Well, I’ll give you points for honesty

Alexander

There’s a reason why Alexander had chosen this apartment when he had been looking for somewhere to live in the city: the view from the balcony. There were cheaper places to live; places that would have been a lot more convenient for the work commute. But none of them had the view of The Rockies that this place had.

The apartment itself is fairly small, not surprising given the local rents. The entrance leads straight into the living room. One wall is dominated by the glass doors leading onto the balcony. The opposite wall holds the kitchen and utility closet. A closed door opposite the entrance to the flat leads into what it most likely the bedroom.

A couch sits between the balcony door and the kitchen, turned to catch the view. A TV sits on a stand to the left of the door and is currently on, playing music. A book case is tucked into the corner on the other side of the door, loosely filled. A low coffee table sits in front of the couch, topped with a couple of books and a mug of coffee. Judging by the smell in the apartment, the filter coffee maker was only recently fired up. A mobile phone sits on the table too, streaming music to the TV.

Alexander is currently lying on the couch, reading. This could be surprising to some who know him; he’s never been the bookish sort. But he’d thought it time to start at least trying to study for the detective exam.

Ihsan

The night was a peaceful one. The harsh cold spell that punctuated the later half of November had broken and the day had been warmer. A number of people had gone out in hoodies and hats today instead of thick parkas and scarves. When the sun dipped behind those majestic mountains, though, the chill was quick to reclaim the land.

The metal railing leading up the exterior stairs to this particular apartment building was still warm from the day, warmer than the air around it at this time. In the morning it would try to steal skin from the palms that dared to run along it, though.

This part of town wasn't terrible, really. There wasn't much danger of having somebody with a small knife ask for your wallet while you were trying to unlock your car and go home. Alexander shouldn't have to worry about much here, once he's home and settled in and away from the precinct and the other Awakened.

This was probably why it was so surprising when a sharp rapping occurred on his door.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Alexander

This wasn’t a place that many of the Awakened even knew about. Sera was probably the only one who had been here, and even then not for long. A couple of her friends – Natalee and Dan – had stayed to keep an eye on him the day that he’d Woken Up and into the night. But since then, he’d tried to keep barriers between his lives.

When Ihsan reached the apartment door, the faint sound of music – the Pink Floyd version of Comfortably Numb, if she recognises it – drifts through. There’s a short pause after she knocks, almost as if someone had just dozed off and been woken up unexpectedly. “Just a minute,” comes the reply.

He takes a moment to stretch after standing, dumping the book back on the seat of the couch, before making the short walk to the door. It swings open, giving Alexander and Ihsan their first opportunity to see each other since their first and only encounter at the police department. Alexander stands there barefoot in t-shirt and basketball shorts, eyes momentarily wide as he sees who his visitor is.

“Well, so much for not shitting where I eat. What are you doing here?” His tone isn’t what anybody would call warm or welcoming, but he hasn’t just slammed the door in her face. There’s no indication that she’s welcome to enter, though. And at least he’s had some warning that she’s one of them now. That alone stops him shutting the door to look for his gun. It doesn’t make him any happier that she’s here, though.

Ihsan

Let's say the apartment was laid out in a way that each door was out into the elements-- the 'hallways' exterior structures that really were just glorified fire exits that everything was connected by. Sturdy, sure, but it was no hallway with lights and walls.

Ihsan stood outside dressed in a black trench coat that stitched in at the waist and was cut at the hip. A dark gray scarf was worn over her head and around her neck. She wore dark jeans and a pair of black boots. Smiled charmingly when he opened the door.

"Apologizing." The word was heavily accented, sounding of desert sands and purring like a death rumble from yellow savanna grasses.

"I thought you were... ah....," the pause for the phrase she was seeking in English. "in on the joke."

She shivered visibly, probably put on for show. It was cool, in the mid-thirties, but not that cold.

Alexander

Alexander stands there unmoving, just watching Ihsan as she speaks. Considering her and what she’d said. It certainly wasn’t the reply he’d expected to get, any more than it was the visitor he might have expected.

“No. I wasn’t.” There’s a subtle softening of his tone, followed by another moment of contemplation. A moment followed by the pushing open of the door and his stepping to one side. This was quite possibly going to be one of those conversations where it’s best to have some sort of privacy. It’s as much invitation in as she’s getting, though.

Ihsan

There's something in the quality of grin that Ihsan wore that made it seem almost like he'd just invited an old storybook vampire over the threshold. She stepped into the apartment and what immediately entered into a living space.

He may have not been friendly about opening the door to let her in, but an invitation was exactly that. And you know what they say about giving an inch.

She stalked into the small space with her hands in her pockets and hunted for titles on books from a distance and paintings on walls or photos in frames. This was all with casual, open curiosity, almost idle as she addressed the point of her visit.

"I suppose you have heard about the Kozlowski murder. Do you simply leave the case open, or do you try to arrest the killer?"

Ihsan's favorite thing to do was rip right into the throat of a conversation, apparently.

Alexander

Alexander lets Ihsan past and pushes the door closed, twisting the lock behind them. He doesn’t return to the couch, doesn’t make himself comfortable. He does step over to the counter that separates the little kitchen from the living room and leans on it, watching Ihsan make her round of the room.

The books give a good indication of what Alexander might find interesting, although some might simply be of professional interest. There is a stack of procedural manuals at the bottom of the bookcase, their heft helping to hold it stable. Then there’s a book on gun maintenance, a couple of teach yourself meditation books. There’s a bigger selection of books on the mountains, on climbing, on hiking, on camping and hunting and surviving; a book on astronomy, a couple of books about owls. The one open on the couch, with its spine bent back, is something on criminology. The room is bare of photos and paintings. Why bother with a painting when you have a mountain staring at you through the window?

Something through the window, though, might catch Ihsan’s attention. An owl sits, perched on the wooden barrier that guards the outer edge of the balcony. It seems to be asleep. There’s some old guano on the floor of the balcony, and several old balls of regurgitated remains dot its surface too.

Ihsan doesn’t spare any time for meaningless pleasantries, and neither does Alexander. “I was taken off the case as soon as the detectives arrived. I kept an eye on things until you turned up.” There’s a short, meaningful silence. “I picked up word that the murderer was probably female, and she had hit several other states. As far as I know, the FBI picked the case after that. What they did or didn’t do, I have no idea.

“Grace told me that everything had been dealt with. That’s all I know.”

Ihsan

The bookshelf held her interest the longest-- it was in front of this that she ultimately settled, taking her time to read titles more carefully. From this vantage point she spotted the owl outside the window. Paused, surprised by it (but not startled). Looked a little pleased to see it, honestly.

"Ooh, a goose chase. That is good. Did you set them up on that one?" The question was sincere, and Ihsan looked back to Alexander with a curious raise of eyebrows. Whether he did or didn't was neither here nor there. Ultimately she wound up plucking one of the books on hunting and surviving from the shelf and glanced at its back cover.

"Is that Owl out there? Or simply an owl?"

Alexander

“Goose chase?” Alexander cocks his head, puzzled. “I heard that the profilers thought that the killer was a woman, and that the other murders were too similar for it to be coincidental. Disembowelling people and wrapping their guts around their neck is a fairly unique signature, don’t you think?

“What was it you wanted to tell me about the murder, anyway? You said you were there to help.”

The last questions are a little more puzzling. Alexander glances out of the window at the snoozing form. He’d be rousing soon, fluttering off into the night to find food. Although with the move into winter, Alexander had started keeping a small stash of frozen rodents in the freezer. “Owl? It’s an owl, yeah. Was there a particular owl you were looking for?”

Ihsan

"I wasn't sure if it was the spirit of Owl or not. He does come across in manifestations, from time to time." Her slim shoulders jerked up and dropped down again in a dismissive shrug, and the book was tucked back into its same place on the shelf.

"I had known that the murder had something Magickal to it. Grace had told me of it, and that you were investigating it. I wanted to investigate too. Put things right. I hadn't figured that the killer was working toward the balance."

Maybe some things were lost in translation, or maybe she was getting a little lost in her own Paradigm. More likely than not it was a bit of both. She waved her hand in the air to indicate that she was moving on to the next point of the explanation.

"I had figured you wanted to do it on your own because you didn't think I knew what I was doing. It didn't occur to me that you thought I was a Suit."

Alexander

“As far as I know, he’s just an ordinary owl. We met a while ago, things happened, and now he’s chosen to make his home there. He might be a spirit; I’ve never actually tried looking at him that way.” There’s a cocking of Alexander’s head as he considers it. Given the strange circumstances of their meeting, it could be a possibility.

The comment about balance gets another cocked head. Alexander may not know vast amounts about the Traditions – hell, he barely knows much more than the name and the stereotypes surrounding some of them – but that does sound familiar from past discussions. “Working toward the balance? How do you mean? I though the murderer was Fallen, not Euthanatos?”

But, then, to the talk of their... well, not ill-fated meeting. That would imply that Fate has some kind of involvement in much of anything. Unfortunate meeting, then. Alexander hops up and perches on the edge of the counter, resting his elbows on his knees. He glances down at the floor, sighing, before he continues speaking.

“Has anybody told you that the Union are starting to take more of an interest in the city? I was warned that agents had already started trying to infiltrate the department. So when someone Awakened mysteriously shows up, asking about a murder case that wasn’t common knowledge; one where there was some trace of resonance at the scene? Well, what was I supposed to think? It’s not like you gave any hints about who had tipped you off.” Now he straightens up, leaning back and resting his hands on the counter behind him. “I rather got the impression you were enjoying whatever little game you thought you were playing.” Now he watches her, watches for her reaction.

Ihsan Ghali

Alexander hopped up on the counter, explained his positioning, and commented on her apparent enjoyment in stringing him along down the path of worry and misinterpretation. Ihsan's answer was a big grin across her full mouth.

"Oh, I was," she said matter-of-factly. Finished with the bookcase, she walked back toward the front of the apartment and stood on the side of the kitchen counter opposite of where Alexander had been, so that the door on out was to her immediate left. Her hands stayed in her pockets for the time being, she didn't rest them on the counter or lean into his space.

"There was a Fallen roaming the scene and causing anguish for many people, yes. She was also responsible for some deaths. But not that death in particular, oh no." She shook her head before carrying on.

"I am Chakravanti myself. That is why I was concerned with the death being unbalanced. Those deaths... they weren't at the right time. But it is sorted out. The Fallen is gone, so she won't be driving anybody toward those murders again."

Alexander

“Well, I’ll give you points for honesty if nothing else.” Alexander doesn’t show any sign of humour, of having enjoyed being toyed with then or, as he’s starting to think, now. If anything, the patience that he’d shown was starting to wear a little thin.

He stays perched on the counter, not making any attempt to get away or to move her away. Not yet, at least. What thawing there had been in his voice, though, was disappearing again. “But now the whole issue has been dealt with, and as it appears your attempt to apologise is only so much hot air, I ask you again: What are you doing here?”

Ihsan Ghali

The question of why she was even there came away in a voice that was a bit more chilled again. Social hour seemed to be coming to a close, and the man in his own home and perfectly comfortable and confident in himself there was growing impatient with her nonsense. Why was she there? She blinked thoughtfully at the question, then shrugged her shoulders.

"Call me old fashioned. I wanted to apologize for having you worried for your safety. I hadn't known about your precint being infiltrated. Or about the interest that the Technocracy has shown here. I'm new to the area." It sounded like a good excuse, honest truth or not.

"At this point, though, I'm truthfully just waiting to feel warm before going back out in the night."

A few awkward ticks of silence passed and she tapped the heels of her boots together, then inquired: "So... Do you travel? I am going to London soon. To stop a death cult."

Alexander

There had been a moment when Alexander had wondered if this was someone who he’d be able to talk to about all things Spirit. Alyssa, the first person he’d really picked anything up from, was long gone. Lucy had vanished without a trace, to who knows where. There wasn’t really anyone else around who he knew well enough to learn from. The moment had passed, though. For now, at least. Maybe things would change over time, as they had with Ian – and hadn’t that been a wonderful first encounter too.

“Ms Ghali. The whole communication thing was FUBAR’d, and you’re not the only one at fault there. You’ve made your feelings on what happened quite clear. But let me make mine equally clear. I do not like being played with. I do not like having Awakened affairs eating into my Sleeper life any more than they absolutely have to, and that includes where I live as well as where I work. So I don’t expect to see you here, or at the station, again. If you need to get hold of me, speak to Grace.”

He hops off the counter and steps around Ihsan, around the couch, to retrieve his mug. “Now you obviously have important things to be getting on with. Travel arrangements and the like. If there’s nothing else you wanted to talk about, please don’t let me keep you any longer.” He returns to the kitchen area, putting the counter between them, before throwing the remains of the mug in the sink and refilling it from the filter jug.

Ihsan Ghali

The woman didn't appear offended by the minor lecture she was receiving about leaving Alexander's sleeper life alone. No tapping on the precinct's front desk, no rapping on his front door either. She glanced over her shoulder at the door itself and raised her eyebrows, as though considering it some kind of a challenge. Whatever that thought process had been went unvocalized, though. She pulled her scarf back up over her head and fastened her coat near her throat, clearly preparing herself to leave as he began to speak of her travel arrangements and how she'd better be on her way.

"Well, let that be that, then. I won't be getting a hold of you through Grace, though. I have my own means of finding people."

Sure, that means was a hermit of a man who happened to be her best friend's boyfriend, but Alexander didn't have to know that. Instead she grinned wryly and took a hold of the doorknob.

"You enjoy your night, Officer Brandt. Perhaps Fate will find us together again."

And as it was highly unlikely that he would stop her vocally or otherwise, Ihsan then found her way out and back into the night

I don’t want to be left hanging

Alexander

Winter has well and truly taken the city in its grip. The temperature during the day barely scrapes above freezing, nights are colder. The temperamental weather that the area is known for – at least by its residents – has turned from wind and rain to wind and snow. It’s cold.

Cold cold cold.

It’s sometime around noon, give or take an hour or so. The sky is bright and white and holding the promise of yet more snow. A light sprinkling falls, blown around by the occasional gust of frigid wind, making the more distant parts of the park – and the city – seem even further away.

In the park there is a playground. The spring-mounted animals are covered with snow, not cleared or used since the thick downfall of snow during the night. Likewise with the roundabout – not even a trail of footprints leads to it. Maybe when it’s a little warmer, or parents are a little more desperate to keep their offspring entertained in the short winter days, the park will show some sort of life again.

There is a trail of footprints leading to the swings, though. A lone figure, dressed for the weather, sits on one of the swings and... well, just watches the snow really. He swings gently, rocking back and forth with his feet staying on the ground. His hands are currently gloveless, cupping a disposable paper cup between them.

He seems to somehow fit into the near-frozen scene.

Kalen

[How distracted by Resonance are we?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Alexander

[While we're at it, Awareness too]

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

Kalen

Even Kalen, who loves Washington Park, comes here barely at all in winter. Of course, he still likes to come close to it, close enough at least that he might sense The Message. He has not, not for some time, but that has not dimmed his hopes. Instead of an angelic (if not Angelic) spirit he senses someone else, more familiar but someone he also met at the same time in the same place.

Kalen stops to buy hot chocolate before he heads out into the park. Alexander has something, or had, Kalen isn't totally sure. He sets Alexander's hot chocolate, not in a paper cup but in a reusable lidded cup with a snowman on it, in the snow near him. It's insulated. The snow will protect it well enough from falling.

WIth one (very definitely gloved) hand now free, He swipes at the snow on one of the swings next to Alexander, settling onto it once enough of the snow has been cleared off to satisfy him. It's hardly as though he'd have much noticed the snow through his long wool coat. No hat, though. Kalen never seems to do hats. Coats, gloves, scarves, boots...but not hats.

"You know I got in a snowball fight for the first time the other day," he says. Because who says hello, really, with people they know? Okay. Plenty of people, but not so much Kalen. That is for other people.

Alexander

Alex also has reasons for coming here. As Kalen, a hope that The Message would one day make an appearance is one of them. There hadn’t been a promise, the last time they had met. Nothing so definite. He had asked to travel with The Message some time, and there had been an acknowledgement that it could, perhaps, happen. So he waits.

There were other reasons for coming here, though. The park was equally a good place to watch people as it was a place to be alone; it was all a matter of timing. Although this wasn’t really a place to come if there was no desire to be with others. It was just too well travelled for that. A crossroads in the city. But, for the moment, it was a place of relative quiet. Oh, there’s the occasional sound of traffic: a honking horn, a car alarm going off, the sirens of one emergency service or other making their way through the city. But there are times when it’s just the wind, and you can almost hear the snow settling on the ground.

Alexander feels Kalen’s approach, still getting used to the change in his Resonance. He could have left, if he’d wanted to. If it had been Grace, he might have done. Or Ms Ghali. But Kalen? Kalen he stays for.

Alex’s cup had pretty much run dry, so it’s emptied with one last swig. The new cup is picked up and the empty, paper one slipped back into the indentation in the snow. He goes back to gently rocking on the swing.

You know I got in a snowball fight for the first time the other day. Alexander smiles. He had missed this. Had missed Kalen, and his randomness. “Oh? I’d assume that it wasn’t in Santiago, but given the strange stuff that we drag around I’m not sure it would actually surprise me if it had been. How was it?”

Kalen

"Well," Kalen says. "I've learned to preemptively wear gloves." He sounds amused though, so he can't have been too scarred by the experience. "It was in Denver. I was meeting a new addition to Denver who is...either unable to speak or chooses not to speak. My guess would be the former, but there are people who take vows of silence, so I would not presume."

"I talked to Grace and then set up a new phone for you. I probably should have just carried it around with me, upon reflection. But, there is a phone for you ready. You can drop by to pick it up at the library or I can bring it into the city. I'm running no few errands here over the next week, so it's no trouble."

"How've you been?"

Alexander

There’s a snort of amusement from Alex as Kalen mentions the gloves. “Yeah, gloves are kinda required uniform for snowball fights. It tends to be a short fight if you have to duck out because you can’t feel your hands any more.” He takes a sip from cup, testing to see what – if any – additions had been made when it was bought.

“Another newcomer? New new? Or just new to town?”

The rocking stops when Kalen mentions his talk with Grace. What had happened with Ms Ghali had obviously come up if he’d sorted out a new, Gingered phone. “What did she tell you?”

How’ve you been?

“I’m told that’s something of a loaded question to be asking these days. I’m better than I have been for the past month or so.” The month where I thought I had picked up Union interest and cut myself off from everyone.

Kalen

It is, for Kalen, exceptionally boring hot chocolate. Good. But there are no flavored marshmallows or alcohol. Clearly this was a concession in the interest of actually catching Alexander before he left the park, over parading to four stores to actually fuss over a thing.

"Not much," Kalen says quietly. "That you and another of our new arrivals had a bit of an unfortunate meeting. She may also have mentioned that I should perhaps also give you your blanket before Christmas too, because she thinks she may have accidentally given you the impression everyone hates you."

There is a faint smile. "Though, knowing her and knowing you, whatever isolationist tendencies you display I wouldn't necessarily put down to something she's influenced overly much. At least not since your rather rocky introduction to our red-headed friend." He looks over at Alexander, eyes seeming more green against the grey he's wearing and the snow obscuring so much of the color that would otherwise draw more attention. Serious. Calm. "We're here for you. Whether it's dangerous or not. You're not on your own with any of this unless you want to be.

"And even then I retain the right to throw things at you and tell you to get over yourself and let me help, because that's totally club privileges apparently."

Alexander

There’s another snort, although this one is definitely less amused than the first. If it wasn’t already cold in the little playground, things would certainly feel frostier than they did a few minutes before.

“If you count her showing up at the station completely unannounced, talking about a murder case that might have involved an Awakened as unfortunate. This after Sasha had warned me to be on the lookout for Union agents trying to worm their way into the department. Yeah, that could have gone better. And that’s why I shredded my phone. Because I thought keeping it in once piece put Ginger, and you guys, in danger. “

He pushes back, setting the swing in motion. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself because I think everyone hates me. I’m pissed because I was forgotten about. I’m pissed because I wasn’t worth the ten seconds it would have taken to say ‘a friend of Michael is coming to see you’. I’m pissed because that woman who showed up was more interested in yanking my chain than finding some way to let me know who had sent her. I’m pissed because I’ve been waiting for someone with a black suit to want a little chat, when that was never going to happen.” His voice does get louder, but it does get harder as he runs through what’s bothering him. Some of it, anyway.

The swing slows again, Alex sighing as he returns to just rocking back and forth a little. “I did think about staying off Ginger again. But I guess I am better off being able to listen into what’s going on. I don’t particularly want to be alone, but that swings both ways. I don’t want to be left hanging like that again either.”

Kalen

"Well, I didn't hear much about any of that. If I had known, I would have told you." And if he had been in Denver would he have known? He couldn't say for certain. "We've all been quieter than we should have been in that sense, and I think...I think partly that's my fault. I did stop talking to...most of Denver and the other people who tended to be most communicative are gone.

"I could have tried to reach out instead of being a jerk. I probably should have. And maybe...." And maybe what, Kalen? Maybe you should what, be responsible for monitoring all of Denver? How even would you do that.

"Sometimes I miss having more structure because there were less of these moments. But...." There is something he almost says, something that is probably important. "But I stay here. That's really all...here. But later.

"There are a few things we should discuss. I'm leaving soon, for a business thing. If...the one thing is personal but the other...if I am gone and you haven't heard about the family reunion, ask Sasha. I know you can find her if you need to and she's involved in everything else since...well, before last weekend, but that's when she and Kiara and Henry and I talked.

"So...this you aren't so much behind on. And our lovely red-headed friend isn't even involved in this one."

Alexander

“Kalen, this isn’t your fault. You weren’t here, you didn’t know, and you can’t be responsible for what everyone else does or doesn’t do. But this woman could have found some way to tell me. Grace could have warned me. Hell, Michael could have found some way to warn me. But apparently there were more important things to be getting on with.”

Alex pushes off again. “You ever think that is how we forget why we do this?” This time Alex does turn his head to look at Kalen. “Why we fight? Does it get to the point where it’s just the fight that matters? Is that how Victoria became what she did?” Again, the swing slows.

He watches Kalen, though, as he says – and doesn’t say – whatever it is on his mind. “Hey, are you ok? Did something happen in Santiago? Or is this all since you got back?”

A beat passes, confusion appearing on Alex’s face. “Kalen, what the hell’s going on? What family, and who the hell is Henry?”

Kalen

Kalen processes that for a few seconds. The list of people who have given warnings. The assurance it is not his fault. The flurry of questions. "Yeah, some things happened in Santiago, but not...." Kalen smiles, and it is, for at least right then, radiant. The circumstances of their conversation and the other things that this is about bleed some of the light out of his eyes, but for a second Alexander gets to see the very rarely seen absolutely thrilled with life version of Kalen.

"I'm better than I've been in a long time. Here, let's get out of here so we can really talk." He slips off of his swing and onto his feet. "I'll tell you everything."

Alexander

For the moment Alexander is even more confused. Happy for his friend, as it’s so rare to see him so alive. But, then, what was it that pulled him away from that radiance so quickly. Suddenly concerned about what might be going on that he doesn’t know about – even if access to Ginger wouldn’t have been any more help with that little niggle.

His swing finally stops and, after grabbing the empty cup with his free hand, stands. “Why do I start to worry when you tell me that?” Alex follows wherever Kalen leads them to, though.

---

Kalen

This place of Kalen's is minimally decorated. There is a wreath on the door and there are little arrangements with candles and pine cones and holly sprigs, but there is no tree. No pinatas. Still, the house smells like evergreen and cinnamon. Kalen heads into the living room, where there are a few bags and a little pile of neatly stacked rolls of wrapping paper and a little mound or ribbons and a stack of gift bags and tissue paper. He glances over a neat parade of already wrapped gifts and picks up one of the gift bags. A wintery scene. With glittery snow.

"Phone," he says absently. "Also blanket. The phone was less for Christmas and more put in the bag so I could carry it around. People get very puzzled when you hand off prepaid phones at random." And there is, nestled in a heavy wool blanket in mottled shades of dark blue, a prepaid phone with Ginger already installed. Also Kalen's information. Because of course also that.

If Alexander really examines that though, he'll see an additional number labelled 'Santiago' and an international phone number.

"Well, you're about to speed on the family reunion and the possible war with the Technocracy. You think quite possibly I'm crazy to try this olive branch thing. I'm ridiculously optimistic." Kalen flops onto one half of the couch, mostly finished cocoa in hand. "The update is that Henry, this rather eccentric Hermetic who mentored Elijah for a little while and who also happens to be the father of one of the visiting Hermetics, and Sasha found out about Orrin's plan this weekend and are going to try to get this whole attack called right the fuck off.

"Sasha is kind of terrifying, by the way. I might love her." He says that in a tone that conveys not a trace of romantic interest. Kalen just has an appreciation for people who are terrifying.

"And they had an artifact that...for reasons I support we are not making a public discussion. It's old. And powerful. And incomplete." Kalen sighs. "I'm a little nervous about making it whole but I did scry for...." He can practically taste blood again. "I trust at least Kiara and Henry. Sasha...personally I barely know her but she seems fine. Anyway, Kiara and I are headed off in about a week to get a piece of the artifact that is missing. It's far from complete even then." Kalen shrugs. "Honestly, I'm willing to let that be Henry and Sasha's show."

"They're not telling me everything. But I don't think they need to."

Alexander

Alexander follows Kalen into the house, closing the front door firmly behind them as they enter. The gift bag? The contents get a brief look before the bag is set on the ground next to Alex’s feet, as he takes a seat on the couch.

And then he listens in silence. And he stays silent when Kalen’s explanation of recent happenings ends, running over what he’s just been told.

“I do think you’re nuts, but I’ve already told you I’ll watch your back while you try to do what you need to. I can’t really see Daddy telling Orrin to stop trying to start a war working, but it’s worth a try I guess. It has the advantage of being fairly low in risk.

“How well do you know Henry? And this artefact, did they say what it was? What it does? What risk there is in fetching this last bit of it?” There’s a more meaningful look at Kalen with this last question.

“Is that all that they’ve told you? Because I’d want to know a damned sight more than that, especially if there’s any great risk involved in the whole thing.”

Kalen

"Oh, he's Richard's father. Richard is...both more reasonable and higher ranked than Orrin. I don't know that it will work, but at least there is a change he'll see reason and this will be over. And then we can figure out what the hell is with Atreyu's little group absent immanent war.

"I was with Henry when he found the map. He told me it led to a powerful artifact. I...I looked into the future. I got...omens are not like video footage from the future. But Henry having it...I'm okay with that. Or I wouldn't have given it to him when I got the puzzle sphere open."

"There will probably be some risk, there always is. Power is always dangerous. I...I'm fine with that. And handling the stone may give me more insight into what this is. I'm going to see what I figure out searching for the stone we have a location for. I think I might be able to find out more from them when I bring the stone back.

"But I'm not worried. Not about them. Kiara I trust because I've gotten to know her, Henry I trust because of the scrying, and Sasha...we have no reason not to trust her or her cabal. And they have been sharing their Node and their Library and their home with us. That's not nothing."

Alexander

“I can’t say I’m keen on much of any of this. Orrin and Richard want to start a war without, apparently, considering the poor bastards caught in the crossfire. And now there’s some magical MacGuffin that’s supposed to make everything better, when we don’t have a clue what it is, what it does, if it works, or how the damned thing can go wrong.

“Oh, I trust Sasha and her cabal. And if you think Kiara and Henry are good people, I’m definitely willing to give them time. But even so, it feels an awful lot like we’re being sent off on errands without enough detail to really make an informed choice about whether we should or not.

“I’m fed up of being made to feel like a child around those who have power. Be a darling and run off on this errand, there’s a good little Mage.”

Kalen

Kalen laughs. "I had a choice, at least on this errand. It would have been easy enough to refuse. If nothing else, being halfway around the world when Orrin finds out I'm trying to cancel his war sounds like a decent idea. That's probably the last bridge I have to burn with the Order, but I have no intention of letting them start that war.

"Of course," And here his tone softens. Warms. "There are other places I can go. And, regardless of how well this does or doesn't blow over, probably will." He sighs.

"What Marcellus and I wanted to build...he meant to rebuild them in the process. He was my mentor and practically my father, but his plans...they need not be mine. Even if his dreams still are."

Alexander

“What about the others in the Order? Do they know what those guys have planned for the city? Surely someone sees the insanity of starting a war between vampires and Awakened? Or do they really think that the vampires will stop to check that it’s the right kind of Mage that they’re about to kill?”

Alex slumps back in the couch, resting his head against the back of it. “Are you really that close to being kicked out of the Order? Or does it not work that way? And... go? You’re planning on leaving then?”

Others had come and gone through the city in the time that he’d been Awake and aware of their passing, but he’d never really thought that Kalen would be one of the ones to leave. It had always seemed as if he’d chosen to make his stand here, and nothing would make him shift. Alex’s heart sinks at the thought of him leaving.

Kalen

Kalen looks puzzled by Alexander's reaction. And then he registers what Alexander must think. "No." He sets his drink down and settles back onto the couch, this time right at Alexander's side. "Not going anywhere. Quite possibly not that close to getting kicked out of the Order. We did not get our reputation for arrogance for nothing, but I don't know how much support this plan has. I think that if Henry can sway Richard to our side of it we have a real chance even if there is some considerable support.

"Barring that...not going to lie, my plan is to start blackmailing whoever I need to. There's a chance I can trade what I need to know for advance favors which may not be entirely the cleanest things but I know who I'd be working for and...it'd be less fucked up than this."

"And if I can't do that...." Kalen sighs. "I get everyone I can get out of here out and accept, once again, being at war. But I don't intend to let it get to that."

He takes a deep breath. "I meant I have Denver. There is a good chance I could join the Chorus. I mean I could stay here and build the world I want to build with the people I most want to build it with. On my terms. Our terms.

"I can let the past go instead of clinging to fragments of dreams I hadn't the faintest clue how to put back together."

Alexander

Alexander settles back on the couch, relieved that there doesn’t appear to be any imminent risk of Kalen vanishing. Not unless this trip to retrieve the lump of rock goes wrong, or one of the several hundred other ways that a Flambeau is likely to burn out in a blaze of glory occurs.

“There are definitely times when I’m glad I didn’t try joining the Order. I really don’t think the Order and I would have gotten on at all well.” Alex thinks briefly of another mage who has passed out of the city. “Hey, you know I never did get to tell Orrin and Richard to go fuck themselves. Alyssa would be so disappointed. I wonder how she’s getting on these days.” Sid, too. The rest of their little cabal.

Alex sounds almost resigned to what may well come as he nudges Kalen. “I’ll stick around. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” Back to Seattle? It doesn’t really feel like home any more. “Someone has to remind you that you’re only human now and again.”

Kalen

"I'm sure Alyssa is good. But, I know. We might need a new cabalmate. You used to have Alyssa to help you keep me in line and that was when I was just getting all high on pedestrian mortal hubris. Once I can convince myself I'm doing the will of God...." Kalen laughs. "Maybe a few more cabalmates. And a lot of things to throw at me."

"Not that I even have thoughts of who to ask. There are a few of us I really like in Denver, but for us...?" Kalen shrugs, his movement slightly hampered by the fact he's practically on to op of Alexander.

"You want to get a Christmas tree again this year? I got one for the House. But we could do one at the office. You and me and Grace and maybe a couple people. I can make gingerbread men again. Maybe better this year....."

Alexander

“Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s being a massive pain in the ass.” Alex laughs a little before sighing. “I miss her.” Her, and Delilah, and Lucy, and... He shakes his head, shakes away the train of thought. “I wouldn’t know who to ask either. I don’t think I know anyone well enough these days to really suggest anyone. Elijah, maybe?“

“I dunno about the tree. It’s not really feeling a lot like Christmas at the moment. Might be the looming threat of being caught in a war, you know?”

“Well you did manage to avoid opening a portal to a hell dimension the last time you baked. Or was that specific to lasagne? Either way, sounds good. Maybe try making a gingerbread house or something. Or does that lead to throwing children in the oven? I lose track.”

Kalen

"No. Elijah and I...we're fine. But probably he's not really so much for us. If anyone I might suggest Kiara, but I don't know her well enough either." Kalen smiles. "If we find someone, we do. If not...we do fine, just us."

"We should do that. It sounds hilarious. I expect that whatever I try I will end up with ruins."

"Assuming that we manage to avert this looming war, I had a thought...."

Alexander

“I don’t really know Kiara much either. I’ll try to keep an eye out for her, though. You know how it is with us bumping into each other, and all. I might have suggested Lavinia, but she seems to have left town too. She’d probably have been right up there on the smiting front.”

Alex laughs a little again. “Well if you leave it in the oven too long, you can just say it was all intentional. But I’m pretty sure you can build something that will stand. At least until something comes along and takes a big bite out of it.”

He turns his head, curious about the hanging thought. “Oh..? Why do I worry when you have these thoughts? You know that they’re not good for you.”

Kalen

"Well, this sort of ties into the smiting. I...." Kalen sighs and closes his eyes. "It's not that I won't. Show me a monster and it isn't in me to just let it go. But that isn't really who I want to be now.

"Not like before. The Order trained me for war and showed me war and I...would rather find some other, better way." And this is what happens if you leave Kalen alone too long with Ramon. "So I thought, maybe we could set up some kind of program, a community outreach thing. Just...mostly people but also use it to help people that get bruised up in our world and see more than they want to. Maybe we'll find other people through the program. And yeah, it will end up being mostly mundane people and paperwork, but...I want to make a better world some way other than violence.

"I'm just so fucking tired of killing people, because all that means is that I got there too late to save them and it was the only option left. It just...it isn't enough for me anymore."

Alexander

“I think I can get that. That’s why I made a tipoff when that whole corruption spirit thing was ended.” Kalen gets another glance. “Did I ever tell you that before? We were too late to help to people it had already killed, but they still had families. It got them some sort of closure, even if they really found out what had happened. Hopefully knowing that they were dead was enough to let them grieve.” Alexander sighs, closes his own eyes. “I’d love to do the same for the victims of the Nephandus who just tore through town, but I have no idea how this time. I don’t know if there was enough of them left. Not the women he merged, anyway.

“And I think that’s the other thing that’s been bothering me. That it’s all taken care of. Only it isn’t. Not when the parents of the girls are sat at home, wondering if they’ll ever be walking through the door again.

“So, go for it. It might not work, but it’s gotta be worth a try. Right? If nothing else, it might show where things are starting to go bump in the night before they get out of hand.”

Kalen

"Yeah. I'll probably talk to Grace to get it set up, she has more time than you do and we work really well together. But...you can be involved too, if you want. I can't do it by myself."

"And it might serve as a warning system too, yeah." Kalen nods. "And, as much as I wish it were otherwise, I doubt I'm done killing. I don't think I can really walk away from some of the things that we find. I just...if nothing else I want it not to be the only thing anymore."

"And I didn't know, really. But I'm glad at least some of them could know something. I...it's hard having never gotten to say goodbye or hold a funeral or even know with absolute certainty what happened to someone you love. Even if you're about ninety-six-and-a-half percent sure they're gone." And he would know, wouldn't he? The difference between ashes that might be books or floor joists or people you knew and trying and failing to stop blood flowing from a wound you knew was beyond anything you could do but trying anyway and what it was like to view a body lying at rest on a bed of flowers.

"I think we'll get it though," he says. "A better world. A little at a time and maybe not soon enough for everyone we'd hope, but we'll get it."

Alexander

“I know a lot of people get twitchy when any kind of authority figure is involved. Even if I’m not there as a cop, if people get wind that I am then it might make it harder to get people to come forward. I’m not saying I won’t help. Just... you know how Grace was when I come to town? Yeah, that. I’m not sure how you’d be able to keep it under the radar of groups that it would be better to avoid. Vampires as much as Union. “

“I did what I could to keep the magical stuff out of sight. I’m really hoping they all think that it was a serial killer on a spree, for as much comfort as that is. But, you know... The reason we do this? I think that’s as much a part of it as beating back the bad guys in the first place. People aren’t just so much inconvenient flesh, regardless of what certain Hermetics with their wands stuck up their asses think.”

“But, yeah. We’ll get there. Eventually. With gingerbread houses.”

Kalen

"Those too. Now I am going to have to buy so much candy. Ridiculous amounts of candy. This should be amazing."

"I think, if it involved enough mundane people and services, it shouldn't attract any of the wrong attention that way. Only a little of it would really be part of what we do more directly. The rest...I can even dig up mundane volunteers. Staff. Set up fundraisers. It'll be hilarious."

Kalen laughs. "I'm telling you, if this works, next year I am inviting you to build gingerbread houses with graham crackers and milk cartons and a room full of rescued children. And you can pretend to hate it if you want, but I know you won't."

Kalen

[And fade....]

No, everything is not fucking cool

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

“Grab a seat, he’ll be down shortly.”

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

Grace

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

Jesus Fucking Christ. Ihsan?

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

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

Officer Brandt

I know who that is. She’s one of us.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

That Nephandus is dead. But not the murderer.

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

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

Officer Brandt

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

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

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

Only time would tell.

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

That's a loaded question, these days

Alex

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

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

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

Ian

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

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

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

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

"All alone today?"

Grace

[Awareness!]

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex

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

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

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

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

Ian

[Awareness]

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

Ian

[and alertness]

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

Ian

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Alex

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

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

Ian

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Alex

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

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

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

Ian

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Alex

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

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

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

Ian

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Alex

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

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

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

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

Wait… not tooth marks?

Alexander

Alexander had been sat, perched on his bike, for almost an hour outside the climbing wall on West 5th. It wasn’t a regular thing they had arranged – mutual shift patterns made anything as fixed as that impossible – but it was how the two of them had met. They’d both needed someone to belay while they climbed, so they’d helped each other out. They’d got chatting about work and, small world as it sometimes is, had found out their similar lines of work.

Today had been one of those days where their mutual schedules came into alignment, a day when they were both free with nothing else edging into their free time. They had arranged to meet after work and get a couple of hours in on the wall. Only Alison hadn’t shown. She didn’t work too far away, so even with bad rush hour traffic it’s surprising that she hasn’t shown. He’d tried calling – using the phone that hadn’t met a messy and crunchy end under a car’s wheel – but each time he’d been diverted to voicemail after several rings.

It hadn’t taken him long to swing by her office, just to see what was going on. Alexander had met her here before, picked her up and given her a lift, so the receptionist recognised him. His police ID was equally good for opening doors. So it was no trouble getting to where Alison was currently occupied, and apparently blind to the time of day. There’s a knock on the lab door and Alexander’s head appears around the door.

“Forget something?”

Alison Hunt

One wouldn't think that a city that gets as much sunlight and fresh air as does Denver would be a hotbed of criminal activity but Colorado is one of the western states and the western states have always had a reputation for lawlessness. The violent crime rate in Denver is twice as high as that in the rest of the state. It's nearly twice the national median.

It also means that those who enjoy the outdoors and happen to work in law enforcement have to make sacrifices sometimes. And sometimes can't get to their cellphones to let their friends know they're going to be late because they're up to their elbows quite literally in perforated intestines.

Dr. Hunt is a thirty-something woman of above average height with light brown hair and blue eyes. Long hours subsisting on coffee and cracking open cadavers to get at answers has left her with slight bruising beneath her eyes but she has a ready smile and a healthy sense of humor.

She's in the middle of typing up a report when Alexander pokes his head through the door.

"Aw, shit," she says. Pushes her wheelie stool back from the computer station and stands up. She's got her lab coat on over her scrubs and her hair is still constrained beneath a surgical cap. "Brandt, I'm so sorry, I was on my way out the door and I got an expedite call in from homicide, Captain Tamboia wanted this John Doe on the slab, like, yesterday."

Alexander

In some lines of work, there is an assumption: don’t make any plans after work, something will make you late. It was almost a curse, one much more reliable than walking under ladders or breaking mirrors. So it’s no great surprise that Alison had been buried in ever-shifting deadlines and urgent requests and things that can rarely wait.

Alexander pushes the rest of the way in, letting the door close quietly behind him. He’s holding a couple of cups of coffee in disposable paper cups, one of which he sets on her desk while he leans against the front of a filing cabinet. “No worries. Anyone I might know?” He cocks his head, trying to get a better look at the current occupant of the autopsy table. Thankfully the worst had already been done, the large Y-shaped scar on the chest and abdomen coarsely sewn up, the guy’s modesty preserved with a sheet.

Alison Hunt

The look Hunt gives him when he puts the cup of coffee down on her desk is one of eternal gratitude. Possibly unflagging adoration. That may be directed towards the coffee itself and not the man who brought it though. She thanks him and lets the heat permeate the cardboard and warm her thin hands.

From where Alexander stands he can see that the body has strangulation marks around its pale neck. Like the victim he found in the Phoenix on Fax apartment building this one is young. Somewhere in his twenties. Both of them would have been attractive were they still alive.

"I hope not," she says after her preliminary sip of coffee. "The mechanism of injury matches Kozlowski's, though. We're still working on identifying him."

Dental records are even slower than toxicology reports.

Alexander

The power of coffee can never be underestimated, at least in those who worship at the altar of Arabica. Even more so in those who work long hours, in uncomfortable places, with little to no appreciation. It was just a guess that, if Alison hadn’t been able to get away to send a message to explain her delay, she wouldn’t have been able to get away to grab a drink. He might not be able to do much to help with the lab work or the paperwork, but he can at least provide warm caffeine.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the Kozlowski investigation. Any idea what happened to him?” It might seem like a strange question, given the obvious wounds the poor guy had sustained. But there’s the question of which ones killed him, and which were made before and after he died. Which ones were simply for the amusement of the sick bastard who’d killed him. The sick bastard who, given the faint resonance and the mysterious disappearance, may well be Awake.

Alexander sets his cup on the top of the filing cabinet and walks closer to the lab table, getting a better look at its occupant. Basically to see whether or not the guy does look familiar.

“Nothing in AFIS for him?”

Alison Hunt

Any idea what happened to him?

"Same thing they think happened to Kozlowski," she says. That isn't a jab at the question's strangeness. Certain details of the Kozlowski case aren't going to be accessible unless Alexander engages in some light snooping. "Picked up someone who seemed harmless, went someplace to be alone, wound up with a knife in his gut. This one has some genitalia trauma Kozlowski didn't have."

Well then. What about AFIS.

"Not a damned thing yet, but we just got him on Friday. Something might come in on Monday."

If nothing comes it that would only eliminate the victim having a criminal record or ever applying for a pistol permit or a job requiring a background check. That would put him in line with being a transient.

Alexander

“Well, great. Just when things were getting dull in the city, it sounds like we might have a serial killed on the loose. Or just a freaky set of coincidences.”

Coincidences do happen. Random chance does have a habit of throwing them up on occasion, and even remotely rare occurances can occasionally cluster together unexpected. It could simply be that two completely isolated murders happened in the same city, within days of each other, with similar wounds to each.

“Genitalia trauma?” Alexander glances at the appropriate piece of sheet before looking back at Alison. “He’s had it cut off?”

Alexander’s attention turns back to the body: the face, the wounds around the neck. Or, at least, that’s where his vision is. One of his hands has slipped into a pocket, running a coin over and over between his fingers. Is this random coincidence, or was this the same guy?

[Entropy 1. Dunno what to call it, but working out if it is simply random chance that links the murders. Coincidental, base diff 4. +1 for fast casting, -1 for taking time. WP.]

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

Alison Hunt

Hunt is not one of those women who laments her status as a single childless woman nearing menopause. She is married to a perfectly lovely woman named Amarie who works as a medical illustrator. Conversations concerning genital trauma are not uncommon around their dinner table and when Hunt laughs at Brandt's eyes' journey he hears no malice in it. Some gentle teasing perhaps.

"No, I mean... it's still there? Not gonna do him much good now, though."

This is not random chance. The two bodies are linked. Same motivation or same victim profile or same circumstance. Call it blossoming instinct: Alexander has the feeling it was the same person who killed both of these men.

Alexander

“Well, no. I wouldn’t expect him to be fathering any kids now. Not unless there are little John Doe’s swimming around in a freezer somewhere anyway.” He’s smiling as Alison laughs, no offence taken. “Wait… not tooth marks?”

Given the location, the next idea to cross his mind may not the best that he’s ever had given the location and what goes on here. But, on the other hand, this isn’t a place where people die. It’s simply a stopping off point between where various bodies die and where they were finally disposed of. One of the advantages of anywhere to do with medicine is the abundance of metallic surfaces. Some are matte, others reflective. It’s probably not all that likely that the guy’s spirit is tagging along with the body, but it’s worth a shot.

[Spirit 1, sensing spirits. Coincidental, base diff 4. -1 practiced. Think I need 2 successes to have a chance of saying anything before the effect fades?]

Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (8) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Alison Hunt

Though he can sense the presence of spirits in other parts of the morgue the nature of spirits being to hang around the places where they spent the most time and many people being self-centered and unaware of the larger world around them in life Alexander cannot see any sign of the spirit belonging to the young man laid out in front of him. That may come as some comfort. It may also mean that too much time has passed. Or that the spirit is hanging around the place where he died.

"No tooth marks," she says. "From the angle and the depth I'd say the assailant was aiming for the abdomen but missed. If he had lived it wouldn't have ended his career as a sperm donor."

A beat.

"How late is the rock wall open?"

Alexander

If dying weren’t traumatic enough, he wouldn’t be surprised if the prospect of watching what was your body be taken apart and crudely put back together again was something that the average recently-deceased spirit was something that they’d want to skip on their way to the afterlife. But it is a relief to find that there aren’t dozens of spirits hanging around the place.

How late is the rock wall open?

“Oh, yeah. Until 8, I think. If you’re about done here, we could still get a few climbs in. Or we can rain check if you need more time.”

Alison Hunt

"No, I'm almost done. I just need to stick him back in the freezer and finish logging it."

And she has coffee now so the process should go a lot smoother. A thought comes to her as she's returning to the computer to do just that and she glances back at him after the next sip.

"Is your interest here professional, or...?"

He did ask if it was possible he knew the victim. Plenty of folks ask that when they walk in though. Gallows humor. No judgment in the question but folks like Hunt like to have prior warning that a visit from internal affairs is on the horizon.

Alexander

Is your interest here professional, or..?

“Oh, strictly professional. With maybe just a little morbid curiosity. You know I found Kozlowski on some noise complaint call, right? Call it… professional curiosity? Or practice for when I get around to trying for my detective badge.” He shrugs. He knows he isn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be watching things develop – the case was taken away from him as soon as the grown-ups started arriving at the scene. But he isn’t doing much more than watch at the moment.

Alison Hunt

"Hey," she says. Stands from her computer station and punches off the monitor and moves to the body. Time to put him back in the cooler. "You catch the perp, that's an instant promotion, right?"

Fifteen minutes later she's changed out of her scrubs and they're off into the night. Hard to relax with the sense that what has already happened twice is going to happen again but they can't live their lives worrying about what they can't control. That way lies madness.