Farrah is dead. (Jamie ST)

Michael
Several days have passed since Grace learned Michael learned of his own involvement in the violent deaths that have claimed at least two young men since he arrived in Denver earlier this month. She has been in contact with Kiara. He has been in a state resembling seclusion as he bolsters his own resolve so that he can handle whatever happens next.

They have been in contact. Nothing new to report. No news isn't necessarily good news but no news is better than outright silence.

It's late Wednesday night when Grace's phone rings. Hard to gauge his tone or mood over the telephone. He has a steadiness about him that is in part his resonance. The rest of it is him.

"Grace," he says. As if she doesn't have caller ID: "It's Mike MacCarrick. Is now a bad time?"

Grace
She picks up the phone fairly quickly, due to being basically within grabbing reach of the damn thing at all times. And, it's Mike. She's not just going to let him go to voicemail.

He seems to know when she's picked up, and the way he speaks makes her do a double-take at the phone. Mike MacCarrick? His full name? Like she knows multiple Mikes, and he has to specify...

"No? Not a bad time."

Michael
Unless she's the one to call first Mike almost always identifies himself by his full name. There are a lot of Michaels in Los Angeles. A lot of Michaels in the Euthanatos tradition. A lot of Michaels in the finance sector. He stopped responding to his first name sometime in elementary school because of the frequency with which someone would shout for a Mike or a Michael.

Anyway. He doesn't call her all that often. Or something has happened and he's operating on autopilot.

Not a bad time.

"It's come to my attention that you've met my former students. Ihsan Ghali came to Denver with me to assist me in my investigation. Unbeknownst to me, River Espósito-Vasquez and Farrah Esmail arrived ahead of us and have been renting an apartment together in the city."

Now is not the time for him to describe the circumstances surrounding River and Farrah's flight out of San Diego. Not over the phone anyway. This information also isn't the point of the call. It's just context. Something she didn't know already. She deals in information. It isn't a currency.

"Grace..." A strange tension in his voice. It dissipates quickly. "... I responded to a call for assistance from River tonight. Farrah is dead. She was killed in their apartment." A small silence whose presence is significant if only because of the measured way in which the Euthanatos tends to speak. He's in control of his emotions right now but there are an awful lot of them. "It appears as though The Artist is the culprit."

Grace
"Mike... Oh, shit, Mike..." Grace doesn't have nearly the same measured control over what comes out of her mouth. What did he do to Farrah? She doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to know at all.

"This is..." Bad? Oh, he knows that. "We need to get you back on your feet."

Michael
A longer silence. He absorbs her words and considers the fact that he had not been on his feet the last several days. This isn't the time to consider what he could or could not have done. Nothing anyone could have done. If she was going to go after any of his former students Farrah was the one who would unmoor him the surest.

Grace only met Farrah for the sparest of seconds while they were both in the same Mexican restaurant. They never exchanged names. River though. River was the one who introduced her to people even when she wasn't there.

"You're right," he says. "May I ask you a favor?"

Grace
"What's the favor?" she says, still a little shaky.

Well, she's in a place with lots of guns and ammo. It might be time to start packing at all times, and load the bullets with deletion statements. If Mike were the one to attack her, though... Shit.

Michael
"In whatever capacity you're able to make this information known to the rest of your associates, I would..." It's rare that his words get ahead of his thoughts. He almost chose poorly. So he stops and tries again. "I would appreciate it if you could tell them that the Nephandus known as The Artist used Correspondence, Life, and Prime in order to attack Farrah Esmail, who was alone at the time, and that River found her body. She will be staying with Ihsan and I until further notice."

He has not made much of a point of stressing his innocence. Perhaps he ought to have. Michael has not blacked out in the last several days. This was a calculated attack meant to weaken his resolve. The Artist knew what ze was doing.

Grace
She wasn't going to ask if he'd blacked out when it happened. For one, if it was Mike talking, that would be a hard thing to say. And if he were still blacked out, it would be a useless question to ask.

"I will," she says, sighs a breath of static into the phone. "Do you want me to set up a time with Kiara?"

Because. People are getting picked off. He may not have much time.

Michael
"Yes, I do. Please."

He has burned plenty of time talking on the phone. It has given Ihsan time to investigate and River time to pull herself together. They both need more time. That is the one resource they cannot conjure up in abundance. Farrah was the one of the four of them with an aptitude for time and now she's dead.

"And Grace, I don't mind telling you, but I believe I'll be foregoing sleep until I'm certain I can do so without zir sending me another one of her psychic messages."

The one ze just sent him he received clear.

Grace
"So, right away. I'm on it," she says. She's not going to follow that up with something horrible like 'Hang in there' or 'It'll be okay' because it isn't. Sometimes, you just have to face that fact.

Michael
She isn't one for platitudes or unnecessary adornments. That was something he had sorted out the moment they met. Her bluntness was a part of her charm. They were both busy individuals. After he hangs up the phone he is going to have to start bagging up pieces of one of his former students. Another of his former students is barely keeping herself together in the bathroom. It isn't fair to the third of them to be by herself right now. Not with all the blood and the accidental secrets.

"I adore you," he says. Straightforward and even same as he has ever said anything else. Gratitude in it even though he could have given the same weight and emotion to another triptych of words. "Let me know what she says."

And there ends that conversation.

Grace
"Is that our word for it? Hmm. I adore you too," she says, sadness there for him, because he is having to deal with that. She may not have known River very well, but he did.

And then, a change in her tone, to go along with the switching of gears. She can't stay sentimental for long. "I'll call you back as soon as I have something for you."

Michael
"Thank you. Good night, Grace."

They don't have time to play No You Hang Up First. Not when so much of his own time feels borrowed if not stolen and the sense that he is blowing through his reserves is such a powerful one. So he hangs up first.

One more day until Friday.

Grace
[Because the first thing Grace does is Ward herself against being taken out by an attack from a distance, and the second thing Grace does is pick out a handy gun from Kalen's gun range-o-rama...]

[Corr 2: Just your normal Ward. -1 diff taking time.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 10) ( success x 1 )

Grace
[Extend!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (4, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Michael
[so witnessed]

Grace
[Again!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (4, 4, 7) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Grace
[One more time, because...]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Michael
[NOW witnessed.]