The game of phone tag is noble sport. Delilah'd called. Alexander'd called. Delilah'd called back and left a message of agreement and now a light rail is coming eastward into the city of Denver [and now the crowds are diminished, diminishing; thinned into a veneer of humanity, easy to scrape it off and be alone with machines and buildings, edifices of progress all grungy and grimy and urban stark while the Rockies loom in the distance and make Denver's air so heady so effusive to the people living in it], and look, see, now the light rail is pulling into Knox Station, again, and at Knox Station is a young woman who gives the impression somehow of being carved from light falling across formerly glooming night-drenched habitats; bright-haired young woman who might be a myth it's something about the hair, certainly, but also the directness of glance, the color of it, the air and milk-light foundation of her bones, the broad features the whole - eh.
Impressions are impressions; look at an impressionist painting up close and it's just dots. The young woman at the station who does not have a map today, although she does still have a craftbag, sans hat but plus umbrella, big ol' clear umbrella the kind you can see the rain through except it's patterned in leaves, isn't checking her phone or anything.
She's watching the rest of the station and the traincars with an air of alert interest and maybe occasionally peeking at the 'next train in blah minutes' sign. She doesn't lean or slouch although her legs are crossed at the ankles, an easy pose. Jeans and an old teeshirt and some rosy-pink sweater that looks purposefully slouchy on her and ballet flats.
Jack Frost[Just 'cos. Flavour and all. Arete, TN4, -1 for taking time because it's not a short train trip.. And a WP, because it's mostly written and I don't want to start over.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN3 (9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Jack Frost[And Awareness, 'cos dice!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3) ( fail )
Jack FrostPicture the depths of space. It’s black, cold. The only light and warmth is shed by the local star. That spread by the other stars and galaxies, so far away, is nowhere near enough to support anything. But space around that nearby star isn’t a complete void. There are plants and asteroids and gases and other detritus. Some of those made of ice. Ice which drifts through the system and, when the conditions are right, turns into a blazing ball of radiant out gassing and reflective and refractive slivers of ice. A thing of beauty and inspiration as that frozen piece of ice gets closer and closer to the sun.
And look, here is the Frozen heart of the comet approaching Radiant sunshine. Only rather than drifting through timeless, soundless, lifeless empty space he’s sat on the train. The comet is dressed very similarly to the last time this particular alignment occurred. Only the t-shirt has really changed, to some well-worn that a tourist to Seattle might have picked up. And once again, he’s gazing out of the window. But this time he’s not really watching what’s outside. There’s a plastic water bottle in his hands – either partly filled or mostly drunk. He passes it from hand to hand, turning it, twisting it, letting the fluid inside go where it will. No, his attention is both inside the carriage and everywhere outside of it. The fluid flows like time, and that’s what he feels for as the train passes from station to station. That never-ending stream that everyone and everything is carried along in.
That absolute knowledge fades as the train slows to pull into the station and is replaced by another absolute knowledge. Something is very, very wrong with the world. It doesn’t look any different, but... He isn’t even an apprentice of Life yet, but the feeling of the station as it pulls in? Is very, very much like how it felt by that terrible black river. There is no life. The people standing and waiting and drifting are lifeless. Ghosts. He doesn’t need to Look to tell that. He knows. Along the tracks, under the train... When that Nephandus’s power was released over the realm, those evil, hating, vengeful, blacked-of-the-black souls must have gone somewhere. What if they’ve made their way here? He’s alone: no Kalen, no Sera, no Message.
What there is, though, is an even stronger resonance than his in the station. Where his is a moment trapped in ice, this? Is absolute zero. So cold that everything, even the movement inside individual atoms, stops. And it’s spreading.
He had to get away. The doors open and he runs, white as a sheet. Delilah will see him appear on the platform and, seeing her, skid to a sudden halt and fall backwards. His feet skid on the concrete slabs as he tries to backpedal, tries to get traction, and tries to get away. He’s white as a sheet and terrified.
Jack Frost[Should probably clarify that he would have been running towards her, saw here, and is now very much wanting to get away]
sunshine.[But am I Aware? -1 for Arcane.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
sunshine.[Ee, hey! Just for flavor before I type, an excuse to use her Expression Specialty (Wordless/Eloquent Body Language) + Charisma. + WP. Don't misunderstand, poor little terrified newb comet-heart.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 9 ) Re-rolls: 5 [WP]
sunshine.The doors open. Before the doors open Delilah can feel that frozen glacial heart that cold ice flux that crystallized moment suspended in stasis the faint suggestion of some working, some Working, an active expression, Musing, of that cold, though what Delilah does not know, would need look more closely, nearly, would need to deliberate, and Delilah does not deliberate. Delilah swings her umbrella down instead of twirling it idly at the cement and her searching gaze skims the surface of the train's windows as it pulls in the dark reflections rippling there-upon and is that a glimpse of somebody, something, running from a seat inside, something moving through the train? Here he comes on the platform now, because the doors open and he is barreling, bullet from a gun, bat from Hell, forward momentum just racing and Delilah is struck there on the platform the change in her attitude is immediate see how reaction wakes in her because she feels nothing to inspire such terror only the frozen moment at the heart of the stolid man who expects terrible things [Hell] to happen and who has seen the Ferrymen and who
so. Delilah, okay? Delilah: all gold, all light cracking on the horizon, all the promise of something luminous, of another Day, Delilah's reaction is immediate. First she takes a step forward as if to go meet him or whatever it is he thinks is chasing him and then he is reeling back and she flinches but her eyes are on the just-open eyed Mage's face with only a quick spare of a glance behind in case there is something, someone, some unseen thing that she can see but not feel, and this needle-pricked flinch-hurt works her still and then she puts one hand to her mouth and then that hand to her heart and Delilah is all heart. Her skin might as well be glass. Her bones and blood and skin and this human woman body shape all if it might as well be glass to display the emotions which run hot and bright beneath they inform her expressions and her expression
well.
So she lets the umbrella drop and she yearns to take another step forward right to just cross the platform and put Alexander behind her where he will be safe (it is safe behind the light, you see, where he can be Defended, she is stubborn you see, stubborn and ready to take on whatever, thin spindling ballet-drawn woman), so the yearning is a clear line. Delilah is fucking eloquent. Her eyes her body it is articulate articulated it tells a story.
She doesn't feel Nothing or like the heart of Nothing or any presentiment of Hell.
She has been struck-still enough that she isn't trying yet to chase the poor guy down but she shakes her head and her brow is clouded her eyes too and she shakes her head and there's some hopeful urgency in the curling of her fingers please come here come here please we'll go don't be afraid you'll be safe nothing's going to get you shh shhh
come to me
please
we'll go
don't be hurt
sh sh
Delilah is a dancer, you see. She is a good dancer, but that is not why she once had hopes of good roles: she makes you believe it. She becomes the thing she's feeling so entirely.
Jack FrostShe doesn’t realise. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know that the reason that he’s suddenly stopped in his tracks is because of her. She isn’t the source of warmth weaving through the world, weaving heat and light and life into everything. She’s the end of life, death, creation, entropy. The end of everything in eternal stasis. Maybe she’s what the others feared when they first felt his resonance. It wasn’t him, but it has definitely arrived.
It speaks. This thing that looks like Delilah? Is it her? It is using her body? Or is this how she truly is, masked by something the last time they met? Has he had some kind of epiphany that’s opened his eyes that much wider that he can see her? Really See Her.
She speaks. Calling to him. Beckoning him closer. Trying to draw him in. No no no nononono. Not you. Not that voice. Not the one trying to draw him towards oblivion, to be lost and alone and hopeless in the Umbra. Not the voice wanting help but the needy one, the desperate one, the rambling one, the appealing one. The one that tried to pull him in and use him and..
“No!” He yells. Thankfully the platform is empty, the few commuters from the train already having left. “No, I won’t! I didn’t before and I won’t now. Leave me alone!” He stands and backs towards the stairs down to street level, not wanting to let her out of his sight until he’s able to make a break.
sunshine.[WP decision! -1 'coz use]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
sunshine.He yells at her! And Delilah flinches, again, as if it were a physical slap. She is still too eloquent, too clear, too concerned (but aren't Devils always concerned, eloquent, too good to be believed?), heat crawling under her skin, pink-flush, dawn-flush, creeping up her neck and into her cheeks her forehead, the rapid tempo of her pulse still a loud, loud thread -- he is so scared and she has to help; she has to. Maybe, dawning-creep of realization, mayybe, he's getting himself lost in Quiet. Maybe he's hallucinating; maybe whatever it was he was Working, while gliding on the train -- maybe it snapped at him; maybe he's caught, maybe he's -- he yells at her.
"I don't -- " Her eyes are wide wide wide. "I don't want to hurt you, F - Frost. Jack. Alexander. What do you, what's -- what is it? What are you -- are you seeing the platform? Use, oh Jack, I'm -- I don't," her [Distressed] eloquence is all in the eyes, the body, it certainly isn't in the tongue, "I don't know you well enough, I can't -- just please listen. I don't know what's happening to you but just try to, it's just sensory, it's just one thing, you can see to what's true, can't you? You've -- do you have that, I -- "
"Use your will, you know, won't you? I won't, I -- "
-- and Delilah stops herself from following him any further than she may have already. Stops herself, both hands at her heart, flushed and distressed, and she doesn't know, does she? who his friends might be, if he even has any friends he might trust in the middle of some illusion.
He must be in fading toward Quiet, or perhaps in the grip of a Nightmare.
"Please don't run away. I don't know about before."
Jack Frost[And for giggles, can we stay out of a blind panic? WP.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )
Jack Frost
As Delilah stops following, Alexander’s retreat slows. He still feels that cold radiating out from her, binding everything around her into stasis. It’s spreading, slowly, so he still has time. There’s time to get away before it reaches him. There’s time, and energy, and heat, and chaos, and life... He bumps against the top of the handrail that leads down the stairs, which halts him.
He tries to look, but... It all looks the same. It’s always looked the same. It’s all looked so normal. If he hadn’t woken up, it would all be normal. A normal day in a normal station in a normal city. But he sees a little more, knows a little more, feels a little more. And it’s that feeling that almost drives him down the stairs. Almost.
Looking at him, he’s still terrified of what he’s feeling. But the little rabbit, not quite frozen in the headlights, has a backbone. “Who are you? What are you?”
sunshine.Delilah is still, of course, flushed and pink, dry heat, distress, standing there without knowing what needs to be done what sparked the terror and, oh, of course the thread of that distress is in her voice, vibrant thing dragging it lower than it might normally be, "I'm Delilah, remember? I mean, can you, I don't- can you see me?" Beat. "What do- what do you think I am? Do you, well, we were talking about- probability fate all that- maybe you can- do you know how to listen for the ring of truth? Maybe- maybe you can- I'm sorry, I wish I did know you better, then I'd know how to- " Delilah bites her lower lip. "But if you can hear the ring, I can- would that make you- why are you so scared?"
Jack Frost“No, Delilah was warm. You’re...” He shakes his head, taking a look around, gaze flicking from thing to thing to person to thing.. It all looks so damned normal. She looks normal. The tracks? Normal. The park? Yeah, guess what. But then so had the plant/zombie guy until he Looked at him that first time. Zane had looked that part until Sera pulled away that illusion.
He wants, needs, to look. It’s all he can really do, but sometimes that is enough to really see what’s going on. He’s close to panic and winging it and... Well, he doesn’t really know. He’s trying to see everything, all in one go. It’s a sheer force of will, but she’ll feel the push.[So, Arete: SEE ALL THE THINGS! Or, at least, Spirit, Time and Entropy. Base TN4, winging it without foci for +3. And god, is he using WP for this one.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN7 (4) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
sunshine.[Awareness. -1 for Arcane. Watch this be a terrible botch of doom.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )
sunshine.[OR NOT. FINE DICE. FINE.]
sunshine.He does a working, desperation-dredged, all willfulness, and it feels like the air has frozen in her lungs, fleeting sensation (or is it?), she feels like one of those flaws caught in a cold frozen glacier, feels that sense strengthen, and her chest rises and falls abruptly as she sucks in a lungful of air by way of reaction.
"I'm what? I'm still me. An orphan. Disparate? I don't want to pull you down or hurt you or force you into anything. I only -- "
Deliberate, in case he is listening to the 'ring,' as she speaks, true thing of it caught in a sieve of entropic magick, and that's why the sudden flux the sudden freezing the everything held still in time frozen stopped:
"I still -- I want what I said I wanted on the train. To help and- well the, you know the- listen. Or- or, well. Um."
Besides the fact you're falling into Quiet, little comet-heart. Little comet-heart who, for a moment at least, sees everything he can see: sluices spirit from matter, the eddying of time, the way probability fate (which he does not believe in) branches the falling apart of patterns auspiciousness and, sure, truth and untruth and when those are likely to happen and who knows how the potent cocktail of vision is going to change the more he keeps his eyes wide on every level.
"Do I look different to you? Do other people look different to you? I think maybe you're stuck in a thing called Quiet; have you heard of that yet? It's really shitty and really dangerous."
Jack FrostHe Looks. He Sees. He sees a lone spirit pacing the platform, backwards and forwards and backwards and forwards, maybe waiting for the train passenger who will never arrive. He feels the flow of time. Endless, relentless, unfathomable time. Tiny storms of potential flare into life around him, around her, around everything. Flashes of potential futures appear in the storms before being replaced by another, another, another...
He’s surrounded by an almost overwhelming amount of sensation – this is the hardest, the furthest, that he’s pushed himself and pushed reality. If he was thinking a little more clearly, there might be a thought of how Sera should see him now. But that thought is lost, buried, amongst others.
Alexander looks at Delilah, concentrating, focussing, on the source of all that feels wrong in the station. And what does he see? He feels her standing in the same flow of time, no particular ripples being thrown into the stream. He can’t see anything unusual about her in the spirit world – no plagues, strange green dust, spirits hanging onto her... And for her potential? He cringes as the images flicker, flash, again and again. All the possible ways that things – that Delilah – can break apart into dust. Always the onward march of entropy grinding everything to dust.
The effect is still wrapped around him when he replies and he sounds distracted as he tries to make sense of what’s going on around him. “I.. What? Um. I don’t understand. You’re not...” Distraction leads into confusion. Just what the fuck is going on? He’s not running but he is turning, looking around him more. Looking for the source of what he’d felt. He’d thought it was her, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary about her. Any more than any of the other Awakened anyway. He knows that he’s managed to do what he tried to, pushed to, willed to. There was no feeling of the effect fracturing and dissolving and dissipating as it had before.
“What the fuck?”
sunshine."I can't answer that, or, I mean um, I can't try to answer that unless you tell me why, or what, I mean what is actually wrong? What happened?"
Delilah fingers are still curled pressed into her breastbone and now she hugs her arms instead hugs them close.
Jack Frost[Awareness? (Pleasebotchpleasebotchpleasebotch...)]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 6, 6) ( success x 3 )
Jack Frost[[Damn!]]
sunshine.[The next botch is for me! ME!]
Jack FrostHe turns back, almost surprised, when she asks her questions. He hadn’t forgotten she was there, exactly, but... Well... Um... He sees her again. Maybe it’s her words. Maybe it’s his push for a greater awareness of what’s going on around them. Maybe it’s the random bounding of dice in the game that unknown gods are playing, pulling on the strings of mere mortals. Whichever it is, Winter is turning to Spring. The creeping, all-consuming chill that was radiating from her starts to melt. She’s no longer the living avatar of stasis. Assuming she ever was? Is this what it feels like to live in a waking dream? How the world turned sideways in the library that time?
“Um. You’re really you, aren’t you?” He leans back on the handrail – the world’s just shifted a little and he wants the support. Alexander looks around again. The effect has faded but even without it... It’s as if none of it was ever really there. Bobby Ewing is back in the house.
“I have no idea what that was.”
sunshine.Delilah does not snap back to her ease, does not loose the tension which has crept into her muscles, the line of her back, knotting at the base of her skull. He no longer feels that sense of stasis, of negative energy, black hole center; Delilah never felt it, and she is still flushed, and she is so concerned, fingers tight on her arms. But: a little nod nod, yes, she is really she, and as he leans: "Was? But what is- was wrong? Don't you, can't you describe?"
Jack FrostAlexander keeps on looking around the station, expecting to find... well, something. He’s not finding it, so he keeps on looking. Maybe it’s over there..? Again, he looks somewhere else, occasionally looking back to Delilah.
“What? Oh. Um. Either I’ve just woken up again, something went very wrong with the world for a few minutes, or I need to stop drinking the tap water.” There’s a bench nearby. Sitting down seems like a really good idea. He moves over and sits. There’s no sign that he’s likely to bolt any more.
sunshine.Delilah cannot tell, at this juncture in time, whether or not Alexander is now purposefully fucking with her or not, and she doesn't yet drop her arms or relax. Her forehead is wrinkled and the concerned tint (nuance [subtle: lol, no] let's say) shade to the blue of her eyes does not become some other morning color. Alexander sits. Delilah looks hard at him.
"You ran," she says. "You were terrified. What sort of wicked sorcery is in Denver's tap water to be activated by trains?"
"Do, um. But the world is the same now?" narrow, because she is still trying to figure out if he is (was) in Quiet (on the verge of). He needs friends to get him on track, is what she's thinking; she wishes she knew who they might be. But Orphans: they don't usually have friends.
They've got enemies and they've got those who wanna make them into something else. And then those few tolerant lazy Magi, well. They exist too, she knows. "I -- look. I'm very concerned."
Jack FrostAlexander sits looking across the tracks, almost as if he didn’t hear her. But he did. He’s thinking. Just as she’s maybe about to lose her temper, he speaks. “Not here.” He nods along the tracks. “Want to walk? Or sit? In the park, I mean. Out there.” Alexander turns to look at her, arms still around here.
“Unless I’ve managed to freak you out more than I was and you want to run away. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not – usually – like this.” There was this one time, out on the highway... He stands, drifts back towards the steps out of the station.
sunshine.Delilah does, indeed, have a temper, but he hasn't quite managed to push her into it. If he is coming out of a miniature Quiet, that's a lot to deal with, isn't it? Delilah is transparent, and this is a curse as often as it is a blessing; more often, even, because she can never quite hide what she thinks of people and she doesn't think very well of everybody and when she is angry: well. Alexander is not seeing Delilah angry, not yet, not now. Only concerned, and now-cautious, and now-yearning, and now-adrenalinefull, the flush: it begins to fade. Finally.
"I am not wishy washy," she tells him. Grabs her umbrella and grabs her craftbag and long-legged strides on over to Alexander, though she still expects him to run: the flush kicks back into place, brighter, pinker; Christ, but she makes up for Lucy's inability to blush, turns rose. "And I don't run away from challenges, all right?" Every mage has their frisson of pride of arrogance if they've been awake long enough; perhaps that is hers.
"Let's, um, walk. And talk." i.e., you talk, her emphasis might lead one to so interpret. "
Jack FrostHe nods, and the two of them leave the station just as the next train is pulling in. A couple of people follow them out, but then they head off in their own directions, lost in their own little worlds. Alexander walks, drifting towards the river that’s close to the station. When they’re alone – or at least out of earshot of anyone who might be passing, he does talk.
“I mentioned the rivermen last time we met. You didn’t seem surprised. Have you been there? To the bank of their river?” He picks a random spot on the grass nearby and sits.
sunshine.Above, the sky is a tarnished sheet of metal, tatterdemalion, in that state before the ache sets in. The air is as watery as it ever is; as clear and apple-crisp. They walk, and Delilah is no longer flushed at all, or if she is only, she will only be flushed at odds moments. He sits on the grass, she sits with dainty dusty grace beside but turned towards him, one leg stretched out (toe, en pointe, comfortable so), the other knee up, and her eyes are touched by some different trouble, some twig-snap irritant, and then: a shake shake of her head.
"Lethe? No; oh, no. Not this time around, anyway; but my sister and I are very, well um, we have a special interest in - underworlds and afterlives and thresholds like that, psychopomps like the Ferrymen, you know?"
"How did you get there? Did you die, or, wait, you said it was you and, hmm. You were dragged there?"
Did you die. Hey, Alex. Welcome to a life where that question isn't crazy.
Jack FrostAlexander sits and he watches the river. He’s aware of her presence – her true presence, assuming that the death of energy that he felt before wasn’t her true presence – but he doesn’t look at her much while he’s telling his story. Part of his story, anyway. History.
“Lethe? The others called it the Styx. I’m not really up on all the mythology stuff.” He shrugs. It had never really seemed all that important. Fairy stories generally aren’t. “Whatever you call it, the river where the spirits of the dead rest. The ferrymen tend to them while the sleep. The bank of the river was... peaceful. Alive. It was wonderful.” He takes a deep breath before he continues. “That wasn’t how it was when we arrived, though. The land was dead. Nothing grew. The river? Oh fuck, the river...”
He grows pale again, remembering. He voice gets distant, cold. “It was... Think of all of the truly, irredeemably evil people in the world. The ones that have died in the past, are alive today, and the ones yet to be born. All of them in that one place. Thousands of them. All of them staring back...” His voice trails off and he mirrors Delilah from earlier – his arms wrap around himself as he talks. He hasn’t told anybody about what he saw in the water when he looked the first time. Sera and Kalen had their own issues to deal with, and he hasn’t seen Gwen since that day.
“That’s part of what I felt up there. But the first time I wasn’t alone.”
He sighs. “I didn’t die. I’ve wished that I was, and I’ve done things where I could have ended up dead. But, no, I didn’t die.”
sunshine.[Perc + AwarePATHY. *squint* hey bro, do you need a pat on the shoulder or, like most of the Mages Delilah has run into, some sort of hug or hair pet? -1.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )
Jack Frost[[Alexander doesn't usually draw away from physical contact from those he's comfortable around, even if he doesn't go out of his way to seek it out. If it happens, it happens. But right now? There are no 'I need a hug' vibes coming from him. If anything, he really doesn't want to be touched right now.]]
sunshine.Delilah listens because of course Delilah listens Delilah told Alexander to talk and (now) Alexander (seems to) want to talk. Delilah does not rip into the grass spare autumnal as they sit or as she watches his profile profile because he is watching the stream which is a river which isn't the river he's probably watching in his mind and she runs her eyes across his forehead his chin his nose his cheeks, considering and considerate and she does play with one of the pearlescent buttons of her pinkpink sweater over the oldold teeshirt and some tension slips away.
"You've wished you were dead?" The question is taut, careful; what did she say when he was terrified? That she doesn't really know him yet. "Because of that river and what you saw looking at you? I -- " a pause; startled. "Up there, with me? You mean you felt that sense of -- of evil?"
sunshine.ooc: ahem, make that: "Up there, like with me just now? You mean you felt that sense of of evil?"
Jack FrostHe shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to drown myself in the river. Either river. That was a little while back now, when all this weird crap happened for the first time. Long story short, I thought I’d gone mad and jumping through a tear between the worlds seemed more appealing than losing myself.” He glances at her with the spirit of a smile on his face. “Turns out I wasn’t mad.”
Alexander turns back to the river again. “Anyway, yeah. If I tell you a Nephandi had managed to corrupt part of the afterlife, that should give you an idea of just how fucked up that whole place was and what was floating around in the water. Up there? It felt like that again.”
sunshine.Her brow smooths by way of reaction when Alexander almost, not quite, sort-of, ghost-of, spirit-of, shadow-of smiles, and Delilah makes a hmn noise in the back of her throat, agreement acknowledgment oh yes nobody mad here, but it's a bit abstracted, and he's looking at the river and explaining and: Delilah glances at the river, now. Then back towards the station. She says, and it is obvious fro her tone, from the way her eyes flick back to measure his reaction, that it is a place-holder question, not rhetorical but important to whatever she's going to say now: "Okay. Have you heard about Quiet yet?"
Jack FrostHe catches the tone in her throat. “Not clinically insane, anyway. Not that I imagine telling any of this stuff to a shrink is likely to end up with anything other than a stay in a room with bouncy wallpaper.”
He sits cross-legged, leaning forward. And not particularly close to any image of tranquillity. This is no meditative pose. It’s just... comfortable. He shivers, maybe from the thought of that black river or the thought of what he’d felt in her just a short time before.
“Quiet? What’s that? Something to do with the dead?”
sunshine.There: the blush is back, brief-lived, short-lived, when he mentions stay in a room with bouncy wallpaper; give it a ghost of a smirk (still distracted, abstracted) too.
"Okay, so. Quiet is this thing that happens to those who are, erm, awake; right? I'm sorry," and here, a brief, blooming sort of grin - this bright-smear of a thing, "I don't know what common slang might be still unknown, so stop me if I need to explain. You've got this whole," and she gestures with her hands, sketching his shape all wave-wave, "new but not thing."
"Anyway, it happens to those who are like we are, or there's the danger of it, if somebody's broken a lot of reality's rules -- have you felt that? That bone-ache nose-bleed ow when the world's expectation hits you 'cause you've stepped too far out of line? Basically if you're really unlucky, you can start to slip into this thing that they call Quiet. It's a form of temporary madness, but because it's us, you know, it feels -- it's real to the person in Quiet. I know that sometimes it's hallucinations. Usually takes a form that kind of suits the feelings we have?"
"So it's a madness, and it's one that it's really important to overcome, but as you can imagine -- I mean, it's never supposed to be an obvious thing, the being insane or mistaken thing, right? But um, Quiet just fucks you up. And if it gets bad, which isn't that common," see? See the quick look she gives him, earnestness? She doesn't want to scare him, to talk about the opposite of wonder, but:
"But if it does, that's how marauders happen." Delilah pauses to play with a button or no to stop playing with a button. "Anyway: I thought maybe you were experiencing a mild form of that, because I just, I just didn't know what you were reacting to. I certainly felt nothing like that. I just felt you, all cold heart of a comet and," a gesture. Graceful. Eloquent.
"That's why I was telling you to look. To see. Our senses can usually be trusted more than -- well, we've got such insight. But everybody has bad moments. For us, those bad moments can be pretty bad."
<-- Part 3 starts --> Jack FrostHe listens to what Delilah has to say about the madness that can afflict them. He listens because nobody so far had mentioned this particular delight that comes along with Awakening. A madness that you’re not even aware of. And if you’re not aware, how the hell do you survive it or recover from it? Are they all destined to turn marauder? That new, rather strange, woman he’s seen at the diner – is that what was affecting her?
How would he know if it was affecting him? What happened on the way into the station, what the hell was that? A hallucination? Only he wasn’t seeing or hearing anything, no voices whispering in his ear. What the hell had been screwing up with that recently-developed sixth sense that seemed to come with the whole package?
“I think I’ve been told about what happens if you break the rules too much, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen reality slap a couple of the others when they’ve gone too far. I’ve not had the pleasure yet. But Quiet? That’s a new one. How do you fix it or escape it or recover from it?” His head turns to look at her, amusement gone again. “It was just… that feeling you get when weird stuff’s happening? Or, you know, we happen to trip over each other. It was that, just… What the hell happened?”
“And what were you saying about a ring?”
sunshine.He's been told about what happens if you break the rules too much. He's seen it happen but hasn't had the pleasure. Delilah: light-struck little half-smile, this almost-coy thing because genetics not because actual coyness. Most of the smile, fleeting though it is, can be read in the movement of her eyes, the way their shape changes, half-moons, and then g'bye smile g'bye momentary leavening g'bye light back to this serious discussion. Delilah opens her mouth to reply, but then the last question and an, "Oh!"
The blonde reaches her hands down to her ankle and her toes, stretching carefully before pulling her legs in, sitting Indian-style, cross-legged, spine still straight. Good posture is comfortable, bones are articulate. "The ring," whisper of warmth in her voice, pink versus gray during twilight morning time, see.
"I'll go back to that. How do you fix it or escape it? With perseverence is what I gather. It's, I mean it's personal, it's like ... Depression, so something in you just has to..." Trail away. "Some part of you has to fight it? And some part of you will, and every lucid moment will shed some of the stuckitivity black mark from reality that's got you so..." A wave of her hand. "And eventually you'll be okay again. So you can try to help somebody who's in it by, like, helping them recognize they're not seeing what is, you know? Helping them cut through to the truth."
"I don't," a pause; a frown. "I don't-- you don't seem like you're suffering from Quiet now. Maybe if you were you already shucked it off 'cause you found lucidity again. I'm sorry, I just don't know what happened."
"The ring, though. I, um, that's ... You know how we'd planned on trying a thing together, something to read the possible likely fortunes of a place? If you're able to help with that kind of thing, you're able to listen to somebody speaking and to determine whether they're telling you the truth or not. I hear it as a kind of ring. Have you ever done anything like that?"
Jack FrostDelilah shifts into a different sitting position, Alexander shifts too. He doesn’t sit, though – he lies back on the grass and looks up at the sky. Watching the cloud skim overhead as they’re caught in the wind.
How is he now? He feels… alright. Still a bit shaken by whatever it was that happened on the train, but otherwise ok. Whatever it was seems to have faded away. But what if he just doesn’t realise that something’s not right? Delilah doesn’t know him well enough to tell. He’ll have to ask Kalen next time he sees him. Hopefully without worrying him.
“That’s ok. I’m used to not having a clue about what’s going on these days. Although I think the people who do seem to are just better at looking like they know what’s going on while winging it. I guess all any of us can do it what seems right, or like a good idea, at the time.” He shrugs. “I think I’m but I’ll check next time I bump into some of the others in town.” He breaks his gaze of the sky to ask, “Who do you know so far?”
And onto the ring. “I’ve not heard of that, but then I’m really only going on what I’ve seen other people do and occasionally making it up as I go along. And most of what I’ve seen I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of where to start even trying to do it. You just listen to what they’re saying and you know?”
sunshine."I listen a certain way, like, for me it helps to sort of -- well hey, I can show you if you want? I can try it now," a grin, because people don't usually like pitting themselves against a lie detector. Brief pause, for his response; then Delilah says, "But yeah. You should stretch your wings a little, play around when you're alone. Before, you know, things get all pear-shaped. Unless you're joining a tradition and you have a mentor?"
"As for who I've met so far, um. Lucy of course." Delilah braces herself on the grass with her palms, leaning back, glancing now over at the river, trickle-surge foam-lick. "Sera. Elijah. Grace, the other day. This guy who looks like he should be soaring; all gold, you know." Here, a sudden frown. "Jennifer."
Jack Frost“Sure, I’d love to see.” Because how else is he going to learn? He’s not the bookish sort, never had been and it’ll probably never be his preferred method of learning. He’s a much more practical kind of guy, so seeing things and trying to reproduce them? Works much, much better for him.
“Um. I don’t really have a mentor. There’s a couple of people I’ve been learning bits and pieces from, but nothing formal. And honestly? I haven’t found a tradition I really like the sound of yet. Although there are a few I’ve not had any contact with, there just don’t seem to be any members in the city. Not that I’ve spent any time with, anyway.” Kalen had tried to recruit him to the Order, but he just really didn’t see himself fitting in there. He wasn’t exactly convinced about their ideas about angels and the word of god or the One or whatever they wanted to call it.
She lists some names off. He smiles at the mention of Sera, and nods to most of the others named or described. “Sera’s cool. I think you’ll like Kalen when you meet him, too. Stormy guy, hard to miss. Grace is good people too. I don’t think I’ve met the soaring guy yet. Jennifer doesn’t ring a bell, though. Is she new in town?”
sunshine.[OH. Can I do the polite thing and hide a reaction? Manip + Subt! :D]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Jack Frost[Do we notice? Awarempathy.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )
sunshine.[Oh, right. Let's start the magicking. -1 practiced. -1 foci. Pithy name about the truth-ring insert here. Entropy 1, we'll extend once.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (2, 5) ( success x 1 )
sunshine.[Extendening!]
Dice: 2 d10 TN4 (7, 9) ( success x 2 )
sunshine.Heh. Heh Heh! Delilah drags her craftbag over and rummages through it for a second, finds something she cups behind her hand and the bag, an easy shield, don't look over here, nothing to see, la dee da, look how sneaky and covert Delilah is truly no one would ever think she had something in her hand; anyway, behind the bag, Delilah pulls a needle through a loop in her sweater, tying off a knot; it helps her focus, see, it helps her see-see, sometimes - or hear, in this case. This is quick-done, sloppy-nearly, but it doesn't mean she isn't listening.
Sera's cool, he says, and Delilah's eyes are full of stars and shadow, of the radiance she cups inside, see, because Sera is fucking amazing. He thinks Delilah'll like Kalen and - well. Delilah tries not to look doubtful, but Alexander can see the doubt. Maybe it's that he's described as a 'stormy guy.' Grace is good people, okay. No soaring guy yet, okay. Jennifer, well. Delilah again tries to hide her reaction, somewhat, keep it contained, keep her expression neutral, but no: something about Jennifer concerns her worries her restless in her own skin.
"Yeah," she says. "She's going through a lot. I think, um. She's really," needle again, pull knot tight; there. Truth. "She's going to need a lot of help. I have heard about Kalen a bit."
Delilah takes a deep breath, and then changes the subject (temporarily? Probably) entirely: one thing at a time. "Okay, so what helps me, whenever I'm messing with -- well, the way the world fits together, choices made beget other choices beget other choices forever, the way all that interlocks, fortune and destiny and blah blah, but destiny that you choose, right? Anyway, what helps me when I'm messing with that is stitchery, like, plying the needle or threads or scissors or heck even knitting, even just a pattern, touching it, sometimes helps me see or hear the patterns.
"So I did that, and now I should be able to tell when you lie to me. So tell me something. Something true or something false, and I'll tell you which."
Jack FrostThere seem to be so many new Awakened arriving in the city that it’s hard to keep track. Was Jennifer the strange one from the diner? He can’t recall her name, assuming he was ever told it. He does remember being very, very suspicious though. There was just something about her… He shrugs to himself. “What does Jennifer look like? She doesn’t have a dog, does she? Seems to talk to herself a lot?” Delilah seems worried, even though she tries to hide it. “What happened to her? Union?”
He watches as she fiddles with something, wraps and turns and ties the thread. Others had talked about the great Tapestry. Tellurian, was it? Whatever it was, the idea was that reality was a mass of threads woven together. Pull one thread and others follow, changing the picture. He can see how it would make sense. He can feel her weaving coming together, held on her breath until it was done and ready to release. He’s not sure if he could reproduce it, but he may well try later.
He thinks for a few seconds. “My dad was in the navy. I have an owl living on my balcony. And I’ve watched an Archmage die.” There’s some truth and some lies in there, and he waits to see if she can work out which is which.
[Man+Sub - no, I really can lie convincingly!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )
sunshine.[Would I be able to see through that if I weren't being all Magickerriffic right now?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 6, 8) ( success x 3 )
sunshine.Jennifer is not a closed subject, not by any means, but later, after, after the wonder, Alexander, after the playing around, after the focusing on destiny, after listening to the luminous prophecy in Alexander's voice, after the stich is in place, after her hand is closed, after her palm has been crossed, like a trick to see those magic eye paintings; what is this to Delilah? of course she's try to explain at length; it's a dredging-up of, it's resonant. The true things he says, and see, they are part of this story, now, so she can hear it just, those true things have an audial gleam: how would she even describe it? How can she describe it? Delilah is considering this, closes her eyes once she sees what an awful liar he is (Hey Kettle, did you know that you are black!), but before that she shakes her head: no, not the Union, no. Her headshake is firm and decided; and then she says, "No dog. I have a dog. I hope you're not prejudiced against dogs."
And then the lie-truths, Jack Frost clear as ice, and Delilah tries to be very serious focusing on that last one does keep her serious almost except, "Do you have a picture of the owl?" delight seeping through like the serious steady tone is just a cloth dropped onto a puddle and now see yes her tone's just drenched in surprised what that's cool. Dries out enough when: "Did the Archmage want to die? You've seen a lot of death, haven't you?"
A beat, and. "What's your dad really do?"
Ta-da.
"And Jennifer, she looks like," and Delilah describes a pretty girl-next-door looking young woman. "She feels very 'pure.' That's the feeling you get around her. One of purity. And she's ... she's just very..."
Jack Frost“No, nothing against dogs. I just remember that particular woman having a dog.” Probably not Jennifer, then. It’s not really all that important. Not right now, anyway. So he’s happy for the talk about Jennifer to fade off, even if it’s just until later. She can (probably) take care of herself for a little while longer. “What’s he called? Or she?”
Alexander has never been all that great at lying. He doesn’t lie often, so doesn’t really get the practice. And, honestly? It’s far too much effort trying to keep everything straight. So he’s not a stranger to people seeing straight through any lies he does try to tell. But this is about new ways – new to him – to use these new abilities. Something he hadn’t tried, although things he hasn’t tried is a fairly long list.
So he shakes his head to the first question. “I don’t, I never thought to take one. I’ll try, if you like.” There’s still some warmth in expression when he continues. “That’s probably a complicated one to answer, and a bit of a long story. I guess the best way to put it is that he gave the last of his life to create something new. Something wonderful.” The smile’s back and it’s warm, reflecting her radiance with its affection. “You might get to meet it some time. Watch out for scarecrows.” It fades again as she asks about death he’s seen. “Enough. Too much? I don’t know. Call it an occupational hazard, I guess.” He turns his head to look at her again. “You won’t freak out when I tell you what I do, will you.”
sunshine."December, and he. I do have pictures," Delilah is not ashamed to admit, re: her dog. Of course Delilah isn't ashamed to admit it; when she blushes it isn't out of shame, but adrenaline, but off-kilteredness.
She can still hear the echo of true things when he speaks, still hear the light-brushed - oh truly, to Delilah it is an echo, it is an importance, it is stage-setting, it is candled but audial. "Yes please!" after I'll try, if you like.
Delilah's eyelids flicker when he spins out: long story, last of life, something wonderful, affection, meet it some time, scarecrows eh? Her expression is: well. Up go her eyebrows, her forehead wrinkles, and she pulls a face. Maybe she was about to quip a thing, say, I always watch out for scarecrows because they're always evil.
She cracks her eyes open.
Opens them fully, when he looks at her again.
"I don't know. Are you a serial killer or a dentist?"
Jack FrostShe had pictures. Pictures of kids, he’d be passing on the chance to see them. Pictures of pets? He’s a little more open to. “Show me? What breed is he?” He nods when she asks for photos of the owl. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“What is it?” He asks when her face changes after the very abridged version of his first trip into the Umbra, the first time meeting The Message, the first time experiencing the wonder of their world. He props himself up on his elbows to better look at her when he asks.
“Nothing so scary. I only ask, because it seems to come along with a lot of preconceptions of what else I am. I’m a cop.”
sunshine.He's a cop. He says it and the truth of it shines, the truth of it sounds in her ear like a silver bell, pure and fire-laced, like silver can be burnished, like a burnished radiance can be silvery and isn't the sound like rain? Couldn't she smudge those words into something other, if she wanted to? But the point is he says that he's a cop. Delilah blinks.
"Oh. Well," a grin. "Most of those with their eyes awake do things that are legally questionable all the time; that's way better than a serial killer or a dentist, and I'm not afraid of your handcuffs."
While she speaks, Delilah takes out her phone and starts trawling her gallery for a good picture of December. But all pictures of December are good pictures, so it's difficult, until, until, there we go, here we are, she hands it over so Alexander can see the foam-colored pale-white saluki in all his proud dawn-sleek glory staring very intently at a stuffed bird on the bare hardwood floor of - someplace.
"He's a saluki," she tells him, with the hand-off of her phone. And then: What is it? "And it's... well, it just sounds kind of ominous, Jack Frost! Scarecrows are scary. Did he turn into a cornfield?"
Pause. "Do people get scared of you being a cop because they think you're conventional?"
Jack FrostAlexander sniffs. “I’ve already done things that would, at best, get me thrown out of the force or, at worst, have me in front of a court and thinking about prison time. I’m realistic enough, and I’ve seen enough, to know that there are things that the mundane justice system can’t hope to handle. So, yeah, I know what come along with the secret decoder wheel. I don’t like it sometimes, but I have no intention of having anyone disappear.” She grins, though. And he wonders if he just went a little too far. “Sorry.”
He reaches over to take the phone and looks down at the pictures. He flicks to the ones either side, too. “Cute dog. I’ve never heard of the breed, though. Where does it come from?”
But then the smile comes back. “No, not a cornfield. An angel. He looks like a scarecrow in this world, but he’s a man with huge owl wings on the other side.”.
A pause. “I think when I first got here and first woke up, nobody knew what to make of me. So they guessed what I would be based on what I do and how I feel. Some might not have been all that surprised if I had ended up with the Union. But I’ve got no interest in joining them. Or any of the traditions either, if it comes to it. Especially if they’re going to look down their nose at me because I didn’t spend years before waking up learning the right way to curtsey in polite company.”
Yeah. He’s not likely to join the Order.
sunshine."Don't apologize. Sorry for what?" Delilah says, and she begins to play with another thread dragged out of her craftbag, wrapping it around her fingers. The thread is silvery, moonlight, dove wings, and she is not Working while she is playing with the thread. She is just playing with the thread, and of course her eyes are wide because an angel an angel and a scarecrow.
"Interesting!" she breathes, see, just a little bit rapt, because what a transformation; and what does that exactly mean for how Delilah regards the otherworld spiritworlds which she is only just re-learning, this life 'round. "There's so much," she adds, half-to-herself.
"Which Traditions have you run into all that much here? D'you remember what I told you up there, what I was, an Orphan and a Disparate?"
The picture right before December is a picture of Delilah crouched and thumbs upping a huuuuuuuuuuge pizza on the floor. It's not a good picture; those sorts of pictures never are. Apparently it is hand-made, and one can see a cat paw reaching through the top of the shot to flick at a pepperoni. The picture on the other side is another December shot, however: December, sleeping in the middle of a pile of costumes, gauzy sequined things, different shades of fabric beside open boxes, a ribbon ravelling.
"December... I think originally they come from Persia, they're like, the hunting dogs of Arabic nomads. Then Hungarian hunting dogs. December comes from a box under a bridge. When he was a puppy, some kids abandoned him and put these boards over the box so he couldn't get out."
Jack Frost“Sorry for ranting a bit. I wasn’t in the best of places when a couple of the others tried telling me about stuff because they were worried about what I was and what I’d do about it. I guess it still grates a bit.” He shrugs a bit. “I just like to think people see more that the badge I wear, or the super special fan club that others might want to be a part of.”
There’s so much. He nods, even though the statement wasn’t exactly addressed to him. “There is. I’d love to see more.” He had asked. Hopefully, one day, he will get to travel with the Message.
He thinks for a minute, trying to remember who’s with which team. “The Order are pretty heavy here. Cultists. At least one VA. A Verbena. There’s a dick of a priest who’s a Chorister, I think. A Hollower, and a Euthanatoi that I know of. There are probably others, there seem to be a lot of new faces in town.”
He smiles at the other photos. “Did you make the costumes?”
sunshine."Hey. Aren't you going to try to hear whether or not I'm telling the truth?"
Her eyebrows loft, come on, copper, what'choo, afraid or something? Delilah is hardly the picture of a no-good law-breaking criminal deceptive mastermind.
"I could lie about the costumes, and you'd never know," she widens her eyes deliberately; imagine the horror, Alex!
And then she says, "From what I can tell, the open-eyed in this city are pretty relaxed about the Disparate. It's really not that way everywhere; the super special fan club means a lot to some people. But it would, wouldn't it? Because it lays out what they believe at the heart of who they are and what they want to be. Just don't let 'em tell you you have to join if you don't feel it.
"Because you don't. I get along fine, although in other places I think some people have assumed I'm a dreamspeaker, like Lucy is. Maybe you'd like the dreamspeakers. Maybe the euthanatoi.
"Have you figured out what you want to do with being awake, or is it just there, for you, so not so much yet?"
Jack FrostAren’t you going to try… Part of him just wants to lie back, relax, and do nothing more energetic than talk. Another part, though? Wants to try it out and see what happens. Another part is wary of poking around with Entropy too much. Another, wants to get over that fear. It takes a few moments for Curiosity and Stubbornness to gang up on Fear and Apathy and beat them into submission. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a coin, settling back again and running it around between his fingers. “So how does this work? You just listen and see what happens?”
He nods. “Yeah, most of them don’t really seem all that bothered. Either they’re happy to help anyone and everyone, or they mind their own business and expect you to mind yours.” Then there’s a smile. “And I’ve been given similar advice before. Only the reply was rather less polite than yours was. I’m pretty sure I’m a bad match for the Order, Choristers, Sons, VA’s and Verbena. Or they’re a bad match for me. Doesn’t really matter which. Euthanatoi has been mentioned before, and Dreamspeakers. I’ve not had the chance to really sit down and talk things through with anyone from either camp though. There was a Dreamspeaker here before, but I haven’t seen her around in a long time.”
The last question gets a confused, puzzled look. “What I want to do with it? I don’t get what you mean. What else is there to do with it than what I would have done without it?”
sunshine.Delilah, earnest, earnest, responds to the confused and puzzled look with both corners of her mouth lifting, that almost-coy, almost conspiratorial sort of mischief-brushed smile, Valentine straight from her to you, from you to her, a cheschire thing, and she says, "That's one of those questions that answers the question. I mean, sure, you're the same. But it's like finding out you've got a talent for composing music or for theatre; now that you know you've got it, how do you want to indulge it? Does it change anything?"
Delilah pulls herself out of cross-legged position, kneels instead, hands braced on her thighs, watchful, considerate and considering, see, watching the coin and Alexander's hands and thinking about what if he is in Quiet and thinking about how to -
"Yes, kind of. You basically try to figure out how to listen so you hear that echo, that silvery ringing that can be what's true. It's like, you're listening for what's true in the story of what's happening now, what the path the person you're talking to is on and how they step off it, so you should be able to hear what's not true too. That's what it's like for me. Maybe the metaphor won't hold, if it works for you this first time. Or other times. So, coins help you with that probability stuff? Let that be your hook into the right way of listening. It's like getting your eyes ready to see the pictures in those magic eye drawings, right?"
"And if you think you've got it, I'll lie to you. Or tell you the truth." She brings her hands up off her thighs to wiggle her fingers. "You'll see, or hear."
Jack FrostDoes it change anything> He goes to answer, mouth opening, but then he stops. Nobody’s asked before. It’s not something he’s asked, at least so directly. So his mouth closes again and he lies back again, watching the sky.
What would he have done if he hadn’t have woken up. He’s be in the force, trying to do what little he could to help people and, clichéd as it sounds, make the world a slightly better place. Now, with the extra knowledge, power and potential? What’s changed? The world is bigger, deeper, with more dark places in it. There’s more he can do, and even more that the others he’s met and learning to work with can do. But he’s still with the force. He’s still trying to do what he can, maybe a little more than he could have managed before, to make it better. “Not that much, I think. Not the important stuff, anyway. I want to learn more about it, get better at using it. But I’m not writing off my life for it. What I do matters. I can’t give it up.” His head turns on the ground to look at her as he finishes. It’s true, and maybe she still hears the ring. He had a mortal, mundane life before he woke up. One that’s important to him. And one that he’s not walking away from.
“What the hell.” He really doesn’t know how this is going to work, even if it’s going to do anything. But there’s only one way to find out. He gives it a go. Holding the coin in the palm of one hand, he tries to work his will.
[Arete, Entropy, TN4, no rush here so we may as well take our time.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN3 (1) ( fail )
Jack Frost[Paradox!]
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (8) ( success x 1 )
Jack Frost[Eep. Soak?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (4, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Jack Frost[I laugh at you, Paradox!]
Jack FrostAlexander does what he’s always done. He feels the weight of the coin in his hand. Feels its link to his view of Entropy – the chaos, the randomness, the shifting probabilities. Uses it to concentrate, to focus, to push.
Only something goes wrong. He pushes, he wills, but it feels wrong. Normally he feels a shift as reality bends a little, letting him sense a little more than he could before. This time, it doesn’t. He pushes and reality pulls him in, chews him up and spits him out again. He curls up on the ground as if he’d just been punched in the stomach, winded, rolling onto his side. It seems like forever before he can catch his breath and just inhale again. And… is his nose bleeding?
He whispers, but she can head: “What the fuck?”
Jack Frost[She can hear, too.]
sunshine.[Prime 1. Watch the weaving, no taking time, but yes foci and yes practiced. What happened/what went wrong? D:]
Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (5, 10) ( success x 2 )
sunshine.Now, this is the story, this is the story of what is true now, Delilah listens to Alexander answer her, watches expressions change themselves across his face, listens to that gleaming thread of true and false weaving itself in the cadence of the shadow of his voice and she nods a nod of I-hear-you or maybe I-do-not-disagree and then she brings her hands together in a silent almost-clap as he what the Hells and that frozen glacial heart as magick begins to wick into but no it doesn't wick at all it recoils rebounds snaps and crashes and Alexander rolls onto his side breathing hard and Delilah she is already kneeling but she goes up on her knees and touches Alexander's arm like to turn him back and see no seriously are you okay and he seems okay here he is what the fucking now and Delilah she puts one hand to her mouth then to a necklace beneath her shirt and the rosy pink sweater thing and closes her eyes and opens them again to watch and listen to what there is to see of the ethereal and unnamable and unknowable essentia wonder candlelight beauty potential threads of magick and there they are ingrown-hair frozen irritated rash and,
Her hand slips beneath her sweater beneath the teeshirt so she can run her thumb along the edge of the necklace slip-open its claspcap feel the cool touch of water on her thumb, stay there,
"I think," she says, and she sounds so contrite, although not apologetic, "I think you just got smacked around by reality. You okay? Need a tissue?"
Jack FrostAlexander isn’t against touch, although some of the Mages may have thought – possibly still think – otherwise. Touch can be comforting, reinforcing. It’s not unknown for him to offer contact to others when he things they need it. But there are time when it’s the last thing that he wants. He pulls away from the contact. Because he doesn’t want the comfort? Not exactly. He would never be sure how to describe it. He just… doesn’t want it. Sera found that when she tried to hug him on that first glorious, Awakened day. Delilah picked up on it earlier. But right this minute? He doesn’t pull away. He’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe again, or he might have pulled away or pushed her away.
“Oh.” So. This is Paradox. He rolls up onto his knees, a couple of drops of blood dropping onto the grass. “Yeah. If you’ve got one.”
sunshine.Now this hand on Jack Frost's arm, let it go, let it go, eh?, this hand isn't meant (so much) to comfort, it's only meant to see-for-herself, see-for-herself, and though he lies still without violent reaction Delilah doesn't leave it there for long once she has pulled-him-just-so, now she is digging in her bag, bag of wonders, wonder-bag for a kleenex, kleenex in some cheap little plastic pack she has to open with her thumbnail before handing it over.
"Try again, or did it scare you off?"
Jack FrostHis body tries to remember what it needs to do to get air to move in and out. There it goes, with a deep breath. A breath that feels tinged with cold ice, a breath that mists as it hits the hot air. He reaches out, glancing for where his target is, when the tissue is offered. “Thanks.” He uses it to catch a few drips as he pinches his nose.
“Give me a minute.” He dabs, tests if the bleeding is stopped.
sunshine.Delilah doesn't say take your time or okay, but she does wait, see, wait and look at the river, look at the river and sit again instead of kneel rest her chin on her knees considering, see, just considering, rest temple on her knee too in order to look proper at the river since she's still facing Jack Frost who's been battered by his first reality punch should she take a picture she doesn't know him well enough but it's awfully tempting.
Jack FrostHe can still taste blood but the bleed, at least, seems to have stopped. He dabs a couple more times, sniffs a little experimentally, and wipes his nose on a clean bit of the tissue. At some point the coin that was in his hand had fallen to the ground. He shuffles on his knees and picks it up.
Try again, or did it scare you off? This life seems to come with lots of new and interesting way to get hurt and injured. Being punched in the face by vampires. Reality backhanding you when it feels like it. Feeling like you’re being shredded by the countless shards of shattered Avatars when you’re dragged across the Gauntlet. Did any of the others put him off? Not really; he’d happy repeat what had gone on before, even if it all came with the same consequences.
So he grips the coin again, squeezing it hard as he faces up against reality again. And this time? It’s going to damned well do what it’s told.
[Arete again, TN4, +1 for the botch, throwing a WP at it because I think he has 2 left at this point?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN5 (3) ( success x 1 ) [WP]
Jack Frost[Or, yeah, totally trying the detect lies thing again, just in case it wasn't clear.]
sunshine.He picks himself up. He picks himself up and he tries again: what sort of impression does Alexander make, does Alexander leave? Dogged, determined? Dumb-bull, heed-long flinging, frozen-in-an-act, again, again? Delilah seems pleased but wary when he grips the coin again knuckles-whitening frosting and then that kick of his resonance smearing through the air something beginning to happen and she claps her fingers together oncetwice eyebrows lofting,
"So, Jack? You seem like a nice guy. I know how to play the piano. I've run into some serious trouble in Denver. I once turned somebody's beer into water because they were being too wild. I've eaten owl, and found it delicious."
Beat. "Did it work?"
[Does Delilah at least seem like she is lying well, though?]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 9) ( success x 1 )
Jack Frost[Looking for the lies: mundane version]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
sunshine.[>:[]
Jack FrostThe answer to what that makes him? Both. Neither. He’s as guilty as everyone else of doing things without thinking them through. Otherwise he wouldn’t have thrown himself at a supernatural nasty capable of dominating his mind and draining him dry. But wasn’t that also from determination that the (at the time) unknown woman wasn’t going to be forced into anything when she obviously did’t want it?
This time? He tries to bend the world to his will again, and it almost slips away. Not so much that reality noticed and took a swipe at him again, but enough that the effect he was trying to pull together would fragment and dissipate and fade into the ether. But Alexander? Is Willful. Given recent events, here and elsewhere in the city, maybe not Full of Will at this point in time. But he still has some to spare and he forces reality to accept what he wants.
Delilah speak, and he looks up at her. He sees… what? The same storm surrounds her as before, flickering through potentials and probabilities. But this time it’s slightly different. She speaks and he, knows, instinctually knows, which of those he sees in the flickering flashes. Delilah? Is an awful liar anyway. But that only serves to reinforce what he knows.
“That’s a shame, you could have tried playing keyboards with Sera singing. I’m not sure if you’ve not eaten owl or didn’t like the taste, but I’m going to go with the first. Did you turn it back again? And thanks, you’re pretty cool too.”
He cocks his head for the last, serious again. “Trouble?” A hint of a smile reappears. “In Denver? Surely not!”
sunshine.Delilah beams: "It worked, it worked!!" Then: the beam diminishes; just slightly. Delilah's got a candle under her skin, the fire leaps and the fire burns and the fire's just that dawn-creeping immanent light-source and sometimes it dissipates see like now: "Or did it?"
Because Delilah is a terrible liar. Terrible at lying, terrible at hiding her opinion of people. Maybe he's faking it. That starry-eyed rapt quality returns at the idea of oh, Sera singing, playing with her, fade to a half-smirk at owl, little headshake no no she did not turn it back, grin at the compliment lobbed back, and then:
light turns off entirely. "Yeah. Okay. I should tell you about it, especially as you're a cop. I actually was made aware of it right after we met, because that's the night Lucy ran across a ghost."
Pause, just to see if Alexander is ready for this new topic of discussion. The grass is cold. The river is running. The sky is lead; there'll be a moment soon of drizzle, something scant, something that barely feels like dew, and then it'll fade.
Jack FrostAlexander turns again, sitting on the grass. He stretches his legs out on front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and leans back with his hands on the grass to support him. “Yeah, it worked. You’re a terrible liar, by the way, but I think that just made it easier to tell that it was working right.
Delilah turns serious, the light dims, and the drizzle starts. All they need is an ominous flash of lightning and rumble of thunder to prepare the scene. He nods. Tell me more.
sunshine.Delilah does tell him more.
Delilah tells Alexander about the ghost, about how Elijah and Lucy and some unnamed other were drawn to the ghost, how the ghost was looking for his dog, how his name was Jeremy Tran, how Elijah'd recognized him as one of so many missing people. How Lucy looked back to see what had happened to his dog, and got more than she could chew. Badum bum. The murder. The four hungry men - Lucy drew some pictures and posted them at the chantry; I think she texted you or is going to text you about it? - who came on the guy all at once cut his tendons dragged him into a van and then ate him and ripped out his heart and probably ate that too. How they'd felt like something ravenous, unquenchable hunger; how,
and see, here, here Delilah pauses, gathers herself, before telling Alexander how she and Lucy did a ritual together, something to find out when the next attack was going to happen, something to try to track that ravenous essence back to its nest to its source see what was happening, and she tells him what they've found out about the attack. About where. About when. About where it became obvious that the person responsible had wards up, how it was too hard to see past a fog: how whatever was in the fog had tried to track them back, too, but hadn't been able to -- they think.
And here, look, a pause for thoughts, opportunity for input from Alexander.
Jack FrostDoes Delilah expect him to look shocked? Surprised? React in some way more than listening quietly and nodding at parts of the story that match up with the parts he already knows? Eyebrows rising when she mentions the sketches of the men that Lucy had seen in her vision? Wincing a little when she talks about the wards each side had erected and how, she things, that they held?
“If they hadn’t held, I’m not sure we’d be here having this…” he almost says pleasant but, given the way that things have gone so far and the subject matter, that doesn’t seem appropriate. So he ends with “…conversation.” Because they may be addicts, but they’re organised and there’s someone, or something, with power behind them.
“I’ve met one of them. The cannibals, I mean. His spirit, anyway. Apparently they don’t take well to their own losing control.” And he runs through his own story from not so long ago. Being called to the murder scene; maybe finding tyre tracks that could be from the body dump; looking through the Gauntlet and finding Oliver’s spirit there watching; that it sounds like some kind of addiction, and how the others had beaten him and taken his teeth because he wasn’t able to control his hunger. And how he had promised that the others – and the female presence behind them – would be coming to eat him, or them. The promise wasn’t entirely clear.
“I have no idea how to stop this thing. I’ve passed messages onto some of the others, but so far? Nobody’s suggested anything.”
sunshine.Delilah listens intently to what Alexander has to add, and when he's done, when nobody's suggested anything, no idea how to stop this thing, Delilah who can be dawn-is-the-perfect-time-for-launch-a-battle dawn, who can look quite fierce if she so wishes or is so moved, delineated by a desire to rise up sword-clash ax-clash fling, Delilah says, "Interesting. How long ago did Oliver die? I wonder if he was one of the four Lucy saw, or if that happened after. If -- she? It sounds like the Hunger, the Mage if it is a Mage, is the she -- it sounds like she might need a certain -- um, okay," and then Delilah tells Alexander more.
Delilah, she tells him that they tried to find out how to stop them. She's vague about how they tried to find this out, but she seems quite certain -- certainty in her marrow, certainty in her veins -- that what they came up with is true. She tells him and their hunger, yeah, like he said, it is an addiction; they're infected with an addiction, like, that they call themselves wolves, that the She has addicted them to power, gave them a taste, now they can't help but want it, that even before She came to them they were ambitious and they wanted and and and and
Delilah tells him that they know the men were hand-picked and that they know She is trying to build up a cult. She tells him -
" - and the way to stop them is to stop their hungering, or kill them. I was thinking, well, I can't do it myself, but there might be - there are surely rotes, maybe mental, maybe physical, maybe some combination of both, that can break that pattern, that, you know, that whole hungering thing, give them satisfaction right? Make them satiated. And maybe that would be enough to stop them, or at least pause them so they can be separated and go to jail for what they've done, right? Contain them."
"The thing of it is - "
Delilah takes a deep breath. She is speaking so quietly; has scooted nearer Alexander in order to - not whisper, not quite, but her voice is low, because one never knows who's listening, right?
"I know that this is ancient, this thing they're doing, a thieved ritual from - I don't know where. That I don't know. If someone knows a lot about rituals, historically that is, maybe they could do research and find out what it was originally for or its original shape and we could break it - but it's already been twisted and warped, you know? by the Hungry Will behind it all. The one who wants to be a Hunger-goddess, or something - I don't understand it."
"But right, that's how they can be stopped: break their hunger, or kill them. The latter is probably easier, but that doesn't mean it's the route that should be taken, you know? Somebody in this city must be able to break hunger, mustn't they?" He knows the city better, so see, she gives him this look: it's one part searching, one part demanding, and one part imploring.
"And on Friday, when they make their next strike, somebody should definitely be on hand to try to -- to try to stop them, or -- even if it's just -- I don't know." Awkward end.
Then: "Hey, I don't suppose - um - Oliver? Oliver, did he seem like - vengeful? I don't know; did he want to get them back? Because if they've left two ghosts behind, maybe they could be found again and convinced to help stop them. I don't know if they can reach through to affect flesh and bone - they can't all do that, but ... well it's another thought."
There. Done.
Jack FrostHow long ago did Oliver die? “Most likely early morning on Wednesday. The body was still fairly fresh when it was found up by the Hill-top Tavern. Did you see the sketches?” He runs through a description of the spirit that he saw, before his teeth disappeared and his mouth turned into a bloody mess. “Does that sound like any of them?”
Alexander listens as she suggests a way of… subduing them for a while? “Sera’s tried that and it seemed to work. She, and Elijah, came across one of them feeding. She managed to convince him that he wasn’t hungry and he moved on.” He’s thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know exactly how powerful Sera is, but I get the feeling she’s one of the strongest of us. Hopefully others will be able to do something similar though.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have a clue how, though. She tried showing me how she sees the world, though. It… didn’t go well.”
Because there are some things that he doesn’t want to feel, to happen.
“I can think of a couple of people who might be able to do the research. Kalen, for one. Elijah, maybe? Grace, if it’s something that can be Googled.” Adam? Who’s Adam? Damned Arcane.
He sighs, thinking back about the brief encounter with Oliver. “I dunno, he seemed more… disappointed, maybe? Hurt? I don’t think he felt and particular anger against any of them. He seemed fairly admitting of the woman behind it all, and accepting that the rest of them had to kill him because of his weakness. Like he’s quite happily have done the same to any of them, I guess.” There’s another shrug. “I don’t even know if he’s still about. He just faded away.”
sunshine.[Hide hide hide opinions! Manip + Subt]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 6) ( success x 1 )
sunshine.Does it sound like any of them? Delilah saw the sketches (and the vision; sh, don't think about that; don't think about the sudden shock of it, submerged in one's soulmate's panicked thoughts-visuals-here-this-that-horror-overwhelming), and if the description seems to match, she says so. If it doesn't, she shakes her head.
"Sera's amazing," Delilah says, breathes. "Maybe you can talk to her about making charms; I don't know if that can even be a thing, or she can -- well, however she did it, she can share it?"
Delilah of course looks curious at the hint of some other-not-going-well story when it comes to seeing the world, and Sera! Sera is interesting.
But business. Kalen, eh. Delilah looks reserved and cautious. Elijah, reserved. Grace, a little more open or hopeful, though she crinkles her nose at 'googled.'
"Most ghosts are ghosts because something in their life threw such a long shadow, that when their body is gone, the shadow remains. Shades. Did he, well, were you using- were you seeing him on purpose or was he letting you see him? Because it's possible that giving you his story was enough to untether him, but I'd think it was more likely that it wasn't, and he might still be around, You should get together with Lucy. Maybe show her the place and see if you guys can find him again. If nothing else, maybe he can provide some insight into the woman?"
"If you could talk to any of those guys who might be good at researching old magickal rituals for me, that would be cool. I still don't know very many people."
"Um, and my throat is super dry, so I'd kind of like to go get a tea now or something - come with? Are you off-duty today?"
And one way or another, the information exchange-slash-lesson-slash-impromptu-moment-of-terror-slash-just-another-October-day-in-Denver will end.
With rain, because the heavens are going to open up and pour.
Jack Frost[What opinions are those?]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Jack FrostHe smiles when she says that Sera’s amazing. “She is. She kinda helped me out a lot when the world went sideways. I’ve got an awful lot of time for her, and I think most people around here do too. She’s never mentioned anything about charms, though. What are they?”
“Kalen and Elijah are, I think, the most bookish people I can think of. Kalen’s certainly got access to a fair few books, and an apprentice to help with the searching.”
“I looked. As far as I know, nobody else even knew he was there. None of them reacted to his presence, anyway, and having a guy standing on a dumpster watching what’s going on it likely to get some kind of attention. But, I really don’t know what happened to him. Maybe he’s still out there somewhere? Or maybe he’s taken his place in that river? I can run her up there to look, though, no problem dong that. I want to get back up there anyway. And I think I’d like to send a little more time with Lucy, and you, and talk about this stuff. I’ve been learning from someone in town – have you met Alyssa yet? – but it’s good to hear what other people have to say too.”
She suggests tea. “If mine can be a coffee, then sure. I’d like that. No work today, so I won’t need to dash off any time soon.”
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