Odessa's Box

Odessa
Annie and Sasha were on a couple's retreat. That's what it sounded like, anyway. That, or they were going to couple's therapy because things had been quiet on the western front and, occasionally, the chantry door was locked instead of unlocked. Sometimes, there was an uneasy silence that came only when there was amagic afoot and someone had something very personal to say that they didn't want to be said in front of people who might actually know better. Triangles are nothing without their third, and where was Trinity without Leah?

Well, it would appear that Trinity was at couples' counseling.

Which is what made this awkward.

The door was unlocked, there were notes pinned to the fridge (Could someone check the mail this week? - Annie) The television was on and it sounded like the Stanley Cup was playing. Overall, it was a boring day.

Grace
Grace is sprawled out on a couch in the den, one leg hooked over an armrest, reading from her e-ink device. It's not easy to tell what that book is, but it's apparently enthralling. So much so, she's barely touched her mug of coffee since plopping down in her spot.

This couch has a stitched-up hole in the back where a chihuahua puppy was rescued from the inside. It's that kind of couch.

Jeans and a t-shirt are her uniform. Few people have seen her wear anything else. Today, she's wearing her favorite (and thus threadbare) giraffe-wearing-ties tee.

With Annie and Sasha gone, someone's got to just be here. It's not a duty or a requirement or an order. Grace was just around, doesn't have a day job, and thus...

Alex
[God, so long since I did this...  Arete, Spirit 1, Diff 4, -1 for the node, WP and stuff.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Alex
Alexander had been a little scarce recently.  Not gone, not again.  Just…  other things had been occupying his time, taking him a little more distant from whatever end-of-the-world antics had been plaguing the local Awakened.  He hadn’t been completely out of touch.  There had been dinners with Kiara, coffee and Pho with Grace, the occasional trip out to the Chantry for dinner with Annie and Sasha.  Recent changes had brought him a little closer to Sasha in some ways.  Alex had moved off the beat and into an office, not so far away from her, as he worked through his probationary period as a squeaky new detective.

Around the back of the Chantry, sat at the patio table not so far from the node, sits Alex now.  Cold, abandoned coffee sits in a cup, various text books lie open with various bookmarks and notes scribbled in them.  (Sorry, lovers of books, he sees nothing wrong with writing in books!)  A mirror, something cheap and easily disposable, is half-buried under a book that had been knocked when Alex had turned to watch…  something elsewhere.

Michael
The last time Mike was in Denver, so much happened that recapping for the sake of expediency would reduce the events to: a Nephandus Adept pissed off the wrong person. Although Alex met the acarya's student, Ihsan, she did not introduce herself as such, nor did she stick around after stirring the embers of the poor Disparate's paranoia.

Sadness upon sadness, Alex and Mike didn't have the pleasure of making each others' acquaintance last year.

This year, this night, Michael parks a different rental car in a different parking lot and steps out, assuring himself that this must be the place before clapping the door shut and locking it with the fob. Up the driveway, pocketing the keys before letting himself in like he was invited.

Surprise, Grace!

Grace
[Perception/Awareness = Oh really? That resonance?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Alex
[Per+Awareness]

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

Michael
[awareness! didn't give him a spec bc i'm lazy.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 7, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Odessa
My, now this one is unfamiliar, isn't it?

There is a quiet in the area, over the sound of the Stanley Cup there was the internal silence and quiet that comes from a stillness of the soul, followed by a brightness so bright that it seared its image in the mind's eye and left a feeling on one's skin of dying embers. Yes, it is the feeling of those embers contained that sticks on the mind.

The back door is flung open. There is a small woman in black holding a box. Wooden box. Pandora's box, perhaps?

"Aaaaaaaannie?"

A beat.

"Hallo?"

Odessa
That box feels and looks like a massive glitch in the universal code. Feel free to embellish a little.

Grace
Grace's eyes flit up off of her book when she senses Mike's presence. What? But, the stupid grin that plasters itself on her face soon after says that it's not an unwelcome surprise.

She leaps up as inelegant as a baby zebra. Mike. It's got to be him.

And indeed, there in the entryway he is.

"You little jerk," she says, eyes bright, happy smile. "You didn't tell me you were--"

Just then, the sound and presence of someone else interrupts. She raises a brow. Whispers an aside to Mike: "I don't know who that is."

"Annie's not here!" she yells down the way.

Alex
The weather was warm, not needing much in the way of clothing to guard against a chill.  Asphalt, however, was much less forgiving.  A leather jacket sat on the back of Alex’s chair, protection against random chance that might wish him to fall while riding.  At the initial sense of someone else, someone unfamiliar, approaching, Alex’s attention returns from elsewhere.  A few blinks and the almost mirrored surface to his eyes fades, his gaze and his hands moving to the jacket.  Something fetched and checked before he steps back inside, towards the new presence.

Arm straight, hand masked by the doorframe to the room where Grace sits, there’s a question and a considering glance at the unfamiliar man.  “Grace..?”  She doesn’t seem threatened, though.  More happier than he’d seen her in quite some time.

A slam as the door is opened, a call for Annie, and Alex turns to face the second new arrival.  Pistol aimed at the floor but ready to raise, another question comes on the tail of Grace’s yell.  “And you are?”

Michael
Mike, for reasons both mystical and practical, knew there was a likelihood Grace would be here today. He didn't warn her he was coming. She (and Alex, once he comes close enough) can feel his resonance, that feeling of a strong storm blowing over, the strength of his Arete making his presence feel like a force of nature. It would be unsettling even to Sleepers if he weren't disarmingly charming.

A handsome bastard in a suit and tie, with dark brown hair and a clean-shaven jaw, he barely has the door closed behind him before Grace has sprung to her feet and called him a jerk. He shoots her a grin, unabashed, like Yeah I am a jerk aren't I before the door blasts open and in comes a little woodland witch the Chakravat hasn't seen in God knows how long.

"I think I do," he whispers back.

Annie's not here.

And then here's a tall young man, pointing a pistol at the floor but comfortable enough with it in his grip that Mike, never having met the man before, takes a step forward like to block Grace and holds up both hands to show he isn't currently armed.

Never mind that raising his arms reveals a shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket.

"Odessa!" Mike calls, raising his voice--his voice, without Alice hijacking his voicebox--for the first time in Grace's recent recollection. His palms are still on display and empty. "That you?"

Odessa
The woman, who couldn't have been more than five feet tall and as vast as the ever-expanding cosmos, looked from the pistol to her box and then back to the pistol again. Her mouth quirked upward before falling again. Eyebrows stayed raised.

"Odessa," she replied, "Annie and I share a lineage." She awkwardly held the box for a moment, before extending it to Alexander.

"It's me!" she called back, "and-" she stops, "I think Mike is the only one of you that I know. Who are you all? Will you be here for long?"

Grace
"Oh for..." Grace slaps her forehead with her palm. "Alex, this is Mike. Mike, Alex. Please try not to gun the Chantry down."

She pats Mike on the back. Alex is okay, dude.

And now? To pay attention to Odessa. And that box. "Oh, I'm uh... Grace. And, uh, yeah. I plan on being here. Annie and Sasha are away this week, so I'm...  helping."

"What's in the box?"

Alex
As potential Technocratic invasions of the Chantry went, this wasn’t high up the list of how Alex saw it going.  Although Mike did appear to be armed, he seemed to be more interested in protecting Grace from him.  An eyebrow raises at that, followed by a flash of some recognition at the name.

Mouth open, waiting for words to emerge for a moment, he considers: that he’s the only one waving a weapon around.  A faint click as his mouth closes and his teeth knock together, another faint click as the pistol’s safety goes back on and the weapon is tucked into the back of his trousers.  There’s no apology, but he does toss a glance at Grace:  so shoot me.  It’s not like he didn’t have reasons, after all.

Odessa offers the box, but it’s not taken.  Examined, briefly, but not taken.  He introduces himself, “Alexander,” to both of the unfamiliar individuals.  Sorry, Grace, he still has that stick up his ass about certain things.

Michael
For his part, Mike leaves his pistol in the holster. He never had any intention of removing it. Now that the excitement is more or less over, he lowers his hands, buttons the top button on his jacket, straightens his tie, and tucks his hands into his trouser pockets.

Oh right. There's an object in there he meant to ask Odessa about. His brow flickers into an almost-frown, but he doesn't broach the subject just yet.

For Grace's sake as much as Odessa's, maybe Alex's too, Mike says, "I had business to attend to in Texas. I thought I would swing by on my way back to Los Angeles."

Because Denver is so on the way, Michael.

Odessa
What was in the box, you ask? She looked at the box again. Nobody had taken it from her as of yet, so the witch just stood all black clad and awkward holding onto it. She gingerly made her way into the thick of the place and, instead, found a nearby coffee table to set the box on top of. It was placed on the glass top with a deceptive thud. Heavier than a discussion about cancer, that box.

"I don't know exactly what's in the box," she said, "I've only had it for the last half century and have done a very good job of not opening it myself. The only secret given to me to keep by the Keeper of Secrets."

A beat.

"I was hoping Annie would babysit the box while I go run some errands. Woudl you three mind watching it while I'm out?" She says like she's asking them to watch her dog and not a box that feels like the fundamental upheaval of the universe.

Michael
[int + past lives for shits +/- giggles]

Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (3, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 1 )

Grace
"Aww," Grace says, to Mike's explanation of how he got here. That stupid grin returns to light up her face. She bumps into his side slightly too -- far more physical contact with someone than is normal for her.

But then, Odessa explains. And a suddenly serious Grace asks: "Keeper of Secrets?"

"I've heard that name. Not a fun fucking thing."

Alex
The end of the world at least a few minutes away now, Alex steps back into the kitchen for a moment as Odessa moves to find a table.  The bang of a cupboard and a further sound of a coffee jug being slid back into the filter preceed his reappearance with another mug of coffee.  He doesn’t move to close the distance between himself and the newcomers, contenting himself to lean against the doorframe and watch.

“Why does a box need babysitting?  Is it likely to crew the furniture if you leave it alone?”

Michael
Decorum, Grace. We practice it.

Yet it's obvious Mike wants to smile, himself. The laugh lines around his hazel eyes deepen a bit with the tensing of his jaw, the staving off of a proper reaction. He stands like a statue as the Virtual Adept bumps him, but in doing so he leans back against her for a second.

"The Keeper of Secrets does not abide stealing," he says. "Opening that box would be akin to breaking the bond of trust between the entity and the practitioner." Just a suggestion: "Perhaps it should go downstairs in the library, until Odessa is able to retrieve it."

Odessa
"Tell people who can rewrite the fabric of reality that they can not have something and can not touch it because they will be incapable of comprehending what they've just seen. Mages are petulant children with superpowers."

She nodded, "essentially, I need someone to watch the box because there are individuals who would like very, very much to open said box. People think twice about taking things from witches, but.... my home isn't as secure as it once was."

Grace
"I've heard that name in connection with a... rather cold case. A bunch of dead and missing apprentices in Colorado Springs. A bunch. Like somebody lured them there for that purpose," Grace says, dropping that tidbit into the conversation.

"I'm not at all eager to open that box. I am eager to know a little more about that entity."

Alex
The mug stops in its rise towards Alex’s mouth, eyes watching Odessa and Michael as they discuss what should be done with the box.  “Who are these individuals who are interested in this box of yours?  And what happened to make your home less secure?  Is that something that would be likely to happen here too?”

“I don’t think it’s our decision to make, about whether it should be kept here.  I think it should wait until Annie and Sasha get back.  It’s their home, after all.”

Michael
"Well." There's a solution for that. Michael removes his cell - a flip phone. Don't say anything. "I'll give Sasha a call. Excuse me."

And so he does, the sound of the call dialing loud enough to be heard as he gives Grace's elbow a quick squeeze and steps back out the front door.

[i need to bounce, guys. i've hit the point where i need sleep more than caffeine. mike will be back tho <3]

Odessa
"Well... go ask them. If you have chiminage to offer, the Keeper of Secrets will honor your requests." Odessa continued on, "and my mountain has been purchased. Logging issues, land rights. Petty things. No amount of warding can slow the pace of change and bureaucracy- I haven't existed legally in this lifetime."

Odessa scoffed.

"Annie owns this place, so long as the bank doesn't foreclose on her house nothing should happen to her."

Grace
She smirks at Mike's elbow squeeze, but quickly returns again to the hyper-focus. "Chiminage? What does the Keeper of Secrets like?"

Gold? Blood? Quintessence? Human sacrifice?

"And, I think Alex was more thinking along the lines that the bad people who want to open that box might come here and... I don't know... Shoot down the Chantry?"

She smirks at Alex. It's just a joke.

Alex
Well… go ask them.  Alex glances to the door that Mike had just passed through, presumably to stop his conversation with Sasha from getting in the way of the ongoing conversation, and back to Odessa.  Grace picks up on his other point: that somebody with an interest in the box might, at best, be unconcerned about the disruption they cause to the people living here, or who still use the house as somewhere to meet.  At worst…  Well, the warehouse hadn’t been lost to them so long ago.

He makes a face, as if there was something unpleasant tasting in the mug, before lowering it.  “Pretty much,” he says in reply to Grace.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.  Holding onto your box would probably be something best left to people you have some level of mutual trust with.  You have no idea if we’re capable of keeping that thing safe, and we have no idea if you’re literally dropping the end of the world on us.”

Alex pushes up from the doorframe, shrugging.  “Just try not to get this place turned into a crater.  We’re running out of safe places to meet.”   Alex steps back out to the kitchen, shortly followed by the sound of running water from the sink.

Odessa
"Secrets."

Obviously.

"No. They're not technocrats, they're just a cabal of selfish, impetuous children who are very accustomed to the mysteries of the universe being open to them," she laughed, "students don't like being told no, and they don't like listening to their elders."

She let her shoulders rise and fall, and with that she was already headed to the front door, "I will be right back- I understand that you're concerned, but it's here now."

She gave a little wave and kept walking, completely ignoring the fact that the mages in front of her basically told her that they weren't going to watch her box, "I'll be on the other side of the gauntlet if you need me, I'll be right back!"

Grace
Grace shrugs, walks over to the box and hefts it up. Heavier than it looks, really, and oddly vibrating, this box. "I'll take it down to the library. It is really the safest place."

She sighs. "I don't know whether to cheer her on, or hate her for making me babysit a box just when Mike gets here."

Alex
Enough of the conversation made it through the door over the sound of the water.  A voice comes back through the open door, sounding similar in some ways to what Odessa had said.  “…they’re just selfish impetuous children who don’t like being told no… Nope, can’t think of a single person here who sounds like that.”  A sigh follows, after Grace says she’ll take it to the library, and Alex reappears at the door.

“Maybe we should just throw in it the fireplace.  Release all of the evil in the world now and just save time.”

Grace
"Uh, no. Someone told me that Secret Keeper thing was not to be fucked with. I'm not going to," she says, making her way carefully to the stairs leading down to the library.

"I'm no expert on spirit-y business and I probably wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. If we do have Pandora's Box, let's not be Pandora, okay?"

Alex
Alex stays by the door, seriously thinking about simply walking away.  But that wouldn’t be fair on Grace, to leave her alone with whatever the hell was in the box and the prospect of a cabal of Odessa-a-likes descending to reclaim it.  He sighs, deeply, again.  Then Alex follows Grace down into the library.  “Can’t say I think much of her ability to keep a secret if she just dumps it on the first people she comes across who don’t move fast enough.

“So what happened with the apprentices?  Was it a recent thing, their going missing?  And what the hell is this keeper thing anyway?”

Grace
"I really wish I knew the answer to that question," she tells Alex. "All of those questions, really."

They walk, they descend, they get to the door.

"Hey, Alex, could you get that for me? Hands are full."

It does say something about the, ahem, secrecy of the situation that Grace hasn't yet found the answers to those questions. She is, usually, so good at that, after all.

Odessa
(Dex roll, please GRace! Diff 6. Dex+athletics)

Grace
[Dex + Ath + WP, because yeah, when you're carrying the end of the world, you should really try to be careful with it]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 5) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Grace
[lol, thank you WP]

Odessa
My, it really would appear that there was something in that box. The vibration increased, and for a second one could have heard the unspoken oooooooh of something finding a shiny opportunity to jump-



... and immediately be caught by Grace. The box seemed content to try and coincidentally wriggle out of her grasp, but she kept a hold well enough to keep anything terrible from happening. The lid did jostle a little, though.

Alex
“Well, let me know if I can do anything to help.”  This said as Alex turns to slide past Grace, against the wall, to get the door.  He pauses as she seems to almost drop the box, catching it again before it falls and hits the floor.

“Did that thing just move?  If there’s something in there trying to get out, I’m pretty sure there’s some tape up in the garage that we can wrap it up with.”  The door is opened and Alex steps into the library first, finding the light switch.

Grace
"That's really not a bad idea. This thing... is like a... animal or something. It did move," she says, relieved to have kept it up.

She walks into the library, carefully puts the box down on a table, and fixes it with a glare.

"What the Hell did you give us, Odessa?"

Odessa
[aaaaaand willpower diff 4 from everyone]

Alex
[WP]

Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 7) ( success x 4 )

Grace
[WP!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 7, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

Odessa
There was a feeling that came to the air, one that was brief but purposeful enough that it made the two mages perk and pay attention. They were observant creatures, and aware as well. The box? Was pouting. It very clearly was pouting and pinged on their senses and they were unmoved by its whining.

But let's make it very clear, the box had consciousness enough to make such a gesture.

Alex
Just as he’s about to speak again, that feeling passes over them.  Mouth still open, he looks from Grace to the box and back again.

“Maybe we should get that tape.”

Alex scans the shelves for something first, though.  A book, something large and heavy.  The contents really didn’t matter.  Something suitable found, the book is placed on the lid to weigh it down.

“Or there’s still the setting the whole thing on fire option.”

Grace
When that pouting sensation comes across her, Grace really fixes it with a stare.

"How do we know it isn't made of fire?" she says. "It seems like the flighty type. But yeah, go find some tape, I'll make sure it doesn't actually chew the furniture."

She says that, but then pulls out her phone.

Grace
[Mike gets a text message soon after Grace goes for her phone. It reads: "Box is 'alive', please advise."]

Alex
“I guess…  How about shoving it in the freezer, then?  Good against fire and water, plus air tight.  Why the hell couldn’t she take it with her, anyway?  If it’s to keep it away from spirits, it seems like a really dumb idea to leave it near the node.”

Another sigh, something rapidly becoming a habit when strange Mages passed through town.  With another glance at the box under its heavy book lid, he heads out to find tape.  And possibly ropes.  Or chains.

Cabalists' Reunion

Kalen Holliday
Kalen could use a friend right now.  And thus, naturally, instead of calling his friends he has come to Washington Park.

There is no scarecrow by the lake.  There is almost never a scarecrow by the lake, but Kalen has yet to give up hope of seeing The Message again.  Washington Park is also where he runs into other friends and fascinating things happen.  It is largely for that first thing that he has spread a wool blanket over the ground at the base of a tree and settled down to stay awhile.  He's sprawled partly on the blanket and partly against the tree.

He's been in and out of Denver and he's running with no few projects simultaneously, so he is sipping at coffee.  However much he loves Washington Park and however much he would like a nap, this is not the place for sleeping.  At least not alone.  There are books in the bad that he brought, but he is not reading through any of them in an attempt to cling to productivity.  Instead, he watches the park through half-closed eyes.  Both he and the park are calm enough for that, at least for the moment.

[And, how distracted by Resonance are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 5 )

Alexander Brandt
[Awareapathy]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 2, 4) ( botch x 1 )

Alexander Brandt
[Ugh...]

Alexander Brandt
One thing that an observer might have noticed about Alexander since his ‘release’ was just how much time he was spending outdoors.  He had always been an active person, preferring to be outside than stuck inside, but this was almost being taken to an extreme.  Home was somewhere to store things, to sleep.  He had some plans to change some things – those white walls needed painting, for one thing – but they were things that he was in no rush to get to.

The park calls to him for a similar reason to Kalen.  It’s somewhere peaceful in the city, and it’s a place with memories tied to it.  He comes here looking for the same scarecrow, although not really expecting to find it.  There had been…  maybe not a promise as such, but certainly an acknowledgement that travelling through the Umbra together was something that he and The Message could both get something from.  Alex had no way to get through the Umbra – yet, anyway – and so he returned from time to time to see if The Message had decided that it was time.  Not yet.

There is something he picks up on, though, close to the lake.  There’s a presence close to the tree line, something that makes him tense up.  He doesn’t turn to look, but it’s something he would always remember.  Something Potent, Incisive and Reflective.  He has a light jacket on, which he reaches into to check for something.  He doesn’t close, doesn’t turn to look.  He walks away.

Grace
Kalen, trusting in Fate, just brings another blanket as means to summon friends. If he were anyone else, if Denver wasn't what it is, this might not work. Fortunately for him, he is Kalen and Denver is Denver.

Denver sometimes likes to be a dick, though.

Grace is Grace. Taking straight lines through curving sidewalks, only moving for the trees, because the probably won't move for her.

She's in nature, yes, but distracted by her phone, because this is the kind of relaxation a Mercurial Elite enjoys. Get away from it all, and plug into the all.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen senses Resonance, but it isn't familiar.  Interesting, but unfamiliar.

There was a time when he would have gone to chase down this new Mage.  Evaluate them.  Offer them things.

What does he have to offer now?  Not Ginger.  Not the library.  He himself is hardly in a position to take on a student.  Friends?  He in't sure he's in much of a position for that either.

But then there is Grace, proceeding linearly through the park.  And so, he chases nothing, at least for now.  Instead he waits.  Perhaps Grace will get this new Mage.  Perhaps Grace will come alone.  Regardless, he stays where he is.

Alexander Brandt
[Totally trying again, given the new Resonance!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (7, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 5 )

Alexander Brandt
[I AM NOT SERAFINE!!  But at least we can get them talking now.]

Alexander Brandt
Alex walks around the edge of the lake, getting further from that unseen resonance.  It brings him closer to another, though.  Something familiar, someone who had come to see him out at the motel.  This time, no awkward semi-nakedness to get in the way.  He pats his jacket pocket again, reassuring himself that he has some kind of protection.  Hopefully it won’t be needed, but you never can tell.  He gets closer to her, skipping the niceties as he tells her, “I think I just felt a Technocrat.”  He jerks his head in the direction of the treeline, still not turning to look.

Grace
[Awareness!]

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

Grace
Grace looks up, smiles at Alex, until his serious face and words sink in, and that's no longer the appropriate response. The seriousness in Alex's face gets reflected, then.

"Kalen's here. We should get with him. Strength in numbers," she says, though she doesn't sense anything more than friendlies, herself.

She then sets off, quicker now, more alert now, in the direction she had already been taking.

Alexander Brandt
Grace starts to head off again, but Alex grabs her arm to stop her.  “If it’s who I think it is, he’s powerful.  More powerful than Sera is, or Victoria was.”  Now he starts scanning the treeline, looking for some sign of movement.  His hand goes pack into his jacket and stays there this time, a faint click of something metallic following.

“With you on the safety in numbers, though.”  He walks along side Grace when she sets off again, although does slow down if their route seems to be heading towards that feeling of resonance he picked up on moments before.

Grace
Their route is heading toward Kalen, if that is where Alex is afraid to go. But look, it's him, on a blanket, and Grace is undisturbed.

Well, maybe a little disturbed by the noises coming from behind her.

"Let's try using diplomancy first? If it comes to that. But I'm glad you're prepared."

Kalen Holliday
Kalen looks up to see Grace approaching with the new Mage, who appears not to be new at all.

Different.  Everything is different because of things that happened and Alexander feels different.  Kalen is used to reaching out and breathing in the solidity of Alexander's Resonance, but now Alexander is closer to the kind of infinite possibility that Kalen has always seen.  Closer to what he should be, perhaps.

Grace is with him though.  And Grace wouldn't bring him here if he was angry.  If she knew.  Would she know?

He sets down his coffee, rises from his sprawl, and heads slowly out to meet them.  They are wary of potential Technocrats.  Kalen is wary because abandoning him, one way or another, is basically what people do.

"Hey," he says quietly as he reaches them.  Just that.  And then he studies them, more Alexander than Grace, as he waits.

Alexander Brandt
Let’s try using diplomacy first?

“Right.  Sure.”  Because that’s totally what got him into the whole pile of shit two months ago.  Nothing to do with being shot in the leg with a tranquiliser, nothing to do with blacking out after having his knee destroyed by gunfire.  Either way, he isn’t planning on shooting the floor if circumstances ever repeat themselves.

He still slows as they close with Kalen’s rug, expecting… something.  “Oh, I’m the proverbial boy scout, right?”

It isn’t Kalen that he’s expecting to see.  He doesn’t immediately react to seeing him, instead turning to check the other parts of the park that are visible from where they are.  The bastard must have gone somewhere.  He is still a little paranoid in some ways, but now he knows that the bad guys really are out there.   He finds… nothing.  Nobody.  There’s a deep growl, followed by another faint click and Alex’s hand coming out from his jacket.

“Hey.”  The distraction fades and Kalen’s presence is registered more.  That much is obvious, as Alex closes the distance between them and pulls Kalen into a bear hug.  “I’ve missed you.”

Grace
Grace watches them hug, but more importantly, watches the people, keeps her senses open. And then, takes her phone out again.

"Alex thought he sensed a Technocrat. I'm going to set up some protection," she says, all business and focus.

[Corr 2: Stiffening space against Corr manipulation. Diff 5, -1 = taking time]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 4) ( success x 1 )

Kalen Holliday
Infinite possibility is a thing with which Kalen has at least a passing acquaintance.  And he has, on occasion, been accused of unchecked optimism and completely foundless hope.

Hell, he has tried to make peace with vampires and wants to make peace with the Technocracy.  He loves to live in the edges of the world where improbability and reality and faith and hope collide into something transcendent.

And Kalen Holliday, despite all of these things, never considered this possibility for his reunion with Alexander.  He does not, at all, fight with being hugged.  Kalen fighting against hugs is not a common occurrence, particularly from people he is close to.  It takes a second for him to process exactly what this moment is, because he expected something so very different.

"Missed you too."

Grace mentions a potential Technocrat, but Kalen stays where he is.  Grace with get them some kind of protection.  Alexander is there.  And most of what Kalen can do about the Technocracy he could do without stepping away from Alexander anyway.  And, from here, no one is taking Alexander without taking him.  There is, also, that.

"Welcome home," he says softly.

Alexander Brandt
Alexander has changed.  More than the simple (or not so simple) changing of his resonance, he had been given something of a wake-up call over the past couple of months.  Part of that is that he needs other people.  He’d pushed others away before, when things were going badly.  He might return to old ways later, but for now?  For now he doesn’t push, but pulls them closer.  Kiara had been the first, now Kalen.  Others, too, who are close to Alex may well get the same reaction when he meets them.  Other who may be equally surprised.

Welcome home.

“Funny that.  It finally does feel like home.”  He releases Kalen, turning back to scan the park.  “But, yeah.  I felt…”  A pause.  “Someone.”  There’s the flow of Grace’s resonance around them as she does something that Alex can’t, yet, comprehend.  With more experience, a greater connection with reality, he might be able to do something more to help.  His connection had strengthened, but it was something that he was barely beginning to scratch the surface of: that being able to make a change, rather than standing and watching.  But he’s never been one to sit and watch others do all the work.  So he looks around, concentrating on finding that familiar resonance again.

[Per+Awareness, WP because we’re really blood trying to find him]

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

Alexander Brandt
[Third eye: well-squeegeed.  Bill Hicks would be pleased.]

Grace
Grace is still hard at Work. She clunks her phone hard across the side, because sometimes you need to do a bit of manual debugging, right? Not everything is going smoothly with this. But if she tries, really hard...

Oblivious to the rest of the world, she continues trying to weave the connections of the world in on themselves so that they cannot be used...

[Extending, with wp, because the code is being dumb]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 7, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Kalen Holliday
Alexander releases Kalen and Kalen takes a half step away.  He stays close.  He has sensed nothing.  There is, even if there are Technocrats present, some chance that there may be no cause to fight.  No need to get aggressive and provoke anyone.  He tries to remember Ms. Grey and that Technocrat from the coffeehouse more than any of his other experiences with them.

Years of coming to the conclusion that more blood is not the way to the world he wants war against a decade of training that his enemies are clear and his responses are equally clear.

Grace is still working, so, for now, he waits.  Alert enough, but not quite concerned enough to be spooked.  His eyes scan over the park

"Once you're ready, Kit," he says quietly.  "I suggest a change of location."

Alexander Brandt
“Dammit.”  It’s a mild curse, quietly spoken.  Maybe the guy had moved on, or used some way to hide himself.

Experience shapes actions, and recent experience has perhaps made Alexander a little less tolerant in some ways.  Blood is, mostly, not the first option unless it can’t be helped.  But there are now certain circumstances where he is more likely to fight before talking.  More than standing between an Apprentice and her potential abductor, this is something more targeted.  Something that comes from fear that it could happen again.  And a very certain attitude that he wouldn’t be caught again.

Alex nods, though, at the suggestion of changing location.  “Being somewhere else seems like a great idea right now.”  He hasn’t completely shifted the idea that he’s still being watched, but there doesn’t seem to be an immediate danger now.

Grace
"Yeah," she says to Kalen. "I was making it harder for them to track us on the way to said location."

She sighs and lets her eyes scan the park again, a little upset at how weak her shield was, but what can you do?

"Let's go."

Go where? That's something she leaves unsaid, because there's more than one way to find out where people are going to go.

Kalen Holliday
Kalen glances between the two of them.  It takes him less than ten seconds to come up with a workable plan and then an alternate plan. He takes the few steps to pick up his coffee and his blanket, then looks back to them and smiles.

"My car?"  Apparently he isn't interested in broadcasting their destination, or potential destinations, either.

Alexander Brandt
“Works for me.”  Alex would normally offer to help Kalen carry something, but he doesn’t want to get his arms tied up with anything right at the moment.  He lets Kalen lead, knowing where the car is currently parked.  “I can drive.”  It seems sensible: he assumes that he’s had the most experience behind a wheel, and the others can do more if they’re not distracted by patty issues like not driving under an 18-wheeler.  Still, there’s no talk of location until they’re safely away from this one.

cricket
(My vote is they all rock up to Kiara's apartment at 10PM without warning.)

Alexander Brandt
[Partay!]

Kalen Holliday
["Hi, Kiara!  Haven't seen you in ages.  Brought my friends and maybe the Technocracy.  Got any whiskey?"]

Grace braves the police department.

Officer Brandt
It’s Sunday afternoon on a cold, but otherwise bright, day.  There’s no fresh snowfall outside, but an occasional blast of wind stirs up loose flakes and sets them flying through the air and drifting into new piles.  The roads are relatively clear and pavements – at least in the busy centre of the city – have been scraped and gritted and salted.  It’s nothing that anyone who hasn’t just moved from a sunshine state would have any trouble dealing with.

Alexander isn’t outside just at the moment, though.  He’s tied up somewhere in the back of the Downtown Denver PD station, working through yet another pile of the administrative hassle that comes with the job.  Arresting the shoplifter was the easy part.  Various windows sit open on his PC screen, waiting for his attention.  Waiting for data, to be filed and stored and analysed and – most likely – forgotten about when it was decided that prosecuting the guy wasn’t worth the hassle.  But that wasn’t his decision.

The PC is forgotten about as he sits back in his chair, turning to look out of the window, several desks’ distance away, and watch the clouds pass over.  A mug of coffee cools slowly on the desk.  A phone – the one kept for his ‘normal’ life – buzzes away in his pocket with another weather warning.  It could be another windy night.

Grace
It's mid-day when Grace decides to stop by. She sent him a text, without much hope of it having gotten through. Didn't he say he'd destroyed his phone or something? So that's how she's standing at the front desk -- another strange woman asking for Officer Brandt. Saying they're friends. She needs to talk.

Which, yeah, maybe they aren't too inclined to fall for it this time. Grace isn't the most persuasive person in the world either. Nervous, in this place of The Law that she so loves to flout. A flash of red coat is all the color in her outfit, her hair wild with wind. No makeup. Doesn't look like the kind of person who would be Officer Brandt's friend.

And yet, she's adamant. "Please, just tell him Grace is here to see him? He'll know me. If he doesn't, you can kick me out."

Hell, they can kick her out just fine right now...

Officer Brandt
The text message was never received.  The data would have made it as far as the carrier but no further.  The SIM associated with the number was no longer connected to the network – to any network.  No, it was in so many small pieces in landfill by now.  The same with the phone that it had been plugged into.  Before long it would be another piece of data lost into the ether, undeliverable and forgotten about.

He sits there for a few moments more, putting off the tedium for just a little longer, as he grabs his mug and cups it between his hands.  He’s taking a sip when the desk phone rings.  There’s another walk-in, asking for him by name.  He’s a little more cautious this time, after his last ‘friend’ turned out to be nothing of the sort.

From Grace’s point of view, there was more of a conversation than might have been expected for simply passing a message on.  It starts that way, the officer behind the desk – 5’8, blond hair pulled back into a tight bun, apparently no sense of humour – dialling a number and saying that there was a visitor for him.  But she turns more attention on Grace as she’s asked more about the visitor, maybe starting to judge her as a threat.  A brief description is given, just before Grace makes her appeal and offers her name.  She says her name is Grace.  The officer’s eyes narrow a little as there’s a brief pause on the phone.  Then she hangs up.

“Grab a seat, he’ll be down shortly.”

The officer nods to a row of uncomfortable-looking wooden benches along one wall and returns to what she was doing before Grace arrived.  Grace might notice the occasional glance from the officer while she waits.

Grace
Grace raises a brow at the officer at the desk, trying to decide whether grabbing a seat is the prelude before they barge down the hall and arrest her for being annoying in a police building. Hey, there is probably a rule for that somewhere.

She doesn't take a seat. Instead, she just nods and says thanks, then goes to lean against the wall, hands in her pockets, yeah. That's right. Not going to do what you tell me...

Officer Brandt
[Awareness?  Throwing in a WP, because I'm going for an active feeling thingy before he makes an entrance as his last visitor wasn't such a great one.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Officer Brandt
The phone handset is set back into its cradle and Alex takes a breath before doing anything else.  Things run through his mind, but the basic thought is the same: why is she here?  It could be out of concern for what he’d told her in the park – that he thought he’d snagged the attention of a Union agent.  Or it could be something else, given that he was staying scarce from the usual hangouts for the Awakened in the city.  It’s not like he’s been passing through the Chantry for post-its warnings of doom and gloom.  He wasn’t even that sure that Grace knew where he lived, although he didn’t have any doubt that she’d be able to find out without any great difficulty.

But the description fit the name, and it’s enough to bring him downstairs.  It takes a few moments to lock the PC screen and make sure that there’s nothing important left on show on the desk before  he makes a move.  He stops before pushing through the frosted swing doors behind the front desk, though.  A few moments spent with his eyes closed, feeling for things that the Sleepers might be unconsciously aware of – even be guided by without any kind of realisation – to check that it was Grace outside;  A few moments where he is more than passively feeling for what’s in the next room.  Just like straining to hear something faint, or squinting to make out some fine details, all he concentrates on is that sixth sense that Resonance washes over.

Those moments taken, Alex doesn’t turn about and head back upstairs.  He pushes through the doors, letting them swing and slow to a stop behind him, and walks past the desk to meet Grace.  He flashes the officer on the desk a brief smile as he passes.

“Hi Grace.  You’re maybe not the last person I’d expect to see here, but it’s still a surprise.  What can I do for you?”

Grace
She leans back off the wall when he shows up, gives him a smile. "I wanted to talk. About that discussion we had a few nights ago."

Meaning, probably best not to do it here. But you know, maybe they can just continue using codewords.

"I know, police departments are so my usual haunt right? I came anyway, because this is important. You are important."

Officer Brandt
“Yeah, that.  The thing I was trying to avoid dragging anyone else into.”  Alex sighs, looking around the front office.  The officer behind the desk looks away just before he catches her eye.  His gaze lingers on the cameras around the room.  When he’d been talking with Sasha on the range, it hadn’t been too hard to mask their conversation from the ever-watching eyes with walls and partitions.

His gaze passes over a couple of doors on a different wall to the benches, areas where things can be talked about more privately.  Still monitored by CCTV, though.  Not that it would (probably) be any great stretch for Grace to kill the camera, but would that leave clues for any Agents who happened to pass through to find.

He growls quietly, although mostly at his frustration about the situation he seems to have found himself in.  If he was being watched, how close was the monitoring?  He hadn’t noticed anything.  And other than his previous visitor and Sasha, he hadn’t picked up on anyone else around the station that seemed to be even remotely Awake.

“We can talk in there.”  Alex nods towards one of the doors, left ajar to show its availability before moving towards it.  He slides in, holding the door open and letting Grace pass before pushing it closed behind them.  “We’ve had a few problems with the camera in here; maintenance can’t seem to trace the problem.  It just cuts out now and again.”  His eyebrows raise a little, hoping the hint wasn’t too subtle.

There’s a metal table in the room with a couple of metal chairs, all fastened to the floor.  The black dome of a CCTV camera lurks in one corner.  The walls are a depressing, uniform institutional off-white but are otherwise unadorned.  Frosted glass in the door lets a little light in from outside, but otherwise the room is lit by a faintly-buzzing fluorescent strip light secured in the ceiling behind wire netting.

Grace
Usually, when one hears of the cameras mysteriously going out in a police station, it's because the officers destroyed some evidence. A prisoner ended up dead, and they need to disguise the fact that they 'let off some steam' on the guy right before he died of totally natural causes. Grace frowns a bit, but doesn't eye the black dome.

"I'll go in later and make sure that camera looks like it malfunctioned," Grace says, low-voiced so as not to be picked up on microphones.

"Look. Alex. You don't take on something like this alone. And I'll tell you why. You'll lose. And that is more a threat to the rest of us than anything," she says, and pulls her phone out from her coat, making sure to point its screen away from the camera.

She's going to finish what she started -- looking into his every detail to see if they have already done something horrible -- messed with his mind or his body or whatever. Starting with the most vulnerable target...

"Why don't you tell me exactly what happened? What did this person look like?"

[Mind 1: You're still Alex, right? Nothing to see here?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Officer Brandt
[Still Aware?  Ditching the Arcane penalty, given she's stood right in front of him and not trying to make herself scarce]

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

Officer Brandt
[Either nobody had been fiddling with Alex's mind, or they were more skilled or subtle about it than she's able to pick up.]

Alex chooses to lean against a wall, back to the camera.  This isn’t a formal thing; it’s just a personal friend of his stopping by to ask about something.  So it shouldn’t look odd that they aren’t necessarily sat at the table, or that he hasn’t asked anybody else to step in.  But, then, that’s what the cameras were there for:  gradual cuts – efficiency savings - to departmental funding have eaten into sworn officers, replacing them with civilians and volunteers.

“Hell, I’m not trying to take anything on.  Right now, I just want to lie low and disappear from anyone’s notice.  I haven’t done anything particular exciting since I sent you guys that message, beyond come to work, go home, and some pretty ordinary leisure pursuits.  And that’s why I’ve stayed damned clear of anyone and anywhere that might be of interest.”

There’s another sigh as Alex sinks a little on the wall, but he looks up at Grace as he feels... something.  There’s the bending of reality, but not in a way that he recognises.  It’s not hard to guess what Grace might be doing – either scanning the room for bugs, checking if they’re being observed by less orthodox means, or looking at him in ways that he can’t recognise.  Hell, he’d probably be doing the same.  Alex is less concerned about being heard than being observed by the camera, but his own voice drops and becomes quieter, and a whole lot more serious.  “Do whatever you need to, but stay the fuck out of my mind.”  He knows that he can’t stop her if she tried – hell, he probably wouldn’t ever realise if she was – but that’s one limit that he isn’t willing to knowingly let others pass.  He’d told Sera to get out of his mind when she’d tried to show him her wonder.  He makes the same request of Grace.

There’s a half-hearted shrug, whatever will happen will happen.  He trusts her to respect his privacy – hadn’t she always been clear about that – but that still doesn’t stop him asking.

“The day after I sent the message, I had a phone call from a woman.  She knew my name, she knew that I’m a cop, and she knew about the guy.”  Kozlowski.  The poor bastard who had been sliced open in his own home.  “If that wasn’t as suspicious as hell, she showed up here after that and asked for me.  She seemed to know an awful lot about me, given that I’d never so much as heard from her before.  And hey, here she is, searching for me straight after I’d tripped over something strange.

“As for what she looked like...  About 5’7, dark skin, dark hair and eyes.  Well dressed, well made-up.  Some kind of foreign accent, maybe Africa somewhere.”

There’s a pause.  “She gave her name.  I’d have tried to look her up if I wasn’t worried about tripping over some kind of monitoring or alarm.  Ms Ghali.”

Grace
What Grace is doing isn't quite... getting inside his mind. It's more pointed than that. She's not digging into his natural mental state, just specifically looking to see if it's been altered. And it hasn't. "Well, you should be happy to know your mind has not been messed with," she says, still looking into her phone. "By anyone. And that's all that I was looking for."

Grace looks up from her phone at the description of who Alex is talking about. She shuts everything down and rubs her eyes. "I know who that is. She's one of us."

Jesus Fucking Christ. Ihsan?

"First, I want to apologize. I should have called you first or something. I was working with Mike and I told him about... everything. Ihsan is a student of his. Ihsan Ghali. So. Congratulations, everything's cool."

But the way she says that? Everything's cool? Everything's not cool. She is apologetic there, for just assuming things would be fine. But Ihsan too? She couldn't have explained herself at all to Alex?

Officer Brandt
I know who that is.  She’s one of us.

“What?”

There are times when Alex’s resonance seems somehow... fitting.  When he’s trying to push other people away because he doesn’t know how to deal with something.  When he’s feeling, for want of a better word, righteous.    And, now, when he’s pissed.  That single word comes out cold, frigid.

Alexander is quiet as he listens to what there is of an explanation.  And he stays quiet, watching Grace for a while after.  It could be that he’d trying to choose what to say, or it could be that he’s mentally counting to some arbitrary number before he trusts himself to speak.  Maybe it’s both.

When he does speak, he’s very quiet.  Measured.  Cold.  “I’ve cut myself off from everything and everyone because nobody thought to tell me what was going on.  I’ve spent nearly a month looking over my shoulder, not doing anything that might draw any more attention to myself than I already do.  I’m warned about Union agents appearing in the department, and then I get a mystery, Awakened woman asking for me straight after a murder where the killed vanished into thin air.  Nothing at all suspicious there that might attract unwanted attention.

“And you want to congratulate me?  No, everything is not fucking cool.“

He pauses again, for a heartbeat and a breath.  “She’s dealt with, right?  The murderer? “

Grace
Time was, Grace would be terrified of an angry cop having taken her into a back room with a faulty camera and loosing some rage on her. That time has passed. She just lets him speak, and then, when he asks that question, she nods.

"Yes. I explained it all on Ginger, but I guess you'd broken your phone by then. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were so out of the loop. If I had, I would have been there."

This is why we tell people important pieces of information. This is why we don't isolate ourselves. Lessons for everyone, right?

Officer Brandt
Alexander is angry.  Pissed, even.  But Grace wasn’t in any real, physical danger from him.  Hell, she was probably more capable of defending herself than he was.  At least with her phone in reach.

Grace had said that he’s important, but really?  How important must he feel right now, knowing that he’d been an oversight.  Oh, all very important when people were asking for information.  But then hardly important if it had been weeks since he’d dropped out of all communication and nobody had thought to check he was even still breathing.  Oh, he’d been making himself scarce, but Grace had just shown how easy it was for anyone who knew much about him to find him.

Grace says the murders were dealt with.  Alexander nods.  “Good.  Then you don’t need anything more from me.  Goodbye, Grace.”

Alexander pushes off from the wall and starts for the door.

Grace
She nods back at him. "Okay. One more thing, before you go. The one who physically performed the murders was... not himself at the time. He was under the influence of a Nephandus. That Nephandus is dead. My number's 314-1957 if you want to know more. I figure you might have lost all your contacts. If you ever need me --"

The sentence goes unfinished. As steady as her voice is, it's obvious she's upset. Doesn't meet his eyes. Seems defeated, almost. She doesn't finish the sentence before she turns and walks out.

That Nephandus is dead. But not the murderer.

Well, now she knows that Alex would rather handle any and everything on his own. He won't think he needs her until it's too late. Too bad for him that Grace lets people make their own decisions up to the point where they become a threat.

All she offers are choices. Call or don't.

Officer Brandt
Alexander pauses, almost to the door – hand outstretched to grab the handle – when Grace throws the last pieces of information at him.  Grace sees his head cock to the side as she says himself, maybe something doesn’t quite match up as he’d been calling the murderer she in their last couple of meetings.  But in the end, Grace says it’s dealt with.  The Nephandus was dead.  It’s over.

“I know where to find you.  Be seeing you.”  He’s still facing the door, so she won’t see his face as he pushes her away.  Doesn’t see that his eyes close and he sighs, although she’ll see the sagging of his shoulders as he exhales.

It had been mentioned at least once that he’s probably too new, too weak, too inexperienced – too unimportant – to be of any particular interest to anyone.  Maybe he was better off without the community dragging him into the latest disaster.

Only time would tell.

He opens the door and leaves without another word, headed into the back offices of the station.

Alex and the Fake Technocrat

Alex
It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, but it looked like it soon would be.  It’s late afternoon and the light of day is already starting to wane, the clouds speeding overhead blocking much of the sunlight and making the day seem darker that it should be.  To the west, the division between mountain and sky is blurring as snow falls thickly.  The rain hasn’t yet arrived over Washington Park.  People are already beginning to make their way home, to escape the oncoming blizzard before it hits.  What few families and runners and other random people usually found in the city parks are starting to make their way home, or at least to somewhere warmer and more sheltered.

The park has been something of a magnet for the supernatural over the past year or so, but it hasn’t done too much to discourage many of those who are aware of such things from coming here.  Perhaps because it’s just as much a magnet for more positive meetings amongst the Awakened.  So it’s maybe not surprising to find Alexander here.  He’s away from his usual hangout, though.  Away from the lake where he’d met the Message twice.  Away from the basketball courts.  Away from the patch of trees where he’s played Hide and Seek not so long ago.

He’s there, though, near one of the stone circles that have been scattered around for people to light fires.  There’s a small fire flickering away, flames buffeted by the slowly building wind.  Alexander is dressed for the weather – heavy jacket, hiking trousers, walking boots.  He’s sat on a folded-up blanket, protecting him from the wet and the cold of the ground, and there’s a rucksack sat on the ground close by.  His attention is on the fire, arms outstretched as he absent-mindedly warms them near the flames.

Ian
Winter has arrived early this year. The wide open vistas of Washington Park lie still in the fading light, blanketed with layers of new-fallen snow. By the time Ian gets there it's cold enough to warrant proper winter attire. Cold enough, in fact, that most of the park's visitors have surrendered the fight to the elements and gone to warm up indoors. Its that relative emptiness that attracts Ian to the park tonight. When he arrives he leaves his car underneath the same streetlamp that he once damaged (on purpose, and for entirely selfish reasons.) That was nearly a year ago now, and the bulb has long-since been replaced.

He makes his way through the park along one of the winding paths, hands in the pocket of his coat as he watches the sky shift from blue to grey. Delicate flakes of snow descend around him in a lazy pattern, cast about by a drifting breeze. Elsewhere in the city, hoards of Black Friday shoppers are bustling their way through the city's packed malls and crowded parking lots, but here in the park those things seem a thousand miles away.

Eventually the orange glow of a small fire appears in his field of vision. Ian glances toward it and recognizes Alexander's shape in the snow. The other Orphan feels very much as though he belongs here - the crystalline, frozen quality of his resonance blends with the scent of ice in the air. Ian takes a moment to consider the picture from a distance before turning off the path.

He doesn't try to hide his steps today, so Alex will likely hear him approaching. His shoes crunch quietly in the snow as he approaches from the back. When he arrives, he comes to a stop beside the fire, glancing between it and Alexander. He's dressed in jeans, dark boots (heritage Redwings,) and a sheepskin-lined leather coat, with a pale grey cashmere slouch beanie hat. There are leather gloves on his hands too, but he pulls them off to crouch down and stretch his hands over the flames.

"All alone today?"

Grace
[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Grace
She doesn't really want to get out of the car.

Inside the car, it's warm and dry. There's no snow on the inside. Things are as they should be. Outside, well... It is Winter in Denver, and this does not bode well.

However, as she was driving along this afternoon, trying to pick up some things while the roads were still somewhat okay to drive on, she found some... interesting sensations in the direction of Washington Park. Normally, that would be a concern, except that she has a sense for who they might belong to.

Is it enough to brave the outside? Well, she hasn't seen Alex in forever...

Shortly after Ian arrives, so does Grace, with a scarf wrapped about her head, and her red coat all buttoned up, her hands shoved in there like she'd rather layer as much as possible.

"Mmm, it doesn't look like it from here? Hi Ian. Alex. 'Sup?"

Alex
Ever since that eventful day nearly two years ago now – no longer New Last Thursday – there had been something of an affinity between Alexander and the winter climate of the city.  He had always been something of an outdoors person – much happier walking, running, hiking, climbing – than someone who vegetated in front of the TV.  But since he’d opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, since his Awakening had marked him with his resonance, it just seemed like he fit better.

So here he perches, alone and seemingly unbothered by either the solitude or the climate.   But, then, he was dressed for the weather and he’d cut off much of his link to the other Awakened in the city when he’d received an unexpected phone call.  That had been reinforced when that woman had shown up at his place of work, unexpected and unannounced.  And seemingly well informed about what he’d been looking into just a short time before.  It had seemed safer to stay away from the Chantry, the Warehouse…  To be as ordinary as he could.

Alexander looks up from the fire as he hears the sound of footsteps in the snow.  His had started to fade, covered by the light snowfall that held the promise of what was to come over the next few hours.  His attention shifts to Ian, weighing and judging his arrival in his mind, deciding whether to stay or go.  For the moment, he stays.  His reply catches on a breath, frozen on his tongue, as Grace arrives too.  This probably wasn’t the greatest of places to be if he wanted to stay away from the others, but then it had been weeks since he’d even set eyes on another Awakened.

“Given some of the crap that’s been going on recently, it seemed like a good idea.  How’ve you guys been?”

Ian
[Awareness]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Ian
[and alertness]

Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (2, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Ian
It's been a while since Ian's seen most if the other Awakened himself. They do that sometimes: flow together, drift apart. Life is often like that. He doesn't feel Grace approaching the same way he felt Alex, but he picks up the sound of her steps in the snow and glances back over his shoulder to make note of her. The red of her jacket catches his focus for a moment before he turns back to the fire.

"Mm, you may not be wrong about that." He notes ambiguously to Alex. He tilts his head to regard Grace, a faint slip of a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "That's a loaded question, these days." (Asking them how they've been.) "All things considered, they could be worse." He glances back at Alexander. "I've been trying to enjoy my last few days off before I go on tour for a month. You?"

There's a brief pause before he adds, "Mind if I commandeer some of your blanket?"

Grace
"Loadiest of questions," Grace says, sighs dramatically -- a bit too dramatic for her to really mean it. "Chasing after a Nephandus did wonderful things for my psyche, I'll have you know." But not so much that she seems especially bothered.

She gives a smile to Alex, a welcoming thing, even if she's not going to request to share his blanket. He really thinks being alone will save him from evil things? Is that it? My my...

"Everything's pretty calm now, though. Wonder how long that will last..."

Oh, enough time to have some good holidays, right? Right?

Alex
“Nothing loaded into the question, although I guess that doesn’t make it any simpler to answer sometimes.  Hope you’re enjoying the free time.”  Alex shifts unfolding the blanket some more.  There’s less protection from the ground – the snow would melt through before too much longer, but then the blizzard would most likely have arrived by then – but it does give enough space for three to sit without getting cold, wet asses.  “Where are you touring?”

Grace gives Alex a smile, but it’s barely returned.  Maybe it’s just the talk of the Fallen.  “Is she still out there?  Or has that whole thing been taken care of now?”

Ian
This kind of news tends to make the rounds in Awakened circles. Ian hasn't spoken to Grace in weeks (months?) but he's more aware of everything that occurred than Grace may realize he is. When Alex asks her if everything's been taken care of, he gives Grace the space to answer for herself, his expression quietly cryptic and withdrawn. Alex unfolds a section of the blanket and Ian sits down on it, draping his arms loosely over his knees. The cold air bites at his unprotected hands, but the heat from the fire is enough to keep the worst of it at bay. Alex is a solid, grounded presence beside him. It isn't altogether unwelcome, though the two of them would probably not call each other friends - not yet, at least.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and have a calm winter," he offers to Grace, though he knows the chances of that are unlikely.

To Alex he says, "We're hitting a bunch of cities. Vegas to start, then LA. After that, you'll have to consult my calendar."

Grace
"I put a message up on Ginger. Yeah, the situation's... about as taken care of as it can be."

Mike told her about how just killing The Artist wouldn't be enough. They'd show up again, someday. Reincarnated. The whole thing makes about as much sense to Grace as being reborn does, which is to say -- not much. But whatever. That particular thing will be quiet. For now.

"No more chimeras. No more serial murder sprees." The latter performed by a man who swept her off her feet when she didn't even know sweeping was possible. But she's not telling them about that.

Alex
“If I had anything to drink, I’d toast to a calmer winter.”  Alex snorts at the thought, though.  As if the world gives a damn that they wanted a bit of time to rest before the next end of the world.  “Sounds like whoever planned the tour doesn’t like being cold.  Is Hawaii in the itinerary too?”

Ah, Ginger.  The indispensable messaging service for the Awakened that, sadly, relies on them having some way of calling into it.  “That’s good to know.  I’ve not been on Ginger in a while.  My phone met an untimely end.”  Alex sighs, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them.  “I think the fans of dark suits and mirrored sunglasses were getting a little too close, so I thought it best to destroy it.  One of them came to talk to me, seemed to know a lot about my business.

“So, yeah.  It seemed best to avoid dragging any attention closer to you guys than I had to.  That’s why I haven’t been by the office in a while.”

Ian
No more serial murder sprees. For the moment, anyway. Ian watches Grace while she speaks, his eyes tracking the details of her face - the subtle shifts in her expression. Almost, he starts to say something, but then Alex asks if he's heading to Hawaii and mentions, a little too casually, that he had a run-in with a (supposed?) Technocrat.

Ian turns his head a bit suddenly, regarding Alexander with an expression of muted alarm. "Wait, what? That's not... they don't just stop by for chats, Alex. They either watch you, abduct you or kill you."

See, he can't really connect the dots. What he knows about the Technocracy versus what Alexander just told him. But either way, the news is more than a little alarming.

"What happened? What did they want to talk to you about?"

Grace
"Holy shit, Alex, what?" is Grace's reaction in a nutshell. All the sudden, that quiet time she was looking for just flew out the window.

And, she goes silent as a hand comes out of her coat pocket with her phone in it, and she begins to Work. If there are Technocrats after Alex, she'll want to be sure he isn't being watched right now. Or set to explode. Or any number of things.

[Corr 1: Any tracking devices in the area eh? Actually no, I know there shouldn't be, but that's the first thing to check...]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Alex
“A mutual friend warned me of some unwelcome guests trying to get friendly with the admin staff.”  He’s talking to the fire more than to the others.  “Not long after I let you guys know about the case I’d walked in on, I got a phone call from someone I didn’t know.  She knew my name and she knew the name of the guy involved in the case.  That was about the time that my phone met the shredder.

“Then the day after that, this woman just appears and asks for me.  Says she wants to help me, but wouldn't say how.  She wanted to get me alone.  I refused, she left, and I’ve not heard anything from her since.  But that’s why I’ve been so keen to be alone for a while and trying to be a good little Sleeper.”

Alex looks to Ian, then to Grace.  “I’m not even sure talking to you now is the greatest of ideas ever.   I should probably go, but you said I should let you guys know if I thought one was getting close.  I would have, if I’d had any way of contacting you that couldn’t be easily traced.”

Ian
Ian watches Grace pull out her phone. He has a rough inkling of what she might be doing, and it seems to relax him slightly. If there was anyone in Denver who could pick out some kind of high-tech spying device, it would be Grace. When she doesn't voice any immediate warnings, he turns his attention back to Alexander, listening while he explains the details of his encounter.

It isn't much to go on really. Ian's expression shifts into a pensive frown as he glances at the fire.

"Maybe she was trying to feel you out. See if you'd make a good recruit, or something." It isn't entirely out of the scope of possibility. Alex is, after all, unaffiliated. And new enough that he probably doesn't present much of a threat in their eyes. Still, the behavior feels odd. More like something a solo agent would do than someone working for a vast network.

He glances back at Alex, and there's a soft crease of tension between his eyebrows. "Or maybe she isn't what you think she is."

Grace
"Well, I don't think you're being tracked," Grace says, mumbles really, into her phone.

"You said she was asking about the Kozlowski case?" she asks, a little more loudly. But she's still messing with her phone.

Maybe it wasn't Alex they were looking for, but Mike. And... okay, yeah, that would look exceptionally bad wouldn't it? And Technocrats wouldn't be the ones to take 'It was one of my past lives' as an excuse.

"Also, do you mind if I scan your body for other nasty things?"

Alex
“I honestly don’t know what she is.  She didn’t say, but then she wouldn’t would she.  All I know is that she had my name, she had my number, she knows where I work, and she knows about a case I’d only just tripped over.”

Alexander’s attention shifts from the flames to Grace when she mentions the name.  “Yeah.  She knew the name, and that hadn’t been released to the press at the time.  That’s just one of the things that have been worrying me.”

He takes a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through his mouth.  “I should go.”  The decision seems to have been made already, as he pushes up from the blanket and grabs his bag.  “You probably don’t want to be around me for a while.  Enjoy the fire.  And enjoy Vegas.”  This last one, to Ian, with a vague, brief smile.

[More because I really need to crash out than anything, so apologies for bailing.]

Ian
Two years ago, if there'd been even the slightest suggestion of a possibility that Alexander might have been a target for the Technocracy, Ian would have vanished. Maybe not from the city, but certainly from Alex's life. He's alive today because there are certain risks that he never allowed himself to take.

He doesn't vanish now, but there is a quiet sort of confirmation in the absence of any objection to Alexander's claim. He gets to his feet so that Alex can reclaim his blanket, watching the man quietly as he prepares to leave.

"Hey, be careful." He says it to Alex's back as the other man starts to walk away, and something about the tone makes it sound as though he might genuinely be worried - not just for the risk Alexander might pose to the rest of them, but more specifically for Alex's own safety.

When he's gone, Ian looks down at the fire, banked low and licking lazily at the ends of charcoal-logs. He gathers up a mound of snow with his boot and kicks it over the flames until they go out. Then he slips his gloves back on.

"How's Michael, by the way?"

Grace
"No, wait, Alex! I..." Grace just breathes out her nose in a huff, because she's talking to the back of Alex's head. Well, at least she knows where he works, right? She can always stop by and... ask? At the police? For him? Yeah, okay so maybe that's not Grace's favorite thing to do ever. But like Hell is she going to let Alex handle this thing with a possible Technocrat contact all by himself.

Nor is she going to just let him isolate himself when there's likely no need. If they were after Mike? Mike's long gone. He's in L.A. and the trail of murders stopped.

Speaking of Michael, she hears the name. Ian's asking about him.

"Oh, uh. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think nothing ever got to him. More like, he doesn't let it show. He sounded good, last time I talked to him."

Ian
"Yeah, I get that."

Of course he does.

"Kiara told me you and he were sort of close." It isn't an insinuation - the truth is, she could have meant any number of things by that. Friends. Lovers. Colleagues. Ian starts to turn away from the fire pit, walking slowly through the snow. He settles his hands into his pockets, glancing at Grace as he does so. "How are you?"

Grace
Kiara. Ugh. Grace squints her eyes a bit in memory of that latest conversation with her. Of course she'd tell Ian. And is that where it's going to stop? Oh, no, it won't. Soon the whole city will know, and... and this is all crazy-talk going on in her traitorous brain. Who the fuck cares?

Ian starts off, away from her, but glances back. Asks her how she is doing.

"Talk about fucking loaded questions, Ian..."

"I'm good. Recovering from emotional rollercoasters of doom, but good."

Ian
It's the same question Alexander asked, and Grace fires back a very similar response to the one Ian initially gave. But he wasn't asking out of courtesy or small-talk. He was asking because he's worried. And maybe she'll hear that - the subtle lace of it in his voice.

Grace doesn't give him any more detailed answers than she gave earlier, though.

She doesn't try to walk with him either.

The sky is getting dark, drifting from afternoon to evening. As the light fades, more snow starts to fall. Ian stops walking and watches Grace for a long moment. It gives her the opportunity to open up more, if she chooses. But perhaps he isn't the person she'd like to open up to. So instead he nods and says "Alright. You've got my number, if you need anything."

He doesn't just mean practical things, but she may not interpret any other meaning.

"Have a good night."

And then he turns to make his way back to the trail.

HORSE

Kiara Woolfe
[Yay, people! I'm going to go type something.]

Kiara Woolfe
Fall was settling comfortably into Denver.

The trees beginning to shake off their leaves and leaving drying shells scattered over footpaths and manicured lawns the city over; the mountains turning brilliant shades of honey-gold and deep crimson red on the horizon and the weather starting to subtly shift; breezes bearing the intention of cooler days to come. Thursday afternoon in the city limits had dwindled into a pleasant, breezy affair. It was still warm enough for layers to be disguarded under the warmth of the sun, clouds scattering across its path.

Still the weather for lounging on the grassy expanses Washington Park had to offer; littered as they were of recent days with curling, crumbling leaves. You still found the poets with their heads buried in books, stretched out on the ground with their shoes beside them; feet bare to the world. Still the mothers pushing strollers along the winding pathways, dogs chasing balls and the glinting promise of the lake, birds diving and settling on its surface to glide along, shaking their feathers and dipping their faces into the water.

The face of a city that changed and within it - the ones who saw the other side. The shadows that fell, the noises and the ugly.

Kiara Woolfe wasn't to be found lounging on the grass as late afternoon sunlight slanted across it, she was on one of the park's many basketball courts, seated on the side beside a chainlink fence, tying her dark hair back, a basketball housed between her feet. She was the sole occupant of the court aside from a lone bird; perched high on the fence, watching her progress with tiny, anticipatory movements of its head. When she rose, scooping up the ball, it startled and took flight with a rustle of feathers.

Kiara moved out onto the court, the sound of the ball echoing as she began a slow circuit.

Alexander
[Awareness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Grace
[Awareness?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Grace
This place, man. This fucking place.

Last time Grace was here it was to inspect the remains of a woman-chimera with four arms who'd put a good friend into... let's say mental distress. Almost getting your face ripped off will do that to you.

Then, there was everything that happened after.

She doesn't even really know why she's here, other than perhaps something in her that wants to show the monsters who's boss. Don't show your face here anymore, right? We live here too, and we like this park.

Well, territorial, tribal ideology never sit well with Grace. She'll make an exception for dead things who like to reshape people into horrified and horrifying monsters. Call it the line beyond which Grace Evans will actually categorize a person.

Anyway, it's with that thought in mind that she's in the park today, dressed in her jeans and bite-proof grey turtleneck jacket, paying a great deal of attention to what's going on around her (while simultaneously shoving her head in her cell phone and walking). She hears the basketball. She feels the pulse of the world. She looks up, and starts toward the court.

Kiara Woolfe
[Awareness, perhaps?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Kiara Woolfe
[All of time and space is the Verbena's.]

Alexander
[Because I need to know if he fluffs or not for the post...  Arete: Spirit 1, Entropy 1.  Sensing the gauntlet, looking for weakness.  Coincidental, TN4.  +1 for trying something new, -1 for taking his time.]

Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Kiara Woolfe
[Playin' some ball. Dex + Ath.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Alexander
Kiara may not have been drawn here to lounge on the grass, but Alexander?  Well, that’s exactly where he can be found.  Not so far away, at a familiar spot near the lake, he’s lying on the grass.  It’s not particularly uncommon to find him here, although his visits maybe aren’t quite as frequent as they used to be.  There’s still hope in the visits, though.  Hope that he’ll meet someone again, hopefully in better circumstances.  Until he learns how to do more than look into the spirit world, this is the best chance he has for that meeting.

He seems to be watching the lake, but that isn’t really where his attention is at the moment.  The bottle of water that he’s slowly turning over and over in his hand might, to those who know him and how he Works, give the hint that his attention is elsewhere.  There’s also a frigid, frozen chill in the air around him as his will bends reality just a little.  Not enough to do anything obvious to those who aren’t attuned to such things.  Just enough to deepen his awareness of the border of this world and its mirror.  Scratching at the boundaries, looking for areas of strength and weakness.

He’s there for a while before other sensations start to make their selves known.  The pulse of the world not so far away.  The razor edge of fluttering wings.  The gathering of Awakened.  Letting go of the effect, he pushes up from the grass and heads towards the basketball court to meet the familiar – and not as familiar – presences.

Dan
Tall guy in black skinny jeans, a fitted flannel shirt open over a t-shirt.  Blond hair, blond beard, hints of tattooes flashing at cuffs and collar like the evidence of ink on a scrivener's hand.  He has a battered leather bag slung across his tall, spare frame and is walking with a long-haired brunette in a flowing, flowered skirt that billows in the wind.  She, in turn, is walking this bright yellow-and-orange fixed gear bicycle along the path.   Has a basket on the front and paperflowers woven into the weave.

He's smoking a cigarette.  Well, maybe it's a cigarette, except she asks for a drag and he gives it to her while they stand at a cross-roads, looking not-at-all like park-people.  He catches a glimpse of Grace or maybe of Kiara, though.  Takes back the cigarette and touches the brunette's shoulder and says something low by way of farewell.  She climbs on the bicycle, nevermind the way her skirt blows in the high plains wind, and keeps on going.  He turns and lifts a hand toward - well, someone.  Maybe a couple of someones.  Maybe whoever will return it.

"Grace," Dan says, overtaking her with his long strides and lanky frame.  Then, "Kiara," when they reach the basketball court.  Listens to that peculiar ring of the ball against the court - elastic and resonant, all at once.  Taut.
"Fancy a game of HORSE?"
Wry grin at Grace.  Maybe a challenge.



River Vasquez
River doesn't know anyone here except Farrah. They haven't been to the park together but they have gone and gotten a new wardrobe. She's got a couple job applications tucked into her oversized purse and there she is, walking around the park with a pair of awfully high heels thrown into her purse so she can walk around and enjoy the feeling of the ground on her feet. It was starting to get cold, too. Or, at least, colder than the perpetually perfect San Diego.

Her hips swayed when she walked, exaggerated and like she was bopping along to some song that was playing in her head. The strut said it all: River was bouncing along to the Beegees Stayin' Alive. She doesn't really care where she's walking, just that she is walking and then this: she notices the sound of people on the basketball courts. She doesn't know who they are, but she is curious enough that she wouldn't mind seeing what tthey were doing.

A heel turn and redirection later, the dark-haired woman bops down the way to see people. She's got on yoga pants. Yoga pants and an oversized shirt and a sports bra that is more restrictive than a sportsbra has any right to be. No sir, nothing on River Vasquez was moving unless she damned well wanted it to.

And thus, the ball of sunshine bops over to the basketball courts.

Grace
"Neiiigh?" Grace says, flashes Dan a smile. "Oh, wait. That sounds like no. I mean, yes. Unless that means you want me to ride you, in which case -- no."

She quirks her head, though not at anything in particular. Maybe analyzing her own speech for its utter strangeness. "How do you play horse? Also, hi Kiara."

Hi, sunshine. Well, that's different. Grace turns away from the court, looks the new one up and down. There, a little tick of the head upwards, like 'hey'.

Kiara Woolfe
The brunette navigates the court at a slow jog, bouncing the ball between her hands. She's a lean creature, the Verbena, with finely shaped features and dark, expressive eyes. She feels a little like a fixed pulse to the world and a lot more like the first flush of exhilaration. Nature in perpetual motion, that's the sense Kiara Woolfe gives as she lobs the ball toward the ring and watches the neat arc it cuts through the air, watches it hit the ring and wobble inside.

There's a flash of teeth at that, a private (or so she believes in the moment) surge of satisfaction.

She's dressed as much for the occasion as the weather, the pagan, in a pair of soft grey sweatpants that are tied loosely at her hips; in a fitted shirt that adheres to the curve of her spine; her middrift is bear where it cuts off and the dark lines of a tattoo are visible, teased at the edges where the hem rises as she reclaims her ball and turns to sight the sensations creeping along her skin.

The bite of Alexander, the shifting, keen sensation of Grace. Others, too. Some Kiara can't instantly place, that has her pause. Raises a hand to cover her eyes and look across the rolling slope of a hill, beyond the fence and the dappling surface of the water. The ball is tucked under an arm and she's still in transit as Dan appears, as they're greeting her.

"Hey Grace, Dan." There's a flush of color in the Verbena's cheeks, it suits her alarmingly well. "Do something fancy, shoot for the hoop. Next in line has to copy you or create their own." She raises her eyebrows in Dan's direction, gently directs her ball his way with a dragging edge of a smile.

"You can lead us off if you want. Show us what you've got."

Dan
"I'm not one to insist on universalizing my own experiences," says Dan, and maybe he's smirking a bit behind the shadow of his beard, while also rather precisely pinching off the cherry of his cigarette(?) and then stomping the ember to ash beneath the heel of his Converse All-Stars.  He's wearing them for fashion, not function.  That smirk mingles with a vague, bemused grin.  " - but, you've never played HORSE?"

A lift of his chin, wordlessly returning Kiara's greeting.  Falls silent as she explains then game, then reaches out to take the basketball as Kiara passes it his way.

Those are musician's hands, not a ball handler's, but still.  Can't be a lanky guy from middle-America without playing some basketball, someday, somewhere.

"You do a 'round, repeat the last shot.  If you make it, great.  If you miss it, you get a letter.  Once you've spelled HORSE, you're out.  Last person standing wins."

He takes a minute to lift his leather bag over his body and set it carefully aside, then gives the basketball a few experimental dribbles, hand-to-hand before shaping a drive toward the basket.

First shot is simple: a lay-up.

Dan
Dan retrieves the ball as it comes through the basket and passes it to Grace.

Dan
(Lay-ups are easy, dif 4 if you guys wanna roll!)

Alexander
Alexander wanders over with no great rush.  There doesn’t seem to be any great disaster at this exact moment, nothing that needs to be rushed towards or away from.  And let’s be honest here, he is more likely to be rushing towards it – partly in case anyone else is in danger, partly because he’d just want to know what was happening.  Apparently he thinks the cat just got unlucky.

Yes, Alexander heads towards the court.  He’s not dressed particularly differently from the others this afternoon.  He wasn’t unfamiliar with colder climes, so the trousers favoured by the others are replaced by cargo shorts.  The guy seems to like his pockets.  Above that, a black sleeveless tshirt covered by a red flannel shirt, worn open and untucked and drifting vaguely in the breeze.  Some walking boots and a rucksack, now shouldered, completed his attire for the moment.  It wouldn’t be entirely surprising to find him with something tucked away for if the weather changes for the worse, though.  He’s lived here long enough.

He pauses at the gate to the court to watch what’s happening, and to wait to be noticed.  As if they wouldn’t have picked up on his approach any more than he picked up on their presence here.  But he doesn’t want to distract anybody from their shot.

Kiara Woolfe
[I just like rolling to see how badly the dice roller crushes my dreams. Hup, hup. Lay up.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN4 (1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 10) ( success x 4 )

River Vasquez
[awareness: are these *gasp* unique people?]

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

River Vasquez
[and for you arcane 1 people]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

River Vasquez
She is bright, a literal brightness that comes with warmth, that comes with the first rays of the sun that come back and fight their way through the vestiges of winter. There's a sort of determination that comes with those first sprouts of life that poke through the snow, something that is intent on becoming more than just grass.

But the other woman acknowledges her, the one who doesn't quite ping on River's senses as well as one would imagine, but we digress. She runs her hands over the rail, looks back when she feels the pull of something frozen on her senses. She turns around, regards the other stranger in a sea of them. She smiles, something bright and relaxed.

"The game just started," she said in a voice that has a fair bit of an accent. More Cuba than United States, but very familiar with English.

Grace
Ooh. Game. Some sort of sportsball game. Right. Horse.

Grace bounces the ball on the court, eyes flitting to the cold spire of Alex, and she smiles at him. Then, it's time to earn her letter. Or not. Who knows, she might just do the thing right.

She walks up to the spot where Dan shot from, and peers up at the hoop.

"Well, I didn't spend a lot of time outside when I was a kid. Jumping chollas and oppressive heat will do that to you," Grace says, and she doesn't follow that up with 'oh yeah, and none of the other kids would play with me', but there is that too. She has people to play with now, so. What does it matter?

[Dex + Ath = copying Dan's layup!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN4 (1, 1, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
Not bad, nope. Went through the hoop at least. Grace assumes that counts, and picks up the ball to throw it to Kiara.

Kiara Woolfe
There are days when Kiara feels acutely connected to the world around her. Feels the way every tiny hair on her body reacts to stimuli: the sun, the gentle, curling breeze, the brush of fingers, the rough give of her basketball. The awareness of others, like her, who were at once a part of and more to all of it. She feels it today, beneath the afternoon light. The prickle of her senses - a hand raising to cup the back of her neck and she twists in a slight, fluid motion to watch Alexander's approach.

The edge of her mouth retains that same smile she'd offered Dan not a few heartbeats ago.

"Hey," she's studying Alexander now, her dark eyes absorbing a hundred tiny details about the man she knew by sight, by sense, but barely at all. The frozen lake in winter. She gestures at his rucksack, resting over a shoulder. "Unburden yourself and come join the game. I'm ambitious enough to want to see how I rank against everyone, today." Her smile widens and a dimple flashes into a cheek. "It's the day for it."

Then, warmth. Inviting and bone deep.

She turns to River, inclines her head. Her hand falling away. "It has," agreement, consideration. "You're welcome to join too, if you want." This briefest tick of eyes over her figure and she turns back in time to catch the ball lobbed her way by Grace. She moves across to take up the other woman's place, canting a little smile sidelong as she does. "Not bad, Evans."

Then, her face adopts a slightly more focused expression, eyes on the hoop, her entire body sings with it. The anticipation of landing the shot. When she makes it, her shirt lifts enough to reveal the full design of that tattoo on her lower back, a spiraling shape with a line cut through it. It gives the impression of something vaguely oriental, some designation or belief inked into the pagan's skin.

Her shot sinks into the hoop neatly and Kiara makes a tiny hop-step of satisfaction.

Dan
They're all Special People, resonant, the signature of their magic charging the air around them so distinctly and assuredly.  All Special except for the guy with the roughly worked head of blond hair and the wallet chain and on and on and on.  Him?  He's ordinary.

Gives Grace an ordinary little grin/smirk in response to her ellipses of understanding.  Then gives her a few beats of applause when she makes the lay-up.  Watches the ball as she passes it to Kiara then his eyes cut back to Grace as she walks or maybe-jogs across the court and out of Kiara's way.  Drops his mouth to Grace's ear and mutters something.

(Muttered: "It's all physics, Grace.")

Which he knows would never make sense to Sera, who does not believe in physics.  He figures Grace does, though.

"Game just started," the guy affirms to River, either in echo of overlay of Kiara's statement.  "No one has an H yet."  Is: retrieving the ball from beneath the basket or maybe wherever it rolled after that shot - bending low and scooping it up with long-fingered and rather deft hands, tossing it back and forth like he's deciding whether or where to go when his phone rings.

Or rather: his phone starts playing the opening riff to The Breeders' Cannonball.

Which means: his phone rings.

He has the presence of mind to toss the ball in Alexander's direction (hey! join the game!) even as he's reaching for the phone in his back pocket.  Pulling it out, putting it to his ear.  Maybe he gives them a gotta get this but isn't that obvious?

"Hey.  Where the fuck are you?" He might be overheard saying as he walks off,  pausing only long enough to grab the bag he dropped off when he stepped onto the court.

Alexander
[Catch!  Dex/Ath]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

Alexander
When Grace smiles, Alex offers one of his own along with a small wave.  It’s a momentary thing before she turns with the ball and takes her shot.  A shot which flies straight towards the hoop and sinks in without any great drama.  A short round of applause comes from the man leaning against the gate.

“Are you sure you’re not really some kind of hustler?  Trying to persuade us just how bad at this you are before you come up with ways to make it more interesting?”  He’s smiling as he makes the joke – and it is a joke – to take any sting out of the jibing.

River gets some amount of attention.  More attention than the game gets, really.  As if the standard weirdness around the city wasn’t enough, there was also the prospect of Union become more of a feature.  And look, here’s a complete stranger who just happens to wander up to them.  Hmm.

The game’s just starting, and there’s an invitation to join.  Hell, there’s even a ball flying in his direction just as he’s shrugging the back off of his shoulder.  There’s a flurried movement as he brings a hand up to block the ball from hitting him while trying to unravel his shirt from the bag strap, but he gets free just in time to grab the ball with both hands after a near fumble.

Bag sat just inside the gate, Alexander bounces the ball towards the stranger.  “After you.”  If she does have anything untoward planned, there would be four-now-three of them against one.  But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he relaxes just yet.  Not until he gets a better feel for her.

Ahh, paranoia.

River Vasquez
Kiara says she can join, and her face lights up. The young woman, who seems to be very much averse to the idea of shoes, takes the after you offered by Alexander and goes on in. She walks a little more head on, purse soon enough ditched at some location by the fence. She takes a few steps away, holds her hand out as if she was beckoning the purse to stay. Purses tended to get up and walk away in parks, you know, especially if you didn't keep an eye on them. She straightens out her oversized tee shirt (white. She's got a black bra under it but she doesn't seem to care. It matches the yogapants).

Her nails are painted dark blue.

"Thanks," she tells Alexander, and goes on to introduce herself to other people. Offers a hand to Kiara, "I'm River."

Like the water feature. Or the chick from Firefly. She gets both pretty regularly.

Grace
Grace bows for Alex, an overly-dramatic affair. However, the ball gets left without an owner, floundering around outside the court into the grass. So, she chases after it, kicks it back onto the court, in the general direction of the new girl (What, you're not supposed to kick basketballs? Whatever.)

The newcomer is named River. Interesting name. Better than Grace, for sure.

"I'm no hustler. I can't play sportsball for anything. Really."

Kiara Woolfe
Dan's phone starts to ring and he's offering the universal excuse me glances that receive a little nod from the Verbena as she moves out of the road of the approaching newcomer. "Tell Sera I said hey," is the brunette's called farewell, an absent, easy parting before Alexander is issuing accusations about hustling and Kiara's eyes, bright and playful match her glib tone.

"I'm shocked and appalled at the accusation. Now put the ball through the hoop or wear your scarlet letter." There are times when Kiara's native roots emerge, that direct, challenging New Yorker energy thrums from her as she smiles in Alexander's direction, then:

I'm River.

The stranger offers a hand, Kiara's focus shifts, down to that hand and her own clasps it. They're warm, the pagan's. Her fingers long and finely shaped, the nails carefully manicured into short, painted ends that are coated in the faintest pink shade. "Kiara. That's Grace and Alexander and thatwas Dan." This with a gesture at the tattooed man's departing figure.

"And you're up, River. Show us what you've got."

Alexander
“You protest too much!  No doubt you’re forgetting to mention that you used to be captain of the high school team.”  The smile is still there, if a little more guarded.  It’s not Grace, though.  There’s still warmth there for her.  It’s something – someone – else.  Someone apparently called River.

There’s a small nod at the mention of his name.  Thankfully given correctly, to this stranger.  He can be Alex.  To Grace, he is.  To Kiara, who he doesn’t really know yet, and to River who he’s only just met?  There’s some formality in how he prefers to be introduced and in how he prefers to keep the relationship.  Call it a quirk of upbringing.  Duzen.

For now, Alexander remains propped up against the gate post and watches.  Although, again, he’s watching River more than the actual game.  Although he is aware of it enough to follow what’s going on.

River Vasquez
[dex+athletics: allyoop!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 2, 3, 8) ( success x 1 )

River Vasquez
Once she has the ball, she looks awkwardly at the net. Bounces it a few times and looks downt o roll up her pants legs so she can actually run and dribble with the ball and, you know, actually performa  layup without falling flat on her face. The hispanic woman takes a few steps, gets her run up and then tries to make the shot into the basket.

She was not tyhe captain of her team in high school. She wasn't the captain of her team in anything, in all actuality, and she has her run up, the shot, and the basked ball bounces off the rim a couple times, wiggles and she stops and looks up with quiet schoolgirl terror at the prospect of being the first person to get a letter in the game.

"Nononononono-" aaaaaaand in the net, "yessssss!"

Hands in the air. The young woman goes to pick up the ball and holds it out to whomever is willing to take it.

"I'm better at soccer," she admits.

Grace
Grace chuckles a bit at Alex. Let's just say that if she'd known that he liked to keep it formal with his name, he'd be known as 'Al' to her from then on.

She waves at River, little smile. Not her usual exuberant 'I know you're a Mage! Let's be friends!' approach, but they are in the park after all. There's Technocrats in the city, she knows. This might as well be 2 red flags for poor River.

At least River doesn't seem to be a horrorbeast. You can never really tell...

Kiara Woolfe
There's conversations Kiara needs to have with these people. Not strictly are they ones she wants to have, but - there's an awareness there, just beneath the surface as they laugh and throw a ball around and behave, outwardly, just like any other group of young people in a park on a picturesque fall afternoon - there's things she knows that she thinks they have a right to.

The Union closing on their ranks and Alexander is savvy enough to it to keep an eye on River, who they don't know but feels like the unshakable radiance of the dawn. Kiara too, at a point, at another, watches the Hispanic female with a certain consideration. A capture through half veiled lashes, the approximation of how far the edge of the fence is; what cover the benches that dot the edge of the court would offer.

She'd walked the wilds of the Umbra not a handful of days ago but for all of that, she can't look at this stranger and know, unflinchingly, whether she was to be trusted or not.

Still, in the now, in the moment, River connects with the goal post; the ball dancing on a razor's edge around the rim before it tucks down and obediently drops through it. The precision is unsure though, it wobbles as it hits the ground and is reclaimed; Kiara, a hand at her waist, the other pushing the fall of dark bangs over her brow, walks forward to accept it.

Dribbles it a few times. "It's all in the stance. Your body translates the intention. Feet. Back. Wrist. Ball." She catches it up into her hands, the Verbena, her chin lifting a touch. "Slam dunk." She looks at River for a little lingering second, then her eyes tick to Grace. "Grace, you're up.

Time to make the shot your own."

Alexander
[Per+Alert - do we notice Kiara's checking out the lay of the land?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Alexander
Of all the times for an Awakened to be arriving in the city, this probably wasn’t one of the most auspicious.  There were strange things going on outside the city – things that he still needed to look more into.  The Union had already been spotted in the city – not by him, but by someone he trusted enough to believe.  It had been a while since things had settled down to what could be called remotely normal.  And who the hell knew when another cannibal, Fallen, Marauder, or some other form of danger would arrive to plague their lives again.

Watching the women move around the court, Alexander takes a breath and tries to mask the sigh that follows.  It wasn’t a good way to live, considering that newcomers could be the next incarnation of city-threatening evil.  But it wasn’t safe to assume the best.  Not any more.  Not if they wanted to survive.

Alexander wonders for a moment if the Verbena was guessing what was passing through his mind as she skips past him and brings Grace’s turn to shoot around again.  His gaze passes over Kiara and there’s a recognition that she isn’t quite as relaxed as she might first appear.  Her gaze wanders too, scanning the court.  Something practiced?  Perhaps.

For now, though?  He’s content to keep watching.  And idly wonder if he should start carrying a weapon off duty too.

River Vasquez
River, for her part, is clueless. She doesn't know what's gone on in this city, only the climate that she left in San Diego. Something balmy with things lurking under the surface. She doesn't know what is going on, doesn't know that the city has seen its fair share of viruses and marauders and cannibal killers- though if she did she might get sick. Though, if she did, she might understand. There's a lot of variables to have.

And River Vasquez is not offering any explanation. River Vasquez, for her part, is content to listen and take in people. Her attention stays with Kiara, takes in what she has to say about shooting a decent basket and, for what it was worth, the dark-haired woman took it at face value. They're just strangers who offered to let her play at the park with them.

They're strangers that all have something very strange in common, but at the end of the day, they're strangers.

"Your body is just an extension of the shot," she says, waits for some kind of confirmation that she understood what the woman was saying, turned her attention to Grace to see what she had up her sleeve.

For her part she seems shy, River. Doesn't seem like she's ready to dive in head first. Doesn't seem like she's going to make the first move with these people. There's a reason they're not talking about that elephant in the room, and for her part she was trying to piece out the why without having to think on it too hard.

Grace
Oh, shit.

Make it her own? Yeah, that's how the game is supposed to go, right? You get trickier...

She takes the ball from its bouncing trajectory, and ponders. Then, she lifts a leg, and thus unbalanced, tries to do that layup again.

"Then, my shot is wobbly-assed," she says.

[Diff 6 'cause one foot!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
Wobbly, but she sustains it. Huzzah! And upon capturing her wayward ball, throws it to Kiara.

Kiara Woolfe
[She shoots and ... ]

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

Kiara Woolfe
[Ooh, just.]

Kiara Woolfe
Alexander is a sentry at the gate.

He catches the dark haired Verbena assessing the risks contained about their location with eyes trained to do exactly that; glimpse the nuances of things. See the details that offered tells about a potential threat's next movement. The tick of a eye, the flex of a finger. The tension laced across shoulders. For the most part, Kiara seems at her ease but that tension is there, just beneath the surface.

Scratched aside, there's a particular care to the way she holds herself, with and without the ball in hand.

Weight balanced on her heels, her body never entirely still, moving in a gentle motion that seemed rhythmic, almost idle but for the fact it kept her muscles looser; kept her in a state of readiness for sudden action. She bends forward when Grace lines up her shot, bracing her hands on her knees, smiling with the faintest trace of competitive spark.

"Wobbly assed shot, coming up," She declares, catching the ball when Grace throws it her way. Lifting up a foot and closing one of her eyes.

She does, teeter a little.

It throws her aim a notch to one side and Kiara sets her foot down as the ball collides with the backboard heavily, then rebounds through the hoop, rolling back toward her. She jogs forward to collect it and turns, raising her eyebrows at Alexander.

"C'mon Alexander. You have to try at least one shot. Peer pressure."

Alexander
[For when he shoots...]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Alexander
He considers it for a moment.  The ball has bounced around the group of women but, apart from the brief contact when Dan was leaving, he hasn’t really been involved in the game.  He had been content to watch.  The game.  River.  Both.

He can be playful, though, and it is a temptation to join in.  Kiara seems to be comfortable enough to pull him in from his watchful position – although admittedly he is the weakest magically of all of them there, but being tackled to the ground can be somewhat disruptive to concentration – so he relents.   Maybe for the one shot, maybe for more.  Only time would tell.

So he pushes off from the gatepost and holds his hands up, ready to receive the ball from Kiara.  Expecting it this time, he easily catches it.

“Wobbly assed, gotcha.”    Walking onto the court, he lifts up one leg and closes an eye.  Just as Kiara had.  The ball flies true and, bouncing off the backboard, sinks through the net.



River Vasquez
[Can I make this shot?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

River Vasquez
She claps. Grant you, she claps after every shot, but this time it is mindful applause at what she presumed was probably a pretty hard shot. It's easy to wobble when you don't mean to wobble, but being wobbly on cue is an artform. There is the moment of applause, that passes as quickly as it goes and she does laugh.

"I have been outclassed," she announces. When the ball comes to her she looks at the little orange thing like she might want to relent and take her letter. She shakes her head, because what was the purpose of being endowed with the ability to shape the world if you're going to let a little nervousness at a basketball game define you, "I think I should put my shoes back on at some point, maybe."

But it would seem that being wobbly and off-center is really the way that River was born to play basketball and when she shoots, Miss Sunshine closes one eye and looks like she might fall over for a second but true to form the ball swishes through the net without any real problem.

Grace
Why'd Dan have to make her go first? Now she has to think of something else weird to do.

She takes up the ball, stands on one foot, and closes her eyes. Is that the way it's supposed to go? You keep adding challenges? Or... who knows. She's never played this game.

"Eyes closed. Blind shot. Here goes..."

[Diff 8, cause wobbly and blind!]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 3, 6) ( botch x 1 )

Grace
[lol]

Kiara Woolfe
[The dice gods take their first victim.]

Kiara Woolfe
[This might turn into a comedy routine. Blind shot!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 3, 3, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )

Grace
There's just something about the lobbing of the ball that destablilzes her further, and then -- with windmilling arms -- she's down. Okay, so that's an H for Grace. It's also a trip to the ground. It's a good thing she's in jeans and a toughened jacket, right? Otherwise skinned knees might have happened.

Kiara Woolfe
The Verbena is smiling when Alexander accepts her offer. He comes closer and there's a sudden whiplash to the sensations pooling in their midst. The surge of life waging war against the settling freeze of the winter and yet, for all that, she seems genuinely pleased when he makes the shot. There's a low whistle of appreciation and then soft applause for the newcomer.

"Nice."

A beat, as Grace deliberates on a new set up, Kiara's dark eyes shifting to trace over River. She turns her body a little, arms over her chest, hip cocked out. "So, River, been in Denver long?" The afternoon is wearing down, the sun diminishing slowly across the lawn; dipping behind the trees in the distance and sending dappling light dancing across the court; stretching their shadows into long, ambiguous shapes. She asks it lightly enough, the brunette, for it to seem, on the surface, perfectly straight forward.

Polite conversation between relative strangers. Polite, but for the knowledge that lay threaded beneath it. All the unspokens that may, when Grace's shot sends her toppling to the ground, be temporarily forgotten. Kiara makes a quiet noise that is somewhere between amusement and surprise - "You okay, Grace?" - as she reaches to snag the ball when it bounces along to rest near her feet, and the dismantled Disciple. According to the rules, Kiara can create (and shoot) whatever kind of shot she desires but she adopts a similar stance to the other woman and lifts the ball in her hands.

And goes still.

The pagan breathes out, her eyes closing. She lifts her opposing foot up and, after a beat - throws the ball. It's not an altogether elegant shot; the slice of it across the court is jagged but it catches at the back of the board soundly and wobbles; dropping through.

Alexander
[Crap, didn’t realise it was my go – sorry!]

Alexander winces a little as Grace goes splatting onto the ground after adding another twist to the shot.  But she seems to be ok, everything appears to still be working and moving the way it should.  Except, perhaps, her pride.  But that heals.  He does make a horse-whinney sound, masking it under a cough.  “You ok?”  He moves over and reaches out, offering a hand to help her up.

The merging and meshing of the many and varied resonances could well be jarring to someone not used to them.  Something like walking into a room with the TV and radio on full blast, with the hoover and washing machine running for added ambiance.  But maybe plenty of contact with others of, well, similar persuasions could blunt the worse of the conflicting sensations.  River doesn’t seem any the worse for it.

Whether or not Grace accepts the help up, Alexander does walk over to where the ball has rolled to a stop and picks it up.  As with Kiara, there’s still some amount of tension in his movements.  But he’s content to take part.  And it is kinda fun.  So he lines up and takes his own blind shot.

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 7, 7, 7, 7) ( botch x 1 )

River Vasquez
GRace goes toppling and River pulls her hands to her mouth, gasps like she's surprised and starts on over to try and offer the lady a hand, or at least to figure out whether or not Grace wants a hand up.

"Oh? We just moved here, my room mate Farrah and I still don't have an apartment settled out," she smiles, laughs a little and continues on. Her voice doesn't carry very well. Soft-spoken, perhaps, is the correct word, "we came from San Diego by way of Las Vegas? Bested some one-armed bandits and played a little blackjack before we got here. It was nice."

Fond, that's the way that one could describe the way that she says Farrah's name, like she likes saying it. Like having a friend here is nice because she's aware of how incredibly alone she is at this particular juncture. She then watches as another person takes their shot in quiet schoolyard horror.

"This shot is cursed," she proclaims!

Alexander
...and Alex doesn't realise that one of his shoelaces has come undone, lurking menacingly for just the right moment to pounce.  Which, rather poetically, is just as he attempts the same shot that Grace had.  Alexander steps on the lace as he takes the shot, causing him to fall forwards.  Ball forgotten in his sudden need to stop the fall, it goes bouncing off somewhere to the side.  Alex isn't quite as armoured as Grace, so he does finish landing in in a heap with skinned hands and knees.  Rolling onto his back he starts laughing, making another whinny sound.



Grace
Alex whinnies at her, and Grace squints at him in mock fury. Then, she takes his hand to get back up again. "Thanks."

Then, Kiara nails it (or at least doesn't fall down) and Alex? Ohh, that elicits a laugh, and a whinny at him in payback.

"Yeah, it's cursed, and it's your turn," Grace says, raising a challenge to River. "Man, winter is going to be murder on you. Was for me. Snow, pleh."