but rather spread out across the entire data store, in a holographic way. So units of information can be found over here that describe something over there," she says, and gestures with her hands. "Or everywhere, really. The information is interconnected, and looking at it in different ways provides vastly different pictures."
"I hope that made at least some sense."

Ian Lai
Ian raised an eyebrow skeptically, but he listened to Grace speak without comment or interruption. And he seemed to give the matter some consideration before offering a response, letting his eyes track upward to the evening sky as though it contained some hidden wisdom for him to pull from.
(And in a way, actually, it did.)
"You're right. You'd make a terrible Hermetic." His mouth turned up a little when he met Grace's eyes again. "And what does that make us, then?"

Grace
She laughs at his assertion that she'd make a terrible Hermetic. In truth, it's not so much because of how she sees the world. Kalen's way of seeing it is quite similar, when you compare the two. It's more the organization itself -- locked into the past and stultified.
Still, they are Mages. And what is a Mage? "We are the ones who can see in different ways, from different lights. We can see the underlying structure, interface to it, change it."
"What about you? How do you understand it?"

Ian Lai
"I think a lot of the difference in how people see the world is at least partly a matter of framing," he admitted. But she asked him how he understood the world - how he defined his own relationship to the Tellurian. And that, well. As she'd said, these things were difficult to parse down into an easy summary. So he didn't respond for a few beats, and perhaps that was partly a matter of secrecy on his part, but in the end he did offer her an honest answer.
"If I want to hurt someone, I can cut them with a knife, or I can just tell the body to feel pain. It isn't actually any different. In both cases I will something to happen, and then it does. I touch the pattern with my arm, or my mind. Either way, I get the result. I don't call it data, but it is a web. The way it all connects."
He stopped there, because it was already more than he usually said to anyone, but then added, as an afterthought, "You have to know yourself. You can't wield the knife if you don't understand how your arm moves, or whether or not you really want to make the cut."

Grace
"So it's like a mind/body interface with you? Interesting. It does seem like a web, doesn't it? Nodes of things all connected to each other..." she says, trails off, looking over at the grass and trees, like she's losing track of the now.
But then, she's back, with: "So they said at the Temple at Delphi. Know thyself. I do wonder sometimes if that's what we're here to do. You know? We're not separate from the universe at all. So by trying to know ourselves we are the universe attempting to know itself."
The data, after all, is interconnected. Holographic. Dispersed throughout. And they are data as much as the trees and grass and park bench. Just, perhaps data with a bit more ability to think such meta-thoughts about itself.

Ian Lai
Ian regarded Grace for a long moment, as though perhaps in surprise. Something passed between them when he smiled. Two disparate elements coming together to find some common ground. The progressive and the primordial - a false binary. There has always been progress (evolution.) And there would always be a primordial center.
"Very clever."
Grace might not know what it meant - that assent. But it didn't feel like charm or courtesy. It felt like respect.
Ian unfolded from his position and stood up, bouncing lightly from foot to foot to ensure his muscles were still loose.
"Are you any good at finding things? People?"

Grace
Respect means everything to a person like Grace. It's practically the currency by which hackers operate, among others. People think that coders contribute to the open source movement for 'free', but really it's trading in respect -- something a lot better (in Grace's estimation) than money.
It's why her kind are often show-offs, and often sore losers with wounded pride.
But that 'very clever' nets Ian a grin. As does his request for assistance.
"That depends on how easy those people might be to find. I'm good at researching, certainly. I'm good at cracking into databases if they have an electronic trail I could follow. I could also try more magical methods, though I'm not as practiced there."

Ian Lai
"A guy I know went missing. A Verbena. I've been trying to find him, but I don't have the right skills to do it efficiently." Something clicked in his jaw - a tensing of muscles. His voice sounded flat when he said, "he's probably already dead by now, if he's still unconscious. Unless something's keeping him alive."
(A living body could only survive so long without food or water.)
"But I want to find him anyway. Kalen gave me some girl's number. Alyssa? But I haven't been able to reach her. Anyway, if you know anything that might help..." he shrugged. If Grace's skills lay along more mundane lines, she might not be much help either. But there was a point when desperation had to win out over pride. Maybe she knew something he didn't.

Grace
Suddenly, the sense of banter, of ease between them vanishes. Someone's missing, maybe dead. Oh, but Grace knows how that feels, the unreasonableness of being alive -- getting better, while your friends suffer.
"Do you have something of his? Like, a hairbrush or... something that might have some ties to him? I might be able to use that, see the connection, you know?
"Do you have any idea of where he might be?"

Ian Lai
"He's underground. Somewhere with a vaulted ceiling. I did a bunch of research, but so far he hasn't been in any of the places I've looked. I'm starting to wonder if he's even still in the city."
He had to give her first question a bit more consideration.
"I can find something, if it'll help. And if you know anything about spirits..." he eyed Grace like he suspected she probably knew about as much as he did. "His consor is possessed by something, and she's feeding off of him. I think it's a corrupted nature spirit."
Another pause, as he reached to pull his smartphone out of the pocket of his armband.
"Why don't you give me your number? I'll call you when I have something of his."

Grace
"I know very little about spirits, I'm afraid," she says, as she rummages around in her laptop bag to retrieve her own phone. "It's ahh 314-1592 for me."
"I hope I can be of help. If you don't mind, I could ask on Ginger as well? Might turn up something there," she says, and she asks first because well...  he didn't seem to be too trusting of her information network before. Maybe he wouldn't like his trials shared with a bunch of strangers.

Ian Lai
Point in fact, he didn't like the idea of sharing his trials with a bunch of strangers. That much was fairly easy to divine from the micro-expressions on his face. The crease between his eyebrows. The way his lips tightened.
Nonetheless, he said, "If you think it'll help, go ahead."
And he typed Grace's number into his contacts before offering her his own. Then he unwrapped his earbuds from around his neck and placed them back in his ears. After slipping his phone away, he nodded and said, "Thanks."
Then he took off again, loping away at a brisk pace, and Grace would once more be left to her own thoughts.