Ned, Be Careful.

Ned
The knock comes on whichever of however many security doors Grace has between her and the outside world and that Ned has managed to gain access to before having to Knock in the first place.

Opening the door, he is brow perked and lip pursed, hair gel'd back and flat along his scalp (contained) while the semblance of his resonance, a controlled suffocation, like a baptism or a bit of bdsm with a trusted partner, washed in ahead of him, even as the effect he'd no doubt come here within, steadily begins to diminish and dissolve.

What was once a pair of slacks and black sweater, all as non-descript as it gets, becomes a more noticeably impressive black hoodie, cut up pair of converse and dark gray jeans.

"Did what I could to mask the approach. Hope that satisfies our mutual paranoia." A pause in the doorway the brow remains perked. "What's up?"

Grace
She's been doing this a lot lately -- inviting people to this place. It's one spot she doesn't mind if the Technocrats discover. It is empty except for a past life. A Sleeper version of Grace once lived here, and she kept it around out of a desire to have a place to store her clothes. This is the backup. It doesn't seem, to Ned, that anyone actually lives here. It isn't steeped in the sharpness of a bird's wing. There is dust.

And, there is Grace, sitting on a box at a tiny table with her laptop.

"You're actually the first one to do that, and it's nice. You probably should."

She turns to him, gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, and gestures over to the 'kitchen' counter where there is a plate of store-bought cupcakes. "If you want one... you know. Protect me from having to eat them all."

Ned
"No thanks. Trying to cut back."

Smile met with a smirk, his hands vanishing into his pockets when she invites him inside. He nudges the door shut behind him and follows her into the 'kitchen' gaze travelling the length of the place and easily dismissing it as a 'hideout' rather than a home. His hands remain in his pockets and he moves to pull his hood up (all the better to keep DNA samples/fingerprints from being left anywhere).'

"I checked out your 'Wiley' at an Auction the other week. His girlfriend is actually his Fiance and the pair of them are pretty tight knit. No secrets, so they're both in on it."

Grace
She shrugs at his dismissal of cupcakes, not exactly sad that there'll be more for her. But then he follows that up with more business. He went out to talk to Wiley. Okay. Well. That's news.

"I found out something that suggests that we need to be... well. More careful. At least one of the murder victims was a secret Technocrat. They've opened up their own investigation."

"But, please tell me what you found out, if anything?"

Ned
"Shit."

Something in Ned's features falls away, pushing him internal for a moment. A hand pulls out of his pocket against better instincts and grinds fingers into his brow for a second.

"I was hoping it was them doing the killings."

It takes a moment for the information to sink in before Ned returns to the conversation  hand slipping back into his pocket, a breath puffing free of his cheeks.

"I don't have much more than that other than confirmation of everything you told me about him. Description, Fiance. They do really dangerous hunts for 'sport' and as membership events go. One of Wiley's friends own's land up near Pike Peak where he said they can go to 'practice' the hunts...which was the location of one of the murdered Victims, St Croix? Who was a member of the Order as you know."

A pause to parse through any further information.

"I spoke to the Doc so I assume you've got the low down on what Margot and I sorted out with this Keeper thing. We're not going near that with a Ten foot clown pole and I think everyone else needs to steer clear of it too. Evelyn's  a pretty heavy suspicion at the moment so if someone wants to jump on talking to her, interrogating her, figuring out who the hell she actually is, that'd be pretty great..." Another pause. A bit of sarcasm there, though it doesn't seem aimed at Grace (because she knows the tone of his sarcasm by now when it's aimed directly at her).

"That's about all right now. I'll know more before the weekend is out, hopefully....but...."

Ned stares at Grace, sucking in a deep breath.

"I need to know how likely it is that it's a Euthanatos doing these killings." She mentioned Mike. She's been dating one. A high ranking one if rumours suggest. Ned's eyes are firm here, lips thin and pressed.

Grace
There's information. Stuff that Grace just soaks in, like the reference to Pike's Peak and practicing. Practicing on LaCroix? Ned wants to take everything directly to Evelyn, and that's a fine idea, except that they have no real proof yet, and it would just clue her in on the next people she needs to kill if she is the one.

And Grace would respond to all that, if not for Ned's last statement. The thing he needs to know.

"A normal, sane Euthanatos? Not likely, except for the Technocrat. I don't know about you, but if I found somebody spying on us for the enemy and endangering us all, it would piss me off. If Laura Fairbanks was hiding her status as a Technocratic Agent, there's no telling what else she was hiding. A member of the Euthanatos would be able to find out and dispense justice. But they also would, I don't know, tell people.

"They don't go after innocents, Ned. Not unless the only thing left in that life is suffering, they don't."

Ned
(Life 1/Entropy 1: Polygraphic Likelihood Test. Diff. 4 - 1 for Pain)

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
[As far as Grace is aware, she is not even stretching the truth. Now, normal and sane are relative terms. It stands to reason that an insane Euthanatos is scary shit, but so are most insane Mages.]

Ned
"Far as I can tell, the Euthies have an agenda that doesn't sit well with a lot of the Trads. That agenda could well pose problems and more than likely, has posed problems in the past. Killing folks  is part of the mission. I can't imagine it would be terribly difficult to get carried away with that. Especially given Jhor and all that..."

Ned's nostrils flare. His hand in his pocket is bunched, fist forming a tight knot that the hoodie's excess falls over for the most part. The air still lingers with that controlled asphyxiation he brought in with him.

"...I've recently learned more about them and they are a lot more...exacting in who they hunt and why. In a clear cut world and case history, sure they're top notch and respectably doing the right thing. This situation though...a lot of variables involved. Maybe it's a rogue agent, or worse, a fallenone-" A vague curl to his lip that vanishes with a cleared throat "-or maybe they found something out about this Order we don't know yet and are playing 'damage control'."

The fist relaxes steadily, shoulders shrugging inside the voluminous hoodie.

"So far though....I'd like to know some other suspects you think might operate with a 2 to the chest, 1 to the head sort of mentality when it comes to killing people. Who are knowledgeable enough about crime scene cleaning to know what to wipe away and how to do so with impossible clarity. Can actively take on mages and deal with them pretty comfortably and who...by your account...aren't Technocrats."

A pause. No, he's done for the moment.

Grace
"Like I said, your average, normal, sane 'Euthie' has a rather strict code of ethics that they adhere to like it's a lifeline. And it is, considering. I'm not going to sit here and tell you it's never happened, that no Chakravanti has ever gone on a killing spree for fun or quintessence, but... I couldn't say that about any Tradition. And everybody knows how to use guns, man. Hell, it was a Chorister who taught me how to shoot, for fuck's sake.

"In my experience, they're less likely to be the cause of mass panic and murder than others. I know that's just anecdotal. I don't have a scientific data set revolving around Tradition serial killers, but you know..."

She sighs, looks at the door behind him. Remembers herself pleading with Whitney not to open it -- not to endanger herself...

"A Euthanatos once stood behind that door with the intent to kill me. It was probably the most compassionate and caring thing anyone's ever done for me."

Ned
"If it was just about the guns, I wouldn't be concerned. All the facts combined do a good job of eliminating a lot of potentials though. Capability to do all of this as well as keep the collective Mage community in Denver in the dark as to their identity alongside Kill three Mages without anyone, the Techies included, knowing until after the fact? That is not a small thing to accomplish, you have to admit that at least. Someone capable, skilled and secretive enough to make those acts happen that knows what they are doing and how to accomplish it all directly and effectively."

A pause. Hand held up.

"...But you're right. There's no guarantee whatsoever nor evidence. I'd like to be wrong but that level of capability is...well, you said it already." Scary Shit. "Regardless of that particular fact, our Cabal's going to do some investigating around the Order. Try to dig up some of the more esoteric nonsense these people seem to believe in. Part of me thinks there's something nephandic going on in their ranks but I won't know until we get a closer look. I do need to know more about what we'd be looking for though. Iconography or symbols or even phrasing and language. If you've got anything around that, feel free to leave it in the mail box."

Ned's wrapping things up. The air is clear and free once more and his demeanor seems a touch antsy. Ready to get moving again.

"Anything else?"

Grace
"It suggests a powerful Mage, to me. Not Euthanatos. Perhaps your Secret Keeper spirit cleaned up the crime scenes? I don't know. I also wouldn't know the first thing about Nephandic iconography. Empty voids in the depths of space? Cthulhu? Those ridiculous upside-down crosses that Goths like to wear? No. I take that back. That's an insult to Goths."

She rubs at her eyes. "And probably Cthulhu... I will say, though, that their Workings sometimes have a... feeling about them. They can use Magick like normal folks, but they can also use this kind of... inverted Magick. Qlippothic. You'd know it if you looked at it. Not fun. I can show you an example sometime. It might still have that... disgusting quality."

"But, you should probably know what else I found before you leave. Elizabeth Palor's father? Grandfather? Is a high-ranking member of the Falcon-people. His company is where I found that Technocrat talking about his dead partner and investigations into the murder. His name was Phillip Wright. He might be off trying the same thing as you."

Ned
"Mmmmm, well that puts Wiley's membership into perspective, given they're getting hitched. Daddy needs a successor."

Ned's eyes dart a little at the information, but he doesn't offer more than that. He pulls back from the kitchen with a glance around, already rolling his shoulders into an easier gait.

"I'll be in touch again once we've solidified something more concrete. I trust you'll share things out with the rest of the collective. Better suited than me...or the Doc I think-" A bit of a laugh there, utterly unbidden "-keep me posted on what else you might find though."

He's heading for the door, thoughtful if grim.

Order in the Chaos

Ned
These days, life was becoming serious. Or at least, in danger of becoming serious.

Even transition as those who opt to be when life becomes too mundane, civil or routine, there is room for a bit of a step back. A carefully executed measure of 'Fuck off, World, i'm drinking tonight' and that seems to be where Ned has found himself.

The Bar's name is the Lilyput. Someone was being funny when they looked up fairy tales, because half of the bar's patrons, which number at most, six or seven, are the burly types, with too much beer in their guts and too few words that belonged in any language proper. The beer was piss poor at best while the liquor was ancient with gummy rims and a butch dyke bartender that wore notches of ink along her inner arm for each of the drunks that had called her as much over the years.

But! The place had pool tables that rarely saw use. Pool cues that were slightly warped and a rack of balls with two '8s' and a lot more stripes than solids. It was here, Ned found himself, edge of downtown, sighting down the length of a freshly chalked pool cue, aiming up on one of the Eight balls. Which was odd, if only because all the other balls looked like they were still on the table.

There was an untouched pint of something sitting on the corner of the table, over the pocket, like some obstacle to be paid mind. The shot he was looking to take was four different banks and a fleeting hail mary suggestion at the First of three orange stripe balls to be sunk in a distant corner.



Ned
(Entropy 1: What're the odds? Diff 4 - 1 for Quint)

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (9, 10) ( success x 2 )

River
The place had pool tables that nobody ever saw, and when she walks in the door that is the first thing that she sees. The first thing that she looks at- pool tables. Eyes go from the pool tables to the exits (two, three if you count the window. She could make the window if she needed) to the bartender with the piss poor beer selection. River's lips turn up at the corners.

Maybe she doesn't belong here. She's a bit too femme for the standard clientele, raises the average appearance of the patrons by a significant portion. Not that it's hard. River isn't short or tall- maybe five and a half feet tall in a comfortable dress that hits mid thigh and a pair of boots (because she knows better than to wear sandals in a place like this.) She doesn't have a lot in the way of shoes- it was either the boots or the pair of emergency flats. Didn't feel like wearing those today so it was the boots.

We digress. Nobody cares about her boots so much as what she does next. Swings by the bar to order a beer in a can (can't fuck that up, even if it's Natural Lite). Eyes keep going back to the pool tablle.

Pays cash for her beer with a little smile and saunters along that way.

Must be slumming it.

Ned
"....Cues are crooked. Balls put the normal rules out of play. Gonna have to get creat-...ive."

Ned's talking. River's on her way over and she's a peripheral glimpse. No one in the bar had moved more than a few feet in any direction since he'd arrived, making her stand out without even a stare cast her way. He's thrown the first shot and watched the probabilities peel away as the ball banked once, twice, a third time, only to sail wide on the fourth bounce with a frown.

It's only as she gets within a few feet that his eyes slip toward her, lining up another shot (Purple, Solid, caught in a nest of raibow stripe soldiery for protection). The boots are given a glance (more like the legs in them) and the outfit a second or two longer than a glance before he's raising brows and eyes toward her features. A quick smile that's doused (Like he was resisting some reflex from long ago), gaze switching to the can in her hand.

"Smart choice."

Then he's down to lining the shot up again, brow furrowing and dancing amid the balls of the table with a carefully executed regard.

River
She raises her can, takes a pull and doesn't make a face. At least the beer isn't warm, and that she can count as a blessing. The woman came here to play pool, and that was what it was worth. Gaze pulls from Ned to the table again. To the balls all spread out nice and neat and clean- she likes games like this. Comes down to math and numbers and skill.

Not quite the way she likes cards, but close enough.

"Guess if you brought your own you'd be in trouble. Nobody likes a hustler," River tells him. Replies, even, and her tone is conversational.

She has an accent, a lilt and pattern to her speech that only comes when English isn't your first language. Perhaps from some Spanish speaking country but hard to place when you haven't been all over the world to find the specifics of her speech patterns (they're Cuban, though, if one is curious.) River does flash a smile back at Ned, not at all an impulse she curbs.

"Try the other end?"

Ned
"....Odds play themselves in predictable patterns. I came here for the chaos tables like these can provide."

The next shot sinks the purple. Splits the guard of two of the stripes just to get at their general, who goes down spinning into the corner pocket, leaving the white ball to slowly spin toward the nearby pint glass he's left on the edge. It trembles slightly but doesn't fall and his gaze rests on the piece of glassware for a calculating moment. He huffs and turns to look at her, reaching for the chalk on his way around the table again.

"Gets me in better shape and provides more interesting odds." A pause, his brow furrowing, gaze slipping around to the various bodies in the bar. Few are paying attention, none of them either of the two youngsters by the pool table. The Dyke butch is watching some small TV she keeps behind the counter, chuckling to herself at whatever's there.

"...You look like you belong in a club somewhere. Or a penthouse." If these were the old days Ned might have lined that up with a line suggestive of something. As it stands, he leaves it there and that makes it sound more like a question than a pick up. He finshes chalking the cue and re-adjusts the pint glass. He didn't like the odds of it falling, apparently.

Grace
[Awareness?]

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

River
[Entropy 1: Hows this business going to pan out?]

Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

River
He says he's getting in better shape and it provides more interesting odds. River takes a second, seems like she's fidgeting. One step, two step. Side back. Stop. Little but rhythmic and intentional. She's more focused on the table than him at that juncture.

River doesn't speak idly. Looks at him directly when he says that she looks like she belongs in either a club or a penthouse. Doesn't shy away from eye contact and takes her time to come up with words. They're all chosen carefully, not tossed out in random array, not pushed around like she has dozens of things to say or like she is a verbose creature. No, River Vasquez says what she means so she takes her time saying those things.

"It's laundry day," like that explains everything, "I didn't know where I was going until I started driving. This seemed like the right place."

A second.

"Red in the side pocket is your best bet right now."

Ned
"Quick to decide, shy on plans."

It sounded like a platitude or a phrasing of some sort. Ned chuffs a soft laugh that doesn't last long. His gaze falls to regard the table, brow furrowing at the shot she is suggesting. He slips around the corner with the pint glass, leaning away from it to ensure a lack of contact. His gaze takes in the banks he'll need to take to pull that off and he frowns, eyes slipping back up toward her quizzically.

"...Are you kidding?" A disbelieving quirk of a smile. "Because the Green stripe is a much safer bet."

River
"Green stripe sets you up to be blocked by the eight ball, too much of a risk. I don't know how hard your standard stroke is, but if you err on the rough side you'll be in a world of trouble," she says, knowing and like she knows the facts. They're looking at the same field of play, though.

Walks around the table slowly.

"If it errs right, though... green stripe's safer."

Grace
The presence of interesting people inside this dive bar was felt before she stepped inside. Truly, her entrance might not have happened had she been a little less aware of these eddies in the universal tide. She halfway expected to find Elijah/William in here with his tequila or something, but no. It's River and Ned. Her head cocks, a little sideways smile when she sees them playing pool.

Her t-shirt today is a grey thing with the words "Can't stop, won't stop," superimposed over the symbol for pi. Yup, she is that kind of nerd.

She doesn't go directly over just yet. At the bar, she asks the tender for a beer and tips the woman suspiciously well for someone dressed in holey jeans and sneakers. Money never seemed very important anyway, and now? Well, now it might as well be Monopoly money, except that collecting Monopoly money actually means you win a game, at least.

There's a pool game on, thinking of...

Ned
"...You always plan for things to go wrong?"

Ned doesn't sound perturbed, more...dismissive. Almost casually comfortable in his airs. Entropy was something new, afterall and he was swinging the hang of it. Slowly, but surely. If the air around him was a touch monitored and a touch stuffy for it, then so be it. He settles forward, lining up the shot carefully, gaze following the bounce of the balls in the future toward the predicted ends and scenarios they were both seeing.

The cue slides back and he pauses. His brow knits and his eyes flick again and again, following the paths he's laid out. A moment later and his footing shifts, aim adjusting behind the white ball again, to localize the Red. The eyes do their dance once more and there's a brief hint of something under his features. The knitting smooths and he pulls away from he shot without having taken it, regarding her fresh, new and....intrigued.

"Alright. How do you know that?"

River
You always plan for things to go wrong?
"When you are aware that the worst possible scenario is something you can handle, anything else is inconsequential."

And she- radiant and resolved like an unconquered sun- stands and observes. She's not something that belongs here, too bright. These kinds of bars don't flourish in sunlight; their fruits grow best under cover of darkness. It's strange to see her at this particular bar. Grace has seen her at bars before, but she usually goes somewhere... nicer. She ended up watching Zombieland with Grace and Samir the last time these two went out to a bar.

Overall, it was a good night.

She raises her beer to the Mercurial Elite, a salute to get her attention before attentions go back to Ned. Direct and focused. Her expression goes playful.

"Predictable patterns. The curve of the cue is just an added complication, but there's order in the chaos here. You just have to look harder at it to notice."


Ned
(Wits 4 (Quick Thinking) + Investigation 2)

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 2

Ned
"Looking harder narrows your focus."

It's chiding. Almost. A touch self-deprecating as well and there's something there beneath the surface that catches on his face a moment, before submerging again. Probability suggests trauma has the best chance, while a bit of brooding to stir her to weak-kneed lust is the secondary suggestion. He lines up the shot, gaze falling into the table and takes it.

Red goes down after two solid clacks and the white ball sits clear of the first of two 8s, the second a haunted presence hovering infront of his pint-glass pocket. He leans one hand on the table, eyeballing that pint glass and then, with a face like sharp nettles under the feet, turns to regard her again.

"Narrowed focus means you miss the rest of it. Maybe even the best of it-" He interrupts himself when he follows her gaze to the bar, brow knitting and mouth hanging open as he spies Grace. A 'huh' suddenly escapes him and the brief recognition of the familiar woman puts several pieces into play about his 'New Friend'.

He's turning back toward her and suddenly the game is something brand new. His features are a touch flat and his regard is...not hostile but well-guarded.

"Who are you?"

Grace
Grace returns the salute in kind, and walks over to the assembly of people busying themselves by whacking balls with sticks. Humans, man. They'll do anything for a distraction. There's so many variations on the "whack a ball with a stick" game, you'd think they were obsessed.

"Order in the chaos? Mmm," Grace says, as though she's answering Ned's question and asking one of River. It could be both.

"This is River. We're roomates."

River
She sidles up to Grace, gives her a little hip bump in greeting. She assumes familiarity, yes, and it's fun to make some casual contact with Grace because, well, she thinks Grace is fun. She likes hanging out with her room mate. She transfers the beer to her other hand, consider's shaking Ned's but decides against it.

Almost does put her hand out, though, comes close and it's obvious.

"River Vasquez, probability enthusiast."

Ned
"Quaint."

He says it without the vitriol to make it sarcastic. Instead, it is delivered somewhat flatly and his eyes adjust to settle on Grace, jaw working a slightly circuit around as if he's rolling some piece of gristle between his teeth.

"That mean the two of your are in a Cabal or just...shacking up and keeping out of each other's way?"

A pause, his eyes falling to the pool table again, the angles explored with careful plucks and glances.

"...And how's the hunt going for that serial killer...Any new info.?"

River
"... it's not me." She tells Grace.

Which is possibly the worst Chakravanti joke ever.

Ned
"...If it was we'd be having a different talk..." Second worst.

Grace
Shacking up. With River? Wrong Chakravanti, she thinks to herself, the humor of it making its way to her face. "Oh, hah, no, I mean... It's just a roomate thing, not a... Hah!"

Not either of those, Ned.

Then, the topic changes, and Grace is still smiling awkwardly when he says it. Serial killer. Yes. Right. Readjust the face for that.

River follows all that up with a joke, and -- screw it. Whatever you want to do, facial expression. What. Ever.

"Ahh, no. I'm afraid it's kicking my ass along with everything else. I've got my claws in another killer, if that's any consolation."

River
"You stay busy when I'm out of town, what's going on?" Brows raise for a second nad she takes a pull off of her shitty, shitty beer as though she has no problem with its flavor whatsoever.

Casual nature aside, the question is direct and wears an undercurrent of seriousness.

Ned
"It isn't."

Ned's frown at Grace is deeper now. Another one? He stares at her with something akin to Paranoid insight, Entropy flicking off her facial features which have one the route of slackened honesty, making the probabilities of her joking around rather slim.

"You telling me there are more than one? Or is this just...a separate one in addition to the one you're having trouble finding."

He flicks his eyes toward River, brow perked.

"Five dead...Initiates was it? Someone scrubbed the crime scenes pretty heavily. Left behind nothing more than a partial print and an eyelash or some such. According to Grace and confirmed by The D-....my Mentor. That's as far as anyone went with it though."

If that information doesn't sit well with Ned, he wears it like the colours of a favoured sport's team. Plainly and with greed.

Grace
"Busy busy, yup," Grace says. "Mike's in town for a reason, you know. Moral support and all that." She sighs a bit.

"I had some other mess to clean up before I found out about the murders. I found a... bad site. Live streaming snuff porn. Been fixing that. And yes, prepping the stuff I need for taking on a Mage murderer."

She looks at her beer. It doesn't seem quite enough. She drinks it, though. Of course she does.

River
"Mike's in town?"

Just a little too quick with that. River shakes her head, puts a hand up and continues on with the thought.

"Sounds like somebody is getting paid off to scrub the scenes. If it was magickal tampering they would have been thorough. A professional doesn't leave tracks."

Ned
"Last i checked, there's more than a few of us in town might help with all that. Might be time to share the wealth of information a bit, yeah?"

Ned's next shot cracks sharply, the Eight ball vanishing into a pocket with little fanfare. He sets the cue on the table and then moves over to his pint, eyeballing it suspiciously. River's surprise around the pool table draw's Ned's glance toward her, then down and away. He drains a chunk of the pint before setting it on one of the end table's nearby with a ghastly look on his face.

"Suddenly remember why I quit."

He turns to look back at the other two, brow knit, part in disgust with the beer still on his tongue, partly for the topics being talked about.

"What's been done so far to track the Killer? The Worker one. Beyond investigating the scene." A pause. "..And who's Mike?"

Grace
"They're both Worker ones, Ned," Grace says, and ugh, this beer is awful. Yeah, someone tortured a Mage on live television. Let that scenario play out in your head. Guess what happened?

"I used to have a way to make sure everybody knew about these things, but the fucking Techs got it. I have been trying to make sure people know, but starting a bunch of phone conversations talking about murder is a great way to get the NSA breathing down your neck too. Been there, done that."

So. Doesn't that make you feel so comfortable, Ned?

"Mike's ahhh... Well, he's my boyfriend."

Ned
"....Then you're talking to the wrong ones."

He clucks his tongue, sharply, eyeballing Grace. "Because most of the 'old guard' I've run into are more concerned with keeping secrets and playing careful then actually doing something but they seem to be the only ones who actually get any of the info..."

Ned scrubs at his brow for a second.

"Am I up to date on the Colorado Springs deal? Eyelash and Partial Print? Any remains of the bodies themselves? I.Ds or Names?"

Grace
Grace squints at Ned. "Right. So, if I remember right, you found out about it what... a day after I did? What was I supposed to do, call you up an hour after I found out -- from your mentor no less? Here's an idea for you -- why don't you help me 'share the wealth of information'?"

Nobody has ever accused Grace of keeping secrets, playing careful, and not doing. The polar opposite, yes. Definitely that.

"You think I'm here to slack off? I think I kind of need a bit of a break, considering I've been doing pretty much nothing else besides dismantling some of the vilest shit you can imagine. Like, an hour ago, Ned."

She blinks. Looks away.

"You are up to date. I'll have more stuff soon. But I don't know any more than what the Doc does right now, I'm sorry." And she means that. It weighs on her. Will another die because those who were looking were too slow?

Ned
"No I'm telling you to broaden. Your network fell apart and you're running off-grid to keep ahead of those tracking you down and not even your Roommate knew any of this before this particular moment. No one's telling you to do what you're doing, but you're doing it anyway and that's..."

He pauses. Going back in time briefly to a conversation he had with someone. He had a lot to say about 'Purpose'.

"I think you're here to do something right but you've got a lot of obstacles to go around to do it. Problem isn't who is doing the talking the problem is who's listening and how many obstacles you have to go around to get them to do so. Keep doing that. They need to know but...I'm not an obstacle. I'm not going to get in your way and I get the feeling there's a few others who don't know, that might feel that way as well."

Ned's tossing a five down on the table next to his beer. A five and some change. Cheap was cheap, expected.

"I need to have a talk with someone. I have your number, I'll send along a Text and in the meantime, try to sort out some method of communication that isn't digital....Meantime, you find anything else out-" He digs around in his pocket for a pen, snatching a napkin from one of the dispensers "-write it out and put it in this P.O box. Outside of the uni. Slower than a text but more secure in the end, yeah?"

He thrusts the paper out at her, brow perked.

Grace
She's a little perturbed by him, yeah. The 'old guard' in Denver includes her. It includes people she's been through a lot with. But, when he says that no one's telling her to do anything, she gives one of the 8-balls a sardonic grin.

"Nobody tells me what to do," she says. "Ask Mike about that sometime."

Michael MacCarrick. Adept of the Chakravanti. Master assassin. Receiver of at least one epic rant about how he was not to tell Grace to back down. When she says nobody, she means it.

"I'll make sure you're notified," she says, taking the address for the P.O. box. "If I use the mail, I'll send you a text back, Okay? Just so you're not, like, checking it every hour or something."

Ned
"One Letter. Your choice. Digital Voodoo....or something like that."

He grins back and stuff his hands in his pockets, little more than a nod offered because hey. This wasn't the good bye. This was a 'let's get to work'.

Cabals and Communes

Margot
It was midday Saturday with pleasant weather in June, you had better bet your ass that the park was crowded as hell today.  Clouds passed quickly across the sky in bunches, offering relief from the bright sun and bringing a summer-hot wind along with it.  No rain, though, not in the immediate forecast, so the park was not denied its typical weekend burst of life.

The good news about being surrounded by a sea of joggers with their dogs, clutches of friends playing volleyball or frisbee, and families with their kids picnicing and playing on the playgrounds?

Food trucks.  Plenty of them, parked in a line in the parking lot for the lunchtime push.  There were a couple of stands on the other end of the park, too-- mobile, smaller, one offering tacos, one offering falafels, and a third offering drinks and ice cream and other summertime confections.  It was at the last cart that Margot was standing in conversation with Dr. Sepúlveda while handing a couple of dollar bills to the mustached man running the cart, accepting an iced coffee drink in a plastic to-go cup in return.

They were in a middle of a conversation turned on a more mundane hinge thanks to the ears (and mustache) right in front of them.

"I'm thinking maybe I'll switch jobs and work at a bookstore instead, to keep an eye out for things to add to my Library all the better.  The dispensary's probably not going to have any curious tomes passing over its counter anytime soon."

Sepúlveda
Between the strip club, the Verbena's abode, and the brunch place up on Colfax - where the waitress was glad to see him actually interacting with other people and not just yelling at the two kids who, as far as she can tell, are his parolees or probates or foster kids or god knows what people think when they see Margot and Ned getting chewed out by Dr. Sepúlveda - the Etherite has been having an awful lot of outside time the last twenty-four hours.

Before he goes home, he extracts the kids from their respective places of dwelling with like 15 anchor emojis and a question mark.

And now here we are.

Despite the heat of the day, the Doc is wearing jeans, loafers, and a yellow button-down work shirt underneath a cardigan. His hair is a mess and his glasses could use a polish, but he seems to be in a decent enough mood.

As they wait for Ned to show up, he considers Margot's observations. His eyebrows lift up as if to ask if he's supposed to respond, then sucks an answer out of an eyetooth and says, "If it does, run."

Very funny.

"What sort of 'things' are you looking for?"

Margot
Today Margot was dressed in a china-blue-and-white printed sundress, capped sleeves with a low back and skirt that was loose enough for the breeze to tug but not lift from where it hunt above her knees.  Her hair was down, a straw sunhat on her head in lieu of sunglasses.  Flip flops, though, simple and broken in for park strolling.  Her face wore its standard amount of make-up, which is to say minimal, and she found time somewhere in the mix to paint her short fingernails a bright sunshiney yellow.

She sipped her coffee and wandered idle away from the concessions cart, but didn't walk with direction or purpose so as not to lose the designated meet point and thereby lose or miss Ned.  The game of 'where are you?' text tag was not one of her favorites.

"I don't really know.  I'm hoping to add more things on Prime and Entropy to my shelves, right now they're pretty heavy with medical texts and Spirits and other dimensions.  That stuff is easy enough to pick up, is the more insightful stuff that I want a chance to find."

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda scratches at the crook of his jaw, short nails singing against the growth of beard. Thinking. His own library is expansive. The reason he's renting a suite instead of a room at the Crawford is twofold: he wants to be able to put the kids up if they get into trouble, and he has too many damned books to crash at a bedbug motel by the highway.

Besides. There's a bar downstairs. He might never leave the Crawford.

"You planning on becoming the initiate of a tradition any time soon?"

Ned
Ned shows up with a careful layer of avoidance in his gait and demeanour. His brow has been permanently furrowed for the last week and a bit and one might think this a normal state of affairs. He's taken to t-shirts, blacks, navy blues and the occasional white, with pairs of loose fitting jeans. His converse have been traded in for a nice pair of firm cross-trainers. He's sporting a belt and something like a small harness at his hip, cinched to the belt via a loop. It looks long and slender and empty.

He weaves around various bodies, taking little notice of their brief glances or Saturday afternoon 'pardons' that are few and far between. The careful steps and easy motions came more comfortably now, given he was starting to actively pursue the odd 'anonymity' that hovered around him like a second skin.

Spying the Doc and Margot wasn't difficult. A week ago (not long after The Incident) Ned had opted to download an app onto Margot's phone that tracked Friend locations. She could glance at her phone and know where he was, so long as it was on and vice versa.

"...Working on it." Was his reply to the Doc, a scattered glance cast at the man before eyeballing the Verbena-to-be. "Last I checked though, the options for who to talk to were...limited. Didn't you say you had a line on someone who could make you an offer?"

Margot
Perhaps the question about traditions had been aimed at Margot, but it was Ned's voice that had answered.  He'd come up from the side, and Margot startled just enough to turn her head sharply to find him.  For a moment she eyeballed Ned back (something different there, the Doc may pick up-- a tension, not caution not anger, not the kind of tense that came from fighting but it was something), then let her gaze get pulled away as a particularly young and fluffy puppy ran by with its human on a leash.

"....I'm still going through some formalities, but I've spoken to a couple of Verbena.  I think that's going to work."

She sipped her coffee and wished that she wasn't wearing a dress so that she had a place to tuck her other hand away.

Sepúlveda
[i love rolling empathy so much]

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

Sepúlveda
And the Doc does pick up on the exaggerated startle reflex in his younger pupil. It isn't a proper panic attack, but she just jump enough that he can tell it was Ned's arrive and the suddenness of it that spooked her.

Rather than drawing attention to it, Sepúlveda does something that will either betray the depths of his capacity for giving a shit, or will make it seem as if he didn't even notice. He does nothing. Just keeps his hands in the pockets of his jeans and heaves a heavy sigh when Ned asks his question.

"If you think it will, it will," he says, to the matter of the Verbenae working for Margot. Out of one of his pockets comes the flask, from which he takes a hard pull. Points at Ned with the finger of the hand holding the flask and frowns, pointed, before putting away the flask. "I said what?"

Ned
"Was talking to Margot."

Ned corrected himself and the Doc together, head bobbing toward her momentarily.

"She mentioned someone that Nick and Pen were going to introduce her to. A while ago..." A pause. Frowning. "I think..." Shaking his head. "I need to have a sit down with Nick. Once I'm sure he doesn't try to convert me to love all the animals and disney princess' damselling, I'm going to apply for the Euthanatos." If Ned seems at all disturbed, cautious or afraid of their surroundings and who might be overhearing them he doesn't let on. This conversation seems to be happening at a careful pace, wandering in no particular direction at all.

His hands jam into his pockets.

"...We need a place to live." Switching lanes with the fluidity of the abrupt. "...And I put in my two weeks notice."

Margot
1````

Sepúlveda
[hi hazel!]

Margot
Margot's eyebrows hopped up in mild surprise when Ned said he was talking to her, like she was under the impression that the question had been for Doc as well.  Then she blinked and nodded her head.  Popped the coffee drink straw from her mouth to answer.

"Yeah, Thane.  And Thane introduced me to this Kat woman, who's a real insightful badass.  She's a disciple of War, too."

Ambling onward, she listened while Ned explained that he was going to apply for the Euthanatos (in a move that no one saw coming).  Her gaze cast forward and to the side, like she was fly fishing for anything else to pay attention to in that moment.  Coffee straw went back into her mouth and she found some geese on the pond to watch paddling instead.  She only had enough time to watch them paddle a dozen meters before the subject of quitting ones job cropped up.

"Shit, already?"  She asked Ned, sounding surprised and looking (as usual) worried.

Sepúlveda
Overtop Margot:

"The fuck'd you do that for?" He rubs his temple with the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, like he's got a headache brewing. Before Ned can answer he goes on: "Good to hear you two have plans."

Because they didn't get a chance to talk about it the night he patched up Ned's collapsed lung, bitching the entire time but not asking too many questions.

Ned
"Makes sense. I don't want to be there anymore and...Well after learning Entropy...I didn't think hospitals could get anymore depressing, really." Ned's frown is deeper, thicker at the mention of this and his head rocks to one side as if to physically clear the expression from his face.

"Doing things officially, means I can maybe look into another area that isn't so time intensive. Pay will be less and really, most of my money goes towards takeout and transportation anyway." A pause. Abruptness: "I gotta start riding my bike more."

Then around at the people they are passing by, as if he'd only just noticed where they are and what normal folks do in situations like this.

"I've got a plan for the near future. Distant is another story..." That frown threatens again. "I want to know how 'safe' we are here and how much or many threats I need to learn about."

Sepúlveda
With the most long-suffering sighs in the history of long-suffering sighs, Andrés takes a few steps away from the kids, wanders off to the shade of an oak tree, and sits down. Or... flops, is more like it, since he ends up on his back.

"The Choir was right," he says, to himself and knowing full well they can still hear him. "The One is punishing me."

Margot
The point about the hospital being all the more depressing with Entropy in the picture was accepted with a nod and Margot contented herself with watching geese and ducks and puppy dogs again.  She got several steps away after Doc veered to the side and Ned no doubt lagged to continue the conversation with him.  Stopped after she realized she was walking alone, turned around, frowned a little, and walked back to stand on the edge of the shadow-splot of the tree that Doc had flopped beneath.

"The Distant Future could range anywhere from dead in the dirt to Ascension, there's no sense in planning it in much detail," she offered over to Ned, then glanced down to where Doc was laying in the grass.

"I think with what we know we're safest here... Just here, in Denver, where we know people and have help.  Outside of that, we're just going to need to learn to ward and banish to stay safe."

Sepúlveda
The Doc peels his glasses off his face and lets them lie bridge-down across his chest, showing no intention or sign of getting back up just yet. Grass gets in his hair and the daylight brings out the green in his eyes and something about the far-off sounds of laughing children and chirping birds and splashing fountains really brings out the surreality of their existences.

This is the reality into which they have Awakened. It doesn't have to be like this. If Sepúlveda decided he wanted to turn the grass purple, he could. One would have to ask why, though, given the backlash bitch-slap he recently absorbed.

"Edward," he says, "based on my own anecdotal evidence, you're safer here than you are in any of the major coastal cities. You're definitely safer here than you are in Chicago. Never go to Mexico. Not because of the drug cartels, sabes, because of the vampires."

Ned
"I hear punishment with God often comes with lessons yet to be learned."

Like it was read off the back of a fortune cookie. Ned veers clear of the other people pushing and shoving past, doing his level best to remain out of their radar which isn't difficult. Arcane made him the 'third member' of this little party, folks would pay less attention to over someone like the Doc (loud and shit givingless) or Margot (Pretty and Expressive).

"I don't want to move cities or pack up and be elsewhere. I want to be better at protecting myself and others. Distant future is all robots and skynet for all I know. I'm more concerned about Localized Distant, as opposed to global. How to make home..." A hand thrown around at the park "...Denver, safe for us. That includes resisting kidnappings, hostages, eavesdropping and ugliness cropping up on repeat." A pause, Ned's purposefully keeping out of the shade of the tree, to one side, face turned up into the sun.

"...Or at least learn how to anticipate." A hand rises to scrub at his chin. "Entropy's helping with that, though."

Margot
The comment about vampires in Mexico piqued some interest in Margot.  Certainly she'd heard about the Mexican plauge of vampirism before, and she was starting to piece together that some of the monsters and fairy tale creatures she'd read about throughout her youth were actually real.  Nobody needed to tell her directly that fairies were real.  Nobody had to tell her that werewolves were either.  Now, of course, she knew nothing of their mechanics societies or politics just yet, but the 'just yet' was the emphasized point in that sentence.  Margot was a smart little student.  She'd figure all this out given the chance and a point in the right direction.

Ned expressed that he wanted to be able to set up a shop, a home, and keep it safe and protected.  She nodded her agreement, and mused quiet and somber.

"I'm reading about the spirits in particular.  The Gauntlet's just.... there's too much come and go, spirits crossing over and bringing things back.  I'm going to learn to..."  She searched for the right word, and even went so far as to reach into the air in front of her with her palm up, fingers curled, like she could pluck what she was trying to say from the very air.

"...To calcify the Gauntlet.  Shove things back across and then seal off the door they came in through.  I'm close.  I'm pretty sure I'm close."

Then she looked down to Doc and tipped her head aside.  Moved the hand that had been word-hunting to stop her hat from slipping off her head when she did.  "Doc, I think what Ned's getting at is that all of this would be easier, keeping each other safe, if we didn't all go to sleep in different places at night.  The salt on my window sill still only does as much good as my prayers and a rosary would right now.  I can't ward up my home, Ned can't his."

Ned
"...And given your history of 'volatile relations' I would think having outside perspectives around to keep an eye on you, would ultimately be better..."

Ned offers on the tail end of Margot's words. Unapologetic, expectant almost.

Sepúlveda
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

He's going to stick to his contention that the volatile relation in question wouldn't have gone so bad if it weren't for the kids antagonizing the Kha'vadi woman, thank you very much.

For this next bit he sits up, using his core muscles rather than his appendages, more graceful than he looks, and takes another swig once he's upright again. His glasses topple to the grass. He leaves them there a moment.

"The odds of you two doing anything of any use to keep me safe is so small I can't--" He puts on his glasses. Squints. "Nope. Still can't... still can't see it. The odds. Because of how small they are. Your outside perspective means precisely dick to me, Ned." He stifles a burp. "If you two want to come play Sleepover at my hotel room, that's... that's fine, but the first time I hear you two... making out, or whatever it is you do in your spare time, through the wall, no more Sleepover."

Grace
She doesn't pick up on the entire conversation, does Grace. Only Margot's worries about wards, and Ned's about volatile relations. She knows what he means by that, she thinks.

Now, Grace, today, is not the most reassuring sort of person to bump into. Mike makes sure that she sleeps, at least, so she doesn't quite look like she's been pulling so many all-nighters it must be finals season. But she's taut -- tense like perhaps there is something to be worried about out there.

"You guys... Hey."

Margot
"Making out?"  Margot cast a look at the Doc that was all incredulity.  "I'm beginning to suspect that you really do think we're fourteen year olds...."

Then, suddenly, a wild Grace appeared.  For a second time that midday there in the park a voice announced a presence prior to the face and body doing so, and for a second time Margot startled with a small bodily jerk and sloshed the ice of her coffee around when she did so.  Had there been no lid then there's a chance it would've spilled down her arm, but bless to-go cups and their foresight for clumsy spills.

"Oh," she said, sounding relieved when she found Grace to be the person who had broken from the crowd of park-goers to say hello.

"Grace, hey.  How are ya?"

Margot?  She looked okay.  That was really the best word for it-- like somebody who didn't sleep enough and worried way too much but still had enough give-a-shit about perceptions that she stood in the sun and pretended that neither of those were the case.

Ned
"A house, Doc. With many layers of walls between me and whatever pervy nonsense you get up to-"

Ned pauses those words when Grace arrives. He isn't so much surprised as he is changing gears, body moving around in a tight circle to grant Grace a bit more surface area beneath the shade of the tree they are 'lounging' under. His smile is tight, tiny and his attention brief, catching her gaze should she throw it at him, momentarily before lifting his face back into the sun.

"...Suns out. Should put any lingering worries you may have about my undeadness to rest." His smile is a bit needling, though the tone doesn't have enough bite to make it sarcasm. "You need more sleep, Lady." Abruptly delivered, eyes peeling open to scan over Grace's features and frame.

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda stares at Ned for a good three beats of silence, his brain flooded with so many one-liners that they gum up the entire works. He chases down the remnants with a wash of tequila or whatever the hell he actually has in his flask.

"Gracia!" he says. "How's that OCR scan coming?"

To his students: "A bunch of apprentices have gone missing in Colorado Springs, two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is paying off the El Paso ME's office, because there's, like, no evidence from either of the crime scenes." A pause. "Oh, shit, did I forget to tell you guys about that? I can't think of what was going on a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't--"

Grace
She can do that, at times -- pop out of nowhere, like the crowd or the background just ejected a person you know. Sometimes, she'll announce her presence by doing something strange in the distance, but that's only if she remembers. It's hard to notice that you are hard to notice.

"I sleep plenty," she replies to Ned. "I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me."

But there, an admission: she needs someone to make sure she sleeps instead of just losing herself in the chase.

"OCRing it, I don't know. I was just going to grab the real deal. I can't stand printouts."

She gives Margot a smile. Don't worry, dear. It'll be fine. "You guys looking for a place to live?"

Margot
If Margot seemed a little solemn earlier (despite the bright sunny summery outfit), that was nothing compared to how very grim she became when Doc began to speak of Apprentices going missing and how some of them had been murdered.  Grace's arrival had been a welcome one, given how a touch of the worry in the corners of Margot's eyes and mouth had faded away, but what good the Virtual Adept's appearance had served to the would-be Verbena's sense of calm was quickly washed away.

"We were out of town."  She said this quick and sharp at the end of Sepúlveda's open-ended musing about what was happening in the past few weeks that may have caused this news to escape his pupils/cabalmates/kids/whatever-the-fuck-that-relationship-was.

Grace's question was absorbed with a brief flutter of hazel eyes back in her direction.  "More like hammering out details for cohabitation," she explained, and then looked back to Doc again with a serious weight to her expression, and dragging her shoulders down as well.

"Isn't anyone besides some paid-off police looking into the matter?  You know, someone like us?"

Sepúlveda
I have someone making damn sure of that, trust me.

"Gross," he says, and takes another drink.

Ned
"...And that never stopped you from Text bombing us before..."

Ned chimes in after Margot, murmuring it with little to no force. If anything, Ned's own concern and worry suddenly goes inward and he seems to pull his attention back from the conversation, allowing Margot to take the first steps in the matter by asking questions.

Sepúlveda
"What never stopped me from text bombing you before?"

Margot
"Distance," Margot sounded clipped and anxious and heard it in her own voice as soon as the word snapped out off her tongue.  She closed her eyes, took a breath in through her nose, then tried again.

"I'm sorry.  Please, though, come on.  What's happening with the apprentices?"

Grace
Grace gives Dr. Sepúlveda the look of pure confusion. "What's gross about sleeping?"

She stops, considers the tree. Still can't figure it out. Decides to drop that thread, because whenever she gets confused like this, it doesn't bode well.

"I am looking into it. Though, I just found out about it, and don't have a whole lot to go on," she says. "Apparently, there were a lot of new Mages in Colorado Springs. There aren't anymore. And whoever's doing it is sweeping their tracks."

Sepúlveda
"There's a Chorister on the CSPD who caught wind of what was happening, she mentioned it to me, I scraped up what little evidence the perp or whoever was helping the perp left behind, I gave it to Grace. We're handling it."

That said: "Hey, Grace, that hitman you're shacking up with, I want to sell him an initiate. You think you can get me an estimate?"

Ned
"Sweeping how? Cleaning kill sites? Bodies missing?"

Ned pauses to stare around at the Normals that are haunting the area. His voice is purposefully low and he takes that moment to step a little closer so as to allow his voice to lower.

"...And how far outside of the Springs do the murders go? Is it just that area so far?"

Sepúlveda
"It's just that area. If you want to help, do nothing. I need to have to rescue you two from a serial killer like I need a hole in my head."

Margot
Grace explained what she knew and what she was doing, and the Doc followed up by cutting to the meat of the topic by explaining the situation in an overview.  It must have become apparent that Margot wasn't handling the toying around very well.

Do you see the tandem at play here?  Margot had begun voicing questions and finding information initially and Ned had fallen quiet.  Now here, where he was inquiring about the murder radius, Margot had discovered silence in turn.  Doc spoke of rescuing them from a serial killer and Margot's jaw clenched, lips pressed thin, and brow furrowed heavily-- a hard scowl at a fresh and horrible memory.

Following that she found a spot in the distance behind the tree to stare into unfocused, and took to slowly sipping the rest of her iced coffee through the straw.  A perfect excuse not to speak as any.  That hard frowning moment disconnected her from the discussion and now she seemed to be tuned out and waiting for it to end.

Or grappling with something in her mind and heart on the spot and trying not to lapse into a panicked state.

Maybe all of the above.

Grace
"He's not... exactly a hit man, and you..." Know that. It's just Andrés Sepúlveda being himself. Right. "Want to sell him an initiate?"

She sighs. The man is incomprehensible at best.

"And yeah. As far as anyone can tell, the murderer left only a partial fingerprint and a single hair behind, in five murders. Something fishy's going on, definitely."

She turns her attentions back toward the actual people, notices the discomfort in the area. "Look, after this investigation shit is over, I have a project you guys might be interested in. I've got some money burning a hole in multiple bank accounts just waiting to be spent on some real estate. An apartment complex, you know? For people like us. You'd be able to 'cohabitate' with a lot more ease, maybe?"

Ned
"You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims? I can't imagine awakened dead, being horribly murdered is going to leave a particularly restful spirit."

Ned and Margot both had some experience dealing with that. Well...once. Unpleasantly. It nearly got them killed by Zombies. That had been....fun? No, wrong word. Regardless, Ned seems almost to ignore the Doc's mention of Serial Killers and rescuing them, directing the question toward Grace....which of course, was probably more to do with Doc's irreverent take on Ghosts and the Spirit Sphere in general.

"Relax, Doc." Ned finally turns to look at Andres. "Margot and I are taking a hiatus from 'rushing in to Scooby Doo things'. The more questions I have answers for though, the more likely I can take precautions going to and from home, incase whoever or whatever this is, decides Colorado Springs is all dried up and wants to make a move to bigger pastures."

Then back toward Grace at mention of 'Money' and 'Apartment Complex'.

"Isn't that sort of putting all our eggs in one basket? And wouldn't the multitudes of conflicting Paradigms make for a Paradox buffet of epic proportions?"

Sepúlveda
Want to sell him an initiate?

At least Andrés thinks Andrés is funny. He takes a swallow from the flask instead of answering and looks over his shoulder to make sure Margot hasn't gone too far away. No remorse in his gaze, though it's hard to tell with the glare over his glasses and the fact that he tries to keep his emotional range between Excited and Annoyed.

You tried looking for the ghosts of the victims?

He flicks his eyebrows and cants his head to one side. No. No he did not try that. Because he has no training in Spirit. Still, it's not a bad idea.

Drink.

Margot
[Get out of your head, Margot]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Margot
Margot's silence stretched out long enough that she came back in around talk of moving on from Colorado Springs and into bigger, greener pastures.  Her eyes had been out of focus and she was drifting nearer and nearer to the middle distance that she stared at, and thusly further and further inward (rescue you from a serial killer.... we don't need rescuing, we just proved that... how'd you handle the serial killer, Margot?  what did you do?  what did you do?  what did you--).

With a sudden sniff Margot came back to, ducked her head and lifted her hand.  The wide brim of her hat hid her face from view so that she could more effectively pretend to be catching a bug or bit of pollen out of her eye.  In reality she was brushing away tears and scrubbing at her eyelids fiercely with her fingertips and coaching herself to get it the fuck together.

When she lifted her head to show her face again she looked like she was about ready to cry, or like she had only just recovered from crying perhaps.  She sniffed a little again, swallowed, but her voice was clear enough and steady enough (after the very first syllable) to pass.

"I don't know... I mean, there would be plenty of wards and watches there, but that sounds like a beacon of magick too.  A big old target."

Grace
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Ned," she says, but the smile on her face takes a bit of punch out of the language. "Paradigms making a Paradox buffet? Paradox happens if you screw up or do something wildly out of bounds, but I've never heard of it happening just because people are living together. Besides, you were the ones just talking about cohabitation -- and you're thinking about doing it with him," she says, pointing at Dr. Sepúlveda.

"I can see the wisdom in not putting our eggs in one basket, but I can also see the wisdom of strength in numbers, and having a place with wards and robot dragon security guards... I mean, that sounds so amazingly wise to me," she says, grinning like she might have a touch of mad scientist to her herself.

She shrugs at Margot. "We're always a target. Anyway, it was just a thought. It'll be there, if you guys change your mind. Or even if you just need a place to go for a week or whatever."

Sepúlveda
[http://i.imgur.com/aMgG2jh.gif]

Ned
"....Nevermind how you even police privacy or respect or courtesy...most of us can barely interact without some sort of friction, tension or sarcasm...and that's just us saying hello..."

Ned climbs down the length of the Tree the Doc is stationed under, settling onto his ass with a grunt. His eyes trail towards Margot briefly at the sniff, perceptions catching the downturn of her mood and the silence that had preceded it but he doesn't comment or mention. Simply listens to Grace's commentary and returns to the conversation.

"Difference between a Cabal and a Commune....appreciate the offer though. We'll keep it in mind." Ned's wiping his hands down the length of his jeans, brow furrowing together. "Back up though. You just started the investigation? All you got was a hair and a partial fingerprint. How many did you say have died so far?"

Sepúlveda
[corr 1/time 2: hang on, doing stuff]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 2 )

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda sighs when Ned starts asking more questions. Rather than repeat himself, he rummages through his pocket to remove a device that looks like a GPS and a calculator had a rough night and starts to punch in... coordinates? Time signatures? It's hard to tell even if you're watching him closely.

From the machine comes the garbled noise associated with a tape rewinding. It's the moment they all just shared together, going backwards on the screen. Ned returns to the tree, Margot goes and comes back. He tilts it so Ned can see the screen when the activity starts to move forward again.

--gone missing in Colorado Springs, the image of Sepúlveda is saying.

He then proceeds to talk over himself, saying, "Damn, my hair looks good today."

--and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

"Whoops."

Rewind.

--two out of five of them murdered, and I have a sneaking suspicion whoever did it is--

Yeah he could have just repeated himself with, like, words, but that takes all the fun out of it.

Ned
"....I can do that to...It's called an Iphone, grandpa..."

Sepúlveda
"I'll show you an iPhone, you little shit."

Margot
Margot didn't sit to join the rest of her cabal that they wouldn't outright call one but instead remained standing in the shade that the tree cast.  She glanced down to watch Doc fiddle with some device that literally went back in time and pulled his voice from it to explain to Ned that two out of five missing apprentices were found murdered.  Then they bickered about iPhones.

Margot just sighed and rested her forehead and eyes in one hand, supported the elbow in her other hand.

This moment right here could be the snapshot that their cabal sigil was built off of.  Just take it in for a second.

"Grace," she said to interrupt the two after a second.  "Will you keep me in the loop, please?  I'd like to know how many times a minute I need to check over my shoulder and if that should change."

Grace
It's like watching a dysfunctional family dysfunction, isn't it? Grace's eyes go a little wider, like maybe she's just not ready to appropriately handle Ned and Andrés right now, but then Margot saves her.

Keep her in the loop, she says.

"Of course. Absolutely."

"Um. Also, I'll tell Mike you wanted to sell him an initiate, though I don't know exactly what you mean by that," she says to Sepúlveda.

Ned
"....Wait a minute how many initiates do you know?" Pause. "...Margot's not for sale..." Pause. "Fuck you."

First Impressions are so Important...

Ned
Ned's apartment is simple. It hugs the eastern most edge of the Mexican edge of downtown, the suggestion of upscale several blocks distant in favour of something low-key, uninspired and still moderately overpriced. Still he makes a decent wage as an Orderly and puts in enough hours to ensure he's comfortable. His lifestyle choices and efforts are mostly for lack of caring (especially in recent weeks) rather than for any true appreciation of an 'Aesthetics are for Hipsters' mark.

It is a bachelor. One large room on the third floor of a seven story tenement. Creaky hardwood flooring with ancient bannisters and doors that belong in some modern take on the old horror tropes. Rundown Kubrickian perhaps.

The interior is a modicum of former college life. Dishes in the sink, some in the dish rack, the smallest stove and oven known to man, a medium fridge. The room beyond is an assortment of piled clothes atop a dresser, and a bunch of hooks embedded in the wall for his 'nice attire' (a couple of shirts, pants and some belts at best).

The bed/futon is put up into a couch, facing a computer on a desk hugging the wall. The Computer is connected to a large screen TV also embedded in the wall, a connection cable transfering the screen of the comp to the screen of the TV for ease of view.

Ned is dressed in simple gray track pants and a black T when Sepulveda arrives, pulling the door open to eyeball the doc with his what by now must be patented frown.

"Alright so...what exactly are we supposed to be doing because I've got work in the morning and I'm not really looking to be hungover for it."

Sepúlveda
The Etherite had sent him a text message saying he was outside when he arrived to pick him up but for whatever reason Ned isn't ready to go when he gets there. Rather than coming out to the car Ned opens the door to him.

Opens the door and then immediately produces excuses. Work. As if work was ever as an excuse not to do anything. Sepúlveda has to be to work at the crack of ass himself too but if Ned has heard any of the stories going around he has heard that not only does the man not sleep but he can heal himself with a few swishes of liquid in a test tube.

"Then don't get hungover," Sepúlveda says in a cloying voice. Like Ned is being ridiculous. He makes a c'mon gesture with the hand not holding onto his keys but doesn't offer up any other explanation.

Ned
There's a blinking stare, followed by a 'Alright' that sends the apprentice into the apartment. A half a minute later and he's exiting again in jeans, a hoodie and his wool jacket, keys jangling with the door locked up, the apartment dark and shutdown.

He tucks his keys into his jacket pocket, checks his pants for his wallet and other necessities and the door knob to see that the door is actually locked before finally lifting his gaze toward the Doc and nodding, hands in pockets.

"So what is this about exactly?"

Sepúlveda
At this point Ned has already seen the house in which the medical examiner lives. It is not a palace by any means but it is well within his means and his means afford him quite a bit of breathing room. He has a laboratory and a library in the basement. So the fact that he drives a winter beater may or may not strike Ned as novel.

It's a Jeep Wrangler he leads him to. Not a luxury vehicle. A lot of room in the back not just for equipment and furniture but bodies. One could sleep in the back of this thing if one needed to. He has the back windows in place so when they drive the winter doesn't climb in with them.

So what is this about.

As they walk and approach the vehicle he says:

"I wish I had a, ah, what do you call it. An agenda. But I don't. I caught myself thinking about you and your friend Margot the other day when I ought to have been doing other things--" He unlocks the door and walks around the front of the vehicle before climbing in and turning the engine. "--and then I thought, 'Hey! Happy hour! I'll take him to the happy hour!'" A beat as they proceed into traffic. "I'm trying different, Ned, if you'd prefer a different environment for casual conversation I'm more than happy to take suggestions."

Ned
"It's more that the exposure is a bit off-putting for what we normally talk about."

He's conversational, or as conversational as Ned opts to be most of the time. Seemingly far more comfortable discussing the actual, then potential small-talk or chit-chat or whatever those crazy kids do these days. He sits in the wrangler, glancing around the interior with careful eyes (and no small amount of nervousness that had him considering waging a Matter glance at the engine and guts, to ensure it was within working condition and order. Air bags...did this thing have Air bags?!)

"The strip club was a good measure of exposure that allowed you to put on that silence bubble. Proved some points and made it clear what we're going to be up against but I hardly think publicity and Working are within the spectrum of normal. That said...casual conversation's not really my forte, though I would prefer to get some clarity on a few things if you're open to some questions."

A pause. A beat.

"Analogy free if I can help it." A joke. A small joke. He can joke....sometimes.

Sepúlveda
It's a small joke and Sepúlveda doesn't seem like he's rooted enough in the same reality as the rest of them to have a sense of humor but he's trying. These goddamned kids are going to have him undergoing Grinch-like alteration of personality at the rate they're going.

"Your analogies are terrible," he says. Teasing. "Why do you rely on analogies? It's like listening to someone try to translate Cervantes into Modern English word-for-word when they don't speak Medieval Spanish."

Ned
"Because we're not part of this reality anymore...and yet still walking around in it. It's a contradiction. We can do fantastic things but get punished for it by our current circumstances and setting. As hilarious as it is to consider this a destiny or some sort of fate, I'm half expecting someone to slap me across the face with a rubber chicken and laugh most days I wake up..."

Ned's glancing out the window as they progress through the city in the Doc's old Wrangler. He catches sight of something that draws his attention every so often before they are speeding past it.

"Brand new rules, brand new system, brand new ugly to look over my shoulder for and no real handbook beyond the dozen or so Traditions that conflict and don't bother working together so well, if you're to be believed. How are you or we or anyone expected to get anything done that way?"

Sepúlveda
"Is that a rhetorical question?"

He doesn't sound defensive. They're driving. It's city driving so there isn't much to look at but it doesn't look as if they're going to a local dive bar where they can knock back tequila and stare at mirrors and neon signs until the world starts to go fuzzy. In a few minutes they will be on the highway headed further west. He didn't have a destination in mind.

A sigh. Ned has to be figuring out by now that if he didn't want to help Ned he wouldn't text the kids every single week to check in on them.

"Most of us don't interact with the other traditions, to tell you the truth. I don't believe I met my first Virtual Adept until I was..." Think. Age and time. He waves a hand. "... I don't remember. It was a long time ago. Where was I? Do I have a point? What is it?"

Ned has time to redirect him. Or remind him. Whichever.

"Oh right. You--I said this to Margot, and you'll have to forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but I had the thought of the both of you, but for different reasons, which is why I'm separating you two like this, you see--" The car starts to beep as his hand-talking results in a less-than-ideal trajectory. That isn't magick. That's Fiat Chrysler wanting to cut down on side-impact collisions caused by distracted driving. He stops talking with his hands. "The entire world is open to you now. With time, you'll learn to do whatever the hell you want to do, pardon my French. You have never been more free or alive than you are, right now, and yet the two of you, this wracks you. You, especially. You're anxious. Are you not?"

Ned
"Exit after the next. There's a a dive bar called Questor. Good cheese fries."

He points to a sign on the highway, indicating the Doc's directions. He can get a bite and the Doc can get his drink on.

"Anxious is a word for it." He pauses, sucking in a slowing breath that doesn't do much to alleviate that sensation that's been rubbing him raw for...well weeks. Since this all began. A hand comes up to rub across one side of his face, then over his mouth and jawline.

"I'm not used to being in an unknown. Having..." He gestures infront of him, trying to keep in mind his previous promise about analogies.  "...a focal point to concentrate on has always been a part of who I am and what I do. 'Give it time' isn't much of a reassurance though, given that I could walk around a corner tomorrow and run into one of these...Technocrats? Marauders? Nefastus people?" Another pause. Another breath.

"Which is to say that yeah. It's going to take time and yeah we're new to all this but, given the Traditions don't really interact, despite the fact we're all sharing the same type of Reality and Freedom? Given there's a small host of 'bad guys' out there and no few of them are just other people like us with a different world view?" He chuckles. A genuine thing, as if he suddenly find a moment's humour in what he was describing.

"You cant really be surprised that we're anxious, can you?" That....was not rhetorical.

"We're also college kids or...at least I was-" Something there. A flutter under the tone that get crushed under a reflex "-and college is where you start to sort out what it is you're supposed to be doing, even if that's wracking up debt and working a shitty job for years just to pay it all off. That's a plan. That's a focus. A really shitty focus but...well, do you want to know what your average 20-something year old does with 'The entire world open to them', Doc?"

Sepúlveda
"I was sixteen when I went through my period of enlightenment. I do kind of want to know."

There's the exit. He's turning onto it and steering the Wrangler towards the place with the cheese fries. Nothing will get this particular forensic pathologist into a place faster than food and clientele that is capable of killing him.

That said:

"Ned, I am not anxious. I am... calling you out on the fact that you are anxious, this is how the kids are saying it these days, yes? Your life prior to this was an unknown. You were in just as much danger, perhaps more, than you are now. If you are never going outside, never exploring, never... well, I don't know what you're doing now. I'm supposing. In terms of the statistics, as far as you knew before, you and I could have died on the freeway. That is more likely than you meeting a Nephandus, or a Marauder. The Technocrats, last I checked, did not give a shit what we were doing, but, ah..."

They're almost there. One more red light. He kills half the wait at the red light drumming his thumb against the steering wheel.

"No. I'm not surprised. But, this whole time, I haven't heard from you what it is you're passionate about. Eh? What is your passion. Why don't we focus for tonight on this?"

Sepúlveda
["Ned, I am not surprised you're anxious," that line should say.]

Ned
"Bliss. Ignorance. Something."

He says it almost dismissively of the Doc's assurances he was in a lot of danger prior to Awakening. He might have waved his hand off-cuff were it not for the fact the one driving them was capable of Electrocution and Zombifying techniques. Ned's gaze remains out the window, glancing up at the red light as it chooses to take it's time so close to their destination.

"I'm passionate about solving the Puzzle." He says it odd-hand. Like it's a standard that doesn't really need explaining. He explains anyway, sitting back in his seat. "It's got no rhyme or obvious reason identifiable to this reality. No real value or strength that I can compare to anything else and yet it's got this familiarity to it that...." He pauses. More analogy sifting. "It feels comfortable and it's rewarding whenever I put the right right with the red sound and shape."

That might not be what the Doc was looking to here mind you, but Ned is switching gears rather suddenly, frown returning to his face.

"It's not really about exploring or going outside though. Never's a strong word and it doesn't fit it's more...if I'm going to be out here, I want to be ready. Prepared. You don't go into a gun fight, with a knife and you don't go into a knife fight holding your dick." A pause. "Pardon the language. Right now it feels like I'm naked, with a few second head start on whatever's out there and the best thing to do is keep running and hiding when I can, until I sort out how to throw a punch."

A pause.

"Which I suppose I'm rather passionate about as well."

He looks out the passenger window at the bar they've stopped infront of. Plenty of space on the street to park with nary a working parking meter in sight. Half of them were probably broken by the clientele just to ensure they could drink in peace without standing up every hour or so to go out in the cold and re-fill the damn things.

Ned
(The right red with the right sound and shape^)

Sepúlveda
"Can I tell you something, before we go in?"

As if it matters whether or not Ned wants to hear the something. He knows his mentor is more than capable of throwing up a force field and keeping their conversation contained. This has less to do with a desire for privacy and more a recognition of the presence of a demarcation. They will be changing scenery in a moment. If Ned had suggested any place else they would be there right now.

"We all come into the world naked. I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm telling you anyway: naked we come, and naked we go. Some of us, naked more than others, during." Gross. "Have you ever been in a knife fight?" Rhetorical. "I have been in a knife fight. I did not have a knife. Was not holding my dick, either, maybe next time I'll try that, but with knowledge, Edward, if you do find yourself holding your dick in a knife fight, you can escape the fight unscathed." Scowl. "Terrible. Terrible analogies."

He takes the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the car.

Grace is already there. Welcome home, Grace.

Grace
When Dr. Sepulveda and his "apprentice" get to the bar, they might just find they have company of the Magickal persuasion. Perched at the bar, and halfway through her bowl of cheese fries is a woman who bends reality just so. If you catch her out of the corner of your eye on the right night, you might swear she had a knife to bring to that metaphorical fight. Something sharp, at least. Maybe she is the knife? But no... Just a woman.

A woman neither of them has ever met before. Blame Australia or her unnatural urges to take pictures of penguins there. She hasn't been around. There have been too many new people to meet, and too few old faces. Perhaps, soon, she will learn why Alex isn't showing his face much anymore, but that is a council for another time.

Tonight, she counsels a plate of cheese fries on why they need to be in her mouth. Leave the heavy shit for later.

About all they can see of her, if she's even noticed, is the back of her red coat drooping over the barstool like a set of wings.

Ned
"I went an entire car ride talking about what we talk about, without making one. You owe me a medal of valor." He throws it back into the car as he exits but before the Doc has climbed out himself.

Ned stuffs his hands into his pockets, eyeballing the sign of the Questor...missing it's 'o'. The interior was little more than shaky stools, a peeling bar vaneer, a tender that didn't speak much except to espouse how much he hated the local sports teams and how 'Player X' was 'A turd-shit shame in the making' to those who blunder into that sort of conversation.

What few occupants were here, were here to ensure a healthy buzz and maintenance of their apathy to the rest of the world, the Questor representing their greatest comfort zone. Ned's here for the cheese fries, about the only real item on the small 7 item menu list that helped to identify this place as a 'Restaurant' in the local ads and papers, worth anything.

The pitchers are just shy of ten bucks as well which, on a college budget, you could make it rain.

"It isn't so much I don't want to hear it Doc, as I've heard it. Several times. It doesn't change my outlook. I could get into a Car accident, but statistically speaking it's unlikely. Except I did and it went pear-shaped real fast and the only thing that got me clear was the trade-off. Stop being you now...it's time for you to be This." This, was awakened. He glances around the interior, noticing a small table off to one side of the wall, his jacket already slipping off his shoulders.

"Statistically speaking, I'm curious how many of Us, exist vs. Them...sleepers?" He glances at the Doc for assurance that's the right word. "...We're just as unlikely an incident as far as I can tell and yet here we are. Proof positive that the odds don't work that way anymore."

Ned
A glance is paid to the only splash of colour in the drab and dreary place. Grace's coat catches his eye, for a long moment, his frown creased with something like curiosity before 'Staring is impolite' takes over and he's driving his eyes toward the bartender, ordering a plate of Cheese fries and a Glass of water.

Sepúlveda
[perc + aware: ARCANE ONLY APPLIES TO ALERTNESS ROLLS SUCK IT GRACE]

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

Grace
[You suck it, other Mages... Perc + Aware]

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

Sepúlveda
[*falls off the bed*]

Ned
(Those some gooodddd cheese fries, apparently)

Sepúlveda
Soon as they walk through the doors the Etherite loses his concentration for a moment.

It isn't as if he is making a conscious effort to scan the room but he has been around long enough that it becomes more of a background application than an active one and he seems scatterbrained because he is. Not from tunnel vision but from having a powerful brain inside that skull of his.

This is the first time Grace is seeing either of them. The younger of them is a fair doe-eyed young man who cannot be very far into his twenties. He stands several inches taller than his companion who has at least a decade on him and comes from a more equatorial part of the hemisphere. Wearing a suit and black-rimmed glasses his black hair is close-cropped and dusted with gray while his beard is trimmed but planning on staying for a while.

He feels like a cold chill up the spine. Noticeable resonance even without having one's eyes open to the rest of the world.

Ned throws the doctor's ministrations back at him. Sepúlveda takes his thin-boned hands out of his jacket pockets and holds them up in a supplicating gesture.

"Argh, you're too smart for me!" Lighthearted sarcasm before he claps him on the shoulder. "Sit down, I'm going to the bar. Keep an eye on that lady with the red coat, would you? She resonates."

Ned
"....Oh c'mon, you can sarcasm better than that."

The Doc interrupts his attempt to order, instead turning him out toward a nearby table which he glances to and shrugs himself convinced. A glance is cast toward the indicated Red-Coat (Heh) and Ned's reaction seems to sharpen and shift from the vaguely jovial exchange the Doc and he had struck a moment before to something...more-Ned.

He takes to moving a bit slower around the tables and folds the jacket over a nearby chair, pulling one back (without scraping the heels on the ground to draw attention) and setting it down for him to climb into.

Then he waits. Quietly. Without obviousness.

Grace
That lady with the red coat was treating fries like airplanes before. Not anymore. Something awful this way comes. The exact kind of awful is hard to say for certain, but it's as though the dead have arrived. She's been witness to some creepy resonance before, even some that made her want to vomit, but this? It hardly feels like the two are even Mages...

Like they're vampires. Or maybe they'll start using Qlippothic shit to make everybody in the bar try to kill each other (no, not likely, but still).

Two of them. And one of her. As if she didn't already have fifty other things to worry about right now.

She throws some money on the bar, enough for a good tip, then slides off of her chair. She can get cheese fries somewhere else.

Sepúlveda
The problem with Grace's escape plan presents itself thusly:

In order to get to the door and go somewhere else she has to walk past Sepúlveda. Not that he is the most intimidating figure anyone has ever cut in the history of intimidating figures. The first thing people tend to notice about him are his eyes which are green which means even in wonky bar lighting and behind eyeglass lenses they stand out as bright. He is handsome but he is short.

She would have to know him better to know whether he is as skinny as that suit makes him look. Ned doesn't know how strong he is yet. He hasn't been the recipient of an awkward there there hug yet.

Anyway: she starts to bail out. One of the strange fellows is right in her way when she slides off the chair.

"You're not leaving already, are you?" As if they've met before. They haven't. She would remember meeting him if they had. "No, listen, stay a few minutes, my friend over there--" He puts a hand on her shoulder and if her coat is not on yet she can feel how cold his fingers are through her blouse. Poor circulation. Argh. His other hand gestures towards Ned. A wedding band is parked on his ring finger. He has a faint Mexican accent. Child of immigrants. You know how it is. "--is new to the area, and he hasn't met very many people, and I am beginning to think he's depressed, clinically, which is not my area, I'm a forensic pathologist, not a psychiatrist..."

Sorry Grace. The dude is a little hyper. He's been attempting to make eye contact this time and his writer is banking on her social awkwardness for there to not be a ton of resistance I'm so sorry.

He takes his right hand off her shoulder and pirouettes a bit to angle himself so he can offer it to shake.

"Sepúlveda. Andrés Sepúlveda. Society of Ether. Hi."

[mind 1: read surface thoughts. gonna call it diff 7 bc he normally needs his dumb instruments for this and 'eye contact' isn't one of them, -1 bc quintessence.]

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

Ned
Ned's tucked into the corner at his table, eyeballing the exchange between the Doc and the Red-coat and is suddenly struck by the odd behaviour of the man out of context with his apprentices. Teachers/Mentors were expected to be somewhat eccentric especially outside of a classroom environment. To see the Son of Ether in a more natural state express the same level of...oddity. It was a bit of a small treat.

Ned is covering his mouth carefully.

Grace
The problem with Sepúlveda's plan is that he doesn't know what she thinks of him as he plops his hand on her shoulder (!) and then introduces her to the other (dead) man. His hands are freezing, and in Grace's eyes are a mix of fear and anger when he touches her. How dare he fucking touch her?

"Yeah, well, I'm not new to the area," she says, trying to squirrel herself out of his grasp by the shoulder. "And I really have to get..."

Society of Ether?

Surface thoughts? Right now, it's all about how to put some distance between herself and these guys. And then? That thought changes as soon as he says those magic three words.

Her eyes narrow. "Bullshit."

She slides her phone out of her pocket, because that wrong Resonance just slid over her like a giant, cold slug. Should have done this sooner...

[Mind 1: Stay out of my head, Sepúlveda!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Sepúlveda
"Bullshit?"

He'd taken his hand off her shoulder not so soon as she starting squirming but so soon as he reached the point where he was taking it off anyway because he was trying to introduce himself. Some wires crossed somewhere and she doesn't believe him and he's flipping through his Rolodex of possible explanations because how the hell would he know what her problem is. They just met.

Anyway: he took his hand off her already. He's trying to shake. She's not having it. He holds up both his hands like to show her he's not armed but they both know that's--

"Oh!" Lightbulb moment. He takes a step back. They're starting to draw attention to themselves. "Look, lady, I don't want any trouble. We can laugh about this at the next..." He lowers his hands. Another lightbulb comes on. "Ohhhh, riiiiight, this is why we lost the Ascension War, I'mremembering now." He gives her a left-handed salute and steps up to the bar. Gets out of her way. "Ciao."

Ned
Ned's sobered by the time the pair have their moment. Fiddling with some errant peanut shell he's found on the bar table. A second later and he flicks it onto the floor, wiping the playful finger on his hoodie at the memory of realizing where they are exactly.

His stomach rumbled slightly. His thoughts turn to cheesie fries. Mmmm, cheesie fries.

Grace
Her eyes flit between the two of them, up from her cell phone game of 'MindShield', utterly confused. The words and behavior aren't matching the feel. Would a Nephandus seem this awful? If so, they'd be quite easily spotted and put the fuck down.

And this guy knows a hell of a lot about Mages if he's a vampire. It just doesn't add up. Maybe they're something new, like a couple of Mages newly returned from the Umbral Realm of Everything's Dead Here.

Another thought. She returns to her calculations on her phone, a shift to a new Program.

"Say that again? Who you are?"

[Forces 1, Entropy 1: Lie Detector!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Sepúlveda
The bartender isn't picking up on the tension in their interaction or if he is he isn't listening. He's just trying to make it through the shift tonight. With a Hang on a minute finger the Whatever He Is turns from Grace and orders a Corona and a Coke and two shots of tequila no lime or salt and an order of cheese fries. Pays for it with a twenty and doesn't wait for change.

While the bartender fills glasses he sighs and turns back to Grace.

"Doctor Andrés Sepúlveda. I am a medical examiner with Denver County, and before that I was with Miami-Dade County, in Florida. And so on and so forth. I am with the Society of Ether. My wife was Hinata Ueno, of the Verbenae. We had been discussing moving back to Denver, where I'm from, because of events that have occurred involving the Technocracy and her tradition, but she died in April of last year, so I am here for her."

Oh look there's his drinks. He loads up his right hand with the pint glasses and waggles his fingers at her phone screen.

"Now if you'll excuse me, if I leave my student alone any longer he's going to think I've abandoned him. You and Siri have a good night."

His left hand takes up the tequila glasses and away he goes. Everything he told her was true. Even the things he didn't need to tell her. Like he was well aware of what she was doing and why.

When he returns to the table he begins distributing glassware between himself and Ned with a, "You see? Car crashes are a very real threat."

Ned
"...All the more reason to protect and secure myself before I end up overly exposed and vulnerable." He leans in after a moment and whispers rather intensely. "I didn't even recognize she was something, but you did...and she obvious thought you were something off. If I was in here alone, which I've done before, she might have-" He pauses.

He's eyeballing the Doctor, firmly, carefully and then abruptly-

"Excuse me, Miss?" Ned is standing, calling out loud enough to get the Bartender to pay him a frown for the noise. Several other patrons murmur and lift their heads out of their own stupors at the noise but Ned doesn't seem to pay it any mind. He's waving at Grace before she has a chance to retreat or gain some distance or react much beyond the Doc's dismissal.

"You mind coming over here? I have some questions." Then down at the Doc. "If you're comfortable enough to go telling her your life-story, you should be good enough to keep us safe when she turns out to be some Faustian Soul-drinker." Ned just...just stop.

Sepúlveda
No time to sit down. Time enough to offload his drinks and then stand by as Ned calls out.

A flick of his eyebrows before he clarifies as an aside:

"Was more of a death-story, eh?" He claps the kid on the shoulder in an unspoken affirmation of back-having and then knocks back his tequila shot.

Grace
"Wha... Faustian... Me?" More confusion. If anything, they are the Faustian Soul-drinkers here.

"Look," she says, sighs. Walks over toward the Good Doctor and his associate. "I think we may have gotten on the wrong... feet." It's a butchery of a saying, but she means it. Their interaction was like stepping on toes intentionally.

She leans in to whisper, "You realize you both have the 'feel' of the walking dead? I thought..."

Don't bother with what she thought.

"But yeah. Everything you said?" she shoots a look at Dr. Sepúlveda. "Checks out. I'm uh... Grace. Mercurial Elites."

Ned
"Makes me wish Margot were here. She'll be bummed she missed out on a chance for more info."

Ned slips back down into his chair, watching Grace's approach with careful eyes and a sort of...solemn nature that speaks of nativity? A directness, less charming and more eased. When she gets within conversational ear-shot, Ned gives her a quick once-over just to attest that she is something or other. Or maybe scan to see if he can sense or recognize whatever it is the Doc sensed or recognized. Which...he isn't quite sure how to do.

So when he comes up with 'It's a Woman' in his head, there's a pressing of lips that stifles a laugh followed by.

"So not a Faustian Soul-drinker intent on our destruction? Just another- What do you call us again, Doc? Workers?- Just another Worker making it in this crazy world of ours? Also, what's your  passion in life? The Doc says passion is important and I want to make sure you're on the up and up."

If he's joking it doesn't come across as such, though he does fold his hands on the table with an air of put on sophistication and expectancy. Then a blink and a more common frown.

"What the hell is a Mercurial Elite?" He eyeballs the Doc quickly. "Sounds like a Band from the 90s."

Sepúlveda
Sepúlveda did bother with what she thought. Being as he's already referred to the kid as his friend and his student and even if this is irrelevant he tends to do as most organisms will in situations that are otherwise controlled: as he damned well pleases.

So Grace approaches. Ned and Sepúlveda both sit. The older man licks his lips quick to get the lingering alcohol off of them and leans in towards Ned while maintaining eye contact with Grace. Indicates her with his left hand while tucking the right away in the pocket of his jacket. Speaks in a stage whisper.

"Close. The Mercurial Elite are what the Virtual Adepts call themselves now. They're part of the Council of Nine, tend to Work with the Correspondence Sphere, and prefer to use computers as instruments. Don't make any sudden movements, it's rare to see one out in the wild like this."

End aside.

Grace
"Faustian Soul-drinker sounds like a band from the 90's," Grace says, still quite... unsure about these people. Like a wary cat. "My passion huh?" Geez, is he trying to hit on her? Gross. No thanks, dead-guy.

"I suppose... information. I get it, I let it go where it needs to go. What's yours? If I want to make sure you're on the up and up?"

Sepúlveda just gets an eyeroll for his efforts at making a joke.

Ned
"Solving puzzles and securing my future. Or a least, making sure I'm pushing back when the Bad Guys...come...and...uhhh...get me." Ned was listening to himself as he spoke and realized with steady and dawning consideration that he sounded like a child with his blanket cape and teddy sidekick just then. There is a thoughtful frown and a re-evaluation, eyes flicking toward the Doc for a moment before re-orienting on Grace.

"I want to make sure I'm strong enough to push back if pushed." Succinct and straight-forward. He considers the phrase and finds it comfortable. A brief smile touches his lips.

"Information. Huh. Computers-" A glance at the Doc. "-and Correspondence. One of the spheres. Distance and space, yeah?" He looks up at Grace again, a momentary pause for the Cheesie fries that appear on the bar counter. Arrival imminent.

"Does that mean you can teleport? Or travel through phone lines? Can you Neo? I bet you can Neo."

Sepúlveda
The man works with dead bodies all day every day. He and Grace are roughly the same height. They are both geniuses in their own right. Surely she can appreciate that he wasn't trying to be funny.

Can you Neo? I bet you can Neo.

This is better than any hypothetical situation he could have come up with sitting in a parking lot drinking out of a brown paper bag. Sepúlveda bites his lips to keep from interjecting and reaches for his beer.

As opposed to the time he brought the kids to the strip club and didn't plan ahead all that great this time he has a device for situations like this. A sound dampener. Looks like a small white noise machine. Not all that inconspicuous but no one is paying attention to what they're doing anyway. He just figures he might as well cut down on the amount of weird shit other people are overhearing.

Besides: can't get a hangover if the bartender can't serve you.

[forces 2: swear to cthulhu this is going to be a botch some day. -1 practiced.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 4, 10) ( success x 2 )

Sepúlveda
[It's late. I forgot a sentence in there somewhere. One of his hands is beering and the other one is taking the device thingy out of his jacket pocket.]

Grace
 "Shit, dude. You are new as... like, what? Wednesday?" He talks like someone new, at least. Full of 'passion' and 'I bet you can Neo'. "I don't Kung Fu."

If that's what he means. Maybe he means the jumping?

She sees the white noise machine, understands what's going on. "But yeah. I teleport. I don't stop bullets in the air, because that's a great way to look like you're full of lead anyway..." Not because she can't, mind you.

Ned
"But you can teleport..."

He seems entirely wrapped up now. Thoroughly on the ball of examining just what Correspondence could potentially do. Stopping bullets is one thing, he had been giving that some thought and might have come up with some sort of way to define kinetic energy or negate it, given enough-

"Yes I'm new. About a month now, give or take. The Doc-" He nods at Sepulveda across the table "-is my Mentor. He's been teaching me about you-...us, for a couple of weeks. Says the Traditions really aren't that organized or interactive. That true?" Ned's gaze holds Grace pretty steadily, the questions coming bolder and more confident. One could potentially see Ned in his element during a Lecture or Class Discussion.

Sepúlveda
Other than a shrug of both his brows and his shoulders he doesn't given any indication that he's even listening to Ned right now.

Yeah. I said it. So what.

He isn't fiddling with his cellphone or any other devices during this exchange. Just drinking his beer and watching the two of them interact. Letting Grace field that one. That's what she gets for being an asshole.

Grace
"Being organized and interactive is how you're going to get strong enough to push back when pushed. You call somebody to help you," she says, mother hen tendencies taking over. So what if he feels dead to the world? He's a month old. So he says. She checks her phone to be sure of that, and yup...

"And yeah, we could do a lot better at that. Especially now. The 'Bad Guys' really are coming for us all," she says, turns to Sepúlveda. "You said you were here because of some Technocrat shit? You might be in the right place. There's talks about the War starting up again, and some people's attempts at it."

Ned
War....

Ned's agitation suddenly spikes and his head whips around toward the Doc. War? Didn't the Doc say something about a few wars and one being over and Techno-...

Sepúlveda
"'The right place'? This is Denver, is it not?"

He's not trying to be sarcastic. There is nothing charming or manipulative about him. Earnest sure and earnestness can come across as arrogant at times. He claps a hand on Ned's shoulders and says in another audible aside:

"Don't panic. I survived the end of the Ascension War, alright, if they wanted to wipe us all out we wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation right now." He widens his eyes across the table like thanks a lot Grace and breaks from the huddle.

"I hear the old Chantry is no longer, and a place of significance to my wife's people is no longer. 'Technocrat shit,' she says..."

Grace
This is Denver, is it not?

"You sound like you know the place pretty well," she says, half-smirk on her face at the shared sentiment of the city.

"You got a number I should call if... You know, proverbial manure hits proverbial wind mixer?"

Ned
"...Wait, what war? Is there a War? Doesn't that mean fighting?" He whispers harshly under his breath, as if the Doc's White Noise maker weren't a thing. "I don't even know what the hell a Technocrat is."

And then Cheesie fries arrive. The bartender breaks the sound barrier and Ned is immediately straight backed and wide eyed, looking at the rotund fellow without blinking as he sets the plate down, gums clapping around some non-verbal noise.

"Thank you."

The man goes wandering off again, barely aware of his surroundings. God love the Questor.

Sepúlveda
"War means many things, Edward, and there are roles within war that don't require fighting, and I explained to you the origins of the Technocracy already. The Mercurial Elite and the Society of Ether were once part of it. The Order of Reason, they were called, remember?"

Fuck it. Sepúlveda takes the second shot he was going to force on Ned and pours it down his own throat. No chaser. The burn gives him something to focus on for a couple of seconds besides the internal debate he has going on right now which has nothing to do with what they're currently discussing but does cause him a bit of distraction.

Sepúlveda
"A number for you. Yes. Hang on."

He produces a business card and it would come with a description but it is late. The business card contains the contents of his earlier confession. County ME's office. Numbers. Email. All of the means of contact in the case of shit and fans.

Grace
"I don't really fight much," Grace says. "I just track things down. You'd be surprised how much damage you can do with the right information in the right hands."

Hence why the not Kung Fu. Hence why she just wanted to get the fuck out of the bar at first.

She takes the doctor's card, looks it over like she's inspecting it for possible... not-niceness. That resonance isn't easy to get over.

"You don't have to fight. Not really. Just be prepared to -- always a good idea."

And with those not entirely comforting words, she gives the two a flash of an awkward smile and finally makes it out of there.