Strength in numbers

Kalen Holliday

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

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

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

[And, how distracted by Resonance are we?]

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

Alexander Brandt

[Awareapathy]

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

Alexander Brandt

[Ugh...]

Alexander Brandt

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

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

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

Grace

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

Denver sometimes likes to be a dick, though.

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

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

Kalen Holliday

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

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

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

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

Alexander Brandt

[Totally trying again, given the new Resonance!]

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

Alexander Brandt

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

Alexander Brandt

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

Grace

[Awareness!]

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

Grace

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

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

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

Alexander Brandt

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Kalen Holliday

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

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

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

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

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

Alexander Brandt

Let’s try using diplomacy first?

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Kalen Holliday

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

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

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

"Missed you too."

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

"Welcome home," he says softly.

Alexander Brandt

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

Welcome home.

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

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

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

Alexander Brandt

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

Kalen Holliday

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

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

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

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

Alexander Brandt

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

"Let's go."

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

Kalen Holliday

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

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

Alexander Brandt

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

cricket

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

Alexander Brandt

[Partay!]

You’re not exactly selling the new neighbours {Fade?]

Grace

[Awareness!?]

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

Grace

It's around noon when she shows up at the motel, runs into Doctor Madhouse, in his invisible van outside. Invisible, because he's totally naked and can't help it (so he says).

Whatever.

She's got her red coat on -- the one with LED strips sewn into the seams, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. It's a grim look on her face, when she knocks on the door, but the sight of Sepúlveda had her blushing, and the redness has yet to retreat out of her face, making her look an angry, blotchy mess. Somebody spilled red paint, or butchered the application of makeup? She never wears makeup.

"Hey, Alex? It's me. It's Grace," she says. It's hard to feel the presence of him. All she can sense is the lingering Work of Sera, and some other -- a river-feeling thing. None of it Alex.

Alexander

[Stuff inside. Diff 3, I think. ]

Dice: 2 d10 TN3 (2, 4) ( success x 1 )

Alexander

[Bah, and again]

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

Alexander

The motel is nothing special, surrounded by a great deal of nothing special. It’s somewhere to stay on the way to somewhere else, rather than being an actual desination. The place doesn’t even seem to have a name: the sign outside just reads MOTEL. A closed-down pool sits in the parking lot, waiting for better weather. A few soulless burger chains sit nearby, attracting some of the truck traffic that passes through.

The room feels mostly like Sera, although with a little something stoic and psychedelic mixed in. There’s something of the elements starting to creep in, too, but no arctic chill. There’s a knock at the door and a name called, a familiar voice. Or what would be a familiar voice, had it been heard. There’s no answer. Maybe he’s out? Asleep? Either way, there’s a window open letting the chill air of spring into the room. Music from some random, local rock radio station leaks out.

Grace

"Alex? You there?" she asks, knocks again -- louder.

Well, shit. What is she supposed to do now, with the... clothes and all?

That, and all these wrung out feelings.

She tries the door, hoping maybe it's unlocked. Maybe he doesn't feel like being behind a locked door after so long?

Alexander

Again, there’s no answer to the knock or to the call. The door, though, is unlocked and pushes open with a bit of a squeak. The gurney and body bag still sit abandoned in one corner of the room. One of the beds had obviously been slept in, blanket half-thrown off the side of it; a broken lamp sits on the little table next to it. The small kitchen has a couple of empty coffee cups sat in the sink and a well-brewed jug of coffee sat in the drip machine. Above the sound of the radio comes the sound of running water, filtering through a closed door. That feeling of some river comes flowing through the door, something without start or end. There’s no sound apart from the water and the radio, and whatever traffic noise drifts in from some nearby highway or trunk road.

Grace

She creeps into the room. This place is something, humming like it is. The noise of water from beyond a door makes her think, okay, maybe he's in the shower? But still, no sense of Alex. The door, she closes, lest some wandering passerby see a gurney and a bodybag inside the room and begin to wonder what the hell is going on in there.

Then, she lays the duffel bag on the bed, and looks around. Places like this sometimes have little notepads, don't they? She could always leave a note. Sorry to have missed you. Here's your clothes.

Alexander

The sound of running water comes to an end, and there’s a new sound coming from what it obviously the bathroom: the sound of humming. It’s not a familiar tune; certainly nothing from any kind of music chart from recent memory. There’s the sound of movement, now – the sound of a shower curtain drawing back, feet padding around on a tiled floor, a towel rail squeaking as something is pulled off it.

The door swings open, revealing an Alexander. He’s changed: there’s less of him than there had been two months ago. His hair is longer and grown out, although the scruff on his jaw has been shaved back to nothing recently. Other than some scabbed-over knuckles, he looks uninjured. And, other than a towel, he’s not wearing anything. The beige scrubs had been thrown under the slept-in bed.

“Whoa, fuck!” The surprise of someone else’s presence here hits him; the sense of recent working in the bathroom might give a hint as to where his attention had been. Alex startles, looking quickly for something to use as a weapon, when...

“...Grace?”

Grace

"Oh! Shit! Sorry, I..." she points at the duffel bag. "Clothes! For you!"

If she was still getting over the sight of Dr. Sepúlveda, this doesn't help. The pink already in her face turns to red.

"I'll uh..." a cough. She points to the door. "Yeah."

The weirdest, most uncomfortable smile ever crosses her face. "Hi."

And bye, also, because well... Obviously Alex needs to get dressed now. Can't have a conversation with him while he's holding up a towel... She trots off to the door, quickly quickly.

Alexander

Alex looks from a rapidly-reddening Grace to the duffel on the bed as she draws attention to it. “Ah, hell, I thought Kiara was coming along this evening with some clothes. I wasn’t expecting...” There’s a deeply indrawn breath, followed by a long sigh. Grace has turned towards the door, heading rapidly outwards, but he calls out before she gets a hand on the door handle. “Wait.”

The duffle is grabbed and taken back into the bathroom, the thin wooden door closing with a shove from his free hand. His voice comes through the door, “I’ve had too much damned time on my own.” There’s the sound of the bag being opened as he looks through what’s been brought for him to wear.

Grace

Too much damned time on his own, he says. That makes her pause, though she doesn't really turn back around until he's safely back in the bathroom.

"I... can understand that," she says, and goes for a chair by one of the beds.

The duffel bag has new clothes in it, everything from feet to head. Socks, shoes of three sizes (because she didn't know his), jeans (of a high-end, boutique kind, in a couple different colors) and a black sweater. All this topped by a knitted maroon beanie. Underneath everything else, there's a couple of t-shirts that seem Grace-inspired. On one, a bored-looking black cat is pawing a mug of coffee off a table, with the text "I do what I want" underneath. On another, the text "Always be yourself! Unless you can be Batman, then always be Batman" dominates. Someone must have gotten sent the wrong size a time or two?

Alexander

There isn’t any more conversation while Alex is in the bathroom, although Grace might be able to hear the clothes being pulled out of the bag and looked through. A few minutes later, there’s some seconds of silence. Seconds with Alexander stood just on the other side of the bathroom door, forehead resting on it, before he heads out into the main part of the motel room. He isn’t sure how this conversation will go, any more than any of the others that are to come. Kalen, Sera, the others in the city. Would they treat him with suspicion about what he might be? Welcome him back? Only one way to find out... And, hell, it might help answer some of his own questions too.

The door opens and Alex walks back out of the bathroom, leaving the spare clothes folded and stacked on top of the duffle bag. He doesn’t move to sit, though. He starts the water in the sink, grabbing the two used – and probably only – cups to rinse them out. “You want a coffee? Or Sera has a ridiculous amount of booze stashed here.”

Stalling? Yep.

Grace

Sera's contribution makes the corners of Grace's mouth rise slightly. Why not? "Coffee with some booze in it?" she asks. Doesn't ask him how he is, because hey -- you just get broken out of prison, you're going to have feelings.

"Sera wants you to relax, I think." A pause. "Do you like the clothes? I didn't know what you'd go for, but the people at the store were helpful."

Again, not really discussing anything important.

Alexander

Alex sets the still-wet cups on the counter and pulls the jug out, giving it a sniff. The contents get thrown down the sink and the various cupboards are checked through until he finds a new filter. “I don’t know how much of this was for me, and how much is just for somewhere for Sera to run to. Or someone else to come to.“ He gestures vaguely at the walls, at the unknown resonance still lingering there.

Alex settles back to lean on the counter while coffee happens, with all of the gurgling and spitting that entails. He picked out a pair of blue jeans that are a little loose on him, along with the “I do what I want” tshirt. His feet are still bare, padding quietly on the floor of the room.

He absent-mindedly rubs his hands together, feeling the coarseness of his knuckles. “How are you, Grace?” The question is asked at the floor, or maybe his hands, but Alex does look over to her at the end.

Grace

The jeans are loose. She remembers a more solid Alex than this one, so when she tried to explain to the shopkeeper what size he was in gesture and comparison form, it came out wrong.

How is she? Well.

"Having fights with everybody," she says, smirks. "I don't know. Something about me and having opinions."

And, she's had to abandon the Office. And Ginger. And she can't be with the guy she loves. She's lacking in that usual playfulness today, despite the t-shirts. As happy as she is to see him back, she didn't really know how this meeting would go either. At least he wants to talk.

Alexander

Kiara had said something about people being mostly ok, and Grace had been one of those he’d wondered about. Grace, Kalen and Sera were the ones that he was (or, maybe, had been) closest to. But, then, the last time he and Grace had spoken hadn’t ended well, and there was the awkwardness of the party at the Chantry... “Who is everybody? I thought everybody pretty much got on ok?” An unspoken before, tagged on the end.

The filter gets towards the end of its cycle, but Alex doesn’t push off to fill the cups just yet. It needs a little more time to finish dripping first. “How bad is it really out there?”

Grace

"There's a bunch of new people in town," she says. "From New England, or somewhere up there. Where the Hermetics have declared war on the Technocracy again."

She lets that just rest for a bit, hanging in the air like a bad idea.

"Elijah found some amazing timing for telling me I treat him like shit, and getting pissed off at me because he didn't have a say in what plans were made for your retrieval -- because he wasn't at the meeting. He's called William now.

"To his credit, though, he wanted to send in an army after you. Better than some ideas people have had."

Like, for instance, just leaving him there to rot, because they were afraid.

"Right now, in Denver, there's no Mage armies patrolling the streets. Or Technocratic monsters either. It seems like they don't want a fight either."

Alexander

Now Alexander turns to the filter machine, although whether it’s because the coffee is ready, because it’s something to do, or some small way to break eye contact with Grace Is unclear. Maybe it’s all of the above. “Why did they come here? To get away from the war, or to bring it here? What did…” There’s the sound of coffee being poured, as that sentence fades to nothing. “How is Kalen?” Three small words, but a question with so many potential answers.

There’s a thunk and a hiss as the jug slides back onto its hotplate. “Well bad timing comes together just as often as we randomly bump into each other. But that doesn’t sound much like Elijah. I didn’t know him all that well, but he never seemed like the type to lead an army into battle. What happened to him?”

There’s more to say, but there’s something holding him back from giving voice to the words. “Whiskey?” Alex holds up a bottle, checking what he should pour into Grace’s coffee.

Grace

"I wish I knew what they were up to here, to be honest. Probably thinking that since Denver is a strategic target, somebody should be here to report back to the hivemind what goes on? Maybe they're here to take over the Chantry and turn this place into a pompous elitist Hermetic's idea of a paradise?"

She shifts in her chair, scratches her nose, because even she knows the look of utter disgust on her face isn't pretty. She really doesn't want to tell Alex what at least one of their ilk has said about his.

"One thing though, the ones who are here don't seem to be the type to run away from a war."

"Kalen is..." Not sleeping. Manic and beside himself. Kind of an exaggerated normal, if you know Kalen. "Well. He could be in a better mental state, but all of us could. He was very worried about you. I'm sure you knew that already," she says, huffs out a humorless laugh.

Alex asks about Elijah, and Grace responds tersely. What happened? "He joined the Order of Hermes." And apparently, that's all she needs to explain herself. "I'm being... too hard on him, I guess. He'd just found out about you, and freaked out. I lack any patience these days, though. Whiskey is a go. Very much some of that."

Alexander

[Per+Emp?]

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

Grace

[Grace isn't usually one to speak of the Order of Hermes in such a directly insulting manner, seeing as how she practically lives with a Hermetic who is decidedly not a pompous elitist. This might lead one to come to the conclusion that she has found at least one new person in Denver clinging to the worst stereotypes of Hermetic arrogance, and yes -- is quite disgusted by what she found.]

Alexander

“Hopefully they’re not of the same frame of mind as the guys who thought firing up a war between the vampires and the Union without telling us was a good idea.” There’s a weary sigh as Alex turns back to the mugs. He had only been intending to add the whiskey to Grace’s coffee, but now he adds a slug to both mugs. This was starting to look like one of those conversations. “Please say that there’s nobody else looking to poke sharp sticks either of those particular ant nests.”

That look of Grace’s is noticed and studied, but it’s obvious that the bad taste doesn’t originate from him. (Although give it a few minutes and it might originate from the coffee.) “That’s a look. What aren’t you telling me?”

The two cups are held with one hand, a finger looped through both handles, and the bottle of whiskey picked up and carried over to the bed with the other. The bottle is dropped onto the bed, freeing up a hand to pass one cup to Grace before Alex sits on the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine Kalen took it at all well. He knows that I’m out?” It’s almost a rhetorical question, but there are reasons behind it. “Kiara told me that Ginger is dead, I wasn’t sure how well the news had been passed around. If you see him before I do, tell him I’m fine.” Fine: the universal term for not good, but nothing I want to deal with right this second.

His eyebrows rise in surprise when he finds out about Elijah’s joining of the Order, the rest of his expression hidden behind the cup that he’s in the middle of taking a drink from. “I really should spend more time with the guy. Well, with everyone, really. I guess I’ve been a bit distant. I guess it’s understandable that he’d freak out if he hadn’t heard anything, though. Just… wow. William. That’ll take some getting used to.”

“I doubt the universe will care enough to provide, but hopefully things will stay quiet for long enough for you to find your patience again.”

Grace

"Like I said. I really wish I knew what all these new people in Denver were here to do," Grace says, reaches a hand out for the coffee.

He asks what that look was about, and she sighs. Grins a sardonic smile. "Like I said, I've been having fights with people. One of the new people in town is a Hermetic who's got a tree trunk shoved up her ass, and is very very proud of herself for being so proud. It doesn't bode well."

She smells the coffee. Smells the whiskey in it, leans her head back against the chair. Alex is 'fine'. He certainly seems to be doing well enough to get coffee and have a conversation, which is about eighty percent of normal human interaction. Fine is an okay place to be right now.

"Enough about me and my personal communication problems, Alex. Do you have any idea of what you'd like to do next? It's okay if you don't. I wouldn't blame you."

Alexander

“You’re not exactly selling the new neighbours. Although that does sound like the Order that Alyssa warned me about.” Alex shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. It doesn’t bode well, but he’ll wait and make his own judgement if and when he encounters anyone who looks like they’re sitting on something uncomfortable.

He shifts up the bed, enough so that he can swing his legs up and rest back against the headrest. His fingers interlace around the cup, holding it safely on his lap. “I’m not sure.” Alex rests his head back against the wall, the ceiling with its vague nicotine stains suddenly seems to be an interesting place to look. “I think I want my life back. Assuming…” Assuming a lot, but nothing that gets immediately voiced. “Assuming that I can. I know some things need to change, though.”

Serafíne

That's when the front door of the motel room opens. Oh hey. Here's Sera.

She has a key and well, Dan has the key. They aren't sneaking up but the key and the lock and the conversation and her very, very distinctive resonance that is as soaked into the walls of this room as it is into her skin. The wards are her own, after all. So the place - at least inside - feels like her even in her absence. More: between than anything else. Liminal, that is it: some refusal of definition, as if one could choose simply to let go of labels and exist in a state of possible/flux.

"What do you think needs to change?" A flash of her dark eyes over Alex. She is: remarkably sober for a Sera.

Grace

Sera walks in. It's an event that has Grace glancing at the door, giving a salute to those entering with her coffee cup. Someone else being here is a good thing.

"He's changed," she says, smiles a bit of a genuine smile at Alex, even as he peruses the ceiling, looking for omens in the splotches of brown. "You've melted, man. Flowed downhill, too from the feel of it. I'm sure you're up to the task of changing things. That part's easy."

The booze has made her coffee a bit cooler, invites her to drink it, which she does. Chemical happiness. A poor substitute for the real thing. Alex, though, with his wanting his life back, that's something to be honestly happy about, isn't it?

Alexander

The door wasn’t even locked, unless Grace had flicked it off the latch while he had been changing. Alex turns to look at the door as it opens, just starting to free his hands from each other to push up from the bed and… And settles back again, when he sees that it’s Sera (and Dan?) coming in. The urge to get up fades as soon as it had arrived, although the thump of his heart in his chest from the surprise arrival will take a little longer to settle. There’s something of his own, changed, resonance hanging over the room in addition to Sera’s, and maybe something of Jim’s. Some remnant of recent Work lingering.

What do you think needs to change?

“Mostly, me.” Grace says that he’s changed, and he nods, shrugs, meeting her eyes as he does. “I guess I figured some stuff out. Like how pushing everyone away isn’t good for me.” He nudges the bottle of whiskey with a foot, pushing it towards the side of the bed closest to the door.

Serafíne

Here is Sera, and Dan of course, sliding in behind her, a solid, tattooed hand on the creature's narrow should. That impression one has of her: the sudden, dirty glamour of her presence. Golden curls and a battered leather jacket. Sunglasses even (especially) in the cheap no-tell motel room where she once spent three days hiding out from: everyone. Everywhere, ashes in the back of her throat.

This glance for Grace, as she speaks. The dark glasses, the dark eyes. The sense of: attention, of awareness, of consideration. Neat little kink of a smile responsive to Grace's own. Then Alex.

"Not an easy thing to learn," Sera, quiet. The supple, blooming grace of her smile beneath the gleam of the dark glasses. "I'm glad we have you back so you can figure it out, though."

--

Does she notice: his jumpiness? His awareness. She must. She sees so much. Feels so much. Has been through: so much that she must recognize that moment of startement, movement, surge. Perhaps feels some resonance answer to it, somewhere in her body. Somewhere beneath her ribs, in her viscera. Somewhere.

"We brought you some clothes and shit. Some cash. A new phone." Dan hefts a reuseable shopping bag and sets it down on the bed nearest Alexander. He inserts: "Have a few other errands to run but we can come back later, if you want company. Or not, if you don't."

They'll hang around for another few minutes, but soon enough Dan reminds Sera that it is time to go.

Grace

Grace nods at Alexander, agreeing with him rather wholeheartedly. It's something she'd wanted to chew him out for the last time they'd met. He'd tried to isolate himself in order to protect everyone else, when that doesn't even stand a chance of working. But he'd kicked her out before she could get to that point.

He'll want company. She'll want to call Kalen and tell him to get his ass here, because Alex is just done with solitary anything, and as far as she can tell, doesn't blame anyone for what happened. Except, maybe...

"You didn't do anything to cause this to happen, you know? That's all on the idiot who thought it would be a great idea to kidnap you. Having pushed people away doesn't make you responsible for what happened," she says, gulps some coffee.

"Kalen blames himself, I think. Keeps kicking himself for going on vacation. That is about as ridiculous an idea as you blaming yourself, you know?"

Alexander

Sera’s is a flying visit, but he does manage to give her – and Dan - a small smile and some thanks for bringing along some more bits and pieces for him. Money, which at least gives him some additional freedom to get out and around the city if – when – he chooses.

After they leave, though, he does ask Grace, “Is she ok? She seems…different.” Simply a case of two months away, making her seem that way? The pressure of his situation? Something else? Either way…

“I know. This was…” Again, there’s a pause where there should be words. Something held back. He shakes his head, a frustrated little movement. “I know. And it wasn’t your fault, either. I know we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, but I get that it was a mistake. One that that woman didn’t do anything to clear up. Did you know she came to my place to…I’d say apologise, but she wasn’t in the least bit apologetic. To be honest, I don’t actually know why she even bothered. But, anyway, I believe the term is ‘shit happens’. Which is most definitely has, and will undoubtedly do again.”

There’s a snort and another shaking of the head, although this one comes with a shadow of a fond little smile. “Throw something at him for me, will you?”

Grace

Grace nods into her coffee, when he says that their last altercation had been due to a mistake. "I thought maybe... I didn't know how you'd react to my coming by, at first."

She drinks some more, lets it warm her. "I'm glad you aren't still pissed off about that."

"But um, what's different about Sera? "

Alexander

“We all screw up sometimes. I was pissed at the time, but I got over it. And, honestly, I do think it was more aimed at Ihsan than you. She was enjoying her little game way too much to care.” Alex shifts again, bending a knee and tucking one leg under the other. “Besides, I have other things to be pissed about.” Another drink of the coffee, a thought of whether it should be refilled with more coffee or more whiskey.

“She just seemed strangely sober. She isn’t on her purification thing at the moment, is she?”

Grace

"Well. You know Sera. If she were on something all the time, that would be too predictable," Grace says, drinks more coffee with a smile.

"I'm glad that you want to rebuild your life. Among choices, it is a good one. And you know I'll do everything in my power to help you with that."

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.]

Neiiigh?

Kiara Woolfe

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

Kiara Woolfe

Fall was settling comfortably into Denver.

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

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

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

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

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

Alexander

[Awareness?]

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

Grace

[Awareness?]

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

Grace

This place, man. This fucking place.

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

Then, there was everything that happened after.

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

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

[Awareness, perhaps?]

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

Alexander

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

[Playin' some ball. Dex + Ath.]

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

Alexander

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

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

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

Dan

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

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

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dan

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

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

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

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

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

First shot is simple: a lay-up.

Dan

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

Dan

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

Alexander

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

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

River Vasquez

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

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

River Vasquez

[and for you arcane 1 people]

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

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

Then, warmth. Inviting and bone deep.

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

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

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

Dan

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which means: his phone rings.

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

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

Alexander

[Catch! Dex/Ath]

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

Alexander

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

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

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

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

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

Ahh, paranoia.

River Vasquez

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

Her nails are painted dark blue.

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

I'm River.

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

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

Alexander

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

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

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

River Vasquez

[dex+athletics: allyoop!]

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

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

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

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

Time to make the shot your own."

Alexander

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

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

Alexander

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

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

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

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

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

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

Grace

Oh, shit.

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

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

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

[Diff 6 'cause one foot!]

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

Grace

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

Kiara Woolfe

[She shoots and ... ]

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

Kiara Woolfe

[Ooh, just.]

Kiara Woolfe

Alexander is a sentry at the gate.

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

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

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

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

She does, teeter a little.

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

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

Alexander

[For when he shoots...]

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

Alexander

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

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

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

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

River Vasquez

[Can I make this shot?]

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

Grace

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

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

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

[Diff 8, cause wobbly and blind!]

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

Grace

[lol]

Kiara Woolfe

[The dice gods take their first victim.]

Kiara Woolfe

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

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

Grace

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

Kiara Woolfe

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

"Nice."

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

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

And goes still.

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

Alexander

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

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

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

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

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

River Vasquez

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

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

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

"This shot is cursed," she proclaims!

Alexander

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

Grace

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

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

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

Grace

[I have to sleep, guys!]

Farrah Esmail

She could call River's phone or just use her quiet powers of observation and god knows what else to locate her. That would not embarrass River though. And since embarrassing River is synonymous with fun before anyone present sees or even really senses the newcomer's resonance they hear her voice from across the court:

"VASQUEZ, YOU BIG SLUT!"

The voice belongs to a five-foot-five young woman in a sundress and cowboy boots. She is using her hands as a megaphone.

River Vasquez

No worries!

River Vasquez

[Taking the shot! +1 diff because Farrah is Farrah]

Dice: 5 d10 TN9 (1, 1, 3, 5, 6) ( botch x 2 )

Kiara Woolfe

[Grace saw the botch and was like, nope. Also the dice are MEAN tonight.]

Farrah Esmail

[HAAAAAHAHAHAHA]

River Vasquez

She was lining up to take the shot, basketball in hand and, thus far, the only person to make it was Kiara. She looked at Grace for a moment, bounced the ball a couple times, "I do not think I like snow. I've seen snow. Mmn-mmmn."

She's getting ready to take her shot, closes her eyes and begins the walk up process, starts on with what she thought she'd seen Kiara do, since Kiara was the only one who actually succeeded at not punching herself in the face while she was doing this whole basketball thing, and soon enough she makes for the shot, her pants come rolled down and the tiny Mistress of Entropy channels Murphy's law.

She trips on her pants, yes, which makes her continue forward, trip, hears the back seam rip and she falls, flat on her face and just in time and in just an inconvenient enough way that she rips a pretty substantial hole in her yogapants. They're going to be useless for awhile, that or she's going to have to figure out how to use her oversized tee shirt as a dress.

River just lays there. Lifts an arm and flips Farrah off in the distance.

Kiara Woolfe

[Doing a thing. +1 Diff, just because stuff is happening.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

Alexander

“You guys make snow sound like it’s lethal to touch. Seriously, it’s not like you’re wicked witches of the west.” Alexander takes a minute to tie the malevolent shoelace before checking the other one. Once he’s happy that they’re not plotting any further mischief, he pushes up from the ground. He moves towards his rucksack, grabbing it and heading towards a bench at the side of the court. Buried somewhere inside is a small first aid kit, with some sort of antiseptic cream. Wincing and with an occasional inhale of breath, he dabs it on the newly acquired gravel rash.

[And will fade into the background, because Noel isn’t the only one needing sleep. Thanks for the scene!]