Pushing food on River

River
River keeps two cell phones.

Actually, if we wanted to be really honest, River Vasquez kept a rotation of cell phones and the fact that she hasn't thrown out the one that she currently has is that she has people who she wants to know her number. People she wants to be able to keep in contact with, but it doesn't mean that the habit died.

On the contrary, Ms. Vasquez was still very much in the habit of burning through cell phones and ditching them after she's spent more than four hundred minutes on the thing. She'd pulled this one out of her glove compartment.

-0-

Grace gets a call from a pre-paid cell phone with a Wyoming area code.

Grace
Mercurial Elites are rarely more than a few feet away from their ritual tools. Or, you know, 4 or 5 of their ritual tools, stacked upon each other. Theirs are the tools of connection, of communication. And as such, Grace usually answers her phone calls or texts within a very short time.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Thing is, Grace isn't used to getting phone calls from people whose numbers she doesn't already have banked. This is not the phone number for Kalen's fake business. It's not the one she gives out to mundane institutions. This could be a trap. Or a way to set up a connection to her. Or...

Whatever.

She answers the call. "Uh. Yes? Who is this?"

River
"This is River Vasquez," she says, announces herself and it sounds like her alright. River's not from Wyoming, but you can get a cell phone pretty much anywhere; truth be told she picked up this one on the way to Nevada. Knew that she had been headed to Nevada, or at least in that direction and Lord knows where she's ended up now.

There is wind on her end of the line, or at least enough static to imply that the connection is a bit shit.

"Is this a good time?"

Grace
"Oh! River! Hi," she says, her voice automatically switching from curious and guarded to friendly. She'll have to add this number in to the list for River. "This is a great time. I am testing. Testing sucks."

So, you know, it's nice to have a break from it, every once in a while.

"What's up?"

River
"Oh! Well, um, glad to be a welcome distraction?" she laughs, rubs the back of her neck and looks out at her surroundings. At the lack of road, at the mountains, at the expanses of everything that seemed so very, very far away from civilization.

Looks up; at least the sky was pretty.

"I... um-" clears her throat. Awkward, "was wondering if you could help me figure out where I am? I think I got a little off course during my standard solstice pilgrimage.."

Grace
Knowing where she is was one of the first things Grace ever learned. Really, it's more the other way around. You always know where you are. You are 'here'. It's everything else in the world that needs a relative direction.

There is a noise like the rolling of wheels on the other end of her phone call, and Grace huffs a laugh into the receiver. "You should learn how not to get off course then. You know, I could get you a GPS system or something?"

Maybe she could even teach River how to use it.

There is the sound of typing on the other end -- a good deal of heavy tapping noise.

[Corr 2: Trace that phone call. Diff 5 - 1 (taking time), WP because why not?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 4) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

River
"I think a GPS would be fantastic," she said with a laugh, though the sound isn't necessarily full-bodied. It could be the static. Or, perhaps, it is the fact that she is cold. it could be any number of things, really. There's a stilted pause while she waits.

"You type fast."

Because that is what anyone who doesn't know how to use a computer says to people who are very good at using a computer.

The phone call, it would seem, is coming from somewhere near the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Closer to the mountains than Reno.

Grace
River will get the distinct impression of Grace soaring her way across the phone lines to that device in hand. Cell phones are connective things, but this extends that feeling somewhat -- makes it Connective with a capital 'C'.

"Hmm. Well, I know where you are. But I can't exactly come pick you up or something. Here, I'll... Send you a text."

There's more typing as Grace takes a screenshot of the map she's received of River's location (a red "You Are Here" dot on a map of the Sierra Nevadas). A few more steps, and she's got the image transferred to her phone, and...

River's in the Sierra Nevadas. It's possible in such a remote location that receiving an image text could take way too freaking long. Except that River has called a Mercurial Elite, so no. No it won't.

[Corr 2: Information Transfer. Diff 5 - 1 (taking time), WP again!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (4, 5, 6) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

River
The phone makes a little bwing noise to indicate that it has, in fact, received a message. Brows perk up and she takes a moment to pull the phone away from her face and look at the screen. The wind is still blowing, and there is the crunch of footsteps that indicate she's hoofing it on a light snow fall.

Grace says that she can't pick her up, and she laughed. The sound was one of relief, as though hearing the presence of another person on the line was comforting. She liked people- likes people. Likes the part of her job where she just gets to talk to people more than she likes the part of her job where there is casual seduction.

"... gah, there is nothing out here, is there?" she says, more like she is thinking out loud.

"How long is it going to take for me to get back to Denver? Obeying traffic laws."

Grace
"About the same amount of time it took for you to get there. Assuming you obeyed traffic laws," Grace says, using her logic.

More tapping and some clicking ensue.

"About sixteen hours. Or two hours and two hundred dollars, and you leave your car in Reno."

Or, you learn Correspondence, have a Seeking, and can be there right now, River. There's always choices, right?

River
There's silence.

A lot of silence, actually.

"How long is it going to take to walk to Reno?"

Grace
A sigh on the other end. And Grace has to think about this.

"River, I have no idea. You're in the mountains, so that's less a walk and more a hike. And you're not on a trail. You got yourself legit lost. I'm no hiking guru, but I'd say like half a day."

There's some thought on the other end. River got herself lost once. Now that she has a map, she might just find a way to get lost again. In the mountains. In the snow.

"I can't pick you up, but. I could bring you supplies and guide you to Reno."

River
"Well, you know, go big or go home," she said, more like she was half complaining and half making light of the fact that she has somehow managed to get herself stranded in a mountain range in Nevada and has completely misplaced anything resembling contact with civilization aside from a crappy cell phone that she'd likely managed to hide from herself.

"I'm going to need to bed down at some point, so if you've got a tent or somewhere with shelter in mind, I'd love the assistance," she tells Grace. She pauses.

"... is there anything actually out here?"

Grace
Go big or go home. River mentions a tent, and that has Grace's mind churning over how much stuff she can actually take with her. Okay, so there is equipment in the place for extended trips into the wilderness, because Kalen has done this. There are freeze-dried food packs and survival rations and water bottles. There are backpacks big and heavy-duty enough to carry everything with. There are about a billion guns and enough ammo to supply a militia -- which, yes, Grace is going to arm herself if she goes out to retrieve River.

There are things in the wilderness that can attack you just as well as the things in the city can.

"Yeah, I mean. There's things everywhere. We'll have to walk a ways to get to the trail, but there is one. And from there, we can follow it to Reno. See, it's that little crooked line on the map?"

Grace opens a drawer and pulls out her bluetooth headset, plugging it into her ear, and sliding her phone into the pocket of her jeans, without really stopping the conversation. She just gets up and starts off toward the Warehouse with its stockpiles of survival gear.

River
"Oh," she says, sounds a little surprised and rather pleased by the prospect of there actually being something that she can follow to get to Reno.

There are things that she doesn't remember, but should. Doesn't remember that she's been on this trail, doesn't remember where a stable burned to the ground nearly a century and a half prior to her arrival. There are landmarks that should mean something but she's spent so long living in someone else's memory that she doesn't think to reach that far.

"If this is too much, you really don't have to do much. I can build a fire and pick up, I don't want you to be put out," River talks about getting someone to help her get out of a mountain range is no different than asking Grace to help feed her cats while she's gone.

Grace
The cats will have food and water for a few days, at least. There are robotic food dispensers, and their water fountain is made such that it has a large water bottle sticking up at the top, to make sure it doesn't run dry. That, and Kalen is back in town, for at least a while. He will make sure they have enough, and also play with them so that they don't seek comfort in shredding the couches and rugs.

These are the kinds of precautions one takes when they have the life of Grace. She has already lost two houseplants to neglect.

River doesn't want her to go to any trouble, but you see, Grace is the kind of person to go to the trouble. It's in her nature.

"And I don't want you to be lost in the mountains. Could be fun, you know? I've never gone hiking in the Sierra Nevadas," she says. She's trying to put that spin on it, because really, being out in the middle of nowhere is not Grace's favorite thing ever. When you have to use Magick just to connect to a wi-fi signal, that sucks. Already on her list of things to bring is extra external batteries for her electronics equipment.

"Seriously, though. You need to learn how to find where you are, if you're going to go out hiking by yourself. Safety kind of dictates as much, right?"

There's noises of walking, of opening doors, of closing them. The movements of Grace as she goes about collecting gear.

River
[downplaying! manip+sub]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 2, 3, 6) ( success x 1 )

Grace
[Perception + subt = I know you're downplaying...]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

River
River doesn't have pets. She doesn't have pets or house plants or anything of the sort. Were it not for the contact that she kept with Samir and Ihsan, River Vasquez could literally drop off the planet and nobody would notice for at least a week.

She doesn't know if Samir's noticed that she is gone. She doesn't know where her actual phone is. Isn't entirely certain where her car is, to be completely honest. She takes a second to really take in the area, and the direction that she's walking. Occasionally she looks down at the map and follows the little blinking dot.

"I have no idea how I got out here," she tells Grace, "but I suppose in the long term it wouldn't hurt to know how to figure out where I am in relation to the rest of civilization in the event that this becomes problematic."

There's something a lot bigger in that statement. When River said that she had no idea how she got where she was, she genuinely had no idea how she got where she was. It wasn't a matter of getting lost, it was something else entirely.

Grace
She doesn't have any idea how she got there. Literally no idea. Like someone else deposited her on a mountain against her will. Like she woke up on a mountain in the middle of nowhere after going to sleep in her room.

"It's probably the most useful thing I've ever had the occasion to use. But... River? What aren't you telling me about this? You don't remember arriving where you are, do you?"

That little red dot doesn't move. It's only a snapshot, a stationary picture of the image Grace received. If River is expecting more Magick out of it, she'll be disappointed. And probably get lost again.

River
Oh, shit. There is a pause that comes with that, like she is thinking about what she is going to say next. Others have come to expect these sorts of things from River- she doesn't talk out of turn, doesn't like to say things spur-of-the-moment. She thinks about what she says, and thinks about what she does before she does it because when she's pressed to make snap decisions she doesn't necessarily make the best decisions.

Grace was going to help her, she needed some kind of answer.

"I drove out on the twentieth and hit Peavine peak on the twenty-first. Hike up, wait out the solstice, come back down. It's the twenty-seventh."

And she has no idea what she's been doing for the last six days.

Grace
"That's a long wait for the solstice. Also, Peavine Peak is... a ways away." Come on, River. Out with it.

Noises of zippers and thuds on the line. Also, the sound of an off-tune hum.

"What happened? Or do you know?"

River
"I have no idea what happened. I was supposed to be back on the twenty third at the latest. The last thing I remember is being on a trail headed up, and now I don't even know where my car is."

She exhales. River is very good at being calm, or at least seeming like she is calm. She's probably had time to actually get all of her panicking and crying and nervousness and whatevers out before she called Grace. No need to be a total mess on the phone, right?

"I can't find my actual phone, I shoved the one I'm calling you from in my backpack in case of emergencies."

Grace
The more River talks, the more it becomes obvious that Grace should be there. She can help find the car, and help find Reno, and help find any number of things. And also, it sounds like River does not have enough food and water to make a go of it. May not have had such for many days.

Yes, she'll want to bring chemical hand warmers, and a medication kit, and that healing charm...

"Well, it's good you thought to prepare for an emergency, huh?"

There are all sorts of levels of "preparing for emergencies". River's might be around a three. Kalen's is pegged at eleven on a scale of one to ten.

"Do you like lemon cookies?"

River
"Pardon?"

Does she like lemon cookies, she wasn't asking if she could have one of your kidneys, River.

She is still loving, doesn't seem like she is going to stop, knows what direction she is going in because she is good enough at this sort of thing to be able to find the cardinal directions. There hasn't been an incarnation that River remembers, though, that has ever been able to do more than read a map and follow a trail.

"Oh, yeah, I actually really like lemon cookies." She pauses a second, "if you're sending something over, send something with protein?"

Grace
"Oh, they have protein. They just taste kind of like lemon cookies, because of the vitamin C to keep you from getting scurvy. I have to travel light. Can't really take a tent, sorry. And I'm packing some dense calories due to that."

They won't taste like good lemon cookies, River. Rations rarely do.

"We'll have to do with a fire and a blanket. I'm sure it'll be fine..."

The majority of the weight of things she's taking will be water. Enough stuff to fit in a backpack. No more. Anything else, and it would be too complicated to try to send all that way.

"You ready?"

River
We'll have to make due.

"... wait, are you coming?"

Was she ready?

"Yes- I mean- you're-what?"

This is what happens when you ask River to think quickly.

Grace
"You've been lost in the Sierra Nevadas with apparently no food, water, or shelter for a week. You barely know where you are, and don't know how you got there. I'm coming."

That, apparently, is pretty well settled according to Grace.

She hefts the backpack on her back, double-checks the pockets of her coat to make sure the hand-warmers and med kit are there. Then, there is an email to Kalen, short and to the point.

Will be near Peavine Peak in Nevada, about 18 miles from Reno. Am rescuing River from her hiking disaster. Be back in a couple days, probably. No worrying. -G

All right, now to face the daunting task of trying to figure out how this is all going to work. In theory, she knows what she's doing. In practice, she's never teleported this far before.

The process isn't simple. It's a radical entangling of one's self with another location, tricking the universe into accepting the fact that you have more of a physical connection to that other place than to your 'real' location. It'll take some time. And a whole lot of effort.

"Okay. I'm going to start working on it now. Keep the call going. Be there soon, if all goes well."

[Corr 3: Teleport Self. Diff 6 - 1 (taking time) Spending WP because I don't want her to arrive split in half]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

River
Keep the call going.

"Uh-" that is not a sound of confidence "-do I actually need to keep talking?"

She stops walking at that point and stood still, as though somehow getting Grace there via teleportation would be much easier if she wasn't moving around so dang much. She doesn't know if she has to talk or if she needs some kind of communication there. She doesn't know how Grace works but she knows that when Grace comes through to the other side?

This is going to hurt.

A lot.

"Hey, is Sam doing okay? Have you talked to him?"

Because she's dropped off the radar for a week and she's asking about the other Mercurial Elite in town.

"I don't want him to be worried."

He's going to be worried. He likes you, River. You don't go for more than a day without texting him.

Grace
She could say any number of things in response to River. But she doesn't. She's in far too deep. The calculations won't run themselves. And the concentration needed to make sure this all goes right is too much for her to split her attention to a conversation.

It's just her, her cell phone, and the universe right now, having a conversation.

[Extending!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

River
"He's really great," is the last thing that River says, realizes she's sayign it. Realizes her cheeks are flushed when she says it and she doesn't do anything to hide the fact that she is fond when she says it- and why should she hide that? She doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

Exhales and slings her backpack off her shoulder.

Wonders if she has a hairbrush.

She does not.

"Mmnph."

Grace
Grace appears a bit after that 'Mmhph', a flash of red coat that wasn't there before. The resonant sensation of the ground moving under River's feet, and the arrival of some gigantic bird of prey abounds. She seems to glitch her way into existence, like a bad video resolving itself.

She turns to face River, and says: "Well, you could call him."

The voice echoes from Grace's mouth and from River's phone. Somehow, that makes it sound more... right. Like Grace should always be heard in tandem with herself.

River
She looks sharper. That is the best way to put it, really. That River looks sharper, not hollow but like she may have lost some weight. She could probably stand to brush her hair and take a shower (and she knows it- River definitely knows that she really, really, really wants to take a shower). The young woman has done a fairly good job of staying dry, though. Came dressed like she was actually prepared to do a little hiking.

Probably not dressed warmly enough to spend a week outside in temperatures that are below freezing, but for all her disheveled glory she seems to be lacking in any physical damages outside of those that come from being outside for longer than she would like and being hungry.

She hasn't starved, though. Doesn't look like she's dying but she does look a little worse for the wear.

Looks at her phone, then at Grace. Hangs up.

"I really don't want to scare him," she said, "I'll call when we're in the clear."

Grace
Grace hefts off her blanket, and shucks her coat, to reveal that she's been wearing a folded blanket underneath it. That, she hands to River, before hurriedly donning her coat again.

"Here, I have uh, hand warmers," she says, as she digs around in her pocket for the red plastic fluid-filled things. "Just click the little disc inside, they'll heat up."

Then, she's unzipping her backpack, pulls out a green, plastic-covered brick. "And food," she says, and hands that over.

"Also, call him. He'll be less upset if he knows what happened to you. Trust me on that, okay? I've been there."

River
Grace is shucking her coat and handing River a blanket and her brows shoot up almost to the point that they are hidden under her hat. She takes the blanket and throws it around her shoulders. She's got a coat on, yes, but she could stand being a little warmer and it was only going to get cold. They were in Nevada.

Once they get down the mountain, it was just going to keep getting cold. Deserts can be pretty damned unforgiving in winter.

"I don't know what happened to me. I'd rather tell him that in person."

A beat.

"You have been camping before, right?"

Grace
"Well, yeah. I have. Never here, but yeah. Why? Did I forget something important?"

There is that worry. Something she missed? Something she could have brought? Well. She could always try to reach across space back to Denver and pull it here...

"Also, if you don't tell him you're okay, I'm telling him. Your choice. Doesn't have to be much. Just an 'I'm not dead' can go a long way."

Grace isn't going to make this easy on you, River. Some things, people need to know.

River
"Why would he think I'm dead?" she looks confused.

Grace
Grace gives River a look that just about anybody with some idea of reading faces could read. It says 'Really?' in block-lettering, with a sarcastic tilt.

"You said he might be worried. Usually, when someone I know and care about drops off the face of the earth, that's at the top of my list of worries. Or nearly. Top top would be, captured by Technocrats, or tortured by terror demons, or abducted by another universe. All of which has happened in my experience, okay?"

River
"... usually when someone doesn't talk to me for a week, I just assume they're mad at me and don't go immediately to my friend is experiencing their own personal Hell."

Well, no, she actually was about to say that there might be people out there who probably don't want to kill her but she has had a friend recently die a fairly horrible death at the hands of a random cult. Plus the kind of work she does lends itself to being in mortal peril.

The more she thinks about it, the more it seems like River just being dead is much more likely than her being mad at Samir.

A second.

"I'm sorry that you've had a hard run of things, though," she says, all sincerity, "that all must have been really hard to deal with."

Grace
Grace blinks at River, like she hasn't been through her own hardships? Lately? "Uh. Well, some of it, sure. It's called life, though. You get as used to it as you can. Call him."

She unpacks a water bottle and tosses it over to River.

"Am I going to have to start prodding you to eat too? You must be starving. It'll probably even taste good."

River
"Just because life can be hard, it doesn't mean that you have to harden yourself to the fact that it is hard. You can acknowledge that things were difficult without letting it take you over," she tells Grace.

Which is, in actuality, a pretty typical response for River. She is a creature with feelings. She is a creature with a lot of feelings, come to think of it. She feels all sorts of ways, and when things get bad she isn't afraid of being honest with the fact that things are bad.

The young woman does keep moving, though. Doesn't sit to ruminate in how bad things can be, because if she did she would never start moving again. She catches the water bottle and uncaps it, takes a drink.

"I'm packing a water filtration system in my bag for next time I go out. Pure water is hard to come by," she reports.

River
Grace
Grace blinks at River, like she hasn't been through her own hardships? Lately? "Uh. Well, some of it, sure. It's called life, though. You get as used to it as you can. Call him."

She unpacks a water bottle and tosses it over to River.

"Am I going to have to start prodding you to eat too? You must be starving. It'll probably even taste good."

River
"Just because life can be hard, it doesn't mean that you have to harden yourself to the fact that it is hard. You can acknowledge that things were difficult without letting it take you over," she tells Grace.

Which is, in actuality, a pretty typical response for River. She is a creature with feelings. She is a creature with a lot of feelings, come to think of it. She feels all sorts of ways, and when things get bad she isn't afraid of being honest with the fact that things are bad.

The young woman does keep moving, though. Doesn't sit to ruminate in how bad things can be, because if she did she would never start moving again. She catches the water bottle and uncaps it, takes a drink.

"I'm packing a water filtration system in my bag for next time I go out. Pure water is hard to come by," she reports.

Grace
"That's cool. I think there are some straws with filters inside? We have some back at the Office," Grace says, stepping over the comment about things being difficult.

And then she pulls out her phone, starts messing with it again.

Nope, can't let it go just yet. Or, you know, maybe at all. "I know things can be difficult. That's why we tell people what's going on, because letting people with massive cosmic power come to their own, wrong conclusions is a bad idea. You know Alex, my cop ex-friend? He threw me out of the police station once he found out that Ihsan wasn't a Technocrat like he'd originally concluded, and spent the whole month isolating himself because of. Could have been avoided by, you know, telling him about Ihsan."

Once she's done ranting again about the importance of communication, she's finished loading what programs she needs. No Google Maps out this far, but she has better.

[Correspondence 1: Whereami? Diff 4 - 1 = taking time.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 4, 6) ( success x 3 )

River
"Is he your ex-friend because he has decided you are no longer friends, or is he your ex-friend because you have decided you no longer want to be friends?"

Because this, you see, was the issue that she found to be more important in that particular arrangement. Oh no, was not going to let GRace lecture her about things that she either did not want to be lectured over or, conversely, something that she was not adequately prepared to argue against.

Farrah used to do this. Farrah was a bright and witty creature who could run circles around River linguistically because she didn't choose her words carefully enough. Farrah and Mike both were twice as quick on the draw as River was. It taught her to keep her mouth shut until she was ready to actually say what she was going to say.

If people weren't willing to wait for her, they weren't worth her attention anyway.

Grace
"He made it pretty clear he didn't want to talk to me. Maybe ever. If he ever decides we're cool again, we will be. He wasn't wrong. It wasn't an overreaction. We've noticed Technocrats hanging out at the police station before."

Her own connectivity with the universe at large applies itself to her phone. It lets her see the way. There is a road somewhat near-ish. Not really a road in the normal sense, more a dirt path where tires have ground ruts into the ground. But she follows it, and it does connect somewhere-down-there-ish to paved, and then to marked-paved, and then there is Reno itself.

"Looks like our best route is thataway," Grace says, points in a direction where there lies a hill, blocking the view. "There is a road that way."

River
"So... he is very upset with you and... if you wanted, you could try and make things better with him. It wouldn't happen overnight, but I sincerely doubt that an instance where a miscommunication- where all parties involved weren't entirely innocent and it didn't lead to someone being hurt or killed- would completely and irrevocably alter a friendship," she gives her two cents there.

She looks down towards the hill; Grace says that there is a road nearby and River believes her. Has no reason to not believe her because Grace literally teleported herself out here so that River wouldn't be wandering around in the mountains following the north star for the next month.

"I've done things like that, though. It ended pretty horribly, so I understand how you must feel."

Keep on walking!

Grace
"River, if someone tells me they want me to go away, I go away. I'm not about to make things worse by... what? Showing up with a fruitcake, and saying I'm sorry again, when he..." She pauses, points a finger at River. "And this isn't even about Alex. It's about you and why on earth you won't tell Sam you're okay after a week of maybe not talking to him. Maybe you did talk to him? You don't remember, right?"

It took a lot of time to get that bit out of River on their phone conversation too, come to think of it.

"If you do understand what I'm talking about, then you know it's a bad idea not letting people know important shit. Make a Ginger post or something. In fact, that is so not a terrible idea..."

River
"I, personally, prefer not to leave things unresolved, even if it takes a long time to resolve them. When you really mess up, you can't fix it overnight," she says, as though she knows. Maybe she does. River sees herself as a continuation of a much longer story. Doesn't always think in terms of right now and her right now could encompass a decade if it needed.

She's a little like a tree sometimes, the little springtime creature.

Then Grace mentions making a post on Ginger and River blanches.

"Oh god, why would we need to do that?"

Grace
"Okay, out with it. Why don't you want anyone, including the one you called for help, to know that you had a bout of amnesia for a few days? It's quite literally not the end of the world. And nobody is going to think you're a bad person for getting lost and not remembering it. I understand that must be quite upsetting, to be missing time. All the more reason why you should tell people. There are those back in Denver who might be able to figure out what happened. Do you think that would help?"

Even if it was, you know, just wandering for days in the wilderness alone, and not being abducted by aliens or something weirder. It's got to feel better, knowing. Right?

River
"Because I don't want people feeling sorry for me or thinking I'm defective- what if this wasn't an isolated incident?" she takes a second, shoves her hands in her pockets and she keeps walking. Keeps going on because that's just what she does. River has taken precious little time to process everything that's happened since her arrival in Denver. The broken vows, the dead friends, the relocation and the highs and the lows and she doesn't regret any of it

But she hasn't exactly had time to really pick through the entirety of it all and make sense of it.

"I don't like asking people for help, I almost didn't call you."

Grace
"If it wasn't an isolated incident, then that's all the more reason not to sweep it under the rug and pretend everything is fine," Grace says. Keeps walking, the crunch of snow under her feet.

"Right now, we are in the middle of nowhere. Even if you, like, started freaking out, using Magick everywhere, somehow managing to erase your own memory, there's nobody within a few miles of here, I bet. You couldn't do much damage to anyone but yourself, and you look... hungry but okay. If you did that again in the middle of Denver, it would be nice to have figured out why and tried to fix it, don't you think?

"What if it was Quiet? Hmm? I know Sam. I don't pity him, for what he has to go through, you know? I don't look down on him for that. We all have to help each other out. I know it seems like I do a lot of helping, but that's just because there were people there for me when I needed it."

River
"Pretending everything is fine and broadcasting it to everyone in the community are two different things. I'm not saying that I don't want to know why I ended up in the middle of a mountain range outside of Reno; what I am saying is that I have the right to be the gatekeeper of my experiences."

The snow crunches. She goes a little slower and takes a second to listen to it. Despite the fact that it's cold. Despite the fact that she looks like she could stand to eat something (like, say, an entire turkey), she doesn't seem to be in a horrible mood.

What if it was Quiet? Grace asks.
"Chakravanti in Quiet tend to come with body counts." Said with the degree of certainty that is almost a little jarring.

"I'm not saying that we don't need to help each other, either. If I'm asking, and I am asking, it's a definite need. I'd rather not whip people into a panic when it might not be necessary. I believe that telling someone something might have happened and I don't know what and I might be too far away for you to do anything about it is unnecessarily cruel."


Grace
"Then you should talk to Sera. Possibly Kiara? I can't help you with the whys or the whats of what happened to you. All I can do is what I'm doing now. Sorry," she says, walks along, as though teleporting across a couple states with emergency supplies and guiding someone out of the mountains is something to apologize for.

She says that Chakravanti in Quiet tend to come with body counts, and that sparks a memory of Mike. Oh, yes. Blackouts and lost time to a Euthanatos can mean pretty terrible things.

"Leaving somebody in the dark can be its own special brand of cruelty. I won't tell him. I won't post it on Ginger. But let me go on the record as saying this is a very bad idea."

River says this is extremely personal information. It's something she doesn't want everyone to know, for whatever reason. None of her reasons make much sense, but that's rather beside the point. Part of the problem with being the one who knows things is that you're also the one who has to keep them. There's just something about this particular privacy issue that rubs Grace about five different wrong ways at once. It shows in her tone of voice. Like she's getting ticked off.

River
That's the thing about talking to River. There are things that she doesn't budge on. There are things that are so inherent to her personality and her being and her core that she doesn't move on them. That she would defend those things to the bitter end, even if they didn't make sense.

This, as it turns out, is not one of those things.

Grace teleported across several states to get her here. Brought food and gave her a blanket and has been nothing but nice and friendly and generally fantastic. Grace Evans is a good person, a genuinely good person. Who doesn't just do things because she doesn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night.

The silence lasts for about a minute. It's a very long minute.

"Can I use your phone to call?" Not like she's acquiescing. Not like she's asking just so she can humor Grace. Like she listened and mulled it over and concluded that Grace has a very good point after she was able to get past her knee jerk reaction.

Grace
They walk along in silence, Grace updating her threat assessment of the situation, which... if River ever did lose herself on a rampage, that promise of secrecy would be broken in a heartbeat. Sorry, River.

And then, River asks for her phone. "No. It's currently guiding us to Reno. I..." She fumbles with the phone, shutting down her Whereami? effect, and returning it to a phone, and not something that's busily filtering through the universe's code. "Can always just keep walking toward the road and redo it later. Here. He's under Slakhani."

River
"Oh, you didn't-" there is this awkward pause and she puts her hands up, but then she's got Grace's phone in hand. She's got fingerless gloves with a mitten option, and the mitten part of her gloves are largely ignored for the time being.

"I used to have him in my paper address book, but I kept losing the page," or the universe conveniently misplaced the number. She's going to have to get his number again when she gets a different cell phone. She's about to hit talk before-

"Thank you, Grace. For all of this."

Like she means it, because she does.

Oh my god you two are dating.

River
She doesn't like inviting herself over. For all she knows, Grace has something important to do. Grace could have any number of things that she wanted to do with day, could be in and out, could keep an absurd schedukle and she could be sleeping for all River knows.

So, she calls.
Doesn't send a text message, actually calls and asks if she can come over. Promises lamb of some variety. And something with samosas.

"So I found an Ethiopian cookbook," she starts. The young woman came in the door, needed a hand getting things out of her car to actually get them into the warehouse because she wasn't sure what they had in terms of spices and she spent all of her black jack winnings on groceries and restocking her closet.

When River comes in, she smells like a casino- it has a very distinct sort of smell. A little like desperation and boredom and the slow loss of vitality of everyone within a fifty foot radius of a slot machine. She covered it up with something by Victoria's Secret. (Pink- Ready to Party. It's one of three perfumes she has in her purse and she wears it because she likes it, thank you very much.)  Attire is comfortable. Tights and boots and probably a dress under her coat.

Who knows, she might not be wearing clothes under her coat. Maybe she expected to seduce Grace with her cooking and exotic dancing wiles.

No, realistically it was just a dress that was short enough that her gigantic winter coat hid most of it.


Grace
Kalen's getting ready to go to Hawaii. As much as she is sure he is there for super serious business, what with all the scuba diving for lost treasure and all? His 'work' sounds so much more fun than what she's been up to lately. And he had a vacation -- a proper vacation -- in Chile.

It has all prompted a bit of jealous scheming on Grace's part. And said scheming has brought her plane tickets and a packed bag for tomorrow's trip to Los Angeles.

Not everybody knows just yet. Hell, some of her best friends don't even know what she could possibly find appealing in LA. She's that kind of quiet about it. And, she's fairly certain nobody will miss her for the whole weekend she'll be gone. Some might opt more for a week spent with their latest loved one, but Grace is a pragmatist at heart, and she knows that the universe likes to throw her curveballs. A week might be too long.

There's not much evidence of her looming departure at the Office. She's not in a tizzy of packing and trip-prep. Packing took her all of thirty minutes, because that's the kind of efficiency dressing in all jeans and t-shirts will get you. Instead, there is a lot of evidence of Kalen and Grace going on a crazed spree of pinata-hanging. It's a tradition. It might not be one anybody else holds dear, but it is a tradition that Grace loves for its irreverence and randomness more than anything. That, and candy.

Subsisting on all candy though? Not cool. That's why when River calls, says she wants to make Ethiopian food, Grace is all for this. If River ever wanted to seduce her with cooking and exotic dancing wiles, the cooking would be far more successful.

"Holy shit, River, did you buy every ingredient in the cookbook or something?" Grace asks, with a surprised smile as she lugs a grocery bag out of the car to help.

River
"I bought some things pre-made," she says, sounds absolutely woeful when she says this, too, like buying something that was pre-made instead of buckling down and actually doing it yourself was a freaking tragedy.

River can't stand most store-bought bread. To say that something is the greatest thing since sliced bread is to tell River Vasquez that, very obviously, you do not like what is going on but you are enduring its mediocrity because of convenience. She doesn't chase the mother loaf like some people do, but she does have opinions on baked goods. She doesn't eat a lot of junk food. Is one of those people that, disgustingly, can eat one Pringle and call it good.

Nobody likes those people, River.

"I didn't know what you had? So I assumed nothing and now we have a good starting point."

She smiles, chipper, and traipses off to the kitchen, two bags of groceries in hand. She stops, realizes her back door is open. Scampers back and plants a foot on the back driver's side door. Pushes and the door shuts with a thud. Then, it's off to the inside.

"... wow, pinatas." Like their presence actually does surprise her.

Grace
Yes, River. Pinatas. There's one over in a corner that looks like a treasure chest. Some more down the hall in the shape of stars with streamers. There is also one in the shape of a vampire bat, because fake vampires are entirely too fun to hit with sticks, and nobody really cares about holidays getting their wires crossed here.

There is also one which Grace has already busted open with much glee, and probably a couple of very concerned cats.

"Pinatas! Of course! It's Christmas. I mean, what were we going to do? Hang stockings?" she says, laughs a fake laugh. "But seriously though, you have a stocking at the Chantry, because yes -- that too."

Up, up the stairs, and here, there is a smiling yellow T-Rex and a cupcake hanging from the ceiling. This makes sense, because you see, cupcakes are the favorite food of carnivorous dinosaurs.

Somehow, they make it all the way to the kitchen with all that stuff, and Grace unloads her burden on a countertop, starts rummaging around inside wondering how it's all going to fit together.

"You're going to have to trust me when I tell you I can burn water? So that's about my cooking skill level. If you want anything chopped, I can help?"

On a table in the kitchen sits a vase. The vase is a nice heavy crystal glass thing, and it has water in it, for all that the flowers don't really need it. They may as well be made of plastic, but they aren't. And they hum with a certain someone's steadily unraveling windstorm.

River
It's up the stairs, though she slows- because there were pinatas. There was a vampire, yes, and a treasure chest and stars and-

wait.

She stops and looks at the vampire for a minute, cocks her head to the side and looks as though she can't... quite... put two and two together. Like there is something that she is clearly missing in American culture and this is something that has translated out to pinatas at Christmas. With bats.

Wait.

No?

River was born int he United States. Sure, her parents didn't pick up some of the traditional American things, but she kind of figured that she had Christmas right and then there is this moment of dawn that comes across her face when she realizes that she wasn't actually missing a cultural norm, she was just coming across someone who celebrated the changing of the seasons with a breakable candy container.

The vase gets a second look, though.

"Who brought the flowers?"

Doesn't need to ask. She knows who brought the flowers.

Grace
[Manipulation + subterfuge = trying hard not to blush and otherwise act weird over that 'who brought the flowers']



Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

River
[Per+empathy: I get people!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

River
again!

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )

Grace
[Tie break!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Grace
Who brought the flowers? Oh, well, the resonance will probably tip River off, right? They knew each other pretty well, student and teacher and all. And besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of.

"Oh. Mike did. After the whole..." Grace waves her arms in the air, as if they will express the concept of 'crazy mixed-up-ness' better than her words would. "Thing with The Artist."

Nope, not going to break out with bright red cheeks over the memory. Well, when he first gave her those blue hyacinths, she was red in the face for another reason entirely.

"They were apology flowers. He, uh, wanted to say he was sorry for not letting me know what happened."

There is a bag of lentils in her hand, she realizes. Mmm yes. Lentils. Let's focus on putting those in a cupboard and not on anything else.

River
"Oh," she says, like this answers all of her questions and doesn't raise a whole bunch of new ones.

Cookbook gets pulled out and she turns to a page that she doesn't even have to look up in the index. Like this is all alchemy and she's already discovered the secret of eternal life so why not fuck around with creating gold? Lamb gets pulled out and she awkwardly looks around for a mixing bowl-

"Bowl?" she is holding the package of meat, that looks like it came from a butcher and it's Colorado so there is a good chance this lamb has a name and ate dandelions its entire short life. In truth, River kind of felt bad about eating meat but enjoyed the convenience of it (along with not being able to explain to her restaurant-owning parents that she was a vegetarian.)

"I can understand that," she says offhand, looking back at the flowers again, "he's usually pretty good about communication but I understand the reasoning behind not telling you. Or I could understand what my reasoning would be."

A beat.

"I really, genuinely don't mean that in a bad way."

River has no idea that disclosing the incorrect amount of information to someone she cared bout has gotten her killed before.

"He got the right flower for apologizing, though."

Grace
Oh, hey -- getting a bowl. Another thing to do. Grace quickly pulls open one of the lower cabinets and retrieves a bowl, and frowns at it. This is a small eating bowl. No, that's probably not what River meant. In another cabinet, she finds a large glass one. It probably goes with one of the mixers. But Grace hands it over anyway.

River says she can understand Mike's reasoning, and Grace squints. Really, Mike? You've infected your students with this tripe too?

"Really? There wasn't a whole lot of reason to it," she says, tries to remember that she's decided to be forgiving. There's a rant there, which she isn't going to start just yet. Something about her having prepared to kill him because of that lack of information -- that she expected a rather one-sided siege.

But no. She didn't get besieged. Well, not physically anyway. Emotionally, maybe. Her eyes catch the hyacinths and hang on them for a few seconds.

"I know why he did it. He wanted to keep me safe," she says. "Didn't think about keeping his own damn self safe from me when I found out, though." She smiles an awkward half-smile and pounds a fist into her hand.

River
"Everyone shall fear the wrath of Grace-erm-whateveryourlastnameis!" lamb gets hoisted in the air for a second, as though she was cheering on some victory with paper-wrapped meat. River started to peel the tape back and ends up dumping the meat into the bowl.

She heads off to go wash her hands before getting herself into too terribly much trouble with the meat and the seasoning. "Can you survive chipping an onion? I've got to make clarified butter. Or you can mince garlic. Your choice."

Because, clearly, butter wasn't clear enough. It had to be clarified.

"So, I'm going to guess you guys are friends? Ish? Giving people flowers to apologize to someone is very nineteenth century."

Or something people do in romantic comedies when they've messed up. River has seen a couple Meg Ryan movies, she knows how that could work.

Grace
"I might survive, but there may be tears," Grace says, with a fake sorrowful face. That just brings more things for her to go find -- like a cutting board and a knife. Truth be told, even though she's lived here for over a year now, she does not know where the cutting board is. With the keen, sharp edges to her resonance, one might thing she goes on a chopping spree every now and then, but really? The only hacking she does on a regular basis, she uses a computer for.

River asks if she and Mike are friends. Hmm. Yes, one could say that. But Grace knows that's not really what she meant. "Uhh, yeah. Friends. A little more than that, really. Or... a lot more, actually."

This time, she doesn't bother to hide the flustered reaction. The good news? She's busy with her back turned to the kitchen, looking for an elusive cutting board, so she's spared at least some of the shame. Eventually, in a drawer near the sink, she finds her target -- a very lightly used plastic board with a handle. But then, she actually has to turn around and grab an onion...

Oh, River. If ever there was someone hyper-focused on onions and cutting them before the embarrassment makes them do something ridiculous, it is Grace. She's clearly not used to talking about 'mushy stuff'.

River
River has her hands full of lamb meat when she turns around and givves Grace the flattest of looks that one can give a female friend. Grace may not be used to this, but River Vasquez has been extorting details of sordid personal affairs with girlfriends and coworkers for years.

"Mmmmn-hmmn?"

Grace
Onion, yes. Got one of those. And a board. And so, she reaches for a knife, which isn't too hard to find. The sharp ones are stuck in a wood block by the stove. The sight of Grace yanking a knife out and turning to River in order to laugh awkwardly? It seems more threatening than it has any right to.

"Mmm. Yes."

And, you know, maybe, since he was happy to have her over for a weekend, he still feels the same way?

She takes her onion (balanced precariously upon the cutting board) and knife over to the kitchen table, and sits, regarding the vegetable for a bit, before deciding to cut it in half such that it should make rings.

"He's um... Very understanding," she says. And cuts into the onion, wincing at the juice. There may be tears, she said...

River
(get the Hell out, me-with-a-last-name)

River
Grace turns around and has a knife and laughs awkwardly and River offers a disarming smile. Literally disarming, it is a smile that says please don't stab me. Not that it's ever stopped someone from stabbing her who really wanted to stab her, but that is a rare occurence in this lifetime.

"You realize that you're just naming personality traits and not actually clarifying the nature of your relationship," she says this, but can't keep the grin off of her face.

Luckily, Grace has her back turned and River has time to regroup and not fall into a ball of utter panic about this. Okay, so... Mike is just bringing Grace flowers as an apology and they're friends and Grace said they're a lot more and-

"Oh my god you two are dating."

Grace
"Yes, I... uh... That's not really a big deal right? I mean, people... date." Not her, but people, surely. It's not that rare of an event... Oh, who is she kidding? Neither of them are known for being the dating type. The onion crunches under her knife once more.

It's a big deal to Grace, obviously. She's tried doing the normal human thing before, back when being a normal human still held some importance. Mike is different. And not just because he can change the fabric of the universe.

Also obvious is how little Grace knows about chopping onions. She's got a couple slices, but the knife keeps getting stuck. So, she opts to forgo rings and slice the thing in quarters. It gives her something to think about other than the nature of this conversation. River, she isn't really paying any attention to your panic.

River
"It's as big of a deal as you are willing to make it," she said told Grace.

And there is the awkward moment. While she's preparing sauces and getting out saucepans and getting ready to do what can only be considered torture to butter, she has to think about this. She pauses, seems content to contemplate for a second. River doesn't think quickly. No, when it comes to thinking on her feet, River Vasquez is most assuredly average.

As such, it means that when she thinks about something, she actually takes her time to stop and think about it and consider the entire thing before deciding that she has an opinion on something. She isn't a terribly loud creature, doesn't go throwing her opinion around willy-nilly.

"In my experience, I wouldn't downplay it and I wouldn't build it up to being bigger than it is, just... decide how big you want it to be and own it."

Grace
"When did you get to be so full of wisdom, eh?" Grace says, with one eye held shut against the fresh onion spritz. Well, honestly, it's not that difficult to have more words of wisdom about relationships than Grace Evans. Pretty low bar, there. "I don't know how big a deal I want to make it. Neither of us did, when it... became a deal."

"I'm going out to see him this weekend," she adds, like she's getting that one out of the way, off of her chest.

The smell of meat has drawn some attention. Pomegranate pokes her head into the doorframe and yowls out a question. Why is that food not in the food bowl? That is where food belongs. In the bowl. Yowl.

River has seen the library cats in action before, likely.

River
"I've got lifetimes of bad relationship advice to call on at a whim," she says, though given River's tradition she could be completely literal in that regard. River might very well have lifetimes worth of information she's pulling from. Who knows if River actually dates people or does these sorts of things or does anything more than maybe watch a movie with someone.

She's nervous. She's got her stomach in knots and as uncomfortable as it is... seeing someone else being bashful and happy makes her want to be happy for them. If this is, in fact, what she is seeing.

"Are you excited to go to Cali?"

Grace
Another slice of onion, and she's almost got it down to manageable chopping size. The pieces aren't uniform. At all. But hopefully, that doesn't really matter. Pomegranate gets glared at, but the cat doesn't seem to mind. She just rubs up against River's leg in another plea for whatever smells so wonderful.

River asks if she's excited to go, and there's a smile to go with her squinted, red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah. We were, you know, working a lot when he was here. It would be nice to actually go on a date-date with the guy I'm... dating," she says, and that color in her cheeks probably isn't onion.

They might just go on a date. Or, they might just spend the whole time too wrapped up in each other to go out. Or, as it actually turns out, they could spend it working. Again. Because the universe just will not give Grace a break.

River
"It's kind of the nature of the job, you're never not working- no kitty," she tells Pomegranate, even gives the cat a little sympathetic look "-I don't know if you're on a raw diet and it would make you sick."

A comedic frown, a sigh of woe, "lo siento, kitty kitty."

Grace says that she is excited to go, smiles and has her cheeks all pink and River is off to spending time on what she's got on the stove, which... actually does require her attention. A pound of butter is only going to render a cup of clarified butter. This is an ordeal, to say the least.

"What was I saying?" something about working, River, "-oh, right... yeah. You're never not working."

Grace
"True. Nature of the world, I guess. Also, do not listen to Pomegranate. She is not actually starving, as much as she says she totally is."

Pomegranate knows when she's being talked about, and she can guess that the communication is not in her favor, because nobody is fawning over her and giving her her due as the goddess she truly is. Her due is usually food-based. She takes those kinds of sacrifices. Not burnt offerings, because bleh, carbon... She sits down at one of the kitchen table chairs (See? I am a person too) and sulks.

"Hopefully, we can work on something that isn't... quite so awful. I know that was hard for you. For all of us, really, but... You did good."

River
"It's..."

She lingers on that, has a moment of silence when she tries to determine, again, what it is that she is going to say and how she is going to say it. The room is starting to actually smell like something that could resemble the beginnings of food, and that is a feat unto itself. She turns down the heat on the range and goes to mince garlic cloves. Which, alas, requires another cutting board. And thus, investigation continues.

"It's really hard to... not be okay. The tendency is to want to lie about it and pretend that you're fine, but in doing so it makes a person deny a fundamental part of their experience. Can't really ignore suffering," she says.

"I talked to Sam about it. I'm making peace with the fact that I don't have to be okay all the time."

Grace
"No. You don't," Grace says, and glances down at the onions to make sure she isn't actually making onion paste with all that chopping. "I know it's not really the same? But I know what it's like going around, trying and failing to be normal after trauma.

"And then, other people can make it worse, because they're all like 'You should be okay, so I'll feel comfortable'," she says, and rolls her eyes hard. "If anybody does that to you, don't listen. But, I don't think you will," she says, smiling.

"It doesn't have to be all better. I think I'm done with the onions. Eh?"

River
She takes a second, peers over at the onions and smiles a bright and chipper smile. It's genuine, though- that smile. She has regarded the onions and deigned that, yes, they are acceptable.

"You did good, I'm not going to believe you when you say you'll burn water now," River tells Grace, "you  can be taught, you've got the bone structure of a natural born onion chopping genius."

Shitty, is how it goes.

Grace
[Awareception!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Ihsan
[Samesies!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

Grace
Grace isn't really looking to drink her problems away. No, she's just walking through the neighborhood because Google Maps says that this is where a certain store that sells security robots is located, and she wanted to... say... check out the competition. It's a unique distraction from her downer of a life.

Also, it's a way to get some ideas. The Warehouse so needs a security robot.

It is on her way past a certain bar that twinges the senses -- that makes her feel like... Well, it isn't pleasant. Feels like the very essence of shredding. But not everyone can twist the universe such that it feels like happy downy pillows.

That's Ihsan.

Well, it's not so much a distraction, but maybe obtaining some alcohol might be. Why not? She steps inside, not noticed by many. Maybe they notice the cold more than they really see her. She doesn't go out of her way to be seen, after all -- just jeans, that grey turtleneck jacket, and a coat against the cold. There's also a scarf buried somewhere in there. Her eyes scan the place for someone she knows.

Ihsan
Grace was there for robots.

Ihsan was there for a Tinder date.

She was at a pool table, leaned forward for a shot.  She dressed in the same dark tones that were inspired upon her by her Avatar-- the vision of Everything That Was, the One Who Would Return.  Her jeans were tight and black.  Her heels were tall and black.  Her shirt was-- a dark gray, actually, well-fitting with a swooping neck that left plenty of space for a big jangly gold-and-rubyred necklace to set on her collarbone.

On the other side of the table, holding a pool queue, was some tall white dude with blocky shoulders and an equally blocky head, on which the hair was gingery-brown and growing soft out of a buzzcut.  He was grinning and anxious both.  Having fun but eager to get past the niceties and on out of there-- he had places he wanted to go in the morning, after all.

With a clack! Ihsan broke the set-up triangle formation of pool balls.  None of the went in the pockets, and she straightened up with a soft disappointed cluck and wry smile for the meathead who was about to take his turn.

Then a chill ran up her spine and Ihsan looked past her shoulder.  Spied a familiar face near the door.  Smiled, and raised her pool queue in greeting.

Grace
Huh. Well. Ihsan's there, all right. Shooting pool. Grace gives her a smile and raises a hand in an awkward greeting response, then heads straight for the bar.

It's not that she doesn't wish to talk. It's just... Ihsan is there with a guy who has reason to pay a lot of attention to her. A Sleeper guy, from what she can tell. The perfect time to start chatting about what's going on in Denver these days, right? Maybe if the only conversation she wanted to have was about the weather.

The bartender arrives in front of her before her brain has switched gears enough to figure out what she really wants. "Uhhhh. Something? I know I want something. Let's see... Irish coffee?"

Just a repeat of what she got the last time she was in a bar. Back when things made even less sense, and were even more tense.

Ihsan
Grace headed to the bar.  She was alone there for a little while, left to do her own thing-- consider her thoughts, explore the internet and/or Ginger from her phone, look around and scope out the crowd.  It wasn't until more than five minutes but not quite ten minutes after she'd gotten her coffee and sipped it away that Ihsan slid up onto the stool next to her.

Up close she smelled like a velvety perfume, and her face was done up in make-up complete with plum lips and deep ruby nails (short, though).  She quirked a sideways smile at the woman and hooked an elbow onto the bar to rest her jaw in her fingers.

"How are you, Grace?"

Grace
Grace tilts her head to Ihsan. This close one can tell the difference in how the two prepared for their separate outings. Grace hasn't looked in a mirror for more than a few glances today. There's no makeup, no fancy nails, and her hair -- well, it is hair. Not particularly messy or cared for either.

There's also tension there.

"Shitty. Well, okay. Not me, really. Everyone else is having a rough go, though. How are you?"

Ihsan
[Perception 2 + Empathy 1: Whatsamadda?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[Grace looks vaguely tired, but not of the sleep-deprivation kind. There's more of a worn quality to her. Grace is a person who at least attempts to care about other people, as evidenced by her inserting herself into the Euthanatoi's business. If there are other people having a 'rough go' out there, she's probably worrying about them.]

Ihsan
The woman who sat upon the stool beside Grace was a stark juxtaposition from her.  Dark where she was light, adorned where Grace was bare and forward.  Her brows were even penciled in, shaped precisely tonight.  Warpaint.  A lioness on the prowl.  If Grace were paying mind, she'd find that Ihsan's date was further up the bar waiting to pay off the tab.  This was a popular part of town on a Friday night, after all.  There was a crowd of orders to contend with.

Those well-shaped brows knit together and she scowled empathetic up at Grace.  Straightened up on the stool but kept her forearm on the countertop.

"I heard about Samir.  He will pull through."  She hadn't been here long, but seemed confident in her assessment all the same.

With a purr of a dark voice on a north African accent, she inquired, "Who else has problems that need solving?"

Grace
The world, Ihsan. The entire world.

Kalen's in from Chile, and just laid enough kindling down to start a conflagration within the Flambeau. And is promptly heading off to Hawaii to let it burn in his absence. One might say he likes the mischief, but Grace has seen the sadness in his eyes when he talks about what must be done. It's like being the black sheep of the family, and not particularly happy about it.

But that? That would require too much explaining. And so much of that is so politically poisonous it can't be spoken about on Ginger, much less in a bar.

Another time. Ihsan should know about the war that might come. Everybody should know, before they decide to stay here.

"Alex. Remember him? The cop? Ran into him the other day," Grace says, and takes a drink of spiked coffee. "He swore he was being played with by a 'Crat. Didn't want anyone around, you know? Tough guy, thinks he's protecting everybody by refusing to come in contact with them."

Where have we seen that before? She  shakes her head.

"I stopped by to check on him, make sure he wasn't chipped or something horrible. And I managed to figure out who the boogeyman was."

At that last sentence, she points at Ihsan, and gives her a look. Yeah, you.

Ihsan
You, said the look that Grace gave her.

Ihsan's eyebrows went up with surprise and she touched her ruby-tipped fingertips to her chest.  The combination made her appear surprised, innocently unaware of whatever havoc she may have wrought.  Moi?, it asked.

It was at this point that her date came up behind her, having finished paying the bill.  He wore a smile for the greeting, politely bobbed his head to Grace with a close-lipped smile, and through a dense Russian accent asked Ihsan if she would join him outside for a smoke before they left.  She advised him that at she would meet him outside in a minute.  As he lumbered away she watched him go, then grinned a sharp-toothed looking smile (perfect for ripping) before looking back to Grace once more.

"I only thought he wanted the conquest for himself.  I didn't realize how worried I had the man.  That is a solvable problem."

She paused and looked thoughtful as she slipped off the stool.

"Where can I find him?"

Grace
Ihsan is smiling. Grace isn't. Alex isn't talking to her anymore. She just takes another drink of Irish coffee.

"Well, when I told him, he got mad and made really sure I knew I wasn't welcome at the police station anymore. Not like I wanted to be there anyway..."

She looks at the bar. Such interesting scratches in the wood, yes?

"You have to understand, right? They've been spotted at police buildings in Denver recently. Alex had been warned. So, you know, he had reason. I should have told him about you beforehand so he didn't get all worked up.

"I don't know where you can find him, other than where he works, though. He destroyed his old phone."

Ihsan
"Yeah he did.  I couldn't call him a second time when he hung up on me the first time."

Ihsan shook her head, then reached out and patted Grace on the back.  The gesture was genuine without being incredibly sympathetic.  A 'there there'.  "You should try their copper mule.  I'm going to find out how good mine is."  This, said with a glance back to the front door, then a grin and a suggestive bouncing of eyebrows back at Grace.

Then Ihsan was gone-- making her way back to the door where she claimed a (surprise) black coat and wrapped a gray scarf around her neck as she stepped out into the cold December night.

Blankets.

Grace
It's December. There's no snow today, but that doesn't mean it's not cold. To the southern desert-creature that Grace is, this state is just wrong. These times, similarly, have been just wrong.

The heat is on. It doesn't matter. Grace is wrapped up in a blanket on one of the couches in the Library with a mug of hot tea, which she stares into with a sad, pensive pierce of the eyes. If she weren't alone, someone might accuse her of being a touch melodramatic. But who cares about such things when you're alone? You could potentially dance down the halls with a cat on your head when you're alone, and nobody would be the wiser (save for the cat, and why would they tell about something so embarrassing?)

Not all of this bundling up is due to the cold, obviously.

Elliott
Spending weeks in Santiago has certainly changed some of Kalen's settings, nudging him even further away from the person that he and the Order constructed and more toward....

That he is not sure of.  He can barely remember who he was before people and events were shaping him into things.  He cannot say if this is closer or further from who he would have been.  Absent Kharisma and Jack, if he had found first some forbidden knowledge could he have simply become Victoria?  He expects so.  Tormented enough, Lucia?  Again, he assumes so.

He does not think that he can just decide who he is again, craft a name and a personality out of nothing.  Personalities are earned things.  You cannot just imitate them into being and have any depth to them.  But he is choosing, so carefully, who he lets influence him.  Marcellus, certainly.  The Order...probably not.  Ramon, yes.  Denver...yes, mostly.

And so he has come home.  He has even brought blankets back from Chile.  Whole piles of them that are sitting neatly folded in wooden crates.  some are probably Christmas gifts.  What he plans to do with all of them is unclear.

Did he spend considerable time curled up with blankets being coaxed to drink wine or coffee in Santiago?  Yes.  It may be one reason he brought back apparently 85% of the blankets available for purchase there.  He sees Grace curled up and staring at her tea and keeps walking for the moment.  Picks out a blanket knitted from orange and white and brown flame yarns.  Fox colors.  Grace can have one of her presents early.

He brings that blanket and one with bright sky blues and occasional golds.  He offers the fox-colored one to Grace.

"Merry Christmas," he says quietly.  He could ask why she is staring at her tea, but he knows he doesn't have to.  If she wants to talk, she'll tell him.

Grace
The presence of an actual person is enough for her to do something else other than stare into tea. Kalen gets a smile as he approaches with another blanket.

Then, a brighter one as he offers one to her as a Christmas gift. Fox colors. She puts down her tea on a table and reaches out to smell it first, holding an end of it up to her face to judge all its qualities.

"Oh, it's so warm. I love it, thanks."

The blanket gets added to her nest, she tucks it in here and there to eventually look like a human head and hands poking out of a mound of fibercrafts. It's a comfy place to be.

"You got one for Alex too, I bet?"

Elliott
"I think Alexander just sleeps in snowdrifts or something," Elliott says.  "But yes.  I got him a blanket he can scoff at."  He curls up on the couch with his blanket.  He seems less like he has any real desire for it than Grace, but he also seems content to have blanket and couch time.

It has never been difficult to convince him that blankets are the best and he should have them right now.

"It looks like I'm only back in town a couple weeks.  And then I have to go to Hawai'i.  Business.  But...sometime in January.  Australia.  Pick it out.  Buy the tickets.  Make the reservations.  You know where there are credit cards you can use if you need them.  I have not, yet, spent all of the money on Christmas."  Yet.

Grace
"Really?" another bright smile. "We can go to a place where it is summer? I will buy those tickets and march you onto that plane, man..."

She lays her head back on the couch, looks at the ceiling. "I mean, I need a vacation, I think."

"Alex. You should probably give him his blanket early too. I kind of fucked up. He doesn't think anybody cares about him anymore."

So, there's that. And Samir's in quiet. And Elijah or William or whatever it is he's calling himself nowadays got attacked too, don't forget. Then there was that thing with Mike which... Well, as much as everyone left is still alive, it still kind of sucks. The important people in her life are all going through something.

Elliott
"Alexander...I know how he can react to things sometimes.  Don't think it's something you did.  Even I barely get to know him in some senses, and I know how much I mean to him.  He's not always someone who is easy to be close to, particularly, I have always assumed, when he most needs it.  I'll get him his blanket.  And some marshmallows.  Is there anything I should know?"

"You know Kiara told me I should be proud of you?"  Elliott smiles a little.  "Which I always am.  Now especially, though.  I told her that, but it seems ridiculous not to also tell you that.

"I know I bounce around and check in less, but because I trust you.  And you know I will come back if you call me.  Always.  Unless I have to stop the end of the world, like sometimes happens.  But that, I think, you understand."

Grace
Is there anything I should know?

"Well, apparently he's spent the last month and a half or so isolating himself from everybody, destroyed his phone, and lived like he was under Technocratic surveillance. He wasn't. It was Ihsan coming and talking to him about the murder he posted about on Ginger. I could have prevented that by telling him about Ihsan. Ihsan could have prevented that by telling him anything."

He could have prevented that by not taking 'lo, I have been contacted by Technocrats' as a reason to hide from everyone else and enforce a zero-contact policy, but then... Kalen is right. When he most needs someone, he flees from them, apparently.

"You should be proud of Kiara. She actually faced down the Nephandus. I just set everything up," Grace says, curls around in her blanket-mound.

Kalen continues being Kalen, offering her his pride, his trust. It's nice. "You're only going to be in town for two weeks?"

Elliott
"That sounds like Alexander.  He did once stop speaking to me for weeks because my Resonance changed and he thought I was an imposter, you may recall.  But I will get him a new phone to put Ginger on, unless you've already taken care of that.  If nothing else, I have his business card with his work contact information.  I can get in touch."  He smiles a little.  "I can get him like a dozen, because he loves to destroy phones."

Elliott considers the update on Kiara a moment.  "She did not mention.  I don't think she wants to talk about it.  I'm not sure if she needs to, but even if she does...I expect I am probably not the person she'd choose to do so with.  Still, I will keep it in mind in Hawai'i."  There is a soft exhalation.  "Anything you think I should know before that?  Specific things I should know will be difficult for her, or anything."

"And yes.  We have to go retrieve a magic stone for a mythic artifact.  It involves scuba diving.  Fortunately, I can do that now.  I am hoping it will be a quick trip.  We have a location.  We just need to get the stone and come home, but I expect there will be some kind of complications.  I could be wrong.  But.  Honestly.  What would you expect?"

Grace
What does she think he should know? What would be difficult for her? "I don't know. Nephandi? Nephandi are difficult. Pretty much sums that up."

Kiara didn't really go into much detail when she told Grace. Doesn't know all the ins and outs. That's okay, she doesn't need to know.

Tea. It's getting cold over there. It doesn't have two blankets. She grabs for it, and settles back in.

"I wouldn't have the first clue what to expect in Hawaii. Friendly mer-whales? Probably more like unfriendly Cthulhu-beasts, honestly," she says, and rolls her eyes at the world for being horrible. "Mutated mahi-mahi, something like that?"

She sips at her tea for a moment, and then: "Magic stone for a mythic artifact? In the oceans around Hawaii? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was just an excuse to get some more beach-time in."

Elliott
"Well, I more meant what would you expect but complications."  Elliott smiles.

"I've never even been to a beach.  All my diving has been pools and lakes.  One day I may do one of the dives at the aquarium here."  All of the things he has done.  All of the things he has seen.  But never the ocean.

"Sasha is interested in this war not happening with the Technocracy.  Henry too.  They are going to try calling the Order off.  I haven't told them, at least not yet, about Atreyu.  I...don't know so well how they will take that.  I don't want to...I would just worry.  Mostly for Atreyu."

Grace
"Mmm. Yeah. Even Sam was a bit put off by my description of Atreyu, and he's a Mercurial Elite. He knows what we do. I mean, you and I might be the only ones who'd really... know him."

Him, her, whatever.

"It still amazes me that the guy was never born. Reminds me of some ancient deity legend, you know? Sprung fully-formed from his mother's head?"

Metaphors. Words to say things that you can't easily express. Gods and legends of the present...

"So, you're telling other people, huh? Is that why we're vacationing in Australia?"

Pushing food on Sam.

Grace
[Awareness]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Samir
[oh right crap gotta do the roll for the thing]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 5) ( fail )

Samir
[DAMN IT SAMIR]

Grace
There is a knock at the door. Grace usually doesn't bother, but from what Kiara posted to Ginger, it sounded like things were not all okay in Samir's world again. He likes his privacy when he's like that. He doesn't like surprises.

He doesn't like lemongrass stir-fried tofu much either (or, he does, but thinks it's laced with mind-control drugs) but she brought that too, in a plastic sack hanging from her arm.

"Hey. It's Grace," she says, at the door, just in case someone were behind it, wondering whether it's safe to open.

Kiara
[Mage-dar. Just, you know, because.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 4 )

Samir
He's better than he was a few days ago. Though Sam is still hallucinating he is not having violent mood swings and indulging the delusions that he has to live with every day of his life anyway. But hallucinations are distracting even when you have them under control.

Today he does not have them under control. The plants are talking shit again and the ground outside has been screaming all day and he can hear blood dripping somewhere in the walls. Kiara has caught him standing with one hand over a stud listening intent to something she can't hear at least once today. It's jarred him out of his reverie and sent him back to whatever the hell it is he's been doing in River's absence.

She kept him distracted for two days straight but River has bills to pay and a life outside of babysitting her boyfriend. Sam has neither slept nor taken anything by mouth since she left. Has been sitting cross-legged on the mattress in the spare room and scribbling code onto a legal pad for the last several hours. Occasional muttering comes out of the room but no other disturbances.

Kiara can imagine that he's hearing the echoes of spiritual energy in that room. That's where the Artist made its appearance not so long ago.

Neither can see him go still as a statue when he hears that knock.

Kiara
She feels Grace's approach today. Can sense her before she raises a fist to knock at the door - but she doesn't pre-empt it. It's quite possible that whatever the Verbena was in the process of doing or wherever she was, extracting herself to answer the door took some work.

"Just a minute."

Grace can hear called back from behind the door, there's a quiet thud and distorted murmurings before the door swings open on Kiara, half bent, rubbing her fingers over a knee and waving at Grace to enter. She looks surprisingly well rested, the Verbena female, considering the circumstances. Dressed in a man's oversized dress shirt cinched in at her waist with a white camisole beneath, dark hair pulled out of her face in some messy knot at the nape of her neck and a pair of jeans, she's the picture of a woman dressed for comfort - or cleaning.

Or perhaps some variant of both. "Hey, come on in. He's in the spare room unraveling the mysteries of the universe. Or my closet doors."

Grace
"Yeah, he unraveled his bed last time," she says, giving Kiara this look of shared understanding. She knows what that's like.

"I brought some thoroughly inoffensive food. He ate it before, at least."

She steps inside, remembering that the last time she was here, she was helping out some other guy... Seems to be a pattern. Or maybe that's just her brain going on its pattern-making spree again.

"How is he?"

Samir
At least his bed is a mattress on the floor this time. It's harder to dismantle a bed when there's no frame. He hasn't thought to take a knife to the fabric yet. Then again River has been weirdly insistent upon keeping knives and pills and other things he has no interest in going anywhere near out of range so who knows. Maybe he's not as paranoid this time as he was last time.

Patterns are useful. He knows about patterns being useful. If he knew she was thinking of the situation with the creepy white guy and the dead Euthanatos and the Nephandus as soon as she stepped in the apartment Sam wouldn't blame her. Sam in his right mind would understand and empathize.

Sam right now realizes he left the door to his room ajar and debates whether he ought to just wait for the voices to stop or shut the damned thing and see if that does anything.

Kiara
"I should probably be thankful there's nothing in there but a mattress. Sadie wasn't one for a lot of worldly goods." Wry, that, as Kiara leads Grace into a cluttered little living room she likely remembers quite well. There's clothing strewn over the back of one sofa, books and various other items have been stowed on top of her coffee table in what seemed a hastily decided on relocation.

The altar that sat in one corner near one of Kiara's windows was covered by a velvet cloth. The knife that the Artist had used was not beneath it, it had been buried in the earth for a month by the Verbena to release the negative traces of energy clinging to it. It had been overkill - Kiara hadn't cared.

She pads into the kitchen, the brunette and extracts a bowl and some cutlery - glances down at the fork in her hand and puts it away again wordlessly, offers out the bowl and nods in the direction of the bedroom, Grace would remember it, too. They'd put Michael in a chair in there not so long ago.

The door stood slightly ajar, now.

Kiara's dark eyes train on it as she offers: "He has his good moments and his ... not so good. He could use the food, though." A beat, the edge of Kiara's mouth lifts. "And the company, since I have to go run some errands." She scrubs a hand over her neck, Grace can hear the threads of unease, there. "I didn't want to leave him alone, though. River's been here with him but she had to go do things.

I think she'd still be here if she could." Softer, eyes still on the door. "Not that I can blame her." Eyes tick back, then. "It's not easy to see him like that." Kiara's seen him far worse, but she doesn't mention that. Nobody but her and Elijah needed to know what he'd looked like when she'd arrived in the woods.

Grace
Grace just shrugs at the statement that it isn't easy to see him like that. It isn't easy to be Sam right now either, but he can't take a day off from himself. She knows a thing or two about hallucinations, about being that burden, being the poorest of company and decidedly unstable.

She takes the bowl and goes to sit at the couch while she transfers stir-fry to the bowl, so Samir can eat like a proper gentleman instead of out of a take-out container (which, whatever -- same difference.)

"River's a good person. I'm glad he has so much help this time, eh? Next time it'll be my turn or something."

Perhaps there is a thanks hidden in there somewhere. Also, an acknowledgement that this isn't just a two-time thing.

Samir
Okay. The voices aren't going away on their own. If anything they sound like they're settling in for an extensive conversation. It's keeping him from working.

They have no idea the extent of just how permanent a problem this is liable to be. He hasn't told anyone that he met the personification of his madness in a mindscape and part of the Seeking transaction involved a pact or a promise or whatever the hell you want to call it. While his avatar was watching.

Sam figured if he's going to be insane he may as well accept it instead of keep fighting it.

The women hear the bedsprings squeak as Sam climbs to his feet and takes a few purposeful steps and slams the door shut. At least this time he doesn't wedge it shut.

Kiara
River's a good person.

Little cut of the Verbena's eyes at that back to Grace. Slight little smile surfacing at the corners of Kiara's lips. "Yeah, she seems to be." Next time I'll be my turn or something. The Verbena's dark gaze lingers on Grace as she empties the food into a bowl.

There's a tiny chip in one corner, it's a frequent sight with Kiara's kitchenware. As if finding a cup or saucer without some marring little imperfection were a miracle in and of itself. Or, perhaps, like so many other facets of the Verbena's life and persona - it was just lived in, well loved. She bends to scoop up a bag, half concealed in the arm of a sofa.

"Let's hope there doesn't have to be a next time." She moves across to the bedroom after Samir slams it shut and pauses outside it, lifts a hand as if to knock but instead sets her palm against it. "Samir? It's Kiara. I'm going out for a while but Grace is here.

She brought you food. I'll be back later, okay?"

There's a brief glance back at Grace that may well read her own version of gratitude before she heads toward the door to retrieve her keys.

Grace
The door slams shut. Grace rolls her eyes. That tactic gets old, especially when she's trying to get him to eat. "Oh, come on, Sam."

It's not full of mind-control drugs. Honest.

"No promises about the state of his room when you get back," she says to Kiara, and gives her a smile. This is hardly the worst that could have happened, and she's trying to make light of it.

So she takes the bowl over to the door that's been slammed.

"Hey, Sam. I'll go away if you eat something." Tempting offer, eh?

Samir
I'll be back later, okay?

A pause long enough that they may start to doubt whether he's still in there or still capable of interacting with the same reality as the rest of them. As all things do the silence ends eventually.

"... kay."

Then there's Grace's voice on the other side of the door. Same stretch of silence but this time he gets up and opens the door. She has seen him in the midst of a Quiet that has left him more or less blind before. That sheen isn't dulling his gaze today but he still has the appearance of a man whose attention is elsewhere.

"So... if I don't eat, you won't go away."

Grace
"Pretty much," she says, and there's a challenging smile at him when she says it. Shows him the bowl of lemongrass tofu. "You like this stuff. It's not like I'm making you eat those carob cookies."

He's going to end up associating carob cookies with madness. And really, why wouldn't anybody do the same?

Kiara
[And Kiara has headed out! Though I may hang around and spy like a weirdo. ;) ]

Samir
Carob as an ingredient was discovered by a freaking madman. Most innovations are the result of some combination of insanity and genius. Sam attempts to mirror the smile but it ends up looking like a nervous tic instead. He starts to flick the light switch on and off. On and off. On and off. Counting silent as he does it.

He has to get to twenty-three before he can stop. Might as well half-ass his way through a conversation while they're at it.

"I'm not hungry."

Grace
"That's too bad," she says, again with a challenging smile. "I'm just going to have to stay here, bugging you then."

Grace is a bit too old-hat at this song and dance to fall for it. Samir wasn't hungry nearly the entire time through his last quiet, even though he barely ate. She wonders what his reasoning is this time. Poisoned food? Too busy cleaning?

Samir
"Alright."

It doesn't appear as if that's going to stop him. He opens the bedroom door all the way like an invitation but he doesn't stop dicking with the light switch until the twenty-third check. He's blown light bulbs doing this before. This bulb holds up despite the abuse.

Whatever it is he's working on is on the bed. A legal pad has to take the place of his laptop for working out whatever it is he's trying to work out. Looks like he's attempting to broaden his grasp of Mind without having access to the Internet. Going old school philosopher over there.

From where she stands Grace can see that he's using both sides of the paper. He's already gotten about a third of the way through this pad. He's using pen to write.

As he walks over to the mattress Sam's eyes drift up toward the ceiling. He sighs and then sits where he left the legal pad.

"How is that not driving you nuts?"

Grace
She walks in upon the invitation, not attempting to stop him in his impromptu strobe-light impersonation. She keeps hold of the bowl, though, hoping to offer it up again.

There is also a glance at the legal pad. "Oh, that takes me back... You know, my test to join the Virtual Adepts involved a curse that took away my ability to use any digital devices. And then I had to break some encrypted code. Sans computer. And Work some Code. Sans computer. I've still got all my notebooks."

Something wistful there in the way she says it. The work was worth it.

"What should drive me nuts? The lights? Why? You stopped."

Samir
In his right mind Sam would think that was an interesting story and want to know more. Would ask her if he could see her notebooks. It doesn't seem as if he's listening to her now. He may be trying to but he can't hear her very well when that fucking noise won't stop.

"No, not the lights." He pinches the bridge of his nose before picking up the pad and flipping back a few pages like he needs to regain his train of thought. "You don't hear that?"

Grace
"Nope. Sorry. I would say it's all in your head, but so is every sensation."

She does look up at the ceiling. She listens, just in case. Doesn't really expect to hear anything, but who knows.

"You hungry yet?"

Samir
If Grace were to hear what Sam was hearing that would mean he was in pretty real danger of becoming a Marauder. The last time this happened he attempted to apologize. Hinted at the fact that of all the things in the world that he's afraid of the one that causes him the most anxiety is the thought that one day he's just going to go completely mad.

The man doesn't like not having control over his environment or his emotions. He's trying though. In general. Not right now.

Grace makes a crack about why she won't say it's all in his head and he huffs out a breath like he almost found that funny.

Then she asks if he's hungry. He tosses down the legal pad and looks over at her with an expression on his face that asks Are you fucking serious? Holds out his hand for the bowl.

Grace
Success! She hands the bowl over, then quickly steps back out of his personal space again. Yes, Samir, she's fucking serious about getting you to eat. Someday, you might just thank her for that.

She leans up against the wall by the door, wondering if he's going to throw it at her. If so, she did warn Kiara.

"You stuck on anything? I mean, besides just trying to work things out on a legal pad..."

Samir
Of course he'll thank her for this someday. He isn't a complete dick when he's not in Quiet.

Sam looks down into the bowl not to check for contaminants but to make it seem like he's actually interested in eating. This isn't sound logic he's employing. He doesn't like being alone when he's hearing weird creepy shit any more than other people like leaving him alone. Grace probably won't leave just because he polishes off whatever she brought him but Sam isn't thinking straight.

He does not throw the bowl at her. He heaves a sigh and takes a bite.

"No, I'm not stuck, I just..." He sets aside the bowl after that one bite and picks up the pad again. "I want to make sure I get it all down before I start trying to do anything with it, eh? It won't work if I don't write it all out first."

Grace
"More than one bite, Sam," she says, rolls her eyes. "Contrary to your own opinion, you will not be able to get much farther in your studies if you don't eat enough."

So, try using logic on the one who's temporarily lost contact with reason. But hey, it does seem to work a little? He's not completely adamant about taking his mattress apart or something. She can still convince him of things.

"Don't you want me to leave you alone?"

She thinks he does. That's what he wanted most of the time the last time he was like this. Of course, then, he was more paranoid.

Samir
[manip + subt: the name of the game is "lol i don't have feelings"]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (4, 4) ( fail )

Grace
[Perception + subt = yeah you do]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 6, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Samir
The outside world is screaming like it's in agony and the plants won't stop heckling him when he walks past them. Occasionally he hears two people whispering underneath the floorboards. It's not the neighbors. He knows something somewhere is stuck and bleeding and he can hear the blood dripping behind the walls but he can't get to it because that would require tearing the goddamn wall out and he doesn't want Kiara to get in trouble so he's keeping the property destruction to a minimum.

Of all the things he can think of being alone is among the last of the ones he wants. For a second he actually looks terrified of the prospects of being alone. He's been alone during this current episode before. For a spell he had the place to himself because Kiara had to step out before River could get there.

He dismantled the vacuum cleaner and cleaned the ever-loving hell out of it. Proceeded to spend twelve hours cleaning the oven so he could think about something other than the sounds he couldn't ignore. It took River pleading with him for him to lie down and sleep.

Sam snorts at the question and looks back down at the pad.

"Leave if you wanna leave," he says. Despite his efforts he still sounds scared and sad and a little angry. "I've got shit to do."

Grace
"Oh. Okay. I guess this time it's different," she says, walks over to the mattress and sits on the side opposite to him. "I don't actually want to leave. I just thought you might want me to."

She shrugs. "I mean, you did slam the door on me. I thought you meant to keep me out with my stupid food."

None of this really seems to be getting to her. There are so many worse things she could be dealing with right now than a scared friend.

Samir
Christ. Now she's mistaking his bravado for a sign that he wants to talk about his feelings.

Grace sits down next to him and Sam seems to get it through his skull that he isn't going to get any work done while she's here. He drops the legal pad and the pen onto the floor and swipes his hair back from his brow. He hasn't tied it back today. That's a decent indication that he's having a rough time.

Speaking of stupid food: he puts the bowl on the floor too. That way he can flop back on the mattress and address the ceiling instead of her.

"I thought it was something else." Not someone. Something. "If I'd known it was you I wouldn't have slammed the door."

Ass.

Grace
"Okay. How about this bargain then? I'll stay with you and be less distracting and let you work if you'll eat that whole bowl of stir-fry."

Because no, Sam. She isn't going to stop pushing food on you.

"Because honestly? When was the last time you ate? And I'll know if you're lying. I can even make double-sure of it. I taught you that trick."

She joins him in staring at the ceiling while she talks. It's a thing she does a lot, getting lost in the dimensions of things, in their abstract geometries. Easier to look at than faces sometimes.

Samir
... if you'll eat that whole bowl of stir-fry.

Sam sighs the most long-suffering sigh anyone has ever sighed in the history of sighs.

I taught you that trick.

And then a followup long-suffering sigh before he grabs the collar of his t-shirt and hauls it up so it's covering his face. Lets his arms drop to the mattress after that. He can still hear her and everything else right now.

The occasional drunken bout of idiocy in a young adult makes for hilarious stories later in life. Repeated drunken bouts of idiocy that persist into later adulthood starts to sound an alarm call. This is like an alcoholic versus a college student. If Sam had not gone into Quiet three separate times since coming to Denver he might find stories about the shit he does when he's in Quiet to be humorous.

He does not. These episodes scare him.

"River and I went to this sandwich place by the park last night." After his escape attempt. On the way back to the apartment. It's not like they were out on a date. She was afraid he was going to jump in front of a train or something. Sam yanks his shirt down so it's not covering his face anymore. "I had soup and half of her sandwich. There was a bunch of green shit on it."

Grace
"Okay, so you had food last night. It's now, though. You don't stop needing it."

Suffer, Samir. Suffer the annoyance of Grace on a mission. You will be suffering long indeed. At least, you know, as long as that bowl is full.

"Green shit isn't terrible. There's some green shit in that stir fry. It'll get cold, though, and that would be terrible. Go on. It would make me feel better if you ate."

Samir
Oh the humanity.

Sam sighs as if she has just asked him to perform a feat that would make Atlas throw down his burden and flip off the camera. Rolls towards the bowl he'd left on the floor and throws his arm over himself to execute a half-assed attempt at grabbing it. He misses on the first attempt. Gets it on the second. Rolls onto his back and sets the bowl on his stomach and sighs again because he doesn't want to sit up to eat.

Fuck it. He stays on his back for the first bite. Upends it into his mouth and chews and swallows before deciding he doesn't want to do this for the entirety of the meal. He sits up.

"It would make me feel better if those two would shut the fuck up," he says. This is a different gripe than the one he'd already asked Grace if she heard. He leans forward a bit so his voice will carry out the door. "YEAH, I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, ASSHOLES." Whatever. Ignoring them. He takes another bite of food and a glimmer of Samir reveals itself when he says, quiet as he pushes the food around with his plastic fork, "This is good."

Grace
Ahh, dramatics. Doesn't matter, Samir. You're still eating. Is she channeling his mother or grandmother enough yet? Possibly, because he actually starts eating.

And then starts yelling at his hallucinations to quit. Well, there are ways to keep Kiara from having to deal with noise complaints. There have been an awful lot of strange noises in this apartment lately. Wouldn't be good to raise questions.

"Yeah it is. I had some once. It's got this whole fresh green-y quality," she says, like green is a taste. "But not like, shitty green."

She sighs at the ceiling. "I know you want them to shut up. They will, eventually. It'll take time."

Samir
Time and liberal exertion of his will. Which is already stretched thin from dealing with his weird rituals and intrusive thoughts and fear of contamination.

Sam has been chewing his lips and foregoing sleep. He doesn't require constant supervision but without some sort he gets locked into a cycle from which he can't extricate himself. This is why Kiara didn't let him stay out in his trailer by himself after the incident to which she responded.

Ignore the fact that that incident almost killed him. He has been.

"If they don't," he says around a bite of food, "it's not the end of the world."

Grace
"No, I suppose not," she says, then lets a sigh out at the ceiling while her eyes chase the corners of the room. It wouldn't be the end of the world, but it might not be something Samir would survive.

She's almost lost her friend twice now. There are other things that could threaten him, true. Perhaps this is just him trying to make everything work in the time being. If he has to hear things, it isn't so terrible.

"Would you like me to get you something else? Like, a drink maybe? Or... want to listen to... some," she pauses. Thinking. What is that thing? "Nihilist?"

Samir
She remembers the name of the Swedish death metal band he used to kick her ass at laser tag.

This might have touched him if he were in his right mind. Made him remember the awesome time he had using the universe's natural inclination towards making him disappear to his advantage and whooping her ass. But Grace knows better than anyone else does how Samir is when he is in his right mind.

Water would be his body's best friend right now. Right now his best friend is asking if he wants to listen to music and he doesn't recognize how much she's trying. Doesn't recognize that she recognizes that he's going to crack if too many more days pass of him hallucinating and not being able to pull himself out of this. They can joke about the next time all they want but this time sucks only slightly less than the last time.

"Whatever you want to do," he says again. He's focused on eating.

Grace
"I want to get you something to drink. I'll be right back," she says. Honestly, Nihilist sounds pretty bad. It was more for his benefit.

She picks herself up from the mattress and leaves Samir to himself in the room. Goes to Kiara's kitchen and treats it like she is the new owner of the place, opening the fridge, the pantry, the cupboards. Finds where Kiara keeps the glasses and the booze (a lot of it) and the bottles of herbal-infused enhanced water and selects one. Herb water. Sure. That'll work.

It really does seem from Grace's perspective that Kiara's entire fluid intake consists of these weird health food store water bottles and alcohol...