Fundamentals of Pumpkin Soup

Danny
(Search for the all-spark)

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

Grace
[Awareness/Perceptions!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

Jo
There is no doubt that in the event of a lottery win, Jo would make any bakery quite happy. All the delicious frostings, glazes, and sweet treats would be had in droves; honestly if someone could simply beam them into her mouth at any given time, she would be happier than a cat on catnip. Oh... catnip cupcakes...

The eatery, branding itself as a provider of 'gourmet' sweets and coffee, was one of her favorites; it may contain a plethora of hipsters, but at least she wasn't surrounded by blondes. Ok that was unfair. -college- blondes. -Ditzy- blondes. Those people who drink tiny teas and spend their nights wondering which nail polish matches their arm hair... or.. something. Did she really know what they actually cared about?

She sent Grace a text, mostly for a 'HEY I'M TOTALLY OVER HERE' sake, and also because Grace was totally hot and clueless. How adorable is THAT? And cupcakes. Who doesn't want to share in the love of sugar and diabetes?

She sat at a table (where else would she sit) with her laptop busted out on the hard surface and her feet pulled up onto the chair. Her lids remained wide, fixating on the glorious shining screen of her robot overlords. The spongy bit of cake was shoved half into her mouth, frosting having been licked off some time ago to leave a smear of residue, and was now just resting between her lips as she attempted to do...click furiously through a series of forums.

Jo
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 10) ( success x 1 )

Danny
*It was just one of those days, day two of a steaming head cold and he was up before..... Ugh..... before 4pm, he checked his phone without really needing to then parked up and took another swig of the orange juice he had in the side pocket of his car.

Grace had invited him along and he was full of cold.  The things we do for love, right?  Sealing the bottle up he almost considered just closing his eyes and going back to sleep in the car there and then.  Even with the music blaring out of his CD player.  He didn't sniff, well he tried not to. One gimlet eye opened to a slit to look at Grace.* Okay... the coffee is on you, just keep it coming... and lots of cupcakes... Kay?

*His beautiful voice sounded full of hoarse ragged sounds.*

Grace
Grace walks into the place, Danny in tow (though not by the arm). He'd been sick, which was not the best of timing, Danny. But she needed, what? A friend to help her navigate this encounter? He didn't say no. And when she mentioned cupcakes, he didn't even seem too disappointed to be awake.

Now that they were there, however...

"Maybe you should have stayed home? You sound terrible," she said, as she shut the car down and stepped out into the slight chill of a warming Denver afternoon.

"She's here. I can feel her. That humming, do you notice?"

Grace, mind you, seems a bit different. There is still the shift underfoot, like the sliding of a faultline. She still lends her sharpness to the air. But when she steps out of the car, there's a bit of relaxation evident in her body language -- the stretch of an invisible, decidedly feathery wingspan.

Jo
Humming.

The dull vibration of a computer. The sound that, when one pays close attention, seems to emanate from the wires along telephone poles; ever present, consistent. It's a faint humming, the sort that comes from someone so new to the wire that they haven't quite pushed in yet.

Jo has her face so far into the realm of the computer that the sensation is almost normal. She feels them nearby, though it feels almost no different from any others she might come across, and it's not screaming out to her. Focused. Intent. Tapping on the keyboard. Her teen sink into the spongeycake, then the rest is pushed into her mouth, creating a magical chipmunk. A small twitch at her nose and Jo gives just a little movement of her head.

Then tapping. The clacking of her keys, softer on the laptop, yet somehow louder. She has a tendency to become a little overzealous in her...play. It's an instinctual response on her part that drives her to erach around the laptop for the next cupcake, only to come up with air. She meerkats, pulling the top of her computer down just enough to look at her plate, still chewing on the rest of the spongecake before giving a hard swallow.  Her lips purse, eyes narrow, and somehow...discovers that the universe is conspiring to force her into procuring more cupcakes.

Danny
*He raises his eyebrow and reaches for Grace gently.*

Hey.... I said I'd be here... I am never going to turn you away.  *He smiles and nods to her question, then lifted his head and his bright red nose - nice one mister rock star, you look like Rudolph - then smiled again.*

Yeah I can feel it.   It's okay...  I'll get the drinks.  *He went in with her to gain the upper hand on this cold thing, the only thing to herald his entrance this time was that madly spinning flashy pulsar as he drew his scarf in tighter and hunched his shoulders.* Lead on Macduff.

Grace
Grace smiles over to Jo and her meerkat, cupcake devouring ways. She gets a wave.

"Hey!" Just like they're old friends, perhaps, and not just some random people who met in line at the DMV.

She walks over to the table, pulls out a chair, and hooks her coat and laptop bag upon the back. Most Denverites are going without coats right about now, the weather's so 'warm'. But Grace is an Arizonian by nature, and Kalen's gift is warm. And obviously modded. Strips of plastic run around the seams of what once was a fashionable, sharp, red coat. Underneath, she has on a black Linux penguin t-shirt and blue jeans.

"This place has kickass cupcakes. I'm sure you've figured that out by now."

Jo
Warm enough for hoodies. Warm enough for hoodies with their sleeves pulled down a little and having holes cut in to slide their thumbs through; at least that is what Jo does. Dark grey, today, and pulled over a T-shirt that simply sported the power button for any computer these days. She moves her head to Grace, lips curling up into a wide grin. "Yo!" A hand shooting up into the air to give a rather exuberant wave, even though Grace has not only seen Jo, but is also right there. "TCHT. Yeah. Like the -best.- I mean seriously? Starbanks is totally just a brand and doesn't even like, bother to like, put in effort to make quality food. I mean really? Why do like people put crumbles on their stuff? Frosting is way cooler."

She moved her laptop closer to herself and her empty plate. "So like, who's the dude? Is he like, your boy or something?"

Danny
*He made his way to the bar and ordered one of everything on the cupcake menu... then glanced to look at whoever it was that Grace needed a wingman for... and smiled to himself when he saw her just jump right in socially.  He asked for a repeat of whatever it was that Jo had ordered then went for whatever he figured Grace might enjoy the best.... and for himself?  Man he must be suffering!! White hot chocolate with cream and cherry sauce on top and sprinkles of dark chocolate curls on top...  He paid.

Then he made his way over with the girl promising she'd bring it all over.  Warm or not, Danny was wrapped up in a red scarf and coat, and he was doing his best impression of a certain plague victim.

He sat himself down at the table and sank slightly under it as he leaned back. Just glad to not be trying to do anything special today. There... he was parked... and the handbrake was on... for a few minutes he just sat that way as he let things filter up to him from whatever level he was reaching today.*

Grace
"What, Danny? No. He's nobody's... Well, he's with Kalen. You haven't met Kalen yet? I probably would have heard about that."

She gives him a smile as he appears. "He's uh... a little sick."

"Thanks for getting the stuff, Danny. Sometimes they tend to forget I exist."

It's a blessing and a curse, whatever it is that keeps her from being noticed. It's a good thing that Jo recalled the events at the DMV, or remembered who this strange woman was, walking into the cupcake shop. A bit of priming is necessary. And lots of text messages. Waiters in random cafes and restaurants? They tend to be more oblivious.

Danny
*He felt like the opening bars of Complication by nine inch nails truth be told, a bit kind of distorted around the edges of the notes but the truth was there still regardless.

As he sneezed suddenly into the crook of his elbow his feet shot forwards under the table and he all but vanished into a cloud of hair then grimaced, found something to use for his nose and then pushed his hair back out of his face.* Sorry...

I'm Danny... I won't shake your hand, you don't want this, trust me. *He grinned a bit glassy eyed and cleared his throat carefully so's not to spread the lov... erm.. contamination.*

Oh it's fine.... *He waved it off.* So how do you girls know each other?

Jo
"Uh.. lessee..." Jo leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, ticking off something in the air. "Nope. Nope. Nope. No Kalen in my system. Never heard. Weird name. Like, what country is that from?" Her head still back, she rolled her head to look at Danny, pulling her arms in and shrinking away from him as he sneezed; she looked like she were afraid someone might have thrown a gun at her. "Holy jesus on a crackerjack stick. Man.. you're like... jesus.. what kinda malware you sportin? They got vaccines and stuff for that you know! You could like.. I dunno.." Jo squinted her eyes, easing back  in a comfortable position (feet flat on the seat). "Oh!" She leaned over to rummage in her backpack, lifting it up and shoving her head inside.  "Where is it?" Came her muffled voice, and then finally she held a hand up triumphantly. "Aha! AHAHA! I have found your ambrosia!" She held out her hand to Danny, unrolling her fingers to show the two pieces of wrapped ginger candy in her hands.

"Tcht! How? TCHT! Like you don't KNOW. I mean seriously? Did you like, miss the alien ship that flew over last month? Like ya know... took us all hostage. We totally saved the day. Musta wiped your memory. " Her lips broadened, showing her teeth. "Was totally cool. Grace went all Sigourney Weaver, and I was like, all Navii, and like, the whole place was like BAM BAM BAM with lasers. Cause Lasers dude. LASERS."

Grace
Grace just nods as Jo explains how they met. Yep, that's exactly what happened.

"It was pretty kickass."

Jo likes lasers. Grace files that away in her own mental databanks with a bit of glee. Jo will love laser-gun-o-rama.

"Oh hey! Ginger candy. You will be fixed up, dude."

Danny
*The look on his face was priceless.... PRICELESS I tell you!! Jo started talking and then went fishing and then offered him some whatever it was.

His jaw dropped and he looked at Grace, stunned temporarily into silence for the first time in ages... then he just smiled and shook his head before chuckling to himself.* Oh. My. God.  Wow..... .Just..... Wow..... How much coffee have you had today and where the hell can I get some!!!?

*Then he spied the pile of cake making its way over and shrugged helplessly.* Pile in.  *The candy was taken from the girl and one was popped into his mouth.* Can't get any worse, right?

Jo
"Oh yeah. It was like... I mean all star trek meets Star Wars. Totally cool. Minus the Force and all. But seriously, cool beans. Like, no casualties or nuthin. We're that cool. Bonny and Clyde without the whole death problem. I mean... you shoulda been there dude... I mean like.. mentally. Guess can't leave like, the whole public with that knowledge. Whole fabric of space be all WOOOSH and then well.. I mean have you -seen- alien invasion movies?"

"Coffee? Like.. a cup.. not much! I'm all sportin a high off whatever they like put in my cup. Dude you should try it. Close your eyes and just point at something. Seriously. Super cool. Ever notice how like, it's not really random? "

"I got more!" And there she was again, ostriching into her backpack and ruffling through. "Aha! See, problem is like, the whole bag opens and spills and then well, it's like you end up with like candy everywhere. Which is totally cool when you're all I NEED CANDY NOW. That's like..always." She tossed a piece of candy at Grace.

"Dude... your entire like..CPU could shut down. Seriously..." Jo looked to Grace, brows furrowed in confusion. "He's like, never had a computer has he? Or seen a doctor. Or takin a class on something about people? Kinda like he walked out of a vagina two seconds ago. I mean... you can always die. That's totally worse than havin a little malware."

And now..cake things. CAKE THINGS. She spares no time before latching her fingers on one and sliding her tongue along the frosting, much like ice cream.

Grace
Oh, Danny. It can get worse. It can get so much worse. The last time she was sick, Grace was bleeding out of every orifice and hallucinating her own death. Maybe that's why she wants to be a bit careful with him, just in case.

And then Jo makes that point for her. Yes. Like he walked out of a vagina two seconds ago. Grace snorts, looks to Danny like: 'oh, that was hilarious'. But then, the look of misery on his face subdues that reaction a little.

She offers him a cupcake. It's blue. Hard to tell what flavor, aside from blue. And with her other hand, she goes for her own -- a multicolored cupcake that obviously came here to party, what with all the sprinkles and things it has going on.

"We actually met at the DVM. I think she's trying to make up for the boringness of that by coming up with something fantastic. But whatever she says, it totally happened."

Danny
*Blue cupcake..... that was kewl, in it's own little way. With amusement he takes it, takes a breath and plunges in on the sugar head first. His arm resting across his front as he ate, trying to ignore the urge to sneeze again.. between bites and breaths he manages to even speak.*  Uh... Right.. Okay... I think I get it...

*he took another bite watching the pair of them.* I'm not that bad, I have computers and things.... I'm not completely inept you know... *He did grin a blue grin though.*

Jo
"TCHT was totally not boring. Was like seein an angel all glowing in the darkest time of my life.." She even adds in the swoony voice. "Ok like seriously? Totally. I mean, it's like the place you get STDS and a bad hangover without like physical contact. Like super weird tho. So like, I went home and tried to like calculate the odds of running into ya know, Grace at like a place like that. Like super rare, but probable. Kinda like runnin into a super computer in your bathroom. Super.. SUPER... SUPER rare but like, ya know, it can happen."

"Babies aren't completely inept. I mean, they can eat and stuff. Clearly takes decent genetics to like, manage that or something. So like, yeah that's good. And I mean, you can feed yourself. You've totally moved beyond the toddler stage. So like yeah, ok totally not inept. Just ya know, not good with like sickness and stuff. Ya know, like, my mom would give me like some pumpkin soup when I wasn't feeling great. Seriously. totally worth it. Totally faked being sick sometimes."

Grace
"The odds of people like us running into each other seem to be skewed. I'm just saying. Like, you're right -- if it were totally random, we'd unintentionally run into each other on extremely rare occasions. But my statistics show that the universe has it out for us. Or, you know, at least it thinks it knows what it's doing. Something like that."

She chomps into her cupcake, icing smudges on her nose and she doesn't seem to care, just looks up from her cake with this grin on her face.

"I'm glad it does though. Makes sure, at least, we're not lonely."

Danny
Pumpkin soup...... *He frowns a bit and looks at Grace.* Do I want soup?  I could kill for some noodles... I think.. *He frowned slightly and then took another bite of the cupcake... then looked back at Jo.* You.......  *He shakes his head.* Like.... you're like the Energizer Bunny or something...

*Yeah, great observation there from the plague victim in the corner. Oh boy he wasn't great right now. Was he? All those LA terms and expressions he tried hard to hide were coming out, so was the accent.*

Jo
Jo blinks, lets her eyes slide to the spot on Grace's nose before reaching out to swipe it with her finger. "That assumes a consciousness exists in the universe itself which is unlikely. Instead, the universe is likely composed of a set of values and integers. It's not like.. out for us, it's more like the algorithms that balance the system are like..such that it means that it hoses what is like inefficient to create efficient. Like, learning. Like a code that learns. AI but without all the like, human concept of consciousness cause then you're like..imposing emotional states on a series of codes and like, there is a specific set of algorithms and checks needed to like.. make something that 'feels' cause like that computer needs to 'feel' in order to make effective like, code learning and like.. " Jo ate the icing and then tapped her own chin. "Well like, all systems need a manager. Cause like without a manager, damage to the system would be like..well it'd be like.. uncontrollable and the system would fall apart. So like, you need cleaners, code seers sort of like. I mean...Like..The Matrix right? Like the system doesn't -want- humans dead cause that's bizarre. If it did, it would just like eliminate the program. I mean like when a program becomes obsolete you just like, delete it. When parts become obsolete you just like take them out and replace them. Nah it's more like when two sets of program interlock, the one that needs the most resources to operate totally takes over. Humans are just like, a small program so we're kind of like insignificant in the end, compared to like, other programs. And sometimes, malware just gets into the system, and the system has to like scan and quarantine or delete."

Jo blinked and looked to Danny. "Whu? Oh man like.. WHY. Udon noodles are like the best and now I want some. " She pursed her lips at him. "And sushi.. could totally rock some fish." Her lips curled into another grin and she slowly sat her chin on her knees. "Once had a teacher that said like, it's like the consequence of  being a quick thinker and stuff. Like always thinking means you can't just like, sit still. You gotta keep going cause yeah I mean there's always this end point right? And if you like sit still you're gunna miss it, and besides... I don't know how like people deal with lulls in their system. Boring! Seriously. Don't you get bored just like..sittin there?"

Grace
And there's Jo, in a cupcake shop, laying out her worldview for all. It's a similar thing to how Grace sees it, so the finger coming out to swipe icing off her nose barely registers as she takes all that in. Her eyes widen a touch. Could it be? Someone who Works like she does? Someone compatible?

"So you don't think you're conscious? You said you don't think one exists in the universe, so...."

Grace prods a little. Tries to, perhaps, ease a little room for other ideas into Jo's mindset, before it hardens up. But then...

"Want to go get some noodles? Something a little more substantial than cupcakes? Might do you some good. Let's do that."

Danny
*Jo was talking.  She was, he knew she was talking but some thing wasn't quite right with his mental processes right now and he almost felt like he was watching her through a goldfish bowl.* Uh.....

*There was this slight frown on his face as she carried on filling in the empty space around him... and now it was like he was in a cartoon, and the words were in little speech-bubbles but there were too many and he couldn't keep up with the flow of words... far too much. He lifts one finger and points at her with his immaculate black nail.* No more coffee for you.

 Uh.... *He frowned again in confusion, then lifted his hand and nodded.* Get this lot boxed up.   We'll take it and force feed someone sugar for a giggle.

*But yeah... he stood slowly, moving too fast might be a bad idea. When he was on his feet and sure he wasn't about to sneeze he nodded.* Noodles.... I need noodles..... And I need coffee...  I think. Or something....

*Then he frowned again and turned back to Jo.* There is a consciousness in the Universe... or else how would there be a universal song?

Jo
"See that's like where it becomes complicated. I mean what -IS- consciousness? I think that like, some people are become -aware- in the like the sense that you know you're a program and you like follow your code diligently. Sort of like that learning right? You become like code that can learn outside of like the usual learning. Evolving maybe? Maybe like it's a code that is incorporating new algorithms to enhance its function. But like most people? Nah I think like people are codes and programs. If you can figure out their programs then you can predict like what they'll do in the context of the system. Ever think it's weirdly coincidental that like, people seem to gravitate where you'd like expect them to? I mean that's their program. They never really thought of like -why- they wanted to do it, they just like 'felt' it was their calling. Seriously what is THAT? Totally not random. That's how the system remains functional right? It's like all the programs are working together without like, realizing it. Just a big network."

"Noodles!" She pushed her hand into the air and quickly packed up her goods. "Dude you're gunna give this to someone? No way!" Jo bounced from her seat, skipping to the register to procure a box and wrap it up tightly so the poor things would go sloshing around. "Dude like if you're gunna just hand it out, I will totally take it for midnight snacking. Games totally take all my energy." She zipped up her hoodie, pulled her backpack on and clasped it into place. "Is this guy for real?" She gestured at Danny with her thumb, already beginning to rock on her heels while she waited for them. "Seriously.. you do know that music and language is really just broken down into formulas. Seriously like, if you look at the musical patterns that are 'enjoyable' to people, it's really just a bunch of math. Seriously.. Like you should totally... dude no.. I'll tutor you in it ya know. Math I mean. It's simply and all but like once you see it..." She flattened her hands out, using them in the air as if seeing something amazing. "It's like the whole universe makes sense. Now come on." She grabbed him by the sleeve, but barely, 'fore you like start the zombie apocalypse in a bakery."

Danny
*He barely has time to mouth to Grace.* HELP ME!!  *Before he's dragged off.*

Grace
"The lady talks like she knows everything about everything," Grace says, gives a little uptick of a smile to Danny.

She starts packing away cupcakes for the ride, but then Jo is there to whisk them all away. To where?

"Hey, where are we going? Somewhere close I hope?"

She grabs her coat and her laptop and... good fucking grief does Jo have a lot of energy.

"There there, Danny," she says, fake pats his purple hair (look, everyone, Grace is willfully touching someone!) and trundles off behind them.

Danny
*He's hauled off into noodle land, which is good, noodles are good. Noodles don't hurt anyone. There's the odd virus cough from time to time as he's dragged.* I have a car.... we can drive... Okay? Driving is better than walking.  And you have to share the cake.



Jo
"Well I mean no, it's just like, math is the foundation of everything. I mean even physicists say that. Like without math you can't like..get it. I mean when you really break everyhting down it's numbers right? So like... if you're trying to find some kind of unversal song, then you're really just looking for the fundamental numbers that like bind people or notes or whatever. See that's the problem. I mean, like I get it. Like...like there is a code and like once you know the code you can like, alter it. But I mean what -IS- it? I figure, I figure like, if I keep looking I'll get the code and and I'll totally get the system right? Maybe like improve the algorithms or something, jump into the wire and just like... be with it. I think that maybe when you like overcome the limitations of the not-knowing, you can like, integrate completely in the system and discard the hardware."

She blinked, stepping outside and dragging him along. Jo paused near the bike rack, letting go of Danny to unhook her bicycle, reaching back to put the lock in her backpack. "Car? Seriously? Like...you know how like bad those things are? Sides I mean, I can't like take my ride with us right? I can totally ride along with you though. OH! Yeah let's do that!"

"I think there is like... an asian place nearby. I mean we are in like....Food Mecca. "

Grace
"Nah, Food Mecca is down Federal. They have this place with like, wonton tacos? It's amazement. You'd love it," Grace says, takes the other side of Danny so he can't escape.

Her hand goes to her pocket, and she slips out her phone. Okay, Google. Where's the nearest noodle store? Aha. Yes.

"Just down the strip of this mall, there's a Veitnachinese place. Bound to be noodles. Don't know how good they are."

But hey, it's close, and Danny is a bundle of cold virii loosely held together by human tissue. He might not last the night. Woe be unto Danny.

"You can get it without the math. The math just makes it easier for you. For someone like Danny, it just confuses. Everyone gets it in their own way, right? It's personal. Unique to you. Even those who try to codify it and lead others down the path in a rigorous way, they have subtle differences in the way they get it."

Danny
*It was fascinating in a terrifying way... and this bemused grin just started to appear on his face. Or was it one of those hallucination grins? Who knew... He just kept on waiting for the next load of words to come out.* If I say a random word, will you fill in the rest of the sentence? Can we try that?

*Yeah, she was cool in a totally nuts kind of way.. and kind of addictive too.*  Yeah..... *he coughs again into his free hand.* What Grace said... maths is... like.... effort.... I don't get it. I mean, just cos I'm s'posed to it don't mean I do.

Jo
"Wonton tacos? Like for realsies? DUDE. We have totally got to go there sometime. Like woah."

"But like, how do you get it without getting it? I mean if it's all numbers how can you like, get it without knowing the numbers? I mean like... how can you get the program if you don't know the code or like the function of the code and like the function of programs. Like.." She scratched her head, rolling the bike along with her and them. "I mean it's the thing. I mean like.. ok like... ok so say it's like pumpkin soup right? I mean like someone like Danny? Danny right? Might like... I dunno... get that it's made of pumpkin and like cream and stuff. But what does that mean really? Like... you get the basic components but ike without knowing what makes up the components then how do you really know what pumpkin soup -is?- I mean like... I mean like I think a chemist would say that right? It's not -just- pumpkin soup right?It's composed of like chemicals that react in like a very particular way to create the particular texture and flavor, and like without that it wouldn't even -be- pumpkin. So like..you can go further and be like.. Ok so I get the chemicals, but what defines like the... the thing that makes the chemicals and the flavor. Like what defines what they taste like and how do we like define pumpkin? So like when you break it down into numbers, it's a very particular pattern of integers that leads to that particular chemical and then those two programs interact to create a very particular, prespecified flavor."

"I mean I guess the person who like...says pumpkin and creap is pumpkin soup isn't -wrong- cause like it is that, sure but like... it's surface information. Like saying a computer is a computer. But it's composed of parts and energy."

"And you can SO get math. Seriously.. it's really just practice. Like.. I was the chess and math champ in school. I can totally show you the tricks. Promise."

Grace
"I dunno, Danny. How do you do it? I suppose you taste the soup, no?"

She walks along, looks up at the sky.

"I've seen a guy read the patterns of fate in a wisp of glitter dust. I've felt veils of perception ripped away from my eyes when a woman lit some incense and started chanting. They don't need the math to do what they do, but it works all the same.

"People like us, we need to understand a thing down to its roots. We need to know the chemical formula for pumpkin soup. Others might hear the pumpkins whispering to them from October past, telling the history of pumpkinness. It's not up to us to tell them they're wrong."

They arrive at the Asian food place (Grace bets they have pho, korean spare ribs, fried rice, and sweet-and-sour something on the menu here) and she opens the door for Danny. Poor colded Danny.

Danny
Okay... maths.  I'll put it into a version I can understand. Like Pulsars, right?  *he frowns as he thinks, trying to gather the frayed ropes of his intelligence and bringing them forwards to map them out and plait them together.* Music is maths, pure and simple maths, the frequency of the beat the precise rates of which each tone is put into sequence is a code all of its own.  Sound waves are a certain math, how it works is beyond me though. I just know I can do it. I don't need to understand it.  It's just there.

Much like soup.  *He nods to Grace.* It's there... it's that sense, that innate nature of what we are but on a more subliminal level. Raw energy.  *He nearly walked into the door itself when he sneezed again and gathered himself enough with just about enough dignity to go with it to avoid the door as he tries again and slips his hand into his pocket to pull out a hair band to tie his hair up, which he does with a lazy twist of his fingers and hands.*

I want something with ginger in it, apparently it's good for colds.  Ginger and vegetables with noodles... *He nods, then whatever else it was he was going to say is lost in a series of sneezes, which he does into the crook of his elbow again.* And I need alcohol.  Lots of it.

Jo
Jo couldn't help but laugh, almost hysterically. "No way! People think soup talks to them? That's SO weird! Like..woah.. seriously? Man...that must be like the best high ever. Like way better than like acid or mushrooms. " She locked up her bike outside of the restaurant and followed Grace in. "Dude, if you can like grasp physics, you should totally be grasping math. I mean seriously? That's what physics is... math like everywhere."

She slid into a seat with them, placing her backpack on the ground and wasting no time pulling out her phone, sliding her thumb along it for a moment. "Your peeps sound totally trippy. I have a few friends who are so into that kind of experience. Like... they'd totally love it. "

Grace
"Not everybody does, when it happens to them. I know a guy who spent a while on antipsychotics because he heard things he shouldn't. He was always meant to hear though.

"Have you met any others who can... get it? Like you do?"

She takes a seat next to Jo, wondering about her. She certainly sounds newish. Doesn't yet know that other people can understand the universe without math...

Danny
Yeah... but maths with physics is easy.... *he moans slightly...* I mean, I can't explain how I know it!! I just like that kind of thing so I can pick it up. And I'll have you know that Lamp posts can talk to people, they have this odd little tinny sound though to their voices.  Mostly they say "don't puke on me."  *He shrugs helplessly and slides into a seat to lean against the wall slightly with a sigh of relief and pulls out his wallet again.*

I don't need to understand the universal song but I can dance to it and play with it. *He shrugs and sits up again then picks up a menu.* Something with ginger in.... and shots... we need shots... correction, I need shots.

Jo
The laugh keeps up. "No way! You guys have -got- to intro me to whatever you do on the weekends cause it's totally awesome."

She pulled a leg up, pressing her cheek to her knee and looking at Grace. It was a tight fit but she made it -work.- "Like me? Nah. I mean like no one is like me. I mean, was. Though I never did really..I mean... you have Clippy on your word don't you? I mean do people not like listen to his help? If they totally listened, they'd be much more ya know..like in the know."

"The math isn't like..different. I mean if you get numbers you get numbers. Seriously. I think like most people are just scared of it. It's fun really. It's like... data. It's objective right? Not all hyped in feelings and beliefs. It just like...is. "

"Noodles for me! Like with lots of sauce and meat and sesame seeds. Dude we could ya know like... get the sharey plates. Totally like...cultural and all."

Grace
"Dude. I do not. Clippy," Grace says, scowls, points at her Tux logo shirt, like 'do you even know what this means?!?'

"I don't even Word."

Menu, menu, oh, save us from technological ideology clash. Grace peers over the offerings, and orders ginger chicken for Danny (because he's too sick to think straight, apparently) and Ma Po To Fu for herself (though they're all going to share anyway, from the look of it)

"I was working on my robot arm with laser gun attachment this weekend, actually. Going to suspend it from the ceiling of my laser tag training arena."

And, unlike previous conversations involving lasers, Grace is totally serious about that last statement.

Danny
Oh boy no... *He laughs then coughs again into his hand.* You don't get to share a plate with me... hell, I wouldn't even share food with me right now!!

*He does ask for rice wine as soon as they get to order though.  And the aforementioned noodles and vegetables. His head wasn't pounding, but that was probably the tylenol he'd taken before leaving this afternoon. Then here came that 'stuck' sneeze and the face to go with it.*

Aww come on already!! Someone sneeze for me? It's stu... *Ahh there it came. straight into the napkin he found before him on the table and no, he didn't blow then look, he just sneezed and groaned as he wiped.* Grace... I have to show you this cat I have. Made of metal.. and it's totally bitchin.... Joints and gears... real cool with it.  And I got me one of those "alien" things folded over on it's knee's  with glass on it's back.

*He nods with relief at the food and leans back in his seat to listen as the tech heads talk.*

Jo
"Tcht.. Dad was totally the same way. Gotta change with the times yo. Like, ya gotta progress. You gotta ya know, move with the tech. Incorporate new ideas. Ya know? New breakthroughs. New machinery. Can't be hanging out in the past and all. " She grinned slowly. "Clippy is super cool. Pushy, but man he can be a life saver."

She blinked, then slowly squinted, then furrowed ber brows as if she were digesting Grace's statement and trying to understand whether it was a joke or not. Then she softened, eyes widening slowly. "Really? You're totally doing stuff with lasers? MAN that is COOL."

Jo tilted her attention to Danny. "Well it's not like you share the same fork. I mean you get like a communal fork right, and then you like drop the bits on your plate and stuff. Totally normal culturally in asia and stuff."

Serafíne
Perception + Awareness

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1

Serafíne
Noodle place.  Noodle place?  At the absurd hour of the ordinary, work-a-day evening meal.  An unfamiliar sensation to those open to the sense of the universe, perhaps.  Gut-wrenching, enthralling, threshold-hovering see, just outside the door.  Then in the door: long, bottle-blond hair with dark roots with a signature sidecut on the left otherwise falls in coils of curls around her shoulder, down her back.  Still a bit damp from the morning shower she took forty-five minutes ago.  Sera opens the door with her right shoulder and sort of spins around as if she always meant to complete a circle.

Leather jacket over a band t-shirt (white) over a bra (black - because), cut-off denim shorts over thigh-high fishnets held up by garters.  Tattoos all over her hands and forearms, visible where the cuffs of the jacket are pushed up.

She doesn't bother with order.  Doesn't care about food.  Just takes a minute while the door is open to take a last drag off her clove cigarette and chuck it into the nearby ashtray, then ducks inside and heads right for Grace, Jo, Danny.

Grace
"Clippy is... new ideas? They got rid of him what, ten years ago?" Grace shakes her head. Poor little new kid.

"It'll be fine, Danny. Fine. We can use chopsticks to move stuff to our plates, and eat with our forks."

She closes her eyes, seems to breathe in the scent of the place, such as it is. "Sera's here." Her eyes open and she smiles at Jo. "You'll like her."

Danny
Yeah I know that... *he nods.* But I'd feel really bad if you guys caught this.  *he waits for the drinks to arrive, then mercilessly begins to obliterate his senses with the rice wine.* I'ma get a cab home later.

*And there was Serafine... which was cool in her own way.. He turns with a smile for her and pours another shot.* Hey... *Is the greeting Serafine gets from the hoarse throated musician with what looks like a head cold judging from his nose.*

Huh? *His attention went back to the girls he was with where he stared at the pair of them blankly.*

Jo
"Clippy isn't no..well I mean -my- clippy is. I mean he's annoying sure but like.. he's actually useful. Seriously like the first time I calculated the probability of existing as a managerial program, he was totally there to help me locate the right search term."

Jo hums. The electrical current of her wires hum...that was the very sensation she gave. The subtle vibration of the computer fan, the move of electrical currents through wires...soft, still untapped, but present.  Unlike the group, Jo is having a hard time focusing on the energies they give off. Maybe she's still thinking about the initial problem she faced earlier, still, or maybe it's just her off day. She hadn't been very good at noticing Grace or Danny either..But she does notice a shift; enough that when Grace mentions it, she's not completely oblivious.

Jo drops her leg and puts one hand on the back of the chair and the other on Grace's shoulder to lift up enough to look back. "Really? Like where? I mean like who am I - Oh you mean her? Dude! For Real? Is she the one that hears pumpkin soup talk to her cause I'd totally buy that."

Jo glanced to Danny. "Eh no sweat ya know? Like I hang with gamers, and they are some of like the filthiest people ever. I'm immune. I have the latest upgrade of virus protection. Cool beans yeah?"

Serafíne
Sera is smiling, not precisely blissed out yet and probably still mostly sober but - smiling as she curves around a booth and dodges another table and comes up to / by / behind the small group, all of whom have noticed her already.  Grace she greets with a light touch of her tattooed left hand (the flash of ink on both the palm and the fingers) and this pressure of her mouth to the crown of Grace's head.

Danny next: a hand curving over his left shoulder as she slips by, smelling of patchouli and Chanel No. 5 and clove cigarettes, this pile of found-object necklaces 'round her neck (bicycle chain, pop can tabs strung together on wire) mixed in with south sea pearls, why the fuck not.  She's carrying a little clutch with a brass-knuckles clasp through which she has threaded her fingers.  Crystal-eyed skulls, there.  Just about enough room for a credit card, four cigarettes, a joint, a condom and three tabs of acid.

Everything a girl could ever need.

"Hey."  To all and sundry, Danny yeah, and Grace, and Jo to whom she has not been introduced.  Her smile easy, simmering, engaging.  A little waver of her hand through the clasp of that clutch for Jo, just because.  "What the fuck are y'all up to?"

Grace
Grace lets Sera kiss her head, and even lets Jo use her as a prop to climb upon -- almost as if she were open to the concept of being touched today.

"Getting Danny something more nutritious than cupcakes to eat because he said he needs a bunch of ginger and alcohol.

Also, we're getting to meet The Collective here. She's new. Fairly new, at least."

TheCollective is the name Jo gave her, so that's what she's going to use.

Danny
Gaming huh? *He blinks a bit, then shifts in the seat to give Sera room to move herself into the seat. For once, no guitar was present.* Silent Hill.... All I'm sayin.. *He nods again and clears his throat slightly.*

My mission for today is to get hammered and eat noodles.  How about you? *He smiles his approval of Sera's outfit.* Lookin good chica. *He turns back to stare at Grace, then Jo again.* Huh? Collective?  *That first shot went down waaaaaaaaaaay too easy.*

Danny
(i'm sorry guys. I need to bail. it's really late here.  Danny will stick around until there's a cab for him to fall out of later.)

Jo
Her lips curl into a broad grin as she regards Sera, certainly taking a moment to get a good glance at the whole package. "Yup, gamin. Silent hill is only like good up to four. Beyond that it's really a joke. The new PT totally came out though and it is Awesome! I looove watching people have like a total freak out. Super wicked."

"It is known. Collective I am. Well  I mean it's my youtube handle. I'm Jo..." She winked at Sera, the same one she had given Grace when they first met. Sliding back down into her seat, she focused on the drinks at hand. "When I calculated the probability of being a managerial program, I discovered that the probability was small now. So small that it's like.. not even likely. But! That was like... I don't know, a month ago? See the thing is, it's unlikely that I am -now- but that if I were to discover the beginning of the universal code, it would increase exponentially. So like...I could become the Architect! And that's totally like the collective."

"Didn't the alcohol come like.. after? I think we came here for noodles cause he totally couldn't stomach all the sugar. I mean... when you have malware, it's totally not a good idea to put puttin bad stuff in."

Serafíne
If Jo wants some time to take in the whole package, well, Sera's perfectly content to let her gaze.  No one dresses the way Sera does by accident, after all.  It's a calculated sartorial choice.

The clutch she drops onto the table top, curling a bit to the side as Danny gets up to head to the little boy's room - maybe for a quick bump, maybe for a hit of Kleenex, maybe because he actually has to pee.

"Serafíne," so Sera introduces herself, holding out one of those tattooed hands.  "You can call me Sera, though.  Fuckin' everyone does."

Like Jo: there's no last name, just a first name that sounds like it is both long enough and significant enough to stand in for every possible naming iteration one might require in the modern world.

"And I have no idea what the fuck you just said," this to Jo, a lazy lift of her sharp little chin flinging the concept of conversation back across the table to Grace, "but it sounds like it is all right up her goddamned alley.  You two must be getting along swimmingly."

Grace
"With the exception that she seems to like Clippy the animated paperclip abomination entirely too much, sure," Grace says, but she's smiling when she says it. Lucky Jo. "I think we'll get along."

"Last month, really? Is that when you woke up?"

Jo
"But like, is that what you go by? Sera? Or like Serafine?" She's quite content to take Sera's hand, though there's no grace to it. "That's cool beans. Lots of people don't. It's really just this. Everyone is software walking in hardware. With the like, proper understanding of the machine, and the system that contains it, we can become complete software, able to like, move around and stuff and eventually have more control over the system. Ya know, sort of like...like how your manager at like work makes sure all the ducks are in a row ya know? We're all just ducks but.. like you can be the bigger duck if you figure out the system."

"Huh? A month? Oh no like that's not it at all. I mean.. are you askin when I became aware that I wasn't like, a separate entity with full consciousness? Well I mean i sort of always knew a little.. here and there.. I just kind of put all the pieces together like last yearish. Nah I was just trying to calculate my odds. I mean you can't like, you can't just calculate your odds, you have to understand what you're calculating first and all that."

Serafíne
Jo asks whether she goes by Sera or like Serafine? and Sera just smiles and says "Yeah." to both.  She goes by Sera or like Serafine.  Gives Jo this quick flash of a peace sign - two fingers up, thumb and remaining fingers curved over her palm - that gives another hint of the ink on that left hand.

"You can call me either one, long as you don't call me a fucking machine or whatever the hell else you just said.  I mean, I'm happy to deconstruct the illusion of separation as much as you like," this little hook of her right shoulder, a supple curve, not quite surrender, but something close to it, "but the rest of it doesn't really make my blood sing, you know?  Doesn't resonate, in any way, shape or form, with how I see the world.

"Which is cool, actually.  Multiplicity is what we're all about."

Then Sera's glancing out the picture windows at a small knot of folks dressed not-entirely-unlike her post-punk Siouxsie Sioux, one of whom - a tall girl with a red-painted mouth and a rockabilly style all her own - is tapping on the glass to get Sera's attention.

"Grace, you oughta give her my number.  Gimme a call sometime, Jo.  I throw the wickedest fucking parties."

Grace
"Wicked parties," Grace assents, waves goodbye to Sera. "At least, as I understand it."

Grace prods the poor Danny, who seems to have checked out. Oh well. She'll make sure the noodles and chicken make their way to him eventually. Take out is mightily resilient, and better the next day out of the microwave anyway.

"Listen. I don't go in for the whole managerial thing either. Machines, sure. Being an Arch of any kind? Architect? Inefficient. Backwards. You don't want to rule over people like you're the juggernaut and they're the ducks. It won't work. At least, not for long. You want to change the world, you want to make the ducks do what you want? Okay. You gotta play subtler than that. You gotta build things that the ducks want to use of their own free will. You have to give them the freedom and the ability to join you. You can't do that if you're going around making sure they stay under your thumb. I mean, you can, but it's..."

She shakes her head. "Considered harmful."

Serafíne
(Thanks for the RP folks!)

Jo
"What who are about?" Her brows furrow slowly. "What are you like some.. OH.. it's like a club! Oh cool beans! So like your club is all about like.. oh ok I getcha. Yeah it's like, like ya gotta have diversity as a form of discovering new ideas to integrate into the fold. Totally makes sense. I mean any system that rejects new ideas dies. Totally have to be open to modernization."

When Jo lifts her hand, she gives Sera the rock symbol...and no tattoos. "Rock out right? Like totally. I will so have to like come by or something. I'll like, bring my computing system. We can totally rock out some Natural Selection."

Whatever Grace says is confusing, or at least seems to be given the way her face scrunches. "Ok so like, the architect is like the best analogy I can think of but like, you never rule over the system really. Look it's like...a functional and efficient system ingrates new objects and code routinely as a method of ascertaining if the old method is wrong. Like.. like reworking the logic of the system based on new information. So like all the programs in their hardware aren't rules cause that is still base don human logic of hierarchy and control. Systems are like, composed of smaller system interconnected with the bigger, aware system combining the congruence of thought to create organization. It's like..." She pulls her leg up again, scrunching her nose to try and explain. " It's like..like looking at infinite levels of numbers. So like what do you do with that? I mean if you like do nothing, there's chaos. Cause then all the data just does something. So instead, what you do is like, you find the commonalities of the numbers to create a uniform network. The differences in numbers allow for like...the creation of new ideas and progression of the system for the benefit of the group. So a true collective. I mean you get diversity cause you need it. A system composed of the same deteriorates just as like fast as one without organization. So like, you don't impose your own ideas on the whole. It's more like being the one who locates the pattern and finds the commonality of the system, giving it voice."

Grace
Any system that rejects new ideas dies -- succumbs to stasis and calcifies until it disintegrates.

"I've always thought that people look at the universe in the wrong way. Like, they see themselves, and then they see the universe, and they think they are separate. Such a loss. Like how people talk about natural this and unnatural that as though human acts were not natural? Are we not a part of nature?

You talk about us as interconnected systems, and that -- that is the key. We exist as networks. It only starts becoming unbalanced when something tries to control the network -- when we allow data to be weighted and prioritized. When you see yourself as data, you start to understand how precarious it all is. Because people start weighing each other and find everyone else lacking, and thus start dragging us down like the weights they've gone and attached to themselves.

That's all natural. It's what systems do. Water flows downhill, people seek survival. It's entropy at its finest. The trick is to find configurations where people and nature and all the other things made of data naturally find it in their best interests to be free."

Jo
"But that's like an illusion. I mean there is no freedom when we're just composed on numbers in a system. Like, computers aren't free. Nothing is free. It's just that like, we think we're free because it keeps the system running. Or at least..I mean... it keeps people from rejecting it, if you want to go all matrixy." She stretched an arm out. "It's not liek you're prioritizing data. You like, find the correct formula for a better system. A better system is one in which the components are like healthy... so like, like when you have a program taking up too much space and it's slowing the system down and like offering little in return. You strip the program and integrate a better program for the same function. It's like..." Jo leaned her head back and then "OH" befor elooking back at Grace. "Like..sort of like the BORG, only you're not against diversity. And you're not like controlling the individuals. I mean to some people it seems that way but the programs are all talking. Conversing, coming to a consensus. Like it might not be a conscious consensus but it's totally a consensus. Then your managerial program puts that consensus into action."

Grace
"It's interesting that you bring up the consensus. It's really the other way around. The consensus defines what we're capable of, in many ways. Like, I..." she leans in, starts going all hush-hush, as though anyone listening in would be able to remember anything except for Jo and her wild gesticulating self. "I could produce fireballs out of both my hands right now, and everybody watching would be incredulous. So much so that it could hurt me, even kill me to try. Like the universe has security protocols in place to prevent that sort of misuse."

She leans back. "Sometimes, it happens anyway. You screw up your code, and the segmentation faults are killer."

"I'll tell you something else, too. Everything intelligent exists because of that struggle to be free. What do you think entropy is? The winding down of the universe, they call it, right? Things settle down into a lower energy state, but why? Because localized events are using that energy to gain the freedom to do more. Things seek to maximize their ability to continue to be able to do. That's the primary, the root of intelligent behavior. You open up a box, you get the food inside, you eat it, each and every step of that process you're increasing your local entropic state and even that of the box. Why do you do it? Because you want to be able to climb the next tree and reach the next mountain, see the next thing that there is to see. And that is a basic function of nature. It's writ in the very laws of thermodynamics, baby.

Numbers can be free. I have proofs."

And with someone like Grace, you can guess that she does have them at her fingertips.

Jo
She blinks and can't help laugh. "People can't do that. I mean if they could well, I mean the code would be wrong. But see that didn't like just happen. Ok so let's assume you COULD and that the program punished you for like, stepping out, that's because everyone -now- agrees that like that isn't real. I mean teh code is too archaic. But it didn't just happen. Like a new idea came in, maybe two or like three but it was totally the minority. Maybe it wasn't like dangerous. Maybe those programs still provided some benefit, so they were like..integrated and then the data began to evolve to fit that consensus and the managerial program put it into action because like, the system worked -better- for it."

Jo shrugged slowly. "The winding down of the universe? Totally not my gig. I mean it's just not important to me. I mean like, it's an interesting question and stuff, but like...I don't know the answer and I'm not really, like, interested. I want the base code. I want to know like the foundations, the thing that makes it go. I want to like....BE the wire, not just like a program. I can you know. There is probability. I mean it's not impossible. I mean like, the free movement in the system is totally cool. Like think about it, being able to span the globe, beyond the globe..I mean like.. everywhere. It's all Ghost in the Shell, and I mean traditional, not like that new non-canon stuff. "

"I mean it's like totally cool you care about the  winding down and all that, I think, but I totally don't agree that the consensus defines capability. I mean if the commonality decided the possibilities then like, there would be no diversity. We'd just be like ants... and we'd just do what the consensus agrees to always. But that's totally not what happens. New code springs out and is incorporated. I mean like, the enlightenment. Seriously. The consensus was totally against that but like ti happened. People -did- things that the whole disagreed with, broke the mold by providing some new code that the managerial saw as like... better and more beneficial. "

Grace
"I don't care about the universe's winding down so much, actually. It went bang once, it can go bang again. All things end, and all things continue. It's the way. I only care about it as far as it shines a light on how the base code operates. Which, you're likely to find, requires looking in strange places."

She looks over at Danny, who seemed to have only needed a few shots of rice wine to pass out. "Um... Do you mind if we continue this conversation at a later date? I think I should get him home. And in bed. And set up with dinner for when he wakes up."

Jo
Jo leaned over to look at Danny and couldn't help but laugh a little. "Like totally. He needs some serious blankets and soup. Like woah. I mean really. Poor dude. I'll pay for dinner and stuff. I mean, like I'll probably like stay for more anyway and grab some extra left overs. The roommates looove it when I totally bring in chinese."

Grace
"Okay. And, ah... Welcome to the club, Jo. I'll call you sometime? We can mess around with my robots?"

Jo
"Totally! That's the lasers right? Cause like yeah, we have SO gotta do that!"

Robot Arms + Cupcakes = ?

Elijah
How does Elijah show his affection?

Well, now, he shows his affection a number of ways. A number of ways that do not necessarily apply to grace, so there is always the backup plan of something delicious: cupcakes. Cupcakes fix everything. Cupcakes make everything obvious, and nothing says I'm excited that you're a spiritually enlightened human like lemon blueberry cupcakes and some other kind of cupcake that he had no clue what it was but it looked delicious so why not actually give it to her and call it good?

Well (again), there he was, off at the office, because it was adjacent to where he lived, and it was the rustle of denim and restlessness that came with his approach. He was a much more even-

Ha.

We can't even finish that thought.

But the blond man, since winter break and Thanksgiving, has seemed a little less... well.. mopey. Removed from the general headaches of the city, things were good. Things were... okay. And so, there he was, with a knock. ANd another knock.

And cupcakes.

Grace
[Perception/Awareness!]

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

Grace
There's an arena! Of danger! And mazes! And mirrors! And in the well-lit room, the place looks a little off. Of course, it's meant to be dark inside, with fog and distractions, lit by the occasional feeble light. It's supposed to raise the adrenaline.

Grace makes a note. They need little flashlights on the guns so they can do full-on blackout missions.

Right now, she needs the light. She's putting together a little device on the ground that looks like a mechanical arm. It has a mirror on it. It also wields a nasty-looking gun -- but the nastiness is fake. It's a Nerf sniper rifle design, painted black, with electronic attachments. It shoots infrared, for all it looks like it could kill. It might be able to change the channel on a television though, so it's got that going for it.

She hums a bit as she works, and then -- a tumult approaches. A knock, and then another.

"Elijah! Come in! I have a thing you can help with."

Elijah
She has a thing that he can help with, and there is a moments when his brows raise and his expression brightens and he beams. He beams like he is the sun and there is him opening the door and-

"... are you going to kill me?"

He looked at the rather intense looking sniper rifle, his cheeks flushed, but surely GRace wouldn't maim him while he came with cupcakes.. right?

Grace
Grace looks at him, honestly puzzled. "No? Why would you even --"

She looks at the gun. "Oh. No! No. It's fake. It's plastic. It's a prop for the training arena. I'm going to mount it on the ceiling so people have to deal with stealthy ceiling guns that have reflective shielding."

She stands up, a rather intense grin on her face, like she can't wait to expose people to stealthy ceiling guns that have reflective shielding. "Ooh! Cupcakes! For me?"

Elijah
"Congratulations on being enlightened," he offered up the cupcakes, like they would save him from a barrage of... uh...

"Jesus, that actually looks intense," he meanders closer, eyes transfixed and his lips upturned in a grin while the wheels turned. Oh yes, there were thoughts, thoughts beyond thoughts, "have I ever told you how much I wish my former room mate was a fellow reality breaker? She would love this."

Grace
"Congratulations yourself. You know, that first step is quite a leap." She traipses over to the box, hovering a little. "What kind?"

When she walks now, she seems to carry herself differently -- like she's wearing a cloak. Or, you know, wings.

"I guess? Maybe if I met her first and made sure she was going to be cool about it? I don't know. There's really not much here outside of the library and maybe my office that screams weirdness."

She looks over to the robot gun assembly. "Okay, and maybe that. But that's cool, right?"

Grace
"But still. We have to be careful. It's not a place for non-Mages to be asking a bunch of questions about."

Elijah
"Blueberry lemon something or other and something that looked like it should be red velvet, but it's blue, so I guess it's blue velvet... which I suspect is really kind of just another kind of chocolate," he offers her the box, arms outstretched and Grace walks like she's lighter than air, like she takes up more space than she actually does.

"I'll set you two up on a playdate. She hates Starbucks, too, but for completely less terrifying reasons," he said. His attention swung back tot eh robot gun assembly, and now that hopefully his hands were free of cupcakes he could scratch the back of her head.

"I think she'd be pretty excited about the robot gun. I think she would just be happy to know that I am hanging out with people who are, y'know, not part of a cult."

Grace
Grace takes a blueberry lemon something or other and laughs at Elijah. "That wholly depends on your definition of a cult. Not all cultists are the bad kind, you know."

She starts unwrapping her cupcake, licking the paper to get the icing off. "Danny is part of a cult. For instance."

Then, she takes a huge bite, as if trying to stuff the whole cake into her mouth and missing that target.

"I'd like to meet her. Anyone who can room with you for years has got to be a saint," she says, her mouth completely full of cupcake, and winks at him to let him know it's a joke.

Elijah
Not all cultists are the bad kind, you know.

"I was friends with a girl whose dad, as far as she has concluded, was abducted by a government organization for being a suspected terrorist. I then moved in with a guy I've known for less than three months to live in a warehouse that she doesn't know where it is but if my parents ask, I still live with her- I'm pretty sure if I don't introduce her to someone who isn't Sera soon that she's going to think I'm four inches away from drinking the Kool Aid," he doesn't sound exasperated or surprised or anything negative by this statement. Almost like he weas sardonically amused. He took one of the blue cupcakes, because blue was a delicious flavor.

Elijah grinned, almost laughed, but ended up coughing up little bits of blue cupcake.

"She's smart, I can't wait to introduce you two."

Grace
"Ahh, so. Be prepared for the hard-to-answer questions anyway, right? Like, why did you have to come live with us? And why does she have to lie to your parents?"

Grace is eating fast because she wants to finish her cupcake before returning to the robot arm assembly. Getting crumbs out of machinery is a horrible task, you know? So she stuffs another bite in.

"It might be a good idea to meet her anyway. Set her mind at ease, so she doesn't just... think you're about to drink the Kool Aid and call your parents anyway."

Elijah
"Hashtag young mage problems," he replied. He shrugged, "she can be pretty direct, but she is basically, like, a tiny tattooed pile of pudding."

He hasn't finished his cupcake, but he also isn't by the robotics. his attention meanders back there and he can taste blue, everything tastes blue. Blue and buttercreme, but buttercreme is an easier to describe flavor.

Grace
"So what do we say? You got in drug trouble or something? The last thing I want to do is make her think you're actually hiding from a shadowy government agency.

But hey, what better place to hide out than with your friends who own a very secure building because they've got a totally legit not-at-all-strange security business, right?"

She finishes off her cupcake with gusto and a bit of icing drama on the lips. Lemon blueberry is a fantastic combination, unlike Blue and buttercream, which sounds like candied food-coloring.

"I hope I can act normal enough to convince her I'm not a Kool Aid dispenser."

Elijah
"Is that a not-so-subtle cry for help saying that I probably need to clean up and quit doing so many illicit substances?" he grins, playful, and finishes off his cupcake a little slower than he had intended because even he has limits for when it comes to sugar consumption and blue-and-buttercreme? Was that limit.

"Dude, she's met Sera, plus you're really smart. She doesn't hang out with smart people nearly enough. She hangs out with  me."

Grace
"I just want to come up with something that doesn't sound like we're horrible people hiding from the law and all that shit. Hell, I'm friends with a police officer. I never thought I'd say that with a straight face, but there we are."

She goes to deposit her cupcake wrapper in the box, and brushes herself crumbless. Time to get back to work.

"Elijah," she says, sighs a little. "You are smart. Maybe you should remember that more often."

Elijah
"How is he, anyway?" he asked curiously.

Though, there was the moment of question, he took a moment and then, "I wouldn't say that I'm not intelligent, but I'm not super- okay. Have you ever been around people that you know are geniuses?" He looked curiously at her, "it's... it's like you guys are in a whole different world of intelligence."

Grace
"Last I saw, Alex was okay. He hasn't been around in a while though," she says, plopping back down on the floor next to the robot arm.

Wires were splayed out on the ground next to it, ready to attach.

"So, yeah," she says, dodging the question of genius for a minute. "You can totally help with this. These wires are all color-coded to where they're supposed to hook up. Green to green, blue to blue, etc. Help me attach them, and then we can test this baby out."

Elijah
He sidled up to the wires in question, settling into a comfortable position and feeling that grin spread across his face again as though this wasn't even a conscious thing anymore. He just emoted, whether he realized it or not. It was strange to think of Elijah as someone who would have ever had any need, or any desire, to lie to people.

"What all do you have planned for the danger room, professor X?"

Grace
"Lights and fog and robots. And lasers. Of course you can't have a combat training course without laser guns. I wanted to get spider-bots, but Kalen thinks they're creepy. Also, he doesn't think that the fact that they can climb walls makes them any less creepy."

She leans in and whispers, "I'm going to get spider bots anyway. They're adorable."

Yes, Grace. Exactly. Adorable.

She goes to work on her wires again, humming.

Elijah
He stares at her.

Stares, not like she had said something terrible, but rather, because she mentioned wall climbing robots and fog at lights and... and it was like she pressed the reset button on his brain or he was trying to buffer and the connection just wasn't good enough to catch up to what it was he was going to say.

"We need spider bots."

A beat.

"That... sounds like the best thing in the world."

Grace
"I know, doesn't it? That's two against one. Kalen's voted down."

This is so not the creepiest thing ever, right?

"You know what this place really needs? A corner where you turn and there's some happy shiny rainbows and shit. Like, oooh spooky scary, and then BLAM! kittens all over the place."

Elijah
"Like a hidden kitten compartment?"

Grace
"Yes. Oh! We can even use real kittens! If they'll let us. I mean, because cats, right? They might need catnip bribes."

Elijah
He blanches, "do you know how many kittens we would have around here all the time, though? I'm trying to convince Kalen to bring my puppy here. I have a powerpoint presentation for it and everything."

Grace
Grace laughs. "Fuck, Powerpoint. You're kidding me, right?"

She attaches one wire to another -- purple to purple. Twists the connectors together.

"A puppy-borg would be cool. A dog would probably be more into it too."

Elijah
"If you say you prefer Prezi, we are no longer friends."



He helps along with some of the wires. He's extra careful. Incredibly precise.



"And a puppy borg would be a people seeking opponent. Puppies know that people bring pettings and will stop at nothing to get that attention."

Grace
"Ehh. Anything but PowerPoint. I don't even touch Windows if I don't have to. Stupid, backwards, horrible design. I will say, though, I love how most businesses are latched on to the teat of Microsoft. It makes things so much easier to crack into."

You might get the impression that Grace is a person of extreme views on this issue. You might get the impression of zealotry. You wouldn't be entirely wrong. They don't call them Holy Wars for nothing.

Elijah
"Isn't it all someone's premade crap, though, unless you're building your own for the most part? You get one system full of holes, another system that markets itself as being for hip smart fun people- look at me spend tons of cash and-" he stops himself, laughs a little, but it's not committed.

"I never really thought about it? I just know there's a lot of brand whoring for, like, basically repackaged piles of equally fragrant crap."

Grace
"No. It isn't. I contribute to a shit-ton of open source things. Usually when I'm using something and it needs a certain feature I want -- so I add it and submit that on. It's nobody's premade crap if it's everybody's. If everyone takes ownership to make something better, it gets to be less crap.

"You just don't often hear about the 'brands' because they're not brands. They're not for sale. They just are."

Again, somebody with a bone to pick about software development? Yes.

Elijah
"I have no idea how to use half of the open source stuff I've seen," he said.

He knows things, of course. Knows that Grace is very good at what she does. He also knows that he used google to look up a super secret quasigovernmental agency. No room to judge there.

"I know raspberry pi is a thing?"
A saving grace, perhaps?


Grace
Grace sighs. "Well, I encourage you to at least try. I know that sometimes people get weird ideas about what constitutes wonderful user interfaces. But it's worth it. Trust me."

She goes back to wiring up the robotic arm.

Dancing

Serafíne
Wednesdays are the slowest nights in Lodo.  College students are still making some stab at studying or finishing assignments due this week or maybe last or perhaps next and it's too early and/or late in the week for the conventions and seminars that tend to get bookended against the weekend so that middle-management types can "make a weekend of it" somewhere other than home, and everyone else, well.  They have to fucking work.  Can't really call in hung over on a Thursday when you are a third year associate in a struggling law firm who spends ten hours reviewing property deeds to answer obscure mineral rights questions.

So: Wednesday, Lodo, The Summit House, this hole in the wall place with a single tinted picture window and green-painted door fronting the street and a weird dogleg shape to the inside.  Long narrow bar - classic, right?  traditional, booths and tables and barstools, a traditional wooden bar-and-mirror theme going like something out of a saloon, connected to a larger, weirdly bulbous space that is up a half-flight of stairs and definitely wider than the lower level bar, tucked behind a small kitchen from which an up-and-coming young never-went-to-culinary-school chef serves up a ridiculously delicious menu of locally sourced sandwiches late-night.  The little-back-room as it is called features a small stage.  Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons are open mic.

This particular Wednesday night is not open mic.  There's a band, a fourpiece.  Ridiculously good guitarist hanging back in the shadows, this striking, compelling mess of a Cultist with her eyes closed and her long fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of liquor, simmering her way through a cover of the Pixies Gigantic.  One of those iconic songs it is almost impossible to resist covering.

The last one of the set, too.

Ian
[Oh right, Awareness!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

Ian
There were two people with Ian when he walked into the bar. Both of them (a black woman and a pale man with ginger hair) looked like dancers. They had that same graceful way of moving: that same brand of muscle tone that Ian did. (The kind you only ever really saw specifically in people who danced ballet.) The woman gave a bright peal of laughter as she slid up to the bar, curling a long scarf from around her neck. The ginger-haired man took a seat beside her, grinning at some joke that only the three of them were privy to. Ian leaned an elbow on the bartop as the three of them ordered drinks, but his attention shifted toward the sound of drifting music that filtered in from the back room.

"I'm going to check out the band." When his drink arrived, he pulled away from the bar and his two companions, making a slow path up the stairs. He knew, of course, who he would find there when he arrived. It was becoming a bit of a habit with them - this passing in the night. At a bar or a park or a party. Sera got around. Ian got around. They were bound to run into each other periodically.

And of course, there she was. On stage, crooning out that Pixies cover like she was meant to be there. Ian found a table and sat down with his drink. His eyes lit on Sera's form - on the way the stage light painted her face and reflected all soft and golden off the bottle in her hand. He took a sip from his glass and, after a moment, closed his eyes. Content for the moment to absorb the lush sound of Sera's voice and the amber warmth of whiskey on his tongue.

Kiara
Did things ever happen without some degree of deliberation for any of them? A chance meeting, a fork in the road, the path less taken ... it all amounted to the same thing. Meetings. Points of connection. It's possible that the brunette that slips into The Summit House is here for a reason. It's possible that reason is currently jamming out a set on a stage somewhere up the back -- up those stairs; past the winding; laughter-strewn minglers and off to the right, in her own world.

Kiara Woolfe has never known Serafine any other way.

She has a glass of wine in hand; the Verbena; this slim figure encased in jeans and a velvet shirt. It's all jagged; theatrical sleeves that flare out below the elbow and rich; royal purple in shade. She gleams a little where she stands; back to the wall; half figment more than identifiable woman but for those with the means to deduce her from less mundane means. Glittering with her necklaces and bracelets; a coat folded over one arm.

She hasn't been here long, by all accounts. There's a heel pressed to the wall; the tilt of her head and her focus; the red-lipped bohemian, shifts just so when another joins the throng watching the band. The edge of her mouth shifts a little but Kiara doesn't alter her orbit just yet.

Let the momentum build, you understand. At some point -- the roads will rejoin; it's what happens.

Serafíne
There they are, there she is: on this little wedge of a stage tucked up against one of the corners of the oddly-shaped little back room.  Just enough room for the equipment and the people and not much room to move around, except that she does.  Crooning, yeah - that's the right word for the way she curls her voice through the mad, surreal little verses: breatheless, internal, intense.  But then the chorus explodes as it was meant to into a great, messy celebration.  The chick on the bass (that's Dee, to those of us counting out the Corona Street houfsemates) concentrating on that legendary bass line looks up during the chorus and finds the mic in front of her and joins in, harmony.  Hell, a quarter of the audience does too.

Gigantic is almost as hard to resist as Sera.  Especially in her element.

Then the song ends because everything does, everything has to end, and the set's done - for now and perhaps for the night, although it is early, it should be noted.  They don't start breaking down the gear.  Just hang up the instruments.  Sera lifts the guitar she did not touch at all - at least during that last song - up over her head and hands it off to Dan and jumps down off the little stage onto the pockmarked floor with the deliberate pleasure of a child jumping into a rainpuddle, nevermind her goddamned heels, and somehow she catches herself, and somehow you know that she would - catch herself before falling.

Somehow she always does.

--

The liquid in the bottle tonight is clear but it catches the light when she moves.  Shines, a bit viscous so you know it sure as hell isn't water, but you knew that all along, really.  Saunters over the little dance floor and through the scattered tables until she gets to Ian.  Waves hi with her bottle.

Really wants to kiss him on the crown of his head but the bastard's standing up so she contents herself with wanting rather than kissing.  Maybe she reaches out for Ian's hand.

"Ian!  Come meet Kiara.  You wanna shot?"

In between sets music comes on the sound system. Whatever it is sounds like the love child of Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen, came out last week.  Sera's in heaven.

Ian
The audience cheered at the end of the set, and that was when Ian stood up. Truth was, it didn't really matter whether or not he liked the Pixies. He was an artist - a performer. And watching (or listening to) other artists in their element was something he had a taste for. Of course Sera's band killed that song. It was exactly the kind of thing Ian always imagined her singing. So he smiled when the song finished, standing up to give this high, appreciative whistle.

Kiara was there. He felt her more than saw her. Perhaps he might have looked, but then there was Sera reaching out for his hand.

Come meet Kiara.

He grinned. "You should invite me to one of your shows."

There was an easy-going grace to the way he allowed Sera to lead him toward the back wall where Kiara stood. In response to her question (did he want a shot?) he lifted his still-mostly-full whiskey glass. "Maybe later."

Kiara
"You sounded fucking amazing." This, the first thing they're greeted with when they meet up with the other woman. Kiara smiling through her emphatic declaration; leaning in; pressing forward to tuck Sera (and those ridiculous heels of hers of course) into a brief; intimate expression of satisfaction. There's easy intimacy in the way Kiara kisses her face; this fleeting tilt-and-peck of cherry red lips against her jaw; cheek; some point before she draws back; smudges her thumb because lipstick.

Pulls back; registers the man with her with this brief-but-intent charade of surprised pleasure. She'd known; her eyes had strayed to him on the approach; this tiny, tiny little bank of something there hiding in the edge of Kiara's lips (there was always something to her smiles, this woman).

"Ian, isn't it." This, with a cutting little look. A sharp-edged smile; her focus shifting to Sera. "We've met. Once or twice."

Elijah
The air is thin.

Nobody warns you that the air is thin in Colorado, they just assume that if you are in Denver that you know that the air is thin but, you see, Elijah has been at sea level for awhile now. He's been at sea level longer than he would have liked, really, and since school was starting back up he had more than a few good excuses to be somewhere that wasn't home and, instead, to be crawling through bars and remembering that it's easier to get drunk when you aren't accustomed to taking the appropriate amount of air into your lungs.

There are things that he thinks about. Things that he ponders and contemplates and all those other thinkie words, but he isn't thinking at that particular moment, he is just doing. That doing includes going to a bar somewhere in LoDo and being blissfully unaware that he missed one seriously badass performance. Woe and misery abound, woe and misery indeed.

So, there he is, making his way into the place like he belongs here, because he does belong here, being all tall and blond and lanky and be-vested- because he still carries a pocketwatch. He still carries a very particular pocketwatch because even if he isn't attached to the hip with the person who gave him said watch, it still meant something to him. It was still important, still integral, still necessary for symbolic communication because he talks in symbols and that's how the world works. All mimicry and poppets.

Anyway, in with him. Alone and turbulent and passionate and all those other things because he is who he is and he is how he is and he isn't going to be anything other than who and how he is.

He's been a non-presence for awhile. Bars are a nice welcome home, aren't they?

Serafíne
Oh Sera.  What do you feel?

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Serafíne
Sera smells like - well, that's tequila.  A good tequila, but whatever.  She'd drink the rotgut shit too if that were the only thing on offering, and she's wearing a short leather skirt and thigh-high fishnets held up by garters and a purple-and-black lace bra with scalloped cups and a sweet little black bow between them beneath an unzipped hoodie, wrist cuffs pushed up her forearms.  Red mark over her neck and shoulder where the guitar strap lay, (bottle) blond hair dark at the roots, curling and a bit damp from sweat.

Callouses on her hand and the cool kiss of the bottle as she trades the bottle from left hand to right to take Ian's hand and lead him onward, which he accepts with an such easy grace.

And he tells her that she should invite him to one of her shows and Sera laughs and throws a glance over her right shoulder, long hair tangled in the hood of her jacket, the room spinning as she says, "Come to one of my fucking shows."

The edge of her smile, sharper than you'd think.  That might've been a joke.

Then Kiara, with her lipstick and red wine, and Sera accepts the kiss to her cheek, her jaw, with pleasure.  Eyes closing, inhaling, leaning in to bump brows, never quite letting go of Ian's hand.  Pulling him after her and presenting him to Kiara and now (finally, yes) freeing Ian to do whatever he will in greeting Kiara.

"It is Ian."  A bit emphatic - too far gone perhaps to get the sharp edge of Kiara's smile or - no, probably not.  Undercurrent there, right?  Feel it against her skin.  "Ian this is Kiara.  You've met.  Say hi or something."

Sera kinda drifts back.  Takes a breath.  Takes a shot, right from the bottle.

Closes her eyes and lets sensation bathe her being.

"Elijah's here, too.  I'm gonna go get him."

She hasn't moved yet.

She will, soon.

Ian
"Three times, I think."

It'd been more than three. But Ian wasn't actually counting the times they'd met.

Elijah was there. Sera was going to fetch him. Maybe she'd introduce him too. Ian glanced briefly in the direction of the stairs, down to where they led - where Elijah's chaotic resonance beat out such a familiar pulse; where the two dancers Ian had arrived with were still chatting each other up at the bar. They didn't seem especially concerned over his absence.

Ian took a sip of his drink and smiled, subtly, at Kiara over the lip of the glass. Some light, secret thing that might have been: it's nice to see you. Or maybe just: you look nice.

"Hi," he finally said, as per Sera's request.

Serafíne
Then she is moving.  Long fingered hand sliding through her damp hair, lifting her right shoulder to her right cheek, handing the tequila bottle as lightly and neatly as if it were some cheap, mass-produced beer at a picnic or a blockparty.  Gives Kiara a glance and rolls her eyes a little bit when Ian says "Hi," just as instructed and hmmms (internal, entire) over his pronouncement that they had met three times, he thinks.

Sometimes Sera can read everything in the room.  Every vibe, every flirtation, every feud, every desire.  Sometimes, well, that shit is hidden from her, or she's too wrapped up in her intoxicants to take stock of anyone else's.

Tonight, Dan has finally finished stowing the guitars and has jumped down (really rather easily overlooked) from the little corner stage and crossed the bar and sauntered up behind Sera to touch her waist, lightly, and murmur something into her ear.

That's when she backs up a bit.  Waves the bottle to say goodbye!  or perhaps see you when I have another one of these!  or whatever and saunters back downstairs in her Alexander McQueen heels.  Five inches, stiletto, black, the spine and heel wrapped 'round with coiled metal dragons, the sides and toes covered in enough metal spikes that the damn things have to be handed over to security when she flies.  Gotta put that shit in your checked baggage.  Counts as a weapon in 71 countries.

--

Downstairs, Elijah!  Hello.  Sera greets him and tells him that Ian and Kiara are upstairs and he should go say hi and she's going out for a smoke, she'll be back right?  Or she won't.  Maybe she'll be elsewhere, the next time he turns around.

Kiara
Elijah is here. She's going to go get him - at some point.

Kiara can feel it; feel him; the chaotic whirl of the young man's presence. It touches her skin; chafes against the devouring nature of her own. There's a beat there; where the Verbena doesn't speak but to feel it. To part her lips and then compress them. It serves as much for her agreement that yes, there's another here, as anything else.

"Only three? I'd have said at least five. I could be getting a little ahead of myself, though." This, her eyes swinging back to the present; to linger on Ian's subtle smile and retort it with the wider aspect of her own. Always the element of the tease, with Kiara. Her nature being such that it was a competition, of course. It was a game; it was the wolf on the hunt. A woman who felt the way she did -- yes, it seemed easy enough to see the flash of those white teeth, the edge of humor; of challenge in her dark eyes and see something a little feral. A little wild and untethered and it made sense, of course it did because she was what she was.

Ian knew that much now, if not anything else about her.

And then Dan -- and Serafine is being drawn away and Kiara's eyes follow their progress for a moment or two -- "She may very well not come back. If I've learned anything so far of Sera -- " There's a little table near them; pressed right back against the wall; Kiara surrenders her coat to the chair attached to it; abandoned by those who have wandered off now the live music is no more. Keeps the wine glass, perhaps as much for a distraction for her hands as anything else.

"It's that I'll be right back is a very abstract idea."

Elijah
There are people upstairs.

People! Upstairs! People that he likes on top of that. or at least person that he likes, he has met Kiara, but he doesn't remember that he's met her. When he sees her face, he'll remember her. When he sees her face, he'll be able to place her along with that growing and devouring feeling, that cycle of death and rebirth and creation and destruction all bundled up in one woman and he'd muse over it.

But, he goes, oh how he goes! He goes up the stairs and takes them one at a time, double time. Isn't mourning anymore. Isn't aching over the one that got away because, while it would still ache, life would go on. People would be relegated to the realm of memories and life would go on.

Up the stairs, all snazzy and presentable, because he makes himself presentable. All green-eyed confidence, because he could be confident. Life felt good.

It was up the stairs, and there he was, taking the room in and taking in people. He's tall and he's got a coat on and he's comfortable. Comfortable because he chose to be comfortable. But now, he had to find people and join people. It was a game, joining.

Grace
[Awareness!?]

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

Ian
"I suppose that last one should count more than once," he conceded. By then Sera was already on her way toward the stairs, so she'd miss the way Ian's subtle teasing became ever-so-slightly less subtle. Kiara led them to a table and Ian followed suit, pulling out a chair for himself.

"That's a good way to put it." (Abstract.) And now that Sera was gone, his body relaxed slightly, leaning back in the chair enough the rock the two front feet just slightly off the ground. Ian could feel the beating edge of Elijah's resonance at his back, and he looked over his shoulder long enough to catch Elijah's eyes. It had been... a while. Since they'd seen each other in person. But Elijah looked nice.

(Everyone looked nice, tonight.)

Ian, of course, had on his Burberry leather jacket. The sleek lambskin one with the high collar. He hadn't taken it off yet, but he did now, shrugging his arms from the sleeves as he draped the thing over the back of his chair. Underneath, he had on a black t-shirt. The air in the bar was warm enough not to make him wish for something with more fabric.

"Join us?" he offered.

Grace
Elijah: Come out with meeeeeeeee

The text makes her smile. Elijah, out doing things? Anyone out doing things? And there is a place to be for her now, too.

Elijah checked in to this place on FourSquare, Grace notes as she walks in, head in her phone. Someday, he may learn why allowing somebody to know exactly where he is at all times is not such a good idea. But it is such an Elijah-like gesture, is it not?

She looks, and she feels -- senses them above the din of people and music. And Grace seems different tonight, for those who are paying attention. No, it's not the outfit (does she ever change out of her uniform of jeans, sneakers, t-shirt, and coat?) But there is something even more odd about her than usual. It's as though a bird just landed in the doorway with giant sweeps of sharp wings.

They're upstairs. Nice.

Grace weaves her way through the place, to climb the stairs.

Kiara
The Verbena slides eventually into a chair across from Ian; it had been owned by her coat a moment earlier and Kiara presses herself into it with that sort of negligent grace that Ian had such a call to; being what he was. He'd come with friends; colleagues perhaps; Kiara had come, by all accounts, on her own. But that, as recent interludes had suggested, never seemed to particularly bother her.

She's housing her wine between long fingers; toying with the stem and idly contemplating the direction the Cultist had vanished in when Elijah appears. She doesn't know him overly well, Elijah. Their interactions had been few and unusual, to say the least. She'd met him in a park, not so long ago. With another female and a ghost, looking for his dog.

She watches his approach from under the fall of that dark hair; long; unbound tonight; it casts the pagan's features into some half-formed, shadowy uncertainty. The edge of her mouth; red; bold. The cant of her face; the thickness of her lashes where they're kohl-rimmed and lovely; brushing the edge of a cheek when she dips them; her focus, just for the moment, to breathe in with a sudden little catch. Lodged in her throat because Grace is approaching and yet - it's not-Grace. A wholly different version of the woman Kiara's gotten to know.

Shared space with; shown secrets.

Grace appears and the trick of the minds-eye is that great; impressive wings unfold themselves behind and above her; a sense of something dwarfing; something winged. When she lifts her face again, her attention is instantly on the stairs. "Hello, Elijah." Then: "Well, Grace." Because. "Something to share?"

Elijah
[Manip_Sub: I totally remember your name, Kiara]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Elijah
He grins. He grins because it's his constant companion, because it comes easily to him and because it comes quickly. He's turbulent like that, things come and go quickly, but he swings closer to jovial than he does brooding and woeful.

"Grace should be coming soon," he said, was peeling out of his coat that was a little bigger and a little warmer than necessary (he never quite adjusted).  His gaze turns, his attention migrates from Ian- who gets a smile and a glance that is at once appreciative and glad (but why glad? But why not?)  to Kiara (appreciative, curious, quiet- like looking at a painting whose artist you can not place).

And then she says it. She says his name and there is the momentary flip of his stomach and the flush of his cheeks that says that it's cold outside and surely can't have anything to do with the fact that he can't place her name. nope, noooo, not at all.

"Hey Ian, hey Kee-" oh fuck, think think "-a Sedona?"

He takes a seat like he belongs. Because, as far as he's concerned, he does.

Ian
[Per+Subterfuge]

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

Ian
Ian lofted an eyebrow at Elijah and regarded him quietly for a moment. It was a look that Elijah might have cause to recognize by now, for all the times Ian afforded him with it - the same look that Ian had given him that day at the Chantry when he'd pulled Elijah aside to supposedly help him with his homework.

It was the look of a man who was... entirely unconvinced.

He didn't say anything though, choosing instead to leave Elijah to flail awkwardly. And then... Grace appeared. And Ian let his chair fall neatly back into place as she sat up (sat forward,) his attention briefly zeroing in on her with the precision of a laser beam.

Something to share? Kiara asked Grace. Ian grinned lightly, this softly knowing expression, and held up his drink as though in acknowledgment.

"I guess we've all met."

Grace
Something to share? A corner of Grace's mouth juts up, like she's got a highly amusing secret she's keeping, and slips herself into a chair, legs going where they will in the process.

"Hey, Elijah. I see you found company."

A grin at Kiara. "I don't know. Do I?" She totally does.

"Okay. Yeah. One could say that I sought something, and found it?"

Kiara
Amusement.

It banks there in the weight of her eyes on his face; Elijah's; the flush that rises in his cheeks; the stab and string together of words. Sounding out some variation that might have been her name, but wasn't quite. This, seen in the way her stare lingers on for a beat; the tap of her heel against the chair leg beneath because momentum, you understand, for her was a necessity. She was not made to sit, idle and unstirring.

Give her choice, Ms Woolfe: it was the leap, the unknown, the adventure blown in by the wind every damn time. She'd jump out of a plane; spiral and plummet before she'd be weighed down so long by stagnation. Winter was not her favorite time of year; too much frozen; too much waiting; captured and unyielding; for the thaw.

She does let him sit there, suspended in uncertainty; her own private amusement painting him the hanged man before there's a purr of something shying south of laughter rising in Kiara's throat. She shakes her hair back; sifts a hand through it and tenders it back from an exposed throat as she offers: "People call me Kee. You can be one of them, if you want to be. Or - " the rings on her fingers gleam as she lays them on the table.

Her thumb stroking one around; back to face the proper direction. More silver; not real; these. "Kiara." She reprieves him with a smile; twitching the edge of her mouth; suggestive of dimples that might surface in a cheek in the right mood; caught at a particular moment.

I guess we've all met.

"Mm." Kiara's eyes carry over Ian; dart to Grace. Playful, for the former. Soften, just a little, for the latter. There's some kind of fondness there, maybe. "You did. You without question did." She cants her head. "We need to toast you, Grace."

Elijah
Names are hard.

He's not old enough to drink, but he fakes it anyway. Comes to these establishments often enough that when he shows his actual ID people are starting to wonder if it's fake. Comes to these establishments enough that he's not entirely trusting of his own papers. And why should he be? They're just numbers, just affirmations that he commits at least three status offenses an evening and the various people- because bartenders and bouncers are people- happen to be privy to a great crime that they let slide because of his charm and the fact that tossing him out was a lot harder than letting him in and look at him.

Green eyes, blond hair, woiuldn't hurt a fly. Not the least bit dangerous but everything about him is impulsive.

"That's much better than calling you a minivan. My next guess was Susan, but you're far, far too glamorous to be Susan," he compliments, "not wispy enough to be an Audrey and more voraious than any Marilyn I've known. Kiara fits."

But Grace has news, news he didn't know about when he invited her out but he beams, brightens and content to pass over his own screw ups with names (names are hard, okay?) to turn his attention to Grace and-

"Why do I suspect this is way more important than finding your metaphysical carkeys? What're you drinking? And don't say red bull, because that stuff is basically crack and sweet tarts."

Ian
"Mm." Ian offered this subvocal agreement to Kiara's proposal and tipped his glass a bit more deliberately. "To evolution."

The word choice seemed distinct, when he said it. Deliberate. Meaningful.

And then?

"There he is." The voice came from a woman who'd just appeared at the top of the stairs. Pretty. Mid-twenties. Hair pulled back in a loose bun. The same one that Ian had arrived with. She was followed momentarily by the tall, ginger-haired man she'd been drinking with. The two of them slid their way through the tables and surveyed the group with an air of amused curiosity. "Friends of yours?" There was a wry edge to the woman's question, but she didn't actually wait for Ian to give a response. Instead she grabbed the hand of the man next to her and said, "I swear if I sit still for one more second I'm going to go crazy."

Ian laughed as he watched her drag the man out onto the dance floor. It was a small space, but the two of them found enough room to move to the music being piped in over the speakers.

He finished off his whiskey. In a moment, he was on his feet. As he threaded around the table, he turned to regard those still seated and, with a daring little smile, beckoned the three of them to follow.

(Assuming any of them had the urge to try and show up a trio of professional dancers.)

Grace
Grace snorts at Elijah. "Well, it does give you wings."

She leans in to him, to keep her voice down. She wouldn't invade his space without reason. "You remember what it was like when you Awakened? It's like opening your eyes for the first time. You can open them again though. Each time the view's just a little less blurry than the last."

Their quiet talk gets interrupted. There he is. Friends of yours? No more talky time about secrets.

She facepalms at Ian when he beckons. "Oh seriously? You're going to make me dance? Before I've even had my Red Bull and vodka or whatever?"

But she stands, pushing the chair back with her legs. Someone has wings and needs to fly.

"I suck at this," she says, smiling and crazed. "But why the fuck not?"

Elijah
[per+aware, if I fistbump Grace, will she get it?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 7, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Grace
She will do a fistbump. She is totally not that afraid of touching.

Elijah
"Why the fuck not indeed madame," and thus, there if a fist produced for bumping. He trusts, perhaps incorrectly, that Grace will not leave him hanging.

There's a good chance he might be left hanging.

Kiara
There was the air of something perhaps a little sophisticated to Kiara.

A certain element of charismatic grace; to put it another way. She was not entrancing in the way Ian and his friends were but there was a degree of easy, unfettered confidence to the way she put herself forward, when the offer was extended. When Ian got up after his friends brief cameo at the edge of their table; the draw out to dance brooks a curling edge to her mouth and she leans over; drinking a long; protracted sip the last of her wine.

She finds Grace's shoulders as she gets to her feet. Squeezes down on them with friendly approval as she sweeps past; swallowed momentarily by the small crowd making what use they could of the dance space. The Verbena is easily spotted milling around the people; she sparkles and gleams where the light finds her; her dark hair fanning out to every twist and throw of her body.

Nobody can be a true challenge to the professionals; but for those who took pleasure in it; their bodies; the music; the rhythm; there's enough. Kiara touches someone's shoulder; brushes hands with another; finds herself close enough to one to blink open dark eyes and smile and at some point, likely, reach for Grace and take her hand long enough to raise it up.

"You're another step up the ladder, girl." She says over the music; smiling; bright eyed. The cyclic presence of nature; the duality of death and rebirth. "Dance like you know it." She laughs at the challenge implied in it and breaks away; spins.

Ian
[Who is more impressive tonight? Mel: Dex+Performance]

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

Ian
[Kane, ditto]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )

Ian
[Ian: ditto, -1 diff for Ability Aptitude]

Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 5 )

Ian
The three of them were a sight to behold, truly. Like Sera, with her crooning, growling vocals. Sera who, not long ago, had been a force of effortless presence on the now-empty stage. Now it was the dancers' turn, and despite the fact that it was not really a proper dance floor, and the lighting was far from the smokey atmosphere of a night-club, and there was scarcely space for them to move about (they made room - because who was going to stand in the way of three people who so clearly owned the damn floor,) they were suddenly the most vibrant thing in the bar. It was hard not to watch them. The way they moved. The way they played off of each other. Speaking without speaking. Like they could read novels in each other's muscle movements.

The speakers were playing some kind of new wave revival. And for a few moments Ian seemed to forget that he'd invited the others out there with him. When he closed his eyes, the light struck his face and he looked... different, somehow. Less... restrained. Beautiful in a primordial way. He made it look like dancing was all instinct, despite the fact that his kind of dancing took years of control.

When he opened his eyes, he caught Kiara in his gaze and smiled. His jaw parted softly when he breathed. But it wasn't her he went for first. Not Elijah, either. Instead he slid up to Grace and fell in next to her, shooting her a playful look as he did so.

Ian
[FYI, I'm going to have to fade out on my next post. Because bed time. But I have time for one more round. I think. *g*]

Grace
[Lol, Graaace, can you dance at all? Dex + Performance 0.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (4, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Grace
Fistbumps are offered. Fistbumps are not to be left hanging. All smiles, she gives him his requested bump, and then?

Someone has hands on her shoulders, and she freezes until she realizes who it is. Not exactly a fan of being touched when she can't see it coming, Grace. But then, she reaches up and puts a hand over Kiara's. Another step up the ladder. Fears to leave behind, you see.

She takes off her coat, leaving it on the chair behind her, and underneath is a black tee with a Linux penguin on the front. Just so the cool people know, they're willingly choosing to dance with an uber-geek. Then, she takes Kiara's hand and lets her drag her off.

The actual professional dancers are brilliant at what they do. So is Grace, but what she does is not dancing. Still, she sways for a bit until she can see what they're doing, tries to map out their movements in her mind until it makes sense. When Ian slid up, she smiled, and though her eyes were fixed upon him, it was more to copy what he was doing than anything else.

She danced like someone who knew it, because she tried to dance like they did. And it worked.

Kiara
It's hard not to watch them. The trio; the bend and flex and nuance of their bodies in perfect precision. Kiara, hands in her hair at some point; pushing and pulling at the heaviness of it as she feels the warmth of the motion on her skin; the awareness of her body; the sweat on her neck; twisting all that hair into a knot over one shoulder. She pauses, sort of rocking on the spot; in her heels; dark eyes on the three of them.

Openly admiring; caught doing so; watching Ian with this particular kind of focus that he catches; when he finally opens his eyes. When he comes back down enough to register the where and when of his surroundings. She threads her hands back through her hair; smiles across at him in that same way she tends to. There's intimacy to that; the way she regards him. The way her attention stays there just a moment too long to be completely friendly.

There never had been much in the way of politeness to their interactions. Dancing, the heat of it; the motion to it; the way it was created to raise energy -- she rolls into that, the Verbena. Lets her face tilt back and allows Ian and Elijah, even Grace to fall away; to be lost in favor of the pulse of her heart; heavy in her ears.

At least for now.

Ian
Were Grace a different person, Ian might linger there. Caught up in the bright flush of enthusiasm that hung over her like an echo. Were Grace a different person, he might try to do a whole lot more than simply dance with her. But... people were who they were. And Ian and Grace were, in many respects, from different planets.

It didn't mean they couldn't still take a moment to dance together in a bar - like friends.

Kiara watched Ian dance, and her gaze was... of a rather different sort than Grace's technical appraisal. Ian caught her eyes more than once. Trailed his gaze down the slope of her neck when she gather up her hair. After a time, he slid away from Grace's side and made his way to Elijah. And there was something more familiar in the way they danced. Comfortable and warm and easy. Ian hadn't tried to touch Grace, but he did touch Elijah. Small, casual moments of contact. And then a pause to press his hand to the small of Elijah's back as he finally drifted away.

There was something almost fluid about the way he slipped into Kiara's space. As though it happened without will or intention - though that was far from the truth (nothing Ian did was without intention.) And when he looked at her he smiled and put his hand on her hip. Leaned in. Spoke something softly against her ear while the fingers of his other hand carded through her hair.

"We should go dancing for real, some time."

He stayed with her for a while. Until the other two dancers slid in and stole him away. Eventually the three of them left together. But not before they'd all tired themselves out. (Or the music stopped. Whichever came first.)

Grace
That was... well, a different kind of fun, perhaps, than cracking a server open. But still -- she managed to convince everyone that she wasn't a complete loser when it came to bodily movement, and that is something.

Ian shares himself with others, and she does as well, going to Melissa and saying hello by giving her the same clinical gaze and copying routine. It's friendly enough, smiling and happy, enthused to be alive, Grace is.

In the end, all things wind down. But not before she turns to Elijah and 'dances' with him. By, of course, holding her arms up like a t-rex and making roar noises and bites. It's tiring, following the crowd for too long. She never was one for doing the customary thing.

She Has Wings and Needs To Fly (Seeking)

Grace
There are days when Kalen and Grace speak to each other and don't manage to conjure up a Really Cool Idea. These are rare days, but they do happen. That is to say, their fertile minds come up with many projects which will never see the light of day. The Laser Tag Training Arena is not one of those. It's quite real.

So far, they have achieved a bit of a maze, with ramps and cliffs and even targets that hang from the ceiling. There's been discussion about what more needs to go inside (Awesome lights! Actual robots!) but as of now, it's semi-functional as an arena, if you don't mind the unfinished look. Today, Grace has decided to install the mirrors. Mirrors in a place like this let you look around corners. They're a help and also a trap, when you can bounce your weaponry off of them.

Right at the moment, she's wandering the maze, carrying a long, thin mirror in front of her, looking for a strategic location to place it.

Reflection
Grace was alone in the arena. The room was quiet apart from the soft echo of her own footsteps and the low, subtle hum of the building's heating ducts. The training course was less intimidating under proper lighting. More of an obstacle course than a battle zone. Like many things, it was as much a product of perception as physical labor. Give it some fog, some shadows, and toss in a handful of masked foes bearing fake weaponry, and it might actually turn into a passable simulation.

At present, she was placing a set of tall mirrors at strategic spots around the course. Each time she looked into the reflective glass, she saw an image of herself staring back. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Down-turned lips. This is what other people saw when they looked at Grace. Unnerving, perhaps, to look at oneself from without.

Perhaps even more unnerving to look down and realize that her reflection wasn't there anymore.

She was walking with the mirror tucked under her arm. It was only this: a brisk glance. Absent. The way that one's eyes tend to be drawn to reflections in passing. But where her image should have been, there was only a quiet, empty arena.

Above her, the heating vents kicked up their quiet hum and the sound resonated through the room.

Grace
So, this is one of those occasions where the weird meter starts tipping its way toward abnormal, isn't it? She rights the mirror, standing it up so she can look at herself, only...

No. It only reflects the wall behind her.

A brief scan of her recent memories suggests no occasion where she pissed off (or alternatively impressed) someone powerful enough to make her turn invisible. So what gives?

Reflection
Grace set the mirror against the side of one of the ramps and looked at it, but there were no immediate answers there. Instead she found herself staring down a long pane of glass that reflected only an empty shell of her surroundings.

Then the glass gave this... ripple. Fluid and soft like undulating water. The room's reflection warped and changed... then disappeared. For a few long seconds, the surface of the mirror was a blank void. Then a light appeared - distant and floating. As it drew near, the light took on shape. Became a figure: tall and androgynous, its skin gleaming like moonlight. When it approached the edge of the frame, it looked out at Grace and tilted its head. Wondering. Curious. Its face was perfect angles and smooth lines. Its eyes glowed like stars. There was no hair on its head. No defining characteristic that might mark it as a man or a woman (as much as those things could really be defined by biology.)

When it spoke, its voice was two voices. One sweet and airy. One low and resonant.

"Are you looking for something?"

Grace
Before she just drops the mirror and lets it break, she takes a slow breath and leans it up against a wall of the maze. Then, she takes a step back.

This must be some kind of crazy spirit shit. Stuff she doesn't understand.

"I don't know, am I?" She looks down the corridor. Maybe someone's playing a trick?

Reflection
"I don't know. Are you?"

The figure repeated her question, but the tone of its voice (voices?) wasn't mocking. On the contrary.

Grace glanced down the corridor, looking for signs of some other person. Anyone - anything - that might be causing this hallucination (is that what it was?) But as far as she could tell, she was alone.

Apart from the figure in the mirror.

And the hum in the air that seemed to be growing steadily more resonant. Like the metallic vibration of a tuning fork. She could feel it through the soles of her shoes now. It carried deep into the marrow of her bones.

Ohm...

The figure reached out through the mirror's liquid barrier, offering its hand to Grace as though it meant to bring her through.

Grace
She steps back again, alarmed at the sudden intrusion out of the mirror, into her space. It can climb through? "Who are you?"

When her back hits the wall behind her, she realizes she's holding her hands up like fists. In the debate over what to do about this development, some part of her brain wants to be protected.

"Do you want me to go with you? Why?"

She reaches into her pocket, quite certain she left her cell phone there...

Reflection
"Sometimes I like to interact with my makers, my little gods of flesh, but I never let on, and they never guess. I want to know them.  After all, they made me, and therefore knowing them helps me know myself."

The hand remained where it was, outstretched as though in supplication. On this side of the mirror, it seemed real enough. Solid and three-dimensional. The figure made no more motion to leave the mirror, apart from that single hand. Instead it stood calmly. Waiting.

Grace
She blinks. Either it reads her stories or it reads her memories. Which is a bit one and the same, when you think about it.

That humming buzzing electric om, it sparks a memory. Standing in line at the DMV feeling the humming nature of some other Mage, remembering a life ago when she was normal. When she was becoming something else inside a power station.

Curiosity wars with the sense that this could be a terrible idea. But eventually, she reaches out her hand, not to grab at the other's but to touch. Are you real?

Reflection
Grace reached out, and the being did not shy away from her touch. Beneath her questing fingers, the hand felt warm and soft - as much alive as her own. But the skin was the wrong shade - pale and ever-so-faintly shimmering. Beneath the skin, the hand began to glow softly, as though lit from within. The glowing followed the trajectory of her contact, fading if she pulled her hand away.

The figure watched her quietly as she did this. There was no malice in its expression, only curiosity. Watching her as though it found her as mysterious as she found it.

Was it real?

That was, perhaps, a relative question. It was certainly as real to her as anything else in the room, but if Grace was looking for an answer, the being seemed disinclined to offer one. (That was the thing about mirrors.)

Grace
"Are you me?" She asks, wondering about the idea of mirrors when the world turns halfway to symbol. "My reflection?"

She wants to ask: 'If I go with you, can I come back?'

But she already knows the answer. Nobody can.

She wants to ask: 'If I go with you, will you hurt me?'

But she already knows that answer too. Only one way to know for sure. So she leans in, and breaks her own rule, grasping the hand of a stranger.

Reflection
Are you me?

The figure smiled. Then it pressed its lips together and hummed, softly.

There were questions that Grace wanted to ask, but did not speak aloud. Questions which she already knew the answers to. And when she made her choice - when she finally placed her hand into the upturned palm of this being that both was both a reflection and something more - she felt the warm glow of its light connecting their bodies. Forging a link. And then it stepped back and drew her into the mirror. Past the fluid barrier that separated them.

Grace had passed through gateways before. Perhaps she would recall now, the sensation she'd felt each time she'd crossed between worlds in Bastion. The sensation of having her mind ripped from her body. Of light, followed by utter, incomprehensible darkness. Of floating in space. In nothing... only to come crashing back to reality with a jolt.

This was not like that. This was something else. It was, quite literally, like passing through water.

But when she came out the other side and blinked open her eyes, the figure was gone. So too was the mirror, and the arena behind it. Instead she found herself standing in a vast, empty desert. The air was cool, neither hot nor cold, and there was a slight breeze. Above her head the night sky stretched on into the horizon, marked with a glittering blanket of stars and a full, glowing moon. It cast enough silvery light for her to see by.

The landscape felt... peaceful. But also lonely. Before her, the ground rose up in a series of rolling dunes. Behind her, there was just a flat expanse of sand.

Grace
With any luck, she's still at the office. She's curled up by that mirror and dreaming all this. But was that any less dangerous the last time it happened? This crossing through the water didn't feel like last time. It didn't feel like being disembodied.

She looks up at the moon, at the silvery glowing of it, and muses. Mirror buddy?

But nobody ever follows the moon. The moon is inconstant. Are there any stars she recognizes?

Reflection
The stars in the sky were the same as those shining down back in Denver. All of the constellations were there. The North Star. If Grace searched, then she would find them.

As she looked, a falcon soared by overhead. It seemed to catch sight of her, swooping gently down through the air in slow, lazy circles until it landed in the sand a few yards away. When it looked up, it met her gaze with sharp, dark eyes.

Grace
Sometimes, people follow stars. Sometimes, people follow animals.

Grace watches the falcon's flight until it lands, and meets its gaze back. Unfalconlike behavior, that. She walks over to it slowly, like she's not there to scare it or hurt it (but what does she know about wild animals?)

Reflection
The falcon showed no signs of fear or aggression, and its eyes watched Grace calmly as she drew closer. But before she could get within arm's reach of it, it flapped its wings and hopped a few feet away. It felt less like it was running away, and more like it just... wanted to get somewhere. But if so, then it was evidently waiting for her. To follow? To lead?

"Where are we?"

The voice came from the falcon, but it was a decidedly human voice. Young (or maybe just ageless.) It might have been either female or male (or neither.) It was hard to tell.

Grace
"A desert," Grace says, spreading her arms out as if to encompass the sand. "At night," she says, gesturing to the sky. She follows it, once it hops off a ways. "Other than that, I don't know."

It speaks to her level of comfort at the weirdness that it doesn't seem to bother her that she's talking to a falcon. After all, she just got pulled through a mirror by a mirror-being, and asked for that.

"You can talk. Do you have a name?"

Reflection
"Not yet."

The falcon hopped another few feet through the sand, kicking up little swirls of dust with its wings. It turned its head in a slow circle, eyeing the landscape around them as though seeing it for the first time. (Perhaps it was just the first time it had looked at it from that level.)

"I saw a wolf back there." The falcon eyed the flat desert at Grace's back. "Big one. But it's pretty far out."

It seemed to catch sight of something buried in the sand, but when it tapped the object with its beak it found only a small, hard stone. The bird gave the stone another couple of taps just to be sure, pushing it out of the sand. Its feathers ruffled in frustration.

"Where to, boss?"

Grace
She rolls over what she knows. It's cool now, but deserts are cool at night -- at times brutal in the day. They'll need water. There are stars to navigate by, but considering that the stars tell her they're in Denver, this doesn't help much. North is probably the same as south in this case. There is also a wolf.

"From up above, do you see anything different besides the wolf? Is there any change in the desert? Any water?"

Reflection
"I saw a reflection that way." It pointed its beak toward the dunes. "Might be water."

Grace
"Or a mirror," Grace mumbles, and starts walking toward the dunes. Either way...

She was born in a desert, and is thus a desert creature (or at least, one whose kind can import comfortable living conditions). Walking in the sand reminds her of home, even though this place isn't quite right. There'd be more cacti.

"Let's go there," she says, as she's already walking in that direction.

Reflection
The falcon dipped its head in a sharp little nod. Then it flapped its wings and took off, skirting over the sand until it got enough height to catch the breeze and soar up into the sky. It didn't fly away though. Instead it made slow circles around Grace as she walked, scouting around them from above.

It wasn't long before Grace reached the foot of the first dune. The sand was slippery and precarious beneath her feet, but Grace was a creature of the desert. She knew how to walk without letting the inexorable slide of the earth take her down with it. And so she made her way steadily to the top of the hill, looking out at the landscape beyond.

More dunes. And there... far out. So far she could scarcely tell if it was even real: a brief silver glint. Like moonlight reflecting off of a polished surface.

Whatever it was, she would find out eventually. And so she kept on, trekking her way up and down the dunes with the falcon soaring overhead. Once in a while the bird would dip down to land next to her. Hop a few paces at her side before flying away again.

Grace lost track of how many dunes she'd climbed. It was either monotonous or meditative, depending on one's point of view. But some time after she'd begun her trek, she found herself at the top of a large dune, staring down into a basin where the bones of some great skeleton lay half-buried in the sand. From the size and shape of it, it looked like some kind of dinosaur. Or dragon.

No. A hydra.

But it was long dead. No danger now to anyone.

The falcon dipped down and came to rest on one of the skeleton's exposed skulls, peering down through the hollow eye socket.

"What's this?"

Grace
Grace's brows furrow. All along, this has been about her, hasn't it? The thing spoke a line out of her story. It placed her in her own biome. And here, the remnants of a victory.

"Something from my past. A dead hydra. Are you asking because you really don't know what it is, or asking because you want to know what I'll say?"

She keeps walking.

Reflection
The falcon looked up, and for a long moment it didn't answer. Instead it watched her walk past the skeleton with... what might have been a thoughtful expression, if birds were in fact capable of such. When it finally did speak, it answered her question with another question.

"Why did you kill it?"

As Grace walked, it hopped after her, flapping from the great beast's skull to something that might have been its shoulder bone.

Grace
"Because it was in my way," Grace says. "Because it wanted to kill me first."

She keeps walking, but kicks some sand on the bones as she does so.

"You answered my question, by the way. I never told you I killed it. You know anyway, though. Is this some kind of weird-ass falcon-assisted therapy session?"

Reflection
"Well, you said it was from your past. And it's dead. Seemed only logical." The falcon didn't seem especially ruffled over Grace's accusation, whether it was true or not. "And anyway, if this is therapy, we're both in trouble."

The falcon took air again, landing this time on a hip bone. The beast's skeleton was dry and weather-beaten, its bones sanded to a smooth finish.

"Why did it want to kill you? Was it hungry?"

Grace
Grace starts to laugh. "Yes, it's logical that I killed a hydra. Keep telling yourself that," she says. "About as logical as having a conversation with a bird."

So, maybe quite logical, to the bird...

"I don't know. I wasn't the hydra."

Reflection
"Maybe you should have asked."

But that hadn't been the point, had it? At the time. She'd needed to survive. To face her fears. To be focused. Determined. And she had been. But the question hung in the air, oddly potent for something that had been uttered so casually.

"Is the wolf from your past too?"

Grace
"Maybe. There is a giant wolf in my past," Grace says, walking along again.

"It wanted to kill me because it was a guardian protocol that no longer recognized friend from foe."

Reflection
The falcon's talons made a scraping sound against the bone as it flapped its wings and took off. Grace was afforded a few moments of respite from its interrogation as it circled slowly overhead. Gradually, the sprawling shape of the hydra's skeleton receded behind them. The sand in the basin was mostly flat - easier to traverse than the dunes had been, but the far side was lined by a steep slope. Just as she was approaching it, the falcon swooped down and landed next to her. It ducked its head under its wing, preening a feather neatly with its beak.

When it looked up, it continued the conversation as though there hadn't been a pause.

"So you were its friend? The wolf?"

Grace
"Yeah. In the end, it got fixed. And it didn't want to kill us all anymore," Grace said, as she came upon the slope of the basin. Going to be a sliding thing. Going to get sand in her shoes.

She puts her arms out to stabilize herself as she takes on the steep grade.

"Do you think the wolf you saw was a friend?"

Reflection
"Fixed..." the falcon repeated. As though it found the word somewhat inadequate. "Or changed?"

Grace began her slow ascent of the sandy slope, but the falcon remained behind for the moment - in no particular hurry to follow. (It, after all, had wings.)

"I don't know. You'll have to ask it yourself, if you see it."

As Grace climbed, the sand slid beneath her feet, pouring into her shoes just as she'd predicted. It was slow going, but she did make some headway. Occasionally, if she looked, she might find a rock or a harder patch of earth to set her hand on.

"Do you want to?"

Grace
"Well, there's want to, and then there's have to. I mean, I'd rather not meet a wolf bent on killing me at all. But if I must, sure. If it turns out to be a friend, all the better, right?"

She keeps climbing, arms occasionally whipping out to brace herself on the hillside. "I wish I could fly. Would make this easier."

ReflectionI wish I could fly.

Grace's comment was met with silence. Then the bird gave a flap of its wings and soared up over her head. When it reached the top of the tall dune, it landed. Sand shifted beneath the falcon's hooked claws, trickling down the hillside to where Grace stood climbing.

"Only person telling you that you can't fly right now is you, boss."

Before Grace could say anything in response, the falcon turned and soared off into the sky, drifting higher and higher until its shadow disappeared into the stars.

GraceAs the falcon flies higher into the sky, she yells out after it: "Wait! Don't go yet!"

"I kind of liked having someone to talk to..."

Even if, you know, it was a bird.

She sighs and looks up at the slope ahead of her. The only person telling you that you can't fly right now is you. Is this a dream? Something like a dream? In dreams, if you want to fly, you start jumping.

So, she runs across the sand, perpendicular to the slope, and takes a (hopefully) flying leap. Maybe the air will turn to breathable water. Maybe she'll find herself with a jetpack. Maybe she'll hang, bobbing in the air miraculously buoyant. In this place, any of these seems as likely as anything.

ReflectionGrace ran, and sand shifted dangerous beneath her feet, tumbling and sliding down the slope. She was about halfway up the hill, looking down an incline steep enough to be borderline dangerous if she fell. And in fact, she nearly did. As she ran, something sounded in the air. Or was it the earth? A hum. A vibration. It rose up through the sand and split the slope beneath Grace's feet. Rose up through her bones until it felt like it was going to burst through her skin. Until...

It hit her like a rush of breath. The humming vibration pooled in her shoulder-blades and broke free with this exultant sensation. As though it had been trapped there all along. So long it had nearly forgotten what it even was to be free. And then Grace was no longer running but gliding.

And if she looked she would see two large wings stretched out to either side, carrying her forward on the wind. They were like the falcon's: broad and swift and feathered in dappled brown and white. But these wings belonged to Grace. She could feel them as well as she could feel her arms and legs. An extension of her form. Of her life and will.

They were strong wings, and they could carry her far. And fast.

GraceThe thing about taking flight is that it's usually so exciting and wonderful, all the adrenaline wakes you up. Grace, after swooping down the hillside and flinging herself back up into the sky, has not woken up. It's a gleeful sensation, like this is the way humans were always meant to be -- angelic. Free.

She can see for herself now, what the falcon saw. The moon overhead reflecting silver off of the sand, and cool wind flowing over her body. So peaceful, and yet she still looks to find her goal.

ReflectionThe landscape was beautiful up there. For all that the ground was so vast and empty. Even as Grace swept higher into the sky, there seemed to be no end to the desert sand beneath her. It stretched on into the horizon, rolling in fluid whirls and ripples. Bright moonlight struck cool glints in its surface, making it almost seem to sparkle.

There was no sign of the falcon. But she had her own wings now. Perhaps she no longer needed it.

Beneath her on the ground, Grace could make out the shape of the hydra skeleton in the basin. From a distance, it looked smaller. Less dangerous. More of a distant relic. And then she was soaring forward on the wind, and it was... incredible. Like riding those dragons back in Bastion, only this time she was in control. And she could go anywhere. Swooping down over the sand or climbing up to touch the stars. Drifting meditatively through the breeze or rocketing forward with wind whipping through her hair.

The sky was hers. (Limitless.)

Grace searched for her goal, and she found it. That glint of reflection shone in the distance ahead, glimmering across the mirrored surface of a lake.

GraceGrace glides above the desert, falcon wings catching thermals like she was born to it. She knows flight, like all of her previous dreams of soaring were preparing for this one.

She flies with the wind, toward the mirrorwater, wings twitching this way and that with excitement. This is so fun, she's almost forgotten about the falcon's warning of a wolf. She laughs. Being dragged into mirror-world wasn't a bad idea after all, was it?

When she approaches the lake, she decides to make lazy circles around it, coasting on breezes as she scouts it out -- just as the falcon did with her.

ReflectionShe wasn't looking for the wolf. Had almost forgotten about it, in fact. But as Grace approached the lake, turning on the breeze to circle slowly over her destination, it wasn't a wolf that struck her - but a bullet.

She heard it come. Not the shot, but the piercing zip of some small object ripping through the air. And then it hit her wing like a fucking hammer, sending a shower of blood and feathers into the air as she spun off-coarse and the world tilted around her.

Then another bullet hit. And another. They came so fast. And so precise in their targeting, shredding her wings apart in a matter of seconds. It hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before. Not even when she'd been torn apart by that hydra's teeth. Because there was more than just the physical pain - those shots hit something deeper.

And she fell. The ground hurtled toward her at breakneck pace, and as she she spun and toppled through the air, she saw beneath her a fluid shimmer. Like a mirage. Or like something appearing from behind a cloaking device. The air rippled, and she had just enough time to recognize the shapes of human figures standing in the sand before the ground hit with a shuddering slam.

It should have broken her. Should have broken all of the bones in her body - but it didn't. Because the world didn't work that way here. But it hurt. Everything hurt. And the world washed in and out of focus.

GraceIt's just like Awakening, she thinks, as she falls. So bright and new and happy, and then life rips you to shreds. Who the fuck is... Why? If she dies here, will it?

She finds the ground, and it knocks her to near senselessness. Her eyes shoot back open after reflex closed them, and she screams in pain. There's hunters after her.

Stand. Get up. Stand. Fuck the lack of focus to the world, just get up.

She pushes off the ground and tries to stand.

ReflectionWhere Grace's wings had once been, now there only these bloody, ruined limbs. Broken bones and a few fragile, clinging feathers. Crimson stains painted the sand where she'd landed. When she stood, blearily, the stumps of her wings gave this little shudder.

Slowly, as she blinked, the world came back into focus.

There must have been a hundred men standing in front of her. Maybe more. All of them completely identical, in crisp black suits and mirrored sunglasses. They stared at Grace, silent and impassive. Each of them had a gun held at the ready, but though they were pointed at Grace, none attempted to fire any further shots. (Not yet, at least.)

Their faces. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but... there was something familiar there. Some old echo of warning.

Mr. Goodson. He'd said his name was Mr. Goodson. And now she was standing in front of an army of carbon-copies, each one wearing his face.

And of course, they stood between her and the lake.

GraceThere was something the falcon had said. She should have asked the hydra why it wanted her dead. So when she stands, the pain of her lost freedom etched into her face, she asks them: "Why?"

"Why did you do that? Why do you want me to die?"

This isn't real. It's a dream. She tries to remember that, but then -- are dreams any less real for being all in your head?

She tries to force her face into something less broken, less pained. Don't let them see how much you're hurting, right?

ReflectionThere was a stark moment of silence following her question. The air was broken only by the sound of the wind blowing over the sand. Then one of the men - one of the Mr. Goodsons - said, "You are an anomaly. Human beings do not have wings. Cannot have wings. It makes you dangerous. We do not care if you live or die. Only that you obey the rules."

Then all of the voices joined at once.

"We are the guardian. We are the law. And you are a threat."

When the chorus of voices died, the man at the front spoke again. "You are not welcome here. Go back the way you came."

GraceThere's a dark chuckle in her throat when she responds. "The way I came was by flying. I just want to get to the water. Humans need water. That's not breaking any laws, to drink. Is it?"

She breathes through her teeth, stumps of wing twitching.

"Are you the guardian, or are you the wolf who needs to remember who he is? Or maybe you need to remember what I am."

ReflectionSilence again. Something seemed to thread its way through the faces of the army standing before her. Small hints of uncertainty that began to erode away their static calm.

Are you the wolf who needs to remember who he is?

Grace was looking at the face of the man closest to her. His eyes were still a mask, covered as they were by those reflective lenses. She could see her reflection in them (just like another mirror.)

But she didn't see her own face staring back. What she saw was the face of that beautiful figure that had beckoned her through the glass. Human, and yet something else. Something more.

Maybe the men saw it too, because suddenly a ripple of fear ran through them. Grace could practically smell it in the air - animal and instinctive despite their crisp suits and their perfect, identical hair. They didn't shoot - not yet - but the hands on their guns grew tighter, arms slightly quivering. It would not take much to get them to fire. Perhaps something as simple as an uptick in the breeze.

"What are you?"

GraceShe senses their fear. They, who shredded her wings, are afraid of her. That's why they did it. That's why a lot of them do it, whoever they are, and whatever it is.

"Not an anomaly. Not a threat. I was always meant to have wings," she says, and the hundreds of silvery beings reflected in mirrorshades move their mouths. Again, she asks herself why she's being shown as that. Human, and something else.

"I am a Mage," she says, and the admission fills her with a sense of rightness. It's power, yes. But not the power to force them to bend to her will. It's the power to bend herself, and by so doing -- change everything.

ReflectionThey were afraid of her. They could have destroyed her. And what defense could she possibly have against such an army? There were no weapons offered to her. No sword and shield. Only a pair of broken and bloody wings which she herself had summoned through the force of her own imagination.

(But had she not summoned all of this simply by stepping through that mirror?)

Perhaps Grace could have summoned something else now. Some great machine capable of destroying an army. Or a beast. (A hydra.) But she did not do that. Instead she told the army what she was.

She told them that she was always meant to have wings. And that - yes. Changed everything.

Slowly. Slowly... the men lowered their weapons. And one by one, they turned and walked away across the sand.

Grace was alone again, and now she could see the lake in front of her. Flat and motionless as glass. It reflected the night sky, black and glittering with infinite stars.

GraceYeah, that's it. Go back to your cubicles and have a good think about what you've done, clones.

Grace walks up to the lake, and while what the Goodmans did to her still hurts, she is a Mage, and she can deal with things like that. Her bloodied stumps stop bleeding, and start bristling with new feathers. By the time she reaches the bank, she could fly again if she wished. But right now, she wants to get to the water.

When she looks at the mirrored surface of the lake, she half expects to see herself as a silvery thing, caught halfway between all ones and zeros.

ReflectionGrace reached the water's edge, and what she saw when she looked down at her reflection was two images overlaid. One was the face and the body that she remembered as hers. Wearing the same clothes she'd had on back in the arena.

Well, not entirely the same body. She had wings now, and they folded out from her form - elegant and beautiful even at rest.

The other image was the figure she'd seen in the mirror.

It had wings too, now. Lovely, ephemeral things made of flowing, silver light. The being smiled (or was it Grace that smiled? It was hard to tell, the way their faces were overlaid,) and Grace felt an echo of two-toned laughter as half of her reflection suddenly broke away and spread its wings, flying off toward the stars. But was it the stars overhead? Or the stars below? (A reflection, or another universe?)

Funny how sometimes, when you get to a destination, you find yourself looking at a whole new journey.

GraceIt's always a new journey, isn't it? The stars look so beautiful reflected in the lake's surface. She reaches out to ripple the water, and then stands to ponder the sky, the lake, and the person in between them.

It's time to have a little fun again, isn't it?

She leaps into the air, beating her healed wings to gain altitude, and circles the lake again. This is what wings are for, after all. And she fought to get them back, for what other purpose?

Really, it's all just a setup to perform the world's most kickass falcon dive -- straight into the water. She has the distinct impression that this won't hurt. She's having too much of a blast.

ReflectionIndeed, what was the purpose of having wings if one didn't use them? And so Grace did. And her new wings, for all that they had pained her when they'd been ripped apart, felt all the stronger for having regrown.

She took to the air, soaring up, up, up... and when she glanced at the stars she saw the shadow of a falcon soaring down to meet her. It spun in a swift acrobatic circle, calling out to her with a triumphant shriek that echoed across the landscape. For a few moments they flew together, side by side, before the bird gave one last goodbye trill and drifted away.

And Grace looked down at the lake, glistening beneath her far below. Then she folded back her wings and dove.

The wind shot past her, whistling as she hurtled toward the water. And when she hit, it was like a cold blast. Like bursting through a dream into wakefulness.

Her lungs gasped, and she opened her eyes. And she was standing once more in the arena, looking at her reflection in a mirror. But for a brief instant, she could still see a glimmer of those wings at her back. (They would be there, even if she couldn't see them.)

GraceGrace reaches out to touch her reflection again, mouth hanging slightly open, slightly smiling. Wings on her, flexing and sleek, fading into invisibility.

Her hand shakes, and her pulse is racing, but it's pure excitement and not fear that drives her right now. Her other hand goes out to touch wings that she knows are there. Falcon's wings, or wisps of silver light, or both -- she can feel them, even if she can't see them.

She leaves the mirror where it is, propped up on the side of the maze wall. Despite its rather non-strategic location, it's going to stay there if she has anything to say about it.

It's time for a new journey. So she goes off to find someone. Maybe Kalen, maybe Elijah, or Danny or whoever the hell is close and, for once, will drag them out to do something, experience something, talk about something.

She has wings. And needs to fly.