[Carmichael] "Okay, this is what we're doing. First, we're gathering the information - Em gave me locations - and pulling it out. Then, we're covering up any traces of it having been here. This'll take both magic and hacking skills. Got it?"
So was the prelude to this adventure as they set up their laptops, networked, and warded with the fullest security Chuck could given them - it would hardly do to have something trace back, or to pick up some virus, or to let out Beatlejuice or something as they're working. This is what Chuck does.
This is Chuck, kid in a candy store.
[Wits + Comp, spec.!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 10, 10, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [and rerolled tens because I forgot to tick the box]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 5, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Riley] Riley nods, sitting on the couch with her laptop resting on her knees. She of course helps with the security, putting up walls and blocks and switchbacks, protecting their work to the best of her not inconsiderable ability.
And she offers him a jaunty salute. "Aye aye, cap'n!"
[Mish Witnessing] OOC: Okay! This is how this works. Before we can determine how much mundane abilities will lower the Diff of an Effect, we need to know what Effect they'll be using.
[Mish Witnessing] OOC: Also, acting in Concert works like this, so we're all on the same page: Each party must have all the Spheres being used in the Effect at some level. The party with the lower level in the Sphere(s) rolls per usual, but can only add 1 suxx to each turn of rolling. So, say Chuck rolls for a Corr Effect and gets 2 suxx. Riley rolls, using WP, and gets two Suxx. Only one of Riley's suxx gets added to the total Suxx making the total Suxx for that turn: 3.
[Carmichael] ((Effect in use: Nothing to See Here, Move Along [Mind 1, conjunctional with Corr 2]
Mundane skills: removing bits of code/information completely. Magic used to cover up that there was ever anything there.))
[Mish Witnessing] ((Does Riley have Mind?))
[Mish Witnessing] ((*checks* No. Sooooo... if you want Riley to help you can do it this way:
Just roll a Corr Effect to locate the data wherever it may be on the Net. She can help with that. Then they can work together to remove it from the internet with mundane skills wherever they are able; Chuck toss in Mind in a separate Rote to obfuscate it where they need to. Does that work for you guys?))
[Carmichael] ((Sounds good to me! Does my first computer roll apply, or do you want me to reroll?))
[Carmichael] ((Okay! Corr, coincidental? -1 slow, -1 focus, -1 resonance.))
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 10 (Success x 2 at target 3)
[Riley] [corr: -1 slow, -1 focus]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8 (Success x 2 at target 4) [WP]
[Mish Witnessing] ooc: Guys, guys. PLEASE hold up, okay? I'm trying to figure something out here and I had to post in the Chantry, too.
[Carmichael] ((Sorry! *holds up*))
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 3 (Failure at target 3)
[Carmichael] (Err. With dice, apparently.)
[Mish Witnessing] [[It applies! We just need to figure out the Treshold of the Corr Effect to see how much the comp roll lowers the diff. The Effect will be at +1 Diff, since neither have Corr 3. The amount of servers in the US is staggering, so we'll say, for now, they can target the Mid-West. [if, later, you want to say they slowly work on eliminating it further I'm cool with that, just give it IC time to do so... like, I dunno, two weeks total to get the whole of the US?]
Suxx needed: 2 to pull it off; 6 for number they are going through. Total suxx required: 8.
CC: Your comp roll got 6 suxx. You need 2 more to break the Treshold and start applying suxx for lowering Diff. So how about we let Monki roll for Riley and see what suxx she gets.
Monki! Int + Comp @ Diff 6, please!
[Riley] [so I should have rolled wits + comp, too?]
[Riley] [bah! ignore that! pay attention to this sweet, sweet roll: wits + comp]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9 (Failure at target 6)
[Mish Witnessing] ((>.< MULLIGAN!))
[Riley] [oh! int + comp, not wits]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Mish Witnessing] ooc: Alright!
Start rolling the Corr effect. Base Diff: 5. +1 [large span], +1 [be sneaky]. Subtract whatever normal diff modifiers you have at your disposal. [foci, taking time, resonance, etc]. Then subtract 2, though the diff cannot drop below 1, obviously.
Remember: After the first turn of rolls the Diff goes up by +1 again, for Extending.
[Carmichael] (Woo hoo magic! Diff 7, -1 resonance, -1 slow, -1 focus, -2!)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 9 (Success x 2 at target 2)
[Riley] [corr: diff 7 -1 slow, -1 focus, -2]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Carmichael] (Second verse, same as the first! +1 extend.)
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 6 (Success x 2 at target 3)
[Mish Witnessing] Turn 1: 3 suxx
[Riley] [extension!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 7 (Success x 1 at target 4)
[Mish Witnessing] Turn 2: 3 suxx, Total: 6
[Riley] [and again!]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 2 (Failure at target 4)
[Carmichael] [Me too!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 5, 8 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP]
[Mish Witnessing] (( Alright! Success. It takes 3 hours to complete which is pretty snazzy. Now, someone pick: Which is Lucky -- Odds or Evens?))
[Riley] [evens!]
[Mish Witnessing] [[Here we go!]]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 4
[Mish Witnessing] [[Huzzah!!! Okay, all goes well and smoothly. CC, we can just say Chuck did any additional things required as he saw fit. And we should be good to go!]]
[Carmichael] Awesome! Want to witness the mind rolls while you're here?))
[Mish Witnessing] [[no, no, that's what I mean.. no need for the Mind rolls, just assume in the few places more obfuscation was needed just to be careful, he managed to do it fine. i.e. My brain is frazzled and the little one will be up soon. :)]]
[Carmichael] ((Hah! Win.))
[Mish Witnessing] [[kk! Go VA's. Thanks guys!]]
[Carmichael] ((Thank you!))
Monday, June 28, 2010
Exploring
[Lara Wrathburn] [Nightmares?]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Morning at the chantry, a time when few showed around these parts, that or they were cloistered within the library above or the node room below, both of which were sealed to the likes of Lara, still to fresh, still to untrustworthy to be allowed into such places of power. But she didn't really mind as such places were only so useful.
She had woken invigorated and relaxed beyond all reasoning this morning as she had for some time since moving into this place, she had no true understanding of why but that hardly bothered her. She was already washed, and even fully dressed this morning as she sat on the patio in the morning light.
A pair of ripped jeans covered her legs for the most part, patches of open space revealing pale soft skin along her thighs and calves, her feet were uncovered as if to savor the feeling of the morning air and light. For a shirt it was that beautiful bright blue hoodie which flowed about her as if she were wearing a tunic or robe, the hood drawn back from her features, revealed to the world around her as an effect washed over her body. Something easily detected by any mage worth their salt.
[Chuck Carmichael] Chuck is behaving today. There is no Ice, and no meeting - he's rambling through the place on his own, trusted enough for the library and node room but not much bothering with either for the moment, at least. They do, in fact, have limited use . . . at least for now. Now, he has time to spare before work, and explores this strange place (as American as mom and apple pie, somewhere that's green, and Cthulu-infested bits of New England - it's kind of creepy, really, but shh! Chuck doesn't have an overactive imagination, not at all.
And look at that! Geek squad boy, dressed in geek squad clothes, has his partner [in crime] in tow.
"Dude," he murmurs. "Nodes are way less weird on the 'nets."
[Riley Poole] Chuck is dressed in his Geek Squad uniform, his partner marginally so. Riley has on the white short-sleeved button-down, her thin black tie is loosened, but she has on denim shorts instead of the short black skirt, exposing long olive toned legs. She never wears the whole shebang until they're in the parking lot of the Best Buy. Words simply cannot describe how much she hates wearing that impractical skirt.
Her wavy brown hair's been twisted up off her neck and fastened in place with a clip. That doesn't stop her bangs from falling into her dark eyes. She's a tall one, Riley is, but Chuck makes her look normal-sized.
"Really?" she asks, trailing a little behind her partner slash mentor. The last time she was here was...interesting to say the least. This is her first time really exploring the house.
"Why's that?"
[percept + aware!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] (Sure, why not? [Per + Aware])
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Her senses extend out into the building around her, searching and exploring much as the rest of her, and as her senses reach the back porch they are met by magic, and potent resonance. The magic itself is unknown to Riley, something she has not learned, or perhaps not even encountered yet.
Chuck senses it all as well, the potent but harmless magics coming from the patio. The resonance is new to the man as well, it washes over him, as one might imagine a blast of radiation would, crawling along his skin, slipping into his body, and changing him in a Subversive [Entropic] way, reforming him, remaking him. But such things don't seem all that bad, as he feels this potency it draws his attention, and makes him wish to draw nearer, the mesmeric [Dynamic] Qualities all to potent.
Lara herself remains unaware's of the two new presences in the chantry, her mind elsewhere as open bright green eyes watch something else, something far far away.
[Chuck Carmichael] "They're just . . . I dunno, more conceptual and less at once. It's information and energy, you know? Pure. Not muddied with all the other stuff." He shrugs, and nods in the general direction of the patio - they haven't made it that far yet, the dynamic (in more ways than one!) duo, but it's not too terribly much further, either. "You wanna check out who's here? I don't recognize . . . him. Her. It. Whatever."
Chuck's tie isn't on yet - the noose was left in the car - and his shirt is unbuttoned a bit lower than is necessary, though his pants are pressed and neat (enough), as is his shirt. His hair, getting long enough to be more obviously unruly, is just that - a mess of curls above his freshly shaven, somewhat boyish (but not young looking - an odd combination) face. And already, he's heading towards said patio, curious; he doesn't know that many people yet.
It's not that he's necessarily keen on knowing more, really? But that they're here, and may as well meet whoever else is.
[Riley Poole] "Ah. I think Jon was going to show me something like that," she says. Most of her comments about her former mentor begin like that. I think. It wasn't a partnership that worked out in Riley's favor, at least as far as learning magic was concerned. She still doesn't know the truth about her dagger, currently resting peacefully in her messenger bag out in the car. The strange weapon has come in handy so much more than she would have thought since she Awakened.
"He couldn't get past testing my hacking abilities to let me see the Virtual Web, either," she adds with a roll of her eyes. Riley is something of a jack-of-all-trades, but her mastery is clearly in electronics, computers, and technology.
She's noticed the strange resonance, as well. And something else, something she can sense but has never felt before. "Is that...is that some kind of effect?" she asks, following him toward the patio and the stranger they both know is out there. When they see the woman relaxing out there, though, the first thing out of Riley's mouth isn't a greeting, or an introduction. It's not even a question about the strange magic she sensed.
It's, "Whoa, hey, aren't you hot?" It's eighty degrees, and the woman is in jeans and a hoody, for crying out loud.
[Lara Wrathburn] Her effect comes tumbling down like a house of cards as she is interrupted by Riley's question. Her eyelids flutter as what she was watching and what was really before her mingled briefly before at last separating and and becoming only the two strangers who stood before her.
She blinks a few more times, before a warm, if slightly impish smile crosses her lips as she pushes herself up onto long legs and takes a step towards them. "I usually here that more as a statement then as a question.." She says with a bemused, yet languid look on her face as she stretches her legs.
"But yes it is...but it wasn't just a little while ago..." She says before checking her watch. "Or I should say four hours ago..." She says correcting herself, tapping the watch briefly to make sure its still working before letting it drop with a laugh. Then those bright green eyes turn to regard the pair once more as she steps forward and holds out a hand, perhaps to shake?
"My name is Lara...good to meet you."
[Chuck Carmichael] ".....what on earth was any reasonable person doing awake for hours ago?"
Chuck is not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, it must be said - he's only up this early, now, for this exact purpose. That purpose being exploring the Chantry with Riley, not meeting Lara. The latter is an added bonus, one imagines.
Chuck, in all his geek squad glory, is six foot four inches tall. He has dark brown, curly hair and skin that isn't as pale as it could be, given his geek status - he also has the muscled arms, shoulders, chest and abs of a rower, though only the arms, chest and shoulders are really visible under the short sleeved, white, button down shirt. He's good looking - above average, certainly - but in a way more commonly described as adorable than hot or any such thing. The general appearance of cute is only enhanced by the affable nature, and the wide smile he gives as he extends his own hand (and the fact that his eyes stay on Lara's face, rather than drifting down to take note of other . . . attributes).
"Hey. I'm Chuck," he says in a midwestern accent tinged tenor. "This is my buddy, Riley. Nice to meet you."
[Riley Poole] Riley's study of the woman before her is open and direct. Her brows lift a little, her head tilting slightly, and she nods a little. "I can see that. You probably get it as a question, too, though, just with different inflection. Aren't you hot?" she asks, roughening her voice a little in imitation of a male's voice.
Her own smile is warm and charming and lights up her dark brown eyes. She's an attractive woman, but her beauty is more subdued than Lara's. Riley has more of a girl-next-door kind of appeal, is more of a big sister type. Which may be why she and Chuck work so well together as a team. And why they get along so well. It may also explain why there isn't an ounce of sexual tension between the pair of them.
"Some people don't sleep like the dead, Chuck." Chuck is not a morning person, which thankfully hasn't affected their carpooling since he moved in next door to her. When Chuck has greeted Lara for the both of them, Riley extends her own hand. "Nice to meet you. So what were you doing out here?"
[Lara Wrathburn] "Its the bed's here...I haven't slept this good in years, all i seem to need here is four hours and I'm good to go." She shrugs nonchalantly as she smiles. "Why waste a perfectly good part of the day when I don't have to...when I could be doing...other things." She says as she does indeed look Chuck up and down, admiring what genetics and hard work had wrought of the man before her hand, slid into his and shook it, long slender fingers warm, but not all together strong.
She then turned to Riley, and admired her form as well, she wasn't as striking as Chuck, nor as beautiful as herself, but that girl-next-door quality was always a winner and Riley pulled it off well. She shook the woman's hand for a long moment, not tense or testing, just...enjoying.
The woman asked what she was up to, and her smile became just a little more impish, a little more mischevious as she laughed lightly briefly looking back to the spot she had been sitting on for so long, before turning once more to watch Riley and Chuck. "Ohhh just checking up on the future...seeing how things are going."
[Riley Poole] [doot de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah? Might have to try one out sometime," he says, oblivious to the checking out - but friendly, good humored and amiable. "I do sleep like the dead, and wake up a zombie with a hundred percent less craving for brains. If I don't get my eight - or if I have to wake up before about seven - it's better to just not sleep at all."
He shrugs, and is significantly less oblivious to Lara checking Riley out (That's hot.), and somehow amused by it. "You ladies want some alone time? We've got a bit before we have to be on the clock yet."
Teasing, always teasing is Chuck of the Friend Zone - oh, how fun it can be. But then, more serious, "So how are things going? And . . . Time isn't one of my things. But I've read enough scifi to know I should ask which future."
[Riley Poole] The beds in the house make people especially refreshed. Riley turns to look up at the building, as if she expected there to be some sort of physical evidence of why this phenomena occurred. Or maybe she was just musing something else entirely.
When she looked back, it was to find Lara looking over her friend. Her brows lifted, and the corners of her mouth began to quirk upward. She's just calculating just how much trouble she could deflect off Chuck at the store if she were to leave him here for a while when that green-eyed gaze is turned on herself. Then those brows are lifting a little higher.
Riley is tall and skinny, but it's not the usual geek physique of an life spend indoors with poor eating habits. What Lara can see of her body (and in shorts and short-sleeved shirt, she can see a lot) Riley is fit. Where Chuck's physical strength is centered around his upper body, Riley's is all over. Lean and trim, with just enough curve to keep her from being mistaken for a boy.
Chuck asks if they'd like some alone time, and Riley laughs, elbowing him in the ribs. "So the great Chuck Carmichael isn't as free from common male stereotypes as I'd previously thought. That's actually reassuring."
[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+emp, what was that look Riley?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Lara laughs lightly, amused and delighted by their comradery, their closeness without having to be skin close. Chuck asks if they want some alone time, Riley's eyes say the very same thing before she jabs the man in the ribs and indicates that even he could be a man.
"The real question is...is it warranted." Lara asks as she takes a step towards the pair, slow and deliberate as if to close the gap between them. But then the heat finally hits Lara, she can really feel it now, as if her mind still wasn't registering such things. She took a deep breath then, and without a second thought grabbed the bottom of the hoodie, and pulled it upwards, over, and off of her body, leaving only a light green t-shirt beneath. She sighs happily as she feels the relief, and tosses the hoodie asside, with the hoodie gone, several dermal piercings are visible along the center of her throat, as are a myriad of tattoo's that cover her arms.
"Why don't you both stick around...it's been rather quiet here lately." She says as she looks from one to the other, her hands coming to rest on her hips before finally addressing Chucks specific question. "That...tough to say, I'd like to say it's the future I want."
[Israel Cohen] [[Getting it out of the way. Per + Aware]]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] "Well," says Riley, mouth quirked in a grin, "I can't miss anymore work unless it's a national emergency, but if you want to hang out, Chuck, I could probably cover for you." Like she could, like Riley Poole could lie to the most gullible person in the world if her life depended on it. Which nearly anyone who knows her knows all too well that she can't.
And it's entirely possible that she'd be leaving Chuck here to play Backgammon or chess with Lara. Her smile, though, suggests she thinks something altogether different would happen between the very tall Virtual Adept and the red-haired Cultist.
[Chuck Carmichael] "No, the great Chuck Carmichael is, indeed, a healthy, straight-identifying male," he says with a grin, elbowing her back - easy camaraderie, indeed. The two are friends, and partners in a very true sense; close without being skin close is a good descriptor. (Which doesn't mean Chuck wouldn't be skin-close with Riley if the opportunity presented itself! It simply means that neither of them is pressing the issue.) "And if alone time is warranted, far be it from me to get in the way."
Then there's Lara suggesting he stay to, and, for a moment, his mind stays on the sexy track - so very, very sexy. It's hard to get off (hurr) once one is on it. "And if you want me to stick around, all the better."
But, future! Futures wanted, futures not (Don't you think about the future at all, Levi?), oh, future, loved and hated. "Awesome. Hope it works out for you, then. And, hey! I've only skipped out once since I got here. But we're about due for a call from Pervy McPervson, so I'd hate to leave you alone with it." His watch gets checked, and he shrugs. "We're due in at eleven, right? You wanna chill for a bit?"
[Lara Wrathburn] They try to get each other to stay, offering to cover each other so that both can have some fun, but neither of them accept it right off the bat, it just makes Lara smile all the more, they were cute, almost like brother and sister both trying to give each other the leg up.
Lara took the initiate, as she usually does and steps up to both of them looking from one to the other and smiles sweetly at them. "I'm sure they won't miss either of you...you've plenty of time, you should learn to enjoy it while you can." She says casually, but at the same time, that siren, that song of her's calls them to stay, almost...demands that they do so.
"We could get to know each other better, I've made it something of a mission to know as many of the mage's here in the city." She says as she steps between them, and then toward the door back into the house. "Besides...we really should enjoy the A/C while we can..." She says with a wry laugh as she slide the door open, and gestured inside.
[Manip+Exp]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] He said he'd leave it alone. Said he'd turn his back on the library, on the fruitless search. Said he'd come back into the social fold. Come back to this form of reality.
It was a slow process.
Bare feet came bounding down the steps, a sort of falling, tumbling gallop that had the man's too-long hair bouncing and flopping. He needed a haircut. He didn't need a shave. He did need shoes, but then again, this place felt so comfortable once you forgave its more gruesome history. It felt so much like a home. Who could blame him for running about in torn jeans, a faded graphic T, and no shoes?
Wharil makes way for the kitchen, one of the only places he tends to be scene other than the library, and there only certain people would see him. But, the sound of voices calls to him and before he can actually arrive at his usual sandwich station, he's changing course and heading for the back door instead.
Curiosity painted across his face, he lingers just in sight. Surveying and listening in before he brings any attention to himself.
[Israel Cohen] Heedless of the fact that there is still some crumbled dirt [rich, fertile, dark] on her hands, she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms as she comes up the last step from the basement to the first floor, barely managing to cover her mouth as a yawn overtakes her. It leaves a streak of dirt along her left cheek, just below the eye, like an American football player who forgot to get their Eye Black on both sides. Her side bag, slung over one shoulder, the strap nestled between her breasts: She's wearing a plain black t-shirt, so it's not like the straps shifts anything to become provocative. Israel doesn't do provocative. Her jeans are faded, her Doc Marten's scuffed up. This is her 'work' close so far as these kinds of tasks goes. Whatever the tasks, her side bag is is bulkier than usual, its contents making occasional muffled clinking noises as she moves towards the kitchen, a bit overburdened: Given her lack of physical strength it is about as easy to overburden her muscles as it is to tower over her in height.
[Emily Littleton] The path to the Chantry is well-worn in Emily's head, oft traveled. It's a war path (no exaggeration) now between her flat and this porch. Whether by El or by car or by rideshare or by bus -- Emily keeps finding her way back to the white-picket-fence house, with all its ill portents and politics. This is thrice in as many days.
She's wearing a white polo and jeans. There is no glint of silver at her throat (still); her hair is pulled back into a low gathering at the base of her neck. Her messenger, a near constant companion, hangs at her side; its strap crosses her shoulder to hip.
The Chantry door opens, spilling the cool of the air conditioned inner air out into an already hot (and rising) day. Emily steps through that portal, closes it behind her, and moves into the house. There is no Hello, the house today. Just the sound of footsteps (tennies squeak on wood floors) trailing toward the message board. This is what she checks first, as if there'd be any new news since the night before.
Then on to the kitchen, where Israel is found standing. "Hello, Israel," she says, her voice less worn and more resonant than it's been in recent night. Despite the burden they all carry, Emily is mending; Emily is recovering.
[Riley Poole] Outside, a step away from being inside again, Riley is half in her work clothes, half in something casual. Her wavy hair has been twisted and pinned in place with a clip, and she's wearing her short-sleeved white button-down, the thin black tie loosened around her neck. Rather than the impractical black skirt, however, she's wearing denim shorts and her black and white Converse high-tops. It's almost a style, but mostly it's a rebellion. Chuck has been subjected to Riley's rant about the women's Geek Squad uniform so many times now he can probably recite it word for word back at her.
Lara slides open the patio door and invites the VAs into the air conditioned comfort of the house. To 'get to know each other better.' As much as she may want to stick around, and with Lara and Chuck both encouraging her to stay, Riley quirks her mouth. "Man, I have been dealing with Pervy McPervson since before you were born," she teases. "I can handle myself." Then she leans in close, tugs him down so that he's closer to her height, making it easier to whisper in his ear.
[Riley Poole] "You should stick around and get to know a new girl," she whispers.
to Chuck Carmichael
[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+Alert What are you whispering there..]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [it's a seekrit!: char + subt]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [no seriously]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Wharil Choc] [Per+Alert: Ooh! Sekrit!]
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] Riley tugs and Chuck leans in - it's effortless, how they do this. There's no thought that goes into it; the two VAs simply work together. Sometimes people click. A grin tugs at his lips and he whispers back . . .
. . . and then turns his attention to Lara. "Yeah, I'll hang out. I've got my 'berry if they need me badly enough." And so inside it is, still with Riley for now - when she chooses to leave, it will be as easy as arriving together had been. Air conditioning is a relief, it must be said, though he's a midwestern boy to begin with - not impervious so much as used to it.
"How long have you been here, Lara? And from where?" This is, of course, about two steps inside the house from the patio.
[Chuck Carmichael] "Alright, gimme a call if you need me. Youngster." Teasing, always.
to Riley Poole
[Wharil Choc] There's something about Wharil Choc's eyes. They were large, glassy things. Not Japanese Anime large, but certainly quite large indeed. They caught things. They saw more than what was expected. And they also showed a lot more than what was expected. For instance, when his eyes watch Passively at two VA's outside, analyzing their familiar whisper, and suddenly shift the young woman he barely recognized, they betray a puckish sort of curiosity.
His arms fold across his chest as the others enter. The movement of doing so, coupled with the slight smirk, are the only things that bring attention to himself.
Lara. What else could she learn just by standing here, he wondered.
[Lara Wrathburn] "Oh....I'm from all over the place...and I'm only just arriving in the city, maybe..a few weeks." She says casually as she steps inside and realizes they are not alone, they had been surrounded, Israel, Emily, and some new mage who she hadn't met before, but this seemed to throw her for a loop, she hadn't anticipated or seen any of this and it was a little confounding, a little...unsettling.
But the fiery headed cultist kept her cool as she slipped through the crowd, moving to find a bit of space amongst all the bodies before she turns to Chuck and Riley and winks at them. "Sorry...I just remembered, I've a very specific time to be ready for...I'll have to catch you both again....very soon." She says with certainty, because how did you hide from someone who knew where you were going to be afterall?
At that she turned and strode towards the front door, intent on getting out of there.
((Sorry folks, gotta bail from here, will catch you all soon though!))
[Emily Littleton] Emily is in the kitchen, near the diminutive Orphan, with her hands wrapped around the strap of her messenger bag, when the others enter the house. Chuck's voice is familiar, and it draws her attention up and away from Israel. She cants her head, curiously, to one side.
The Adepts in her cabal did not normally make an effort to visit the Chantry. Riley did, more than Chuck, but it was infrequent that she found them here. Her eyes narrowed somewhat at the name that left Chuck's lips, Lara. Instead of wandering out to say hey and how are you, Emily fixed herself a glass of water and took up a leaning residence against one wall.
She could listen, much like Wharil was, and talk to Israel. It wasn't eavesdropping if she just happened to be there.
[Israel Cohen] "Hullo, Emily... Wharil." These are who she notices first. [she feels them first; then hears and smells them]. With a small grunt of effort she gets the side-bag onto the kitchen counter near the fridge and starts to locate the right cabinet [she taps cabinet handles with outstretched finger tips, the pattern memorized] that holds glasses. Acquiring one requires half boosting herself up on the counter [note to self: by a step stool for the Chantry kitchen] because someone pushed them further back than she's used to... others enter. "Hullo, Riley and... Chuck, yes?" They've only met briefly. The smile she offers in their very general direction, though, is quietly warm; dirt smudges on her face notwithstanding.
She has some sense of Lara being there.. then gone.
Over to the fridge she goes to find the Brita water pitcher, speaking towards Emily as she goes, "How are you doing, Emily? You sound well..."
[Riley Poole] They enter the house to find it much more occupied than when they stepped outside, looking to introduce themselves to a stranger. That's what they do, the two Virtual Adepts. Unlike the stereotype, they're both friendly, outgoing, personable. Well, Riley is until someone hits a button, sets off her temper, earns her wrath.
The collection of folks within do not quite gain her ire, though the three (as she's going to think of them for at least a minute or two more) cockblockers do get a stern look and a smile with a slight edge to it. Because Lara is leaving, out the front doors and not up the stairs to one of the bedrooms, or wherever it was she had been wanting to steal the tech geeks away to. "Butter luck next time, Chuckles," she says, sighing.
Then, "Hey, guys." Too bright. Riley never was good at disguising disappointment, even if that disappointment was felt on behalf of her friends and not herself.
[Emily Littleton] For all her lack of sight, Israel picks up on more than the Singer-to-be might. She struggles, at moments, and overcomes the physical limitation. Emily stays out of the other Orphan's way, helps where her help would not become hindrance, and says, plainly: "I am well. Though, Israel? You've got something on your cheek..."
This is not said with worry. It's just dirt, not gore or taint or anything darker. Just dirt from the garden, or possibly the well.
The others file in and get a smile from Emily. Even her somewhat-estranged cabalmates. "Hey, Riley," she says. The British girl has given ground, accepted Hey as a reasonable greeting. They're changing her, these affable Vdepts. Even in absence they're bending her, slightly.
"Hi Chuck. Wharil."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Hey," he says, and doesn't hesitate to go give Emily a hug - not tight [restraint] but there [comfort, friendship]. The greeting includes everyone (the guy he can't quite see unless he looks just right, and even then forgets, the short blind woman) for all that he goes straight to his ex-girlfriend, and for all that Riley's disappointed at Lara's departure, Chuck doesn't seem overly so.
(He doesn't think there are even any video games in the Chantry.)
"Yeah, I'm Chuck. Nice to see you again Israel." Try. Focus. Focus. There's someone else sharing the space. You know it. "And to meet you. Um . . ."
[Israel Cohen] "Do I?" There's a faint rise of dusky-rose colour along olive-kissed complexion; not full on embarrassment or self-consciousness, but a pesky biological reaction to having something amiss pointed out with her appearance. It was worse five years ago; now days she's learned not to become so flustered over it, but some physiological response stubbournly remain. Her lips quirk as her shoulders shrug, a such is life: messy kind of gesture. "Thanks." Soft spoken though it is the word is earnest. Rather than get dirty hands on the pitcher, she closes the door with a bump of her hip and moves to the sink, cautiously so as not to bump into Emily or anyone else who might be near and not mindful that she's moving.
"You too, Chuck."
Her hands glide along drawer handles - guiding her; they run over the sink edge, over stainless steal until she finds the handle.. and begins washing her hands and then her face.
[Wharil Choc] "Hi." He finally says in an unremarkable voice. Wharil circles around the VA's, heading over toward the Kitchen counter instead and leaning there, all polite smiles.
"So who was that?" He asks. "That Lara person?"
[Emily Littleton] Chuck hugs her and Emily, for all her recent stiffness, slips an arm around him and hugs him back. It's a little restrained, given their change of status, but it's not uncomfortable. Things had always been easy-going between them, and this separation hasn't seemed to change that just yet. Besides, with demons loose on the city and her recent transgressions (broken commandments [matters of interpretation]), a hug was far from truly alarming.
"Oh, Lara lives here now," Emily tells Wharil. Helpfully. She even smiles, politely. Sweetly. Not an ill-word spoken, exactly, but it's hard to miss that there's no love lost between Emily and the red-headed Cultist.
[Riley Poole] It doesn't surprise Riley that Emily's reaction to Lara is less than one hundred percent positive, and not because of the strain that's been between the two apprentices the last few weeks. Women like Lara, Riley has learned, will inspire fairly polar reactions from other women. It's why Riley is content to remain fairly laid back as far as her personality goes. With her temper, after all, who knows how she'd react if someone decided to feel catty toward her.
Still, she steps into the kitchen and holds up her own wall, thumbs hooked into her pockets, and for a moment she just watches Emily. No ill will on her part, not even any tension. Riley just watches her still slightly estranged friend.
"I didn't realize people actually live here."
[Israel Cohen] "She's been staying here, yes." This spoken after time is taken to complete her cleansing. "Though who told her about it I've yet to find out. Still, she made it past the exterior Wards and I sense nothing malevolent from her." Per se... the woman's Resonance made Israel wary, but not in the sense of fearing actual corruption. Entropic Resonance was just.. difficult.. that way. With the amount of it the blind woman carries [and increased as of late] she isn't too quick to be judgmental. Still, caution is often a virtue... "Still," She finds the handle of the drawer on the left of the sink, pulling out a clean dish towel and patting her face and hands. "I've placed a Ban around the entrance of the Basement and the Library. It keyed to allow access to those who know they are formally accepted chantry members."
Paranoid?
Hell yes. Even if her version of it tends to be more subtle than the Priests.
[Wharil Choc] "Hm." Is all he really says to that. The waning smile on his face works against the grain of his voice. A hand goes up to try and seize the tumult of hair on his head.
"I need a haircut. Think I 'm gonna go do that now, actually. You folks uh...Well. Be safe, everybody."
And with very little urgency, Wharil Choc wanders off again.
[Wharil Choc] ((thanks for keeping me occupied folks!))
[Chuck Carmichael] ".....huh. I didn't know people . . ."
And there it is, his 'berry going off with the tone that means work [everybody's workin' for the weekend!] (shh! Never mind that it's supposed to be a completely different phone and Chuck broke the rules by routing work calls through his own Blackberry), and he rolls his eyes, stepping away from Em.
"That's us, Riley - we gotta roll. You ready?" And after polite goodbyes, he's on his way out.
[Riley Poole] Riley watches Emily for a moment, noting the changes in the younger girl. Not really so much a girl in the older woman's eyes. Maybe the last month has forced her to grow a little more. Maybe now she'll stop running away, or at least stop pushing Riley away.
Though things have been strained to some degree since that first time Emily showed her Life, there's no sign of it now. The VA has been biding her time since that night at the bar. It may surprise some to know that Riley Poole has the capacity for incredible patience.
So long as no one's setting off triggers or punching her buttons.
People start making their way out of the kitchen, going about their business of getting hair cuts, or working down in the basement. Speaking of work.
"Great," flat and unenthusiastic, "Pervy McPervson, here we come." Her disappointment on Chuck's behalf gone now, her smile for Emily is warmer. She even winks. "See ya, Emily." And the Geek Squadders make their escape.
[Emily Littleton] "Have fun stormin' the castle," she says, to the disappearing Vdepts. Emily doesn't bother to impersonate the voice, but she knows at least one pop reference to make them smile. Her friends get a little wave, friendlier than she's been of late, and then the Apprentice pushes off of her lean and announces. "I'm going to head upstairs to study some more. Israel, whenever you like, we can talk about those names. You seem to have your hands full just now, though, so it can wait."
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Morning at the chantry, a time when few showed around these parts, that or they were cloistered within the library above or the node room below, both of which were sealed to the likes of Lara, still to fresh, still to untrustworthy to be allowed into such places of power. But she didn't really mind as such places were only so useful.
She had woken invigorated and relaxed beyond all reasoning this morning as she had for some time since moving into this place, she had no true understanding of why but that hardly bothered her. She was already washed, and even fully dressed this morning as she sat on the patio in the morning light.
A pair of ripped jeans covered her legs for the most part, patches of open space revealing pale soft skin along her thighs and calves, her feet were uncovered as if to savor the feeling of the morning air and light. For a shirt it was that beautiful bright blue hoodie which flowed about her as if she were wearing a tunic or robe, the hood drawn back from her features, revealed to the world around her as an effect washed over her body. Something easily detected by any mage worth their salt.
[Chuck Carmichael] Chuck is behaving today. There is no Ice, and no meeting - he's rambling through the place on his own, trusted enough for the library and node room but not much bothering with either for the moment, at least. They do, in fact, have limited use . . . at least for now. Now, he has time to spare before work, and explores this strange place (as American as mom and apple pie, somewhere that's green, and Cthulu-infested bits of New England - it's kind of creepy, really, but shh! Chuck doesn't have an overactive imagination, not at all.
And look at that! Geek squad boy, dressed in geek squad clothes, has his partner [in crime] in tow.
"Dude," he murmurs. "Nodes are way less weird on the 'nets."
[Riley Poole] Chuck is dressed in his Geek Squad uniform, his partner marginally so. Riley has on the white short-sleeved button-down, her thin black tie is loosened, but she has on denim shorts instead of the short black skirt, exposing long olive toned legs. She never wears the whole shebang until they're in the parking lot of the Best Buy. Words simply cannot describe how much she hates wearing that impractical skirt.
Her wavy brown hair's been twisted up off her neck and fastened in place with a clip. That doesn't stop her bangs from falling into her dark eyes. She's a tall one, Riley is, but Chuck makes her look normal-sized.
"Really?" she asks, trailing a little behind her partner slash mentor. The last time she was here was...interesting to say the least. This is her first time really exploring the house.
"Why's that?"
[percept + aware!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 8, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] (Sure, why not? [Per + Aware])
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Her senses extend out into the building around her, searching and exploring much as the rest of her, and as her senses reach the back porch they are met by magic, and potent resonance. The magic itself is unknown to Riley, something she has not learned, or perhaps not even encountered yet.
Chuck senses it all as well, the potent but harmless magics coming from the patio. The resonance is new to the man as well, it washes over him, as one might imagine a blast of radiation would, crawling along his skin, slipping into his body, and changing him in a Subversive [Entropic] way, reforming him, remaking him. But such things don't seem all that bad, as he feels this potency it draws his attention, and makes him wish to draw nearer, the mesmeric [Dynamic] Qualities all to potent.
Lara herself remains unaware's of the two new presences in the chantry, her mind elsewhere as open bright green eyes watch something else, something far far away.
[Chuck Carmichael] "They're just . . . I dunno, more conceptual and less at once. It's information and energy, you know? Pure. Not muddied with all the other stuff." He shrugs, and nods in the general direction of the patio - they haven't made it that far yet, the dynamic (in more ways than one!) duo, but it's not too terribly much further, either. "You wanna check out who's here? I don't recognize . . . him. Her. It. Whatever."
Chuck's tie isn't on yet - the noose was left in the car - and his shirt is unbuttoned a bit lower than is necessary, though his pants are pressed and neat (enough), as is his shirt. His hair, getting long enough to be more obviously unruly, is just that - a mess of curls above his freshly shaven, somewhat boyish (but not young looking - an odd combination) face. And already, he's heading towards said patio, curious; he doesn't know that many people yet.
It's not that he's necessarily keen on knowing more, really? But that they're here, and may as well meet whoever else is.
[Riley Poole] "Ah. I think Jon was going to show me something like that," she says. Most of her comments about her former mentor begin like that. I think. It wasn't a partnership that worked out in Riley's favor, at least as far as learning magic was concerned. She still doesn't know the truth about her dagger, currently resting peacefully in her messenger bag out in the car. The strange weapon has come in handy so much more than she would have thought since she Awakened.
"He couldn't get past testing my hacking abilities to let me see the Virtual Web, either," she adds with a roll of her eyes. Riley is something of a jack-of-all-trades, but her mastery is clearly in electronics, computers, and technology.
She's noticed the strange resonance, as well. And something else, something she can sense but has never felt before. "Is that...is that some kind of effect?" she asks, following him toward the patio and the stranger they both know is out there. When they see the woman relaxing out there, though, the first thing out of Riley's mouth isn't a greeting, or an introduction. It's not even a question about the strange magic she sensed.
It's, "Whoa, hey, aren't you hot?" It's eighty degrees, and the woman is in jeans and a hoody, for crying out loud.
[Lara Wrathburn] Her effect comes tumbling down like a house of cards as she is interrupted by Riley's question. Her eyelids flutter as what she was watching and what was really before her mingled briefly before at last separating and and becoming only the two strangers who stood before her.
She blinks a few more times, before a warm, if slightly impish smile crosses her lips as she pushes herself up onto long legs and takes a step towards them. "I usually here that more as a statement then as a question.." She says with a bemused, yet languid look on her face as she stretches her legs.
"But yes it is...but it wasn't just a little while ago..." She says before checking her watch. "Or I should say four hours ago..." She says correcting herself, tapping the watch briefly to make sure its still working before letting it drop with a laugh. Then those bright green eyes turn to regard the pair once more as she steps forward and holds out a hand, perhaps to shake?
"My name is Lara...good to meet you."
[Chuck Carmichael] ".....what on earth was any reasonable person doing awake for hours ago?"
Chuck is not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, it must be said - he's only up this early, now, for this exact purpose. That purpose being exploring the Chantry with Riley, not meeting Lara. The latter is an added bonus, one imagines.
Chuck, in all his geek squad glory, is six foot four inches tall. He has dark brown, curly hair and skin that isn't as pale as it could be, given his geek status - he also has the muscled arms, shoulders, chest and abs of a rower, though only the arms, chest and shoulders are really visible under the short sleeved, white, button down shirt. He's good looking - above average, certainly - but in a way more commonly described as adorable than hot or any such thing. The general appearance of cute is only enhanced by the affable nature, and the wide smile he gives as he extends his own hand (and the fact that his eyes stay on Lara's face, rather than drifting down to take note of other . . . attributes).
"Hey. I'm Chuck," he says in a midwestern accent tinged tenor. "This is my buddy, Riley. Nice to meet you."
[Riley Poole] Riley's study of the woman before her is open and direct. Her brows lift a little, her head tilting slightly, and she nods a little. "I can see that. You probably get it as a question, too, though, just with different inflection. Aren't you hot?" she asks, roughening her voice a little in imitation of a male's voice.
Her own smile is warm and charming and lights up her dark brown eyes. She's an attractive woman, but her beauty is more subdued than Lara's. Riley has more of a girl-next-door kind of appeal, is more of a big sister type. Which may be why she and Chuck work so well together as a team. And why they get along so well. It may also explain why there isn't an ounce of sexual tension between the pair of them.
"Some people don't sleep like the dead, Chuck." Chuck is not a morning person, which thankfully hasn't affected their carpooling since he moved in next door to her. When Chuck has greeted Lara for the both of them, Riley extends her own hand. "Nice to meet you. So what were you doing out here?"
[Lara Wrathburn] "Its the bed's here...I haven't slept this good in years, all i seem to need here is four hours and I'm good to go." She shrugs nonchalantly as she smiles. "Why waste a perfectly good part of the day when I don't have to...when I could be doing...other things." She says as she does indeed look Chuck up and down, admiring what genetics and hard work had wrought of the man before her hand, slid into his and shook it, long slender fingers warm, but not all together strong.
She then turned to Riley, and admired her form as well, she wasn't as striking as Chuck, nor as beautiful as herself, but that girl-next-door quality was always a winner and Riley pulled it off well. She shook the woman's hand for a long moment, not tense or testing, just...enjoying.
The woman asked what she was up to, and her smile became just a little more impish, a little more mischevious as she laughed lightly briefly looking back to the spot she had been sitting on for so long, before turning once more to watch Riley and Chuck. "Ohhh just checking up on the future...seeing how things are going."
[Riley Poole] [doot de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah? Might have to try one out sometime," he says, oblivious to the checking out - but friendly, good humored and amiable. "I do sleep like the dead, and wake up a zombie with a hundred percent less craving for brains. If I don't get my eight - or if I have to wake up before about seven - it's better to just not sleep at all."
He shrugs, and is significantly less oblivious to Lara checking Riley out (That's hot.), and somehow amused by it. "You ladies want some alone time? We've got a bit before we have to be on the clock yet."
Teasing, always teasing is Chuck of the Friend Zone - oh, how fun it can be. But then, more serious, "So how are things going? And . . . Time isn't one of my things. But I've read enough scifi to know I should ask which future."
[Riley Poole] The beds in the house make people especially refreshed. Riley turns to look up at the building, as if she expected there to be some sort of physical evidence of why this phenomena occurred. Or maybe she was just musing something else entirely.
When she looked back, it was to find Lara looking over her friend. Her brows lifted, and the corners of her mouth began to quirk upward. She's just calculating just how much trouble she could deflect off Chuck at the store if she were to leave him here for a while when that green-eyed gaze is turned on herself. Then those brows are lifting a little higher.
Riley is tall and skinny, but it's not the usual geek physique of an life spend indoors with poor eating habits. What Lara can see of her body (and in shorts and short-sleeved shirt, she can see a lot) Riley is fit. Where Chuck's physical strength is centered around his upper body, Riley's is all over. Lean and trim, with just enough curve to keep her from being mistaken for a boy.
Chuck asks if they'd like some alone time, and Riley laughs, elbowing him in the ribs. "So the great Chuck Carmichael isn't as free from common male stereotypes as I'd previously thought. That's actually reassuring."
[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+emp, what was that look Riley?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Lara Wrathburn] Lara laughs lightly, amused and delighted by their comradery, their closeness without having to be skin close. Chuck asks if they want some alone time, Riley's eyes say the very same thing before she jabs the man in the ribs and indicates that even he could be a man.
"The real question is...is it warranted." Lara asks as she takes a step towards the pair, slow and deliberate as if to close the gap between them. But then the heat finally hits Lara, she can really feel it now, as if her mind still wasn't registering such things. She took a deep breath then, and without a second thought grabbed the bottom of the hoodie, and pulled it upwards, over, and off of her body, leaving only a light green t-shirt beneath. She sighs happily as she feels the relief, and tosses the hoodie asside, with the hoodie gone, several dermal piercings are visible along the center of her throat, as are a myriad of tattoo's that cover her arms.
"Why don't you both stick around...it's been rather quiet here lately." She says as she looks from one to the other, her hands coming to rest on her hips before finally addressing Chucks specific question. "That...tough to say, I'd like to say it's the future I want."
[Israel Cohen] [[Getting it out of the way. Per + Aware]]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] "Well," says Riley, mouth quirked in a grin, "I can't miss anymore work unless it's a national emergency, but if you want to hang out, Chuck, I could probably cover for you." Like she could, like Riley Poole could lie to the most gullible person in the world if her life depended on it. Which nearly anyone who knows her knows all too well that she can't.
And it's entirely possible that she'd be leaving Chuck here to play Backgammon or chess with Lara. Her smile, though, suggests she thinks something altogether different would happen between the very tall Virtual Adept and the red-haired Cultist.
[Chuck Carmichael] "No, the great Chuck Carmichael is, indeed, a healthy, straight-identifying male," he says with a grin, elbowing her back - easy camaraderie, indeed. The two are friends, and partners in a very true sense; close without being skin close is a good descriptor. (Which doesn't mean Chuck wouldn't be skin-close with Riley if the opportunity presented itself! It simply means that neither of them is pressing the issue.) "And if alone time is warranted, far be it from me to get in the way."
Then there's Lara suggesting he stay to, and, for a moment, his mind stays on the sexy track - so very, very sexy. It's hard to get off (hurr) once one is on it. "And if you want me to stick around, all the better."
But, future! Futures wanted, futures not (Don't you think about the future at all, Levi?), oh, future, loved and hated. "Awesome. Hope it works out for you, then. And, hey! I've only skipped out once since I got here. But we're about due for a call from Pervy McPervson, so I'd hate to leave you alone with it." His watch gets checked, and he shrugs. "We're due in at eleven, right? You wanna chill for a bit?"
[Lara Wrathburn] They try to get each other to stay, offering to cover each other so that both can have some fun, but neither of them accept it right off the bat, it just makes Lara smile all the more, they were cute, almost like brother and sister both trying to give each other the leg up.
Lara took the initiate, as she usually does and steps up to both of them looking from one to the other and smiles sweetly at them. "I'm sure they won't miss either of you...you've plenty of time, you should learn to enjoy it while you can." She says casually, but at the same time, that siren, that song of her's calls them to stay, almost...demands that they do so.
"We could get to know each other better, I've made it something of a mission to know as many of the mage's here in the city." She says as she steps between them, and then toward the door back into the house. "Besides...we really should enjoy the A/C while we can..." She says with a wry laugh as she slide the door open, and gestured inside.
[Manip+Exp]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] He said he'd leave it alone. Said he'd turn his back on the library, on the fruitless search. Said he'd come back into the social fold. Come back to this form of reality.
It was a slow process.
Bare feet came bounding down the steps, a sort of falling, tumbling gallop that had the man's too-long hair bouncing and flopping. He needed a haircut. He didn't need a shave. He did need shoes, but then again, this place felt so comfortable once you forgave its more gruesome history. It felt so much like a home. Who could blame him for running about in torn jeans, a faded graphic T, and no shoes?
Wharil makes way for the kitchen, one of the only places he tends to be scene other than the library, and there only certain people would see him. But, the sound of voices calls to him and before he can actually arrive at his usual sandwich station, he's changing course and heading for the back door instead.
Curiosity painted across his face, he lingers just in sight. Surveying and listening in before he brings any attention to himself.
[Israel Cohen] Heedless of the fact that there is still some crumbled dirt [rich, fertile, dark] on her hands, she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms as she comes up the last step from the basement to the first floor, barely managing to cover her mouth as a yawn overtakes her. It leaves a streak of dirt along her left cheek, just below the eye, like an American football player who forgot to get their Eye Black on both sides. Her side bag, slung over one shoulder, the strap nestled between her breasts: She's wearing a plain black t-shirt, so it's not like the straps shifts anything to become provocative. Israel doesn't do provocative. Her jeans are faded, her Doc Marten's scuffed up. This is her 'work' close so far as these kinds of tasks goes. Whatever the tasks, her side bag is is bulkier than usual, its contents making occasional muffled clinking noises as she moves towards the kitchen, a bit overburdened: Given her lack of physical strength it is about as easy to overburden her muscles as it is to tower over her in height.
[Emily Littleton] The path to the Chantry is well-worn in Emily's head, oft traveled. It's a war path (no exaggeration) now between her flat and this porch. Whether by El or by car or by rideshare or by bus -- Emily keeps finding her way back to the white-picket-fence house, with all its ill portents and politics. This is thrice in as many days.
She's wearing a white polo and jeans. There is no glint of silver at her throat (still); her hair is pulled back into a low gathering at the base of her neck. Her messenger, a near constant companion, hangs at her side; its strap crosses her shoulder to hip.
The Chantry door opens, spilling the cool of the air conditioned inner air out into an already hot (and rising) day. Emily steps through that portal, closes it behind her, and moves into the house. There is no Hello, the house today. Just the sound of footsteps (tennies squeak on wood floors) trailing toward the message board. This is what she checks first, as if there'd be any new news since the night before.
Then on to the kitchen, where Israel is found standing. "Hello, Israel," she says, her voice less worn and more resonant than it's been in recent night. Despite the burden they all carry, Emily is mending; Emily is recovering.
[Riley Poole] Outside, a step away from being inside again, Riley is half in her work clothes, half in something casual. Her wavy hair has been twisted and pinned in place with a clip, and she's wearing her short-sleeved white button-down, the thin black tie loosened around her neck. Rather than the impractical black skirt, however, she's wearing denim shorts and her black and white Converse high-tops. It's almost a style, but mostly it's a rebellion. Chuck has been subjected to Riley's rant about the women's Geek Squad uniform so many times now he can probably recite it word for word back at her.
Lara slides open the patio door and invites the VAs into the air conditioned comfort of the house. To 'get to know each other better.' As much as she may want to stick around, and with Lara and Chuck both encouraging her to stay, Riley quirks her mouth. "Man, I have been dealing with Pervy McPervson since before you were born," she teases. "I can handle myself." Then she leans in close, tugs him down so that he's closer to her height, making it easier to whisper in his ear.
[Riley Poole] "You should stick around and get to know a new girl," she whispers.
to Chuck Carmichael
[Lara Wrathburn] [Per+Alert What are you whispering there..]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [it's a seekrit!: char + subt]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Riley Poole] [no seriously]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Wharil Choc] [Per+Alert: Ooh! Sekrit!]
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 7, 7, 9, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Chuck Carmichael] Riley tugs and Chuck leans in - it's effortless, how they do this. There's no thought that goes into it; the two VAs simply work together. Sometimes people click. A grin tugs at his lips and he whispers back . . .
. . . and then turns his attention to Lara. "Yeah, I'll hang out. I've got my 'berry if they need me badly enough." And so inside it is, still with Riley for now - when she chooses to leave, it will be as easy as arriving together had been. Air conditioning is a relief, it must be said, though he's a midwestern boy to begin with - not impervious so much as used to it.
"How long have you been here, Lara? And from where?" This is, of course, about two steps inside the house from the patio.
[Chuck Carmichael] "Alright, gimme a call if you need me. Youngster." Teasing, always.
to Riley Poole
[Wharil Choc] There's something about Wharil Choc's eyes. They were large, glassy things. Not Japanese Anime large, but certainly quite large indeed. They caught things. They saw more than what was expected. And they also showed a lot more than what was expected. For instance, when his eyes watch Passively at two VA's outside, analyzing their familiar whisper, and suddenly shift the young woman he barely recognized, they betray a puckish sort of curiosity.
His arms fold across his chest as the others enter. The movement of doing so, coupled with the slight smirk, are the only things that bring attention to himself.
Lara. What else could she learn just by standing here, he wondered.
[Lara Wrathburn] "Oh....I'm from all over the place...and I'm only just arriving in the city, maybe..a few weeks." She says casually as she steps inside and realizes they are not alone, they had been surrounded, Israel, Emily, and some new mage who she hadn't met before, but this seemed to throw her for a loop, she hadn't anticipated or seen any of this and it was a little confounding, a little...unsettling.
But the fiery headed cultist kept her cool as she slipped through the crowd, moving to find a bit of space amongst all the bodies before she turns to Chuck and Riley and winks at them. "Sorry...I just remembered, I've a very specific time to be ready for...I'll have to catch you both again....very soon." She says with certainty, because how did you hide from someone who knew where you were going to be afterall?
At that she turned and strode towards the front door, intent on getting out of there.
((Sorry folks, gotta bail from here, will catch you all soon though!))
[Emily Littleton] Emily is in the kitchen, near the diminutive Orphan, with her hands wrapped around the strap of her messenger bag, when the others enter the house. Chuck's voice is familiar, and it draws her attention up and away from Israel. She cants her head, curiously, to one side.
The Adepts in her cabal did not normally make an effort to visit the Chantry. Riley did, more than Chuck, but it was infrequent that she found them here. Her eyes narrowed somewhat at the name that left Chuck's lips, Lara. Instead of wandering out to say hey and how are you, Emily fixed herself a glass of water and took up a leaning residence against one wall.
She could listen, much like Wharil was, and talk to Israel. It wasn't eavesdropping if she just happened to be there.
[Israel Cohen] "Hullo, Emily... Wharil." These are who she notices first. [she feels them first; then hears and smells them]. With a small grunt of effort she gets the side-bag onto the kitchen counter near the fridge and starts to locate the right cabinet [she taps cabinet handles with outstretched finger tips, the pattern memorized] that holds glasses. Acquiring one requires half boosting herself up on the counter [note to self: by a step stool for the Chantry kitchen] because someone pushed them further back than she's used to... others enter. "Hullo, Riley and... Chuck, yes?" They've only met briefly. The smile she offers in their very general direction, though, is quietly warm; dirt smudges on her face notwithstanding.
She has some sense of Lara being there.. then gone.
Over to the fridge she goes to find the Brita water pitcher, speaking towards Emily as she goes, "How are you doing, Emily? You sound well..."
[Riley Poole] They enter the house to find it much more occupied than when they stepped outside, looking to introduce themselves to a stranger. That's what they do, the two Virtual Adepts. Unlike the stereotype, they're both friendly, outgoing, personable. Well, Riley is until someone hits a button, sets off her temper, earns her wrath.
The collection of folks within do not quite gain her ire, though the three (as she's going to think of them for at least a minute or two more) cockblockers do get a stern look and a smile with a slight edge to it. Because Lara is leaving, out the front doors and not up the stairs to one of the bedrooms, or wherever it was she had been wanting to steal the tech geeks away to. "Butter luck next time, Chuckles," she says, sighing.
Then, "Hey, guys." Too bright. Riley never was good at disguising disappointment, even if that disappointment was felt on behalf of her friends and not herself.
[Emily Littleton] For all her lack of sight, Israel picks up on more than the Singer-to-be might. She struggles, at moments, and overcomes the physical limitation. Emily stays out of the other Orphan's way, helps where her help would not become hindrance, and says, plainly: "I am well. Though, Israel? You've got something on your cheek..."
This is not said with worry. It's just dirt, not gore or taint or anything darker. Just dirt from the garden, or possibly the well.
The others file in and get a smile from Emily. Even her somewhat-estranged cabalmates. "Hey, Riley," she says. The British girl has given ground, accepted Hey as a reasonable greeting. They're changing her, these affable Vdepts. Even in absence they're bending her, slightly.
"Hi Chuck. Wharil."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Hey," he says, and doesn't hesitate to go give Emily a hug - not tight [restraint] but there [comfort, friendship]. The greeting includes everyone (the guy he can't quite see unless he looks just right, and even then forgets, the short blind woman) for all that he goes straight to his ex-girlfriend, and for all that Riley's disappointed at Lara's departure, Chuck doesn't seem overly so.
(He doesn't think there are even any video games in the Chantry.)
"Yeah, I'm Chuck. Nice to see you again Israel." Try. Focus. Focus. There's someone else sharing the space. You know it. "And to meet you. Um . . ."
[Israel Cohen] "Do I?" There's a faint rise of dusky-rose colour along olive-kissed complexion; not full on embarrassment or self-consciousness, but a pesky biological reaction to having something amiss pointed out with her appearance. It was worse five years ago; now days she's learned not to become so flustered over it, but some physiological response stubbournly remain. Her lips quirk as her shoulders shrug, a such is life: messy kind of gesture. "Thanks." Soft spoken though it is the word is earnest. Rather than get dirty hands on the pitcher, she closes the door with a bump of her hip and moves to the sink, cautiously so as not to bump into Emily or anyone else who might be near and not mindful that she's moving.
"You too, Chuck."
Her hands glide along drawer handles - guiding her; they run over the sink edge, over stainless steal until she finds the handle.. and begins washing her hands and then her face.
[Wharil Choc] "Hi." He finally says in an unremarkable voice. Wharil circles around the VA's, heading over toward the Kitchen counter instead and leaning there, all polite smiles.
"So who was that?" He asks. "That Lara person?"
[Emily Littleton] Chuck hugs her and Emily, for all her recent stiffness, slips an arm around him and hugs him back. It's a little restrained, given their change of status, but it's not uncomfortable. Things had always been easy-going between them, and this separation hasn't seemed to change that just yet. Besides, with demons loose on the city and her recent transgressions (broken commandments [matters of interpretation]), a hug was far from truly alarming.
"Oh, Lara lives here now," Emily tells Wharil. Helpfully. She even smiles, politely. Sweetly. Not an ill-word spoken, exactly, but it's hard to miss that there's no love lost between Emily and the red-headed Cultist.
[Riley Poole] It doesn't surprise Riley that Emily's reaction to Lara is less than one hundred percent positive, and not because of the strain that's been between the two apprentices the last few weeks. Women like Lara, Riley has learned, will inspire fairly polar reactions from other women. It's why Riley is content to remain fairly laid back as far as her personality goes. With her temper, after all, who knows how she'd react if someone decided to feel catty toward her.
Still, she steps into the kitchen and holds up her own wall, thumbs hooked into her pockets, and for a moment she just watches Emily. No ill will on her part, not even any tension. Riley just watches her still slightly estranged friend.
"I didn't realize people actually live here."
[Israel Cohen] "She's been staying here, yes." This spoken after time is taken to complete her cleansing. "Though who told her about it I've yet to find out. Still, she made it past the exterior Wards and I sense nothing malevolent from her." Per se... the woman's Resonance made Israel wary, but not in the sense of fearing actual corruption. Entropic Resonance was just.. difficult.. that way. With the amount of it the blind woman carries [and increased as of late] she isn't too quick to be judgmental. Still, caution is often a virtue... "Still," She finds the handle of the drawer on the left of the sink, pulling out a clean dish towel and patting her face and hands. "I've placed a Ban around the entrance of the Basement and the Library. It keyed to allow access to those who know they are formally accepted chantry members."
Paranoid?
Hell yes. Even if her version of it tends to be more subtle than the Priests.
[Wharil Choc] "Hm." Is all he really says to that. The waning smile on his face works against the grain of his voice. A hand goes up to try and seize the tumult of hair on his head.
"I need a haircut. Think I 'm gonna go do that now, actually. You folks uh...Well. Be safe, everybody."
And with very little urgency, Wharil Choc wanders off again.
[Wharil Choc] ((thanks for keeping me occupied folks!))
[Chuck Carmichael] ".....huh. I didn't know people . . ."
And there it is, his 'berry going off with the tone that means work [everybody's workin' for the weekend!] (shh! Never mind that it's supposed to be a completely different phone and Chuck broke the rules by routing work calls through his own Blackberry), and he rolls his eyes, stepping away from Em.
"That's us, Riley - we gotta roll. You ready?" And after polite goodbyes, he's on his way out.
[Riley Poole] Riley watches Emily for a moment, noting the changes in the younger girl. Not really so much a girl in the older woman's eyes. Maybe the last month has forced her to grow a little more. Maybe now she'll stop running away, or at least stop pushing Riley away.
Though things have been strained to some degree since that first time Emily showed her Life, there's no sign of it now. The VA has been biding her time since that night at the bar. It may surprise some to know that Riley Poole has the capacity for incredible patience.
So long as no one's setting off triggers or punching her buttons.
People start making their way out of the kitchen, going about their business of getting hair cuts, or working down in the basement. Speaking of work.
"Great," flat and unenthusiastic, "Pervy McPervson, here we come." Her disappointment on Chuck's behalf gone now, her smile for Emily is warmer. She even winks. "See ya, Emily." And the Geek Squadders make their escape.
[Emily Littleton] "Have fun stormin' the castle," she says, to the disappearing Vdepts. Emily doesn't bother to impersonate the voice, but she knows at least one pop reference to make them smile. Her friends get a little wave, friendlier than she's been of late, and then the Apprentice pushes off of her lean and announces. "I'm going to head upstairs to study some more. Israel, whenever you like, we can talk about those names. You seem to have your hands full just now, though, so it can wait."
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Cartomancy
[cartomancy] Jess Rules:
Pft. You totally already know, but I'ma repeat for the record.
1. Trust.
2. Fun.
3. Not gonna do things regular-like. If you don't think you can handle going outside've the rules-lines a little? It's okay, I'm not offended, but you might wanna step back, because by posting in this scene you accept my decisions.
4. Remember Trust? Is good for all. Fosters relationships. Makes the world shine.
First post is coming.
[cartomancy] Best Buy.
Ah, Best Buy. That fortress of the digital age. That metropolis of megabytes [please, fool (old school, last year, yester-day)]. The center point at which all things that are hot, that are sleek, that are more-than-just-a-Mac are gathered up and offered in boxes, on shelves that don't quite gleam, purveyed by men and women in shirts the friendly blue of that Lego most-favored for chewing, back in the day. Best Buy: where people come, bringing their broken communication-centers, hoping that with a few taps of a keyboard, they'll be fixed, and when they're fixed, it'll all be okay [and maybe it won't cost anything (the warranty wasn't up, sir, i could've sworn)].
This is where Charles Carmichael [assuming that's his identity (for now)] is to be found. Earning a living wage
from the man.
He's on break. The Geek Squad car is parked in the lot next to another Geek Squad car. He's in the breakroom. Doing whatever it is Chuck Charmichael does when he's in the breakroom. And then -
to Carmichael
[Carmichael] [Per + Aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to cartomancy
[Carmichael] [Per + Aware reroll!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Failure at target 8)
to cartomancy
[cartomancy]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
to Carmichael
[Nathan Spriggs] [Tempting fate is what I do]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9) [WP]
[Carmichael] Best Buy.
It's a mecca, really, a holy land - not that Chuck can't and hasn't built things that outstrip anything here, but there are the video games. And the music. And the movies. And . . . well. Basically, Best Buy is Chuck's mother ship. Things are clean. Things are - at least at the beginning of any given day - well organized. Things are shiny and new, and the very air breathes progress, whispers new.
He's on break, though, which means he's sprawled back in a chair under horrid fluorescent lighting, toying with a Rubick's cube - kicking it old school, today. His laptop bag is next to him, at his feet, but untouched for the moment as he arranges the colors perfectly in record time, then comprehensively destroys said pattern to do so again.
Ah, Best Buy.
to cartomancy
[cartomancy] They've got walky talkies at Best Buy. Headsets, too. Their overhead system is shit. Ironic, huh? But that's what it is: pure fucking shit. Listening to the overhead system is like listening to another language; it takes a certain number of weeks before the Best Buy employee is acclimated to what passes for English, coming out've those speakers. And what's coming out of those speakers is this: Code Adam. Code Adam. Code Adam.
And what's coming over the walky talkies and the headsets is this: red tennis shoes with sparkly laces. A little over three feet. Eight years old. Gray eyes, red hair.
There is some Thing off-kilter, some Thing a-foot. He 'hears' it: it resonates in his bones like an E minor chord.
to Carmichael
[Carmichael] Code Adam comes over the PA and there's that feeling, and Chuck is pulling out a certain Blackberry with the general smoothness of someone who has gone exactly this, a great many times. A few keys are pressed, a program pulled up [There's an app for that!], and Chuck is expanding, moving, growing, progressing where he sits.
He 'hears' something - something musical but off, and E minor is never the most pleasant of chords, he knows, though Bmin/E is worse.
[Scans - Corr, Mind, Entropy, Spirit, Prime, coincidental, -1 focus, -1 taking time]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP]
to cartomancy
[cartomancy] [BWAHAHAHA WE ARE IN PMs.]
[O.O] *kicks rocks*
[cartomancy] He's not supposed to just sit there during a Code Adam. He's not supposed to just sit there like he's some kind of newb, some kind of guy who's never been
He isn't supposed to just sit there during a Code Adam. He isn't supposed to just sit there like he's some kind of newb, some kind of guy who's never, ever even once been around for one of those Code Adam drills. He's definitely not supposed to play with his fucking Blackberry. But: that's what Chuck does, and as he's alone in the breakroom, there's noone to give him a look, and it's not likely anybody's going to come by and give him a look. Not until the kid's been found. Employees are, right now: spreading out, looking, manning the doors, and the manager is standing with the parent by the front door, and they're not letting anybody leave with kids until they've ascertained that the kid who is leaving isn't the kid they're looking for.
But Chuck: he's not just sitting there. He's expanding. He's growth [industry, baby]. He's progress: he's connected, yo. And he's looking for connections. Does he find them?
He does. He finds this: a loose knot [music (humming)] becoming tighter, tighter, more-and-more-compacted, squeezing close, condensing, and just like the first stars, when it condenses, it gains weight, it gains strength, in five different places in Best Buy. The corner, in the television room. The counters, by the registers: the return-counter, the one noone likes to stay by. The dvd-racks. The emergency exit. Two knots of that chord at the emergency exit. They're magick: it's potential. It's Time, and Entropy, and it's Unravelling.
Kids, though? There might've been a kid's mind somewhere in that mess. Might've? There is.
And over the walky talky - 'Uh. Wait. Also ... white sneakers, dirty. Black kid. Cornrows. Green eyes.'
to Carmichael
[cartomancy] Best Buy. That's where Wharil Choc is, or is going. Best Buy, where all manner of supplies can be found.
The front door to Best Buy a maze in and of itself. It isn't meant to clarify: it's meant to confuse. There are two employees there to check people's bags as they leave. They don't usually do a very thorough job. There is a foyer, and it's in this foyer, where the carpet is as gray as a gravestone, that Chuck's manager is standing, a woman with narrow hips, no-nonsense eyes the color of dark wine and short straw-coloured hair, and next to Chuck's manager there is a growing collection of people. A dark-skinned woman with brown-eyes, a blue teeshirt, large breasts, larger hips, tension radiating off her so sharply that it's difficult to breathe near her.
A very, very tall man with a stoop, fuzz on his chin, mellow, sleepless-day eyes, strawberry coloured thinning hair, and he's looking at worriedly at anybody who approaches the front doors to leave, looks like he's going to jerk toward them, jump toward them, each time, especially, especially if there's a kid. And then there's a teenage boy, very All-American, brown-hair, brown-eyes, average, a tattoo hidden cunningly underneath his teeshirt that hopefully noone will ever, ever have to know about, and he's not blinking a lot. He's on his way to a full-out panic.
Again, across the overhead system - Code Adam.
And across the walky talkies - I think I found one.
[Wharil Choc] [Perc (Hidden things) + Alertness (emotions) , diff 8]
[Wharil Choc] [Once more, with DICE!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)
[Wharil Choc] [Perc+Alert, diff 6]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Rerolling that ten]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Failure at target 8)
[Wharil Choc] Most people understood what an interview involved. Most people simply sat back and watched you while you arranged your things on whatever surface was available. Your journal. Your bottle of water. Your recorder.
"What's that?"
"Its my recorder."
"I don't like it."
"Its okay. It'll just sit there and record everything we say--"
"Spying!"
"No, no. Just...so I have something to come back to."
"Why don't you write it down?"
"I try to, but this catches what I miss."
"I don't like it."
"Yes. Well..."
"Get rid of it."
"We could just--"
"Get rid of it, or I will!"
"Well--Senator? Senator, please be careful with that--"
"I said get rid of it!"
"No-No! DON'T!"
And thus, Wharil Choc found himself in a Best Buy, ready to go straight to the electronics when...
What is that? What's that sensation? That tension? Something...something not quite right here. He doesn't freeze, but he slows, taking a moment by the doors to cast nervous eyes around the place, taking in the people he saw. Something amiss here. And it felt like something...Old.
[Carmichael] There are connections - lost is found, and information is Chuck's playground. That's all anything is, isn't it? It's all information, all bits and bytes, all flying about to be caught and read by anyone with the patience and ability to crack the code . . . and Chuck has both. It's handy, really.
There's a Code Adam, which means some poor parent is standing by the front door freaking out about their kid - no, sorry, kids - and now, Chuck gets up from his seat, sticks his blackberry in one pocket, his rubick's cube in his laptop bag, and slings said bag under his shoulder. It's casual, but not slow, his gait - and look, Geek Squad's up in this joint, making a circuit and stopping at particular points of interest.
The television room.
The counters by the registers - return, and general customer service.
The DVD racks.
The emergency exit.
Something's humming-unravelling, something's coming undone, and it's the emergency exit knots that draw his attention most - because there are two, there.
Two kids missing. Two knots. Possibly unrelated, but still.
Hmm.
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Wharil Choc] [Perc+Alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[cartomancy] He. He: Chuck. He comes out of Best Buy's breakroom. He sees one of the younger employees, a girl named Shandra, pronounced like Sh-On-with-a-hoighty-toighty-British-accent-DRUH-like-DRUTHERS, seventeen year olds, not able to work late, not legal for her to work that late, not legal for a lot of things, give Chuck a look and say: "This is weird. You think we should, like, check up the ladders or something?" After he answers, whether it's affirmative or not, she's beating tracks toward electronics.
And Chuck: well. Chuck is going toward the Emergency Exit. There's more than one Emergency Exit, but the one he's honing in on is in the left (sinister) corner of the Best Buy, and secluded. He hears people before he even gets there. A co-worker, Seth, saying:
"Listen, kids."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Kids, just stop."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Your parents are coming. I think."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Please stop - " desperation. His voice is high: pulls like a piece of string, fraying.
Then Seth isn't talking at all. When Chuck arrives, Seth looks worried: very. And there are two children, crouched over the ground like they're going to be playing in the dirt, like they're little frogs, and they're speaking. Saying something: over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over and
Meanwhile, Wharil Choc is at the doors, regarding the situation, taking it in. Taking a lot more than just it in: He spies the kid behind the register, the kid who's tucked up, staring with the same sort've eyes one sees in kids who live in places where life isn't really guaranteed, with the bags, holding a scanner. It's no wonder that the adults at the doors don't notice the kid.
The kid: whose eyes fix on Wharil's.
He is mouthing something: over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over
[Carmichael] [Wits + Linguistics]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 6 (Failure at target 9)
[Carmichael] [Wits + Enigmas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 9)
[cartomancy] [NPC Mojo on Chuck?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [NPC +2 Mojo on Chuck?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Linguistics]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 9)
[Carmichael] [wp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Carmichael] "Go on, Seth, Roger's looking for you," he says - no point in keeping names secret when they all have badges. And then, Chuck's casually almost-tripping over one of the kids, being a distraction, being the lovable class clown that all the Best Buy employess know by now. It's Chuck! Chuck is sweet, Chuck is non-threatening. Chuck is of the perpetual friend zone, with everyone. It's almost impossible not to like a guy like Chuck.
He is, of course, using this opportunity to get a look at what they're doing, and to try to get a handle on why.
[cartomancy] "I, uh - they won't stop, Chuck," Seth says. "They just won't stop. I - it's getting into my head, man, it's getting into my head," and he puts his palms against his temples, squeezes inward.
It's getting into Chuck's head, too. Or it wants to get into his head. He casually almost trips over one of the kids and they don't even blink. Literally: they do not blink. They do not appear to notice him. There is absolutely no sign that he even arrived: not as far as they're concerned. And they're still speaking, saying a few words over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and
They're getting into Chuck's head, too. Rather: It is getting into Chuck's head. The music: he can hear it, but louder; like it's trying to swell inside his head, dazzle-him-white. He doesn't let it: it recedes. Still, the pull was strong.
The kids are drawing on the floor. They're using their fingers. Their fingers are getting redder and redder.
[Carmichael] [countermagic! vulgar, witness, -1 focus, -1 quint]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 4 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Carmichael] [roll 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] "Oho!" He says, and makes the last 'O' linger in the shape of his lips. So...here was something oddly familiar. And for the first time, here was the true meaning of that phrase. Absolutely odd. Absolutely out of place. And yet...familiar.
And here was a ruddy young man that barely anybody could accurately place (Asian? No, no. East Indian, maybe? No? West Indian then? Hispanic, Definitely. Cherokee! No? Really?) speaking a language that no one spoke anymore, if you asked certain National Geographic enthusiasts. Of course, no one spoke the form the boy in front of him spoke anymore. That, more than its mere presence, is what has Wharil so suddenly enthused.
If he had his voice recorder he could keep this conversation as evidence. No one would believe it otherwise.
Alas he doesn't, and so there's no one who will later hear the way he speaks comfortably in the fast paced language. Words that sound like tumbling rocks. Like wind through grass and snapping sticks. Words directed at the boy who was looking at him, but not seeing him.
[cartomancy] Wharil comes in close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to be touched. The kid hiding in the register doesn't draw back. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't flicker. Not even a gleam of presence in his eyes to show that Wharil Choc is there, and close, and speaking to him; speaking in a language that most people don't know any more, speaking in a language [from what region, Wharil Choc? What branch?] that is the descendent of the language the kid is speaking [for now]. The kid reaches out to touch Wharil's face. To touch his nose. To trace his features like the kid himself is blind. The kid's fingers are so cold they feel wet [nightsky], but they aren't. The kid doesn't stop talking, either. Doesn't even change rhythm: keeps that, too, although the close listener -- or Wharil Choc -- would hear new sounds, new words, maybe.
[Carmichael] Seth doesn't do what Chuck's said. He doesn't listen, maybe can't if that swelling crash-boom-white of music in his own head is any indication. And so, Chuck tries to do what any Fixer of [Programs(Objects)Problems] Things might, and tries to fix it. He targets it well enough, but after that, it simply fizzles, drifts away on a crescendo, on an Emin chord.
Damn kids. Always messing up the store. They're cute, until they do something stupid.
(Hey, you, get offa my lawn!)
What he tries? It fails. So it's the next best thing, and to hell with the rules - he scoops a kid up under each arm, unceremoniously.
[Carmichael] [Str + Ath (I CAN DOOOO EEEET)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[cartomancy] Alas, poor Charles Carmichael. He is not going to impress the ladies with his muscles today. He scoops a kid up under each arm -- or tries, anwyay. They're heavy things, kids. They're dead weight. He's gotta put more back into it then that.
They still don't stop doing what it is they're doing: murmuring to themselves in unison. Perfectly balanced.
[Wharil Choc] "Aha." He says, and even though it matches the language and dialect he'd been previously speaking, there's a more modern, cynical sound to it. 'Aha' as if to mean '...Riiiiight.'
And here he was with some weird kid touching his face. With cold, creepy hands.
Alright. Nothing on the surface so far. Lets look a little deeper, shall we?
The Albireo teach very little. They look among the body of the tradition, the regular up and comers, for those who already embody the Albireo ideal. When the arm of the Vrati told Wharil that they were interested, they didn't say 'here are things you should learn how to do.' Instead, they said 'Do the things that you already do, and get better at them.'
They didn't teach Wharil search into minds, into bodies, into souls, and to look for corruption there. But they sure do like that he knows how. And so, its with a smudge of ash from his medicine pouch to the kid's forehead, with one hand reaching for a knife at his ankle, and with his lips whispering, not quietly, a chant in a similar language that the kid was speaking, that he begins to do just that.
[Wharil Choc] [Checking for Corruption of the Mind: Mind 2 (for deeper checks) Entropy 1 - Coincidental Effect, Diff 2+3,-1 for Foci, -1 for Practiced Rote]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Wharil Choc] [Searching Corruption of the Body: Diff 1+3-1]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 6 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Wharil Choc] [Searching Corruption of the Spirit]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 3)
[cartomancy] [NPC Doom Kid Mojo: on Wharil?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Let's try this again, shall we?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [Doom NPC +1: Bite Chuck. Brawl + Dex]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [Doom NPC +2: Bite Chuck. Brawl + Dex.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Not getting bitten by rabid little beasts is made of win. (Dex + um . . . dodge?)]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] There's picking up, with much struggle . . . and then the little shits try to bite him. He escapes teeth, just barely! And shufflejuggles, trying to keep hold . . . for a moment, before letting them fall - it's not far, unlikely to hurt, and might distract. Then, look, a Blackberry! It's good for everything. Like setting off fire alarms and disrupting the harmonics.
[cartomancy] Seth - "Jesus, Chuck. What the fuck. Two little kids just ninjaed you. Do you think they're having a seizure?"
[Wharil Choc] When he pulls back his jaws are set. No longer curious. Well, that's a lie. He was certainly curious, but no longer willing to engage his own curiosity. He stops touching at the knife at his ankle. He wipes the ash off the kid's brow. (A boy? A girl? Neither?) He takes a moment to stare straight into the child's face.
And a moment later he's wrapping his arms around him, preparing to pick him up. Now...where were those others that he felt?
[cartomancy] The kid (boy? [nothing]) looks at Wharil blankly. There's still no change. Not to his expression. When Wharil takes the kid by the hand, though: the kid is taken. No will of his own: puppet. Unfolds from beneath the register. Not too far away, parents are still looking for him (and others). Looks at Wharil still. Has not stopped speaking. Rhythm has not changed.
But he gets louder. Louder, and louder, and louder, and the manager is looking over. Sees Wharil, but he doesn't stick in the mind. Sees the kid, and the kid sticks in mind. The kid, with shoes that have been reported as belonging to one of the missing kids. The manager keeps an eye on both Wharil and the kid.
[cartomancy] - and the fire alarm goes off -
screams. Best Buy has a decent fire alarm system; far better than the overhead. The sound of it is like nails: driven in to the brain. The manager freezes, taking a step toward Wharil, toward the boy. The boy's voice is drowned out by the sound of it.
[cartomancy] The two children fall bonelessly to the ground. They don't look as if they meant to bite Chuck, but he knows how quick they were: like fast zombies. Except: no. Not something to joke about in Chicago. Not the way things are going. Not with how frequent zombies, cropping up here, there, like weeds, an occurence zombies are becoming. They don't stop murmuring, though they pick themselves up off the ground, and hold hands, then look at Chuck.
Seth says - "Chuck. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Leave? I'll get one. Can you take the other?"
Customers all over the store are pausing, stopping. They're not yet making their way to any of the exits. After all, there's no fire. They want their DVDs. Lost is on sale.
[Wharil Choc] Wharil's eyes widen as he listens to the babbling boy. Brows doing a jittering dance between confusion and recognition. He looks up one second, looking toward the Manager who seems to be paying some attention to him. No, not to him. To the now shouting child. He flinches slightly as the fire alarm suddenly sounds. And then? The manager approaches.
Great, Wharil. Now you look like a kidnapper.
His eyes close again. And again, his lips move. Its not loud this time. It doesn't need to be. He's the only one who needs to hear it, and he does. In his chest. And through the vibration in his chest into his soul. And through the vibration of his soul, into the room. A nervous, jittery vibration. Fire alarm. Danger. Get out, he tells the room. Must get out. Must get out!
[Wharil Choc] [Mind 2: Diff 2+3-1(focus)-1(Resonance)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Carmichael] "Follow procedure, and yes, you take one. I'll take the other. Stay away from other kids, yeah? These little guys need a time out."
And Chuck needs to figure something out. Needs to know, because without knowledge and learning, there's no progress, no security, and Chuck needs both. Chuck is both. The fire alarm is going off and it's like needles to the brain, but Chuck is focused. He's cutting through the bullshit, or trying to, to get to the meat of it.
[First! Per + Aware, with diff not changed but . . . whatever Jess says it is.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Next! Per + Alert, same caveat!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [And last, Wits + Enigmas for good measure. Intuitive specialty! See previous caveat.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[cartomancy] This time, Chuck can feel -- not just the solidified knot of E minor, growing in strength toward the front of the store, coming closer, closer to conflageration, but also -- Wharil Choc. The nervous, jittery feeling: something just before a storm. The man, Working.
"Which procedure?" says Seth as he, reluctantly, goes to scoop up the boy. The boy bites him; he yells. The boy bites him and: just fastens on like a bullhound. This does not stop the boy from murmuring, murmuring, from trying to speak. The girl falters, though, for a second. And when she falters -
The lights flicker. She does not try to bite Chuck again if he tries to pick her up.
[cartomancy] Best Buy is very, very large. The manager, the teenager, the woman with large hips, the man with a scruffy goatee: three and one worried people, people worried for children who've wandered off, or who are being stolen away, taken away by a nondescript guy who is ethnic [racism. it exists.] and looks like he's nervous, or at least exudes that feeling, and okay, we're getting specific here, but the manager spotted Wharil after all, and was taking a step over. Then: bam.
Wharil's will is potent, and anxiety, already present, fans into flames: the manager, the teenager, woman, goatee-guy. The fire alarm keeps going, and the woman rushes out, then the manager, opening the door, yelling at a security guard, then the guy with a goatee. The teenager, though: he takes a step further in, says, "But Hallie's still - "
"Probably outside. Probably a trick. Fuck, or maybe the place is on fire."
"Then shouldn't we - "
The argument is occupying his attention. Employees, without instructions, have begun to push the customers out. Toward the doors. They keep a couple people at the emergency exits.
Chuck has two children with him. Wharil has one. There are two more children in Best Buy who aren't moving, who aren't moved, by the fire alarm. The lights flicker, again. Like they're batting their eyelashes.
[Carmichael] "Village of the fucking Damned," Chuck mutters. "Damn zombies."
And that's before the little shit bites Seth. Which gets a startled yelp from Chuck, with his vague near-phobia of blood and spit and anything else that comes out of a person when it isn't supposed to, where it isn't supposed to. He doesn't pick up the girl again. What he does? Direct. To the point. Blackberry! Play your sleepy-time tone.
Up comes the app.
Phone? To kid's ear.
Sleep, sweet child, sleep. Calm, and rest.
[Mind 1, coincidental, -1 focus, maaaaaaaaybe -1 resonance. Setting diff at 4 and trusting ST's judgement! Also, this leaves Chuck with 3WP, for personal reference.]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] Someone...someone might still see them. Someone was still looking for them. But this...this was better than nothing. This meant he could move, maybe. This meant he could take this one, and find the others. The other four, he was willing to guess.
"Right. Right." He says, still watching the ones lingering at the door. And with the child's hand in his, he says the word for 'Desolation' again. And he tries his luck, moving from behind the register with the child's hand in his, and heading back toward where he felt the others.
[cartomancy] The child sleeps. He can't doubt that: it works. Chuck feels that it works. The child's body, the girl's body: it un-strings itself, untethers. This does not stop her from standing up, from looking at him with those blank, blank eyes, from trying to speak. But the rhythm is broken now: skips, stutters -- and where the rhythm breaks, and the lights flicker; that's where her eyes droop. To Chuck, it might look as if she just stares, in spite of his best attempt. She reaches out for him. Her hands are small. Her movements, though: they're slow.
The boy with Wharil: he swallows. His throat hurts. This doesn't mean he's stopping, though: he's still chanting, he won't stop, but he's becoming harder for Wharil to understand, he's slipping out of the language Wharil is familiar with, into another, and the words get all mixed up, all tangled, until the Mayan Wharil hears is almost nonsense. The boy's squeezes Wharil's hand.
There's a rhythm there, too. If Wharil knows morse code.
And Wharil -- he's going directly into Best Buy, and people are avoiding him. People see him, and they nervously head toward the doors. So is Wharil, really: he's heading toward the Emergency Exit. He's almost there when he feels some of that off-kilter wrongness, some of that E-minor, very, very near, burning more brightly, growing stronger, loud enough to rattle his teeth.
Lights out.
- They shut off.
[Wharil Choc] "Shhhhit!" He hisses as the lights suddenly fail. He stops in his tracks, knowing better than to wander around in the dark.
"CHARMICHAEL!" he shouts out, hoping that he's louder than the alarm. "YOU STILL BACK THERE? THIS WAY! TO ME!"
He tries to sound strong. He tries to sound steady and in control. In reality, he's still a bit confused. His heart is beginning to race. He's sweating. And this odd child is still squeezing away at his hand.
"Ohhh...christ..."
[cartomancy] The alarm is still going. The boy turns his head. No: whatever it is, occupying the boy -- that's what turns his head. There is a child: dim shape behind him. The boy who is holding Wharil's hand. The boy, Wharil's hand is holding. Coming closer, blazing; so loud, the sound, that it really does hurt his teeth, that it almost drowns out his own resonance: The boy screams something, screams something, and the child behind the boy is screaming something, and the boy who bit Seth Chuck's co-worker screams, too, and the girl Chuck doesn't want to touch, wants to send asleep, she also screams, and screams, and it's a word, but it's not in a language either of them knows. The word: it dazzles, it is radiance, but urgent, want-to-say-something, listen-up: it touches their eyes and makes them See things in water (or will), and then, then: gone. Snuffed out. The boy blinks his eyes, looks at Wharil, says: "Uh, HEY." Snatches his hand back and look at Wharil like he's a molestor. The boy who bit Seth starts to cry. The other child -- somewhere, somewhere by the television -- wanders toward the DVDs, wondering vaguely where everybody went.
The lights come back on. The people from without: they flood back inside. The police are here.
So is the fire department.
[Wharil Choc] Wharil only barely looks confused at all this. But power like that. Anything like that, anything so old...couldn't stay here very long. It was gone now. He could accept that. He could also accept a child just waking up from a dream and finding himself being led by a stranger.
"Uhh...shit..."
It was officially time to leave. There was an emergency exit back here, right?
[cartomancy] [Roll Credits]
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Investigation]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
Pft. You totally already know, but I'ma repeat for the record.
1. Trust.
2. Fun.
3. Not gonna do things regular-like. If you don't think you can handle going outside've the rules-lines a little? It's okay, I'm not offended, but you might wanna step back, because by posting in this scene you accept my decisions.
4. Remember Trust? Is good for all. Fosters relationships. Makes the world shine.
First post is coming.
[cartomancy] Best Buy.
Ah, Best Buy. That fortress of the digital age. That metropolis of megabytes [please, fool (old school, last year, yester-day)]. The center point at which all things that are hot, that are sleek, that are more-than-just-a-Mac are gathered up and offered in boxes, on shelves that don't quite gleam, purveyed by men and women in shirts the friendly blue of that Lego most-favored for chewing, back in the day. Best Buy: where people come, bringing their broken communication-centers, hoping that with a few taps of a keyboard, they'll be fixed, and when they're fixed, it'll all be okay [and maybe it won't cost anything (the warranty wasn't up, sir, i could've sworn)].
This is where Charles Carmichael [assuming that's his identity (for now)] is to be found. Earning a living wage
from the man.
He's on break. The Geek Squad car is parked in the lot next to another Geek Squad car. He's in the breakroom. Doing whatever it is Chuck Charmichael does when he's in the breakroom. And then -
to Carmichael
[Carmichael] [Per + Aware]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to cartomancy
[Carmichael] [Per + Aware reroll!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 7, 7, 8, 9 (Failure at target 8)
to cartomancy
[cartomancy]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6
to Carmichael
[Nathan Spriggs] [Tempting fate is what I do]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 9) [WP]
[Carmichael] Best Buy.
It's a mecca, really, a holy land - not that Chuck can't and hasn't built things that outstrip anything here, but there are the video games. And the music. And the movies. And . . . well. Basically, Best Buy is Chuck's mother ship. Things are clean. Things are - at least at the beginning of any given day - well organized. Things are shiny and new, and the very air breathes progress, whispers new.
He's on break, though, which means he's sprawled back in a chair under horrid fluorescent lighting, toying with a Rubick's cube - kicking it old school, today. His laptop bag is next to him, at his feet, but untouched for the moment as he arranges the colors perfectly in record time, then comprehensively destroys said pattern to do so again.
Ah, Best Buy.
to cartomancy
[cartomancy] They've got walky talkies at Best Buy. Headsets, too. Their overhead system is shit. Ironic, huh? But that's what it is: pure fucking shit. Listening to the overhead system is like listening to another language; it takes a certain number of weeks before the Best Buy employee is acclimated to what passes for English, coming out've those speakers. And what's coming out of those speakers is this: Code Adam. Code Adam. Code Adam.
And what's coming over the walky talkies and the headsets is this: red tennis shoes with sparkly laces. A little over three feet. Eight years old. Gray eyes, red hair.
There is some Thing off-kilter, some Thing a-foot. He 'hears' it: it resonates in his bones like an E minor chord.
to Carmichael
[Carmichael] Code Adam comes over the PA and there's that feeling, and Chuck is pulling out a certain Blackberry with the general smoothness of someone who has gone exactly this, a great many times. A few keys are pressed, a program pulled up [There's an app for that!], and Chuck is expanding, moving, growing, progressing where he sits.
He 'hears' something - something musical but off, and E minor is never the most pleasant of chords, he knows, though Bmin/E is worse.
[Scans - Corr, Mind, Entropy, Spirit, Prime, coincidental, -1 focus, -1 taking time]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 7, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3) [WP]
to cartomancy
[cartomancy] [BWAHAHAHA WE ARE IN PMs.]
[O.O] *kicks rocks*
[cartomancy] He's not supposed to just sit there during a Code Adam. He's not supposed to just sit there like he's some kind of newb, some kind of guy who's never been
He isn't supposed to just sit there during a Code Adam. He isn't supposed to just sit there like he's some kind of newb, some kind of guy who's never, ever even once been around for one of those Code Adam drills. He's definitely not supposed to play with his fucking Blackberry. But: that's what Chuck does, and as he's alone in the breakroom, there's noone to give him a look, and it's not likely anybody's going to come by and give him a look. Not until the kid's been found. Employees are, right now: spreading out, looking, manning the doors, and the manager is standing with the parent by the front door, and they're not letting anybody leave with kids until they've ascertained that the kid who is leaving isn't the kid they're looking for.
But Chuck: he's not just sitting there. He's expanding. He's growth [industry, baby]. He's progress: he's connected, yo. And he's looking for connections. Does he find them?
He does. He finds this: a loose knot [music (humming)] becoming tighter, tighter, more-and-more-compacted, squeezing close, condensing, and just like the first stars, when it condenses, it gains weight, it gains strength, in five different places in Best Buy. The corner, in the television room. The counters, by the registers: the return-counter, the one noone likes to stay by. The dvd-racks. The emergency exit. Two knots of that chord at the emergency exit. They're magick: it's potential. It's Time, and Entropy, and it's Unravelling.
Kids, though? There might've been a kid's mind somewhere in that mess. Might've? There is.
And over the walky talky - 'Uh. Wait. Also ... white sneakers, dirty. Black kid. Cornrows. Green eyes.'
to Carmichael
[cartomancy] Best Buy. That's where Wharil Choc is, or is going. Best Buy, where all manner of supplies can be found.
The front door to Best Buy a maze in and of itself. It isn't meant to clarify: it's meant to confuse. There are two employees there to check people's bags as they leave. They don't usually do a very thorough job. There is a foyer, and it's in this foyer, where the carpet is as gray as a gravestone, that Chuck's manager is standing, a woman with narrow hips, no-nonsense eyes the color of dark wine and short straw-coloured hair, and next to Chuck's manager there is a growing collection of people. A dark-skinned woman with brown-eyes, a blue teeshirt, large breasts, larger hips, tension radiating off her so sharply that it's difficult to breathe near her.
A very, very tall man with a stoop, fuzz on his chin, mellow, sleepless-day eyes, strawberry coloured thinning hair, and he's looking at worriedly at anybody who approaches the front doors to leave, looks like he's going to jerk toward them, jump toward them, each time, especially, especially if there's a kid. And then there's a teenage boy, very All-American, brown-hair, brown-eyes, average, a tattoo hidden cunningly underneath his teeshirt that hopefully noone will ever, ever have to know about, and he's not blinking a lot. He's on his way to a full-out panic.
Again, across the overhead system - Code Adam.
And across the walky talkies - I think I found one.
[Wharil Choc] [Perc (Hidden things) + Alertness (emotions) , diff 8]
[Wharil Choc] [Once more, with DICE!]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)
[Wharil Choc] [Perc+Alert, diff 6]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Rerolling that ten]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6 (Failure at target 8)
[Wharil Choc] Most people understood what an interview involved. Most people simply sat back and watched you while you arranged your things on whatever surface was available. Your journal. Your bottle of water. Your recorder.
"What's that?"
"Its my recorder."
"I don't like it."
"Its okay. It'll just sit there and record everything we say--"
"Spying!"
"No, no. Just...so I have something to come back to."
"Why don't you write it down?"
"I try to, but this catches what I miss."
"I don't like it."
"Yes. Well..."
"Get rid of it."
"We could just--"
"Get rid of it, or I will!"
"Well--Senator? Senator, please be careful with that--"
"I said get rid of it!"
"No-No! DON'T!"
And thus, Wharil Choc found himself in a Best Buy, ready to go straight to the electronics when...
What is that? What's that sensation? That tension? Something...something not quite right here. He doesn't freeze, but he slows, taking a moment by the doors to cast nervous eyes around the place, taking in the people he saw. Something amiss here. And it felt like something...Old.
[Carmichael] There are connections - lost is found, and information is Chuck's playground. That's all anything is, isn't it? It's all information, all bits and bytes, all flying about to be caught and read by anyone with the patience and ability to crack the code . . . and Chuck has both. It's handy, really.
There's a Code Adam, which means some poor parent is standing by the front door freaking out about their kid - no, sorry, kids - and now, Chuck gets up from his seat, sticks his blackberry in one pocket, his rubick's cube in his laptop bag, and slings said bag under his shoulder. It's casual, but not slow, his gait - and look, Geek Squad's up in this joint, making a circuit and stopping at particular points of interest.
The television room.
The counters by the registers - return, and general customer service.
The DVD racks.
The emergency exit.
Something's humming-unravelling, something's coming undone, and it's the emergency exit knots that draw his attention most - because there are two, there.
Two kids missing. Two knots. Possibly unrelated, but still.
Hmm.
[Wharil Choc]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 1
[Wharil Choc] [Perc+Alert]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 6, 7, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[cartomancy] He. He: Chuck. He comes out of Best Buy's breakroom. He sees one of the younger employees, a girl named Shandra, pronounced like Sh-On-with-a-hoighty-toighty-British-accent-DRUH-like-DRUTHERS, seventeen year olds, not able to work late, not legal for her to work that late, not legal for a lot of things, give Chuck a look and say: "This is weird. You think we should, like, check up the ladders or something?" After he answers, whether it's affirmative or not, she's beating tracks toward electronics.
And Chuck: well. Chuck is going toward the Emergency Exit. There's more than one Emergency Exit, but the one he's honing in on is in the left (sinister) corner of the Best Buy, and secluded. He hears people before he even gets there. A co-worker, Seth, saying:
"Listen, kids."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Kids, just stop."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Your parents are coming. I think."
- unintelligible. Another language.
"Please stop - " desperation. His voice is high: pulls like a piece of string, fraying.
Then Seth isn't talking at all. When Chuck arrives, Seth looks worried: very. And there are two children, crouched over the ground like they're going to be playing in the dirt, like they're little frogs, and they're speaking. Saying something: over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over and
Meanwhile, Wharil Choc is at the doors, regarding the situation, taking it in. Taking a lot more than just it in: He spies the kid behind the register, the kid who's tucked up, staring with the same sort've eyes one sees in kids who live in places where life isn't really guaranteed, with the bags, holding a scanner. It's no wonder that the adults at the doors don't notice the kid.
The kid: whose eyes fix on Wharil's.
He is mouthing something: over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over
[Carmichael] [Wits + Linguistics]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 4, 6 (Failure at target 9)
[Carmichael] [Wits + Enigmas]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 9 (Failure at target 9)
[cartomancy] [NPC Mojo on Chuck?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [NPC +2 Mojo on Chuck?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Linguistics]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 9)
[Carmichael] [wp!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 5, 7, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Carmichael] "Go on, Seth, Roger's looking for you," he says - no point in keeping names secret when they all have badges. And then, Chuck's casually almost-tripping over one of the kids, being a distraction, being the lovable class clown that all the Best Buy employess know by now. It's Chuck! Chuck is sweet, Chuck is non-threatening. Chuck is of the perpetual friend zone, with everyone. It's almost impossible not to like a guy like Chuck.
He is, of course, using this opportunity to get a look at what they're doing, and to try to get a handle on why.
[cartomancy] "I, uh - they won't stop, Chuck," Seth says. "They just won't stop. I - it's getting into my head, man, it's getting into my head," and he puts his palms against his temples, squeezes inward.
It's getting into Chuck's head, too. Or it wants to get into his head. He casually almost trips over one of the kids and they don't even blink. Literally: they do not blink. They do not appear to notice him. There is absolutely no sign that he even arrived: not as far as they're concerned. And they're still speaking, saying a few words over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and
They're getting into Chuck's head, too. Rather: It is getting into Chuck's head. The music: he can hear it, but louder; like it's trying to swell inside his head, dazzle-him-white. He doesn't let it: it recedes. Still, the pull was strong.
The kids are drawing on the floor. They're using their fingers. Their fingers are getting redder and redder.
[Carmichael] [countermagic! vulgar, witness, -1 focus, -1 quint]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 4 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Carmichael] [roll 2]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 3, 4 (Failure at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] "Oho!" He says, and makes the last 'O' linger in the shape of his lips. So...here was something oddly familiar. And for the first time, here was the true meaning of that phrase. Absolutely odd. Absolutely out of place. And yet...familiar.
And here was a ruddy young man that barely anybody could accurately place (Asian? No, no. East Indian, maybe? No? West Indian then? Hispanic, Definitely. Cherokee! No? Really?) speaking a language that no one spoke anymore, if you asked certain National Geographic enthusiasts. Of course, no one spoke the form the boy in front of him spoke anymore. That, more than its mere presence, is what has Wharil so suddenly enthused.
If he had his voice recorder he could keep this conversation as evidence. No one would believe it otherwise.
Alas he doesn't, and so there's no one who will later hear the way he speaks comfortably in the fast paced language. Words that sound like tumbling rocks. Like wind through grass and snapping sticks. Words directed at the boy who was looking at him, but not seeing him.
[cartomancy] Wharil comes in close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to be touched. The kid hiding in the register doesn't draw back. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't flicker. Not even a gleam of presence in his eyes to show that Wharil Choc is there, and close, and speaking to him; speaking in a language that most people don't know any more, speaking in a language [from what region, Wharil Choc? What branch?] that is the descendent of the language the kid is speaking [for now]. The kid reaches out to touch Wharil's face. To touch his nose. To trace his features like the kid himself is blind. The kid's fingers are so cold they feel wet [nightsky], but they aren't. The kid doesn't stop talking, either. Doesn't even change rhythm: keeps that, too, although the close listener -- or Wharil Choc -- would hear new sounds, new words, maybe.
[Carmichael] Seth doesn't do what Chuck's said. He doesn't listen, maybe can't if that swelling crash-boom-white of music in his own head is any indication. And so, Chuck tries to do what any Fixer of [Programs(Objects)Problems] Things might, and tries to fix it. He targets it well enough, but after that, it simply fizzles, drifts away on a crescendo, on an Emin chord.
Damn kids. Always messing up the store. They're cute, until they do something stupid.
(Hey, you, get offa my lawn!)
What he tries? It fails. So it's the next best thing, and to hell with the rules - he scoops a kid up under each arm, unceremoniously.
[Carmichael] [Str + Ath (I CAN DOOOO EEEET)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[cartomancy] Alas, poor Charles Carmichael. He is not going to impress the ladies with his muscles today. He scoops a kid up under each arm -- or tries, anwyay. They're heavy things, kids. They're dead weight. He's gotta put more back into it then that.
They still don't stop doing what it is they're doing: murmuring to themselves in unison. Perfectly balanced.
[Wharil Choc] "Aha." He says, and even though it matches the language and dialect he'd been previously speaking, there's a more modern, cynical sound to it. 'Aha' as if to mean '...Riiiiight.'
And here he was with some weird kid touching his face. With cold, creepy hands.
Alright. Nothing on the surface so far. Lets look a little deeper, shall we?
The Albireo teach very little. They look among the body of the tradition, the regular up and comers, for those who already embody the Albireo ideal. When the arm of the Vrati told Wharil that they were interested, they didn't say 'here are things you should learn how to do.' Instead, they said 'Do the things that you already do, and get better at them.'
They didn't teach Wharil search into minds, into bodies, into souls, and to look for corruption there. But they sure do like that he knows how. And so, its with a smudge of ash from his medicine pouch to the kid's forehead, with one hand reaching for a knife at his ankle, and with his lips whispering, not quietly, a chant in a similar language that the kid was speaking, that he begins to do just that.
[Wharil Choc] [Checking for Corruption of the Mind: Mind 2 (for deeper checks) Entropy 1 - Coincidental Effect, Diff 2+3,-1 for Foci, -1 for Practiced Rote]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 10 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Wharil Choc] [Searching Corruption of the Body: Diff 1+3-1]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 3, 6 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Wharil Choc] [Searching Corruption of the Spirit]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 10, 10 (Success x 2 at target 3)
[cartomancy] [NPC Doom Kid Mojo: on Wharil?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 7, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Let's try this again, shall we?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] [WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 5, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [Doom NPC +1: Bite Chuck. Brawl + Dex]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Occult]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[cartomancy] [Doom NPC +2: Bite Chuck. Brawl + Dex.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Not getting bitten by rabid little beasts is made of win. (Dex + um . . . dodge?)]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] There's picking up, with much struggle . . . and then the little shits try to bite him. He escapes teeth, just barely! And shufflejuggles, trying to keep hold . . . for a moment, before letting them fall - it's not far, unlikely to hurt, and might distract. Then, look, a Blackberry! It's good for everything. Like setting off fire alarms and disrupting the harmonics.
[cartomancy] Seth - "Jesus, Chuck. What the fuck. Two little kids just ninjaed you. Do you think they're having a seizure?"
[Wharil Choc] When he pulls back his jaws are set. No longer curious. Well, that's a lie. He was certainly curious, but no longer willing to engage his own curiosity. He stops touching at the knife at his ankle. He wipes the ash off the kid's brow. (A boy? A girl? Neither?) He takes a moment to stare straight into the child's face.
And a moment later he's wrapping his arms around him, preparing to pick him up. Now...where were those others that he felt?
[cartomancy] The kid (boy? [nothing]) looks at Wharil blankly. There's still no change. Not to his expression. When Wharil takes the kid by the hand, though: the kid is taken. No will of his own: puppet. Unfolds from beneath the register. Not too far away, parents are still looking for him (and others). Looks at Wharil still. Has not stopped speaking. Rhythm has not changed.
But he gets louder. Louder, and louder, and louder, and the manager is looking over. Sees Wharil, but he doesn't stick in the mind. Sees the kid, and the kid sticks in mind. The kid, with shoes that have been reported as belonging to one of the missing kids. The manager keeps an eye on both Wharil and the kid.
[cartomancy] - and the fire alarm goes off -
screams. Best Buy has a decent fire alarm system; far better than the overhead. The sound of it is like nails: driven in to the brain. The manager freezes, taking a step toward Wharil, toward the boy. The boy's voice is drowned out by the sound of it.
[cartomancy] The two children fall bonelessly to the ground. They don't look as if they meant to bite Chuck, but he knows how quick they were: like fast zombies. Except: no. Not something to joke about in Chicago. Not the way things are going. Not with how frequent zombies, cropping up here, there, like weeds, an occurence zombies are becoming. They don't stop murmuring, though they pick themselves up off the ground, and hold hands, then look at Chuck.
Seth says - "Chuck. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Leave? I'll get one. Can you take the other?"
Customers all over the store are pausing, stopping. They're not yet making their way to any of the exits. After all, there's no fire. They want their DVDs. Lost is on sale.
[Wharil Choc] Wharil's eyes widen as he listens to the babbling boy. Brows doing a jittering dance between confusion and recognition. He looks up one second, looking toward the Manager who seems to be paying some attention to him. No, not to him. To the now shouting child. He flinches slightly as the fire alarm suddenly sounds. And then? The manager approaches.
Great, Wharil. Now you look like a kidnapper.
His eyes close again. And again, his lips move. Its not loud this time. It doesn't need to be. He's the only one who needs to hear it, and he does. In his chest. And through the vibration in his chest into his soul. And through the vibration of his soul, into the room. A nervous, jittery vibration. Fire alarm. Danger. Get out, he tells the room. Must get out. Must get out!
[Wharil Choc] [Mind 2: Diff 2+3-1(focus)-1(Resonance)]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 3)
[Carmichael] "Follow procedure, and yes, you take one. I'll take the other. Stay away from other kids, yeah? These little guys need a time out."
And Chuck needs to figure something out. Needs to know, because without knowledge and learning, there's no progress, no security, and Chuck needs both. Chuck is both. The fire alarm is going off and it's like needles to the brain, but Chuck is focused. He's cutting through the bullshit, or trying to, to get to the meat of it.
[First! Per + Aware, with diff not changed but . . . whatever Jess says it is.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [Next! Per + Alert, same caveat!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 6, 6, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Carmichael] [And last, Wits + Enigmas for good measure. Intuitive specialty! See previous caveat.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[cartomancy] This time, Chuck can feel -- not just the solidified knot of E minor, growing in strength toward the front of the store, coming closer, closer to conflageration, but also -- Wharil Choc. The nervous, jittery feeling: something just before a storm. The man, Working.
"Which procedure?" says Seth as he, reluctantly, goes to scoop up the boy. The boy bites him; he yells. The boy bites him and: just fastens on like a bullhound. This does not stop the boy from murmuring, murmuring, from trying to speak. The girl falters, though, for a second. And when she falters -
The lights flicker. She does not try to bite Chuck again if he tries to pick her up.
[cartomancy] Best Buy is very, very large. The manager, the teenager, the woman with large hips, the man with a scruffy goatee: three and one worried people, people worried for children who've wandered off, or who are being stolen away, taken away by a nondescript guy who is ethnic [racism. it exists.] and looks like he's nervous, or at least exudes that feeling, and okay, we're getting specific here, but the manager spotted Wharil after all, and was taking a step over. Then: bam.
Wharil's will is potent, and anxiety, already present, fans into flames: the manager, the teenager, woman, goatee-guy. The fire alarm keeps going, and the woman rushes out, then the manager, opening the door, yelling at a security guard, then the guy with a goatee. The teenager, though: he takes a step further in, says, "But Hallie's still - "
"Probably outside. Probably a trick. Fuck, or maybe the place is on fire."
"Then shouldn't we - "
The argument is occupying his attention. Employees, without instructions, have begun to push the customers out. Toward the doors. They keep a couple people at the emergency exits.
Chuck has two children with him. Wharil has one. There are two more children in Best Buy who aren't moving, who aren't moved, by the fire alarm. The lights flicker, again. Like they're batting their eyelashes.
[Carmichael] "Village of the fucking Damned," Chuck mutters. "Damn zombies."
And that's before the little shit bites Seth. Which gets a startled yelp from Chuck, with his vague near-phobia of blood and spit and anything else that comes out of a person when it isn't supposed to, where it isn't supposed to. He doesn't pick up the girl again. What he does? Direct. To the point. Blackberry! Play your sleepy-time tone.
Up comes the app.
Phone? To kid's ear.
Sleep, sweet child, sleep. Calm, and rest.
[Mind 1, coincidental, -1 focus, maaaaaaaaybe -1 resonance. Setting diff at 4 and trusting ST's judgement! Also, this leaves Chuck with 3WP, for personal reference.]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Wharil Choc] Someone...someone might still see them. Someone was still looking for them. But this...this was better than nothing. This meant he could move, maybe. This meant he could take this one, and find the others. The other four, he was willing to guess.
"Right. Right." He says, still watching the ones lingering at the door. And with the child's hand in his, he says the word for 'Desolation' again. And he tries his luck, moving from behind the register with the child's hand in his, and heading back toward where he felt the others.
[cartomancy] The child sleeps. He can't doubt that: it works. Chuck feels that it works. The child's body, the girl's body: it un-strings itself, untethers. This does not stop her from standing up, from looking at him with those blank, blank eyes, from trying to speak. But the rhythm is broken now: skips, stutters -- and where the rhythm breaks, and the lights flicker; that's where her eyes droop. To Chuck, it might look as if she just stares, in spite of his best attempt. She reaches out for him. Her hands are small. Her movements, though: they're slow.
The boy with Wharil: he swallows. His throat hurts. This doesn't mean he's stopping, though: he's still chanting, he won't stop, but he's becoming harder for Wharil to understand, he's slipping out of the language Wharil is familiar with, into another, and the words get all mixed up, all tangled, until the Mayan Wharil hears is almost nonsense. The boy's squeezes Wharil's hand.
There's a rhythm there, too. If Wharil knows morse code.
And Wharil -- he's going directly into Best Buy, and people are avoiding him. People see him, and they nervously head toward the doors. So is Wharil, really: he's heading toward the Emergency Exit. He's almost there when he feels some of that off-kilter wrongness, some of that E-minor, very, very near, burning more brightly, growing stronger, loud enough to rattle his teeth.
Lights out.
- They shut off.
[Wharil Choc] "Shhhhit!" He hisses as the lights suddenly fail. He stops in his tracks, knowing better than to wander around in the dark.
"CHARMICHAEL!" he shouts out, hoping that he's louder than the alarm. "YOU STILL BACK THERE? THIS WAY! TO ME!"
He tries to sound strong. He tries to sound steady and in control. In reality, he's still a bit confused. His heart is beginning to race. He's sweating. And this odd child is still squeezing away at his hand.
"Ohhh...christ..."
[cartomancy] The alarm is still going. The boy turns his head. No: whatever it is, occupying the boy -- that's what turns his head. There is a child: dim shape behind him. The boy who is holding Wharil's hand. The boy, Wharil's hand is holding. Coming closer, blazing; so loud, the sound, that it really does hurt his teeth, that it almost drowns out his own resonance: The boy screams something, screams something, and the child behind the boy is screaming something, and the boy who bit Seth Chuck's co-worker screams, too, and the girl Chuck doesn't want to touch, wants to send asleep, she also screams, and screams, and it's a word, but it's not in a language either of them knows. The word: it dazzles, it is radiance, but urgent, want-to-say-something, listen-up: it touches their eyes and makes them See things in water (or will), and then, then: gone. Snuffed out. The boy blinks his eyes, looks at Wharil, says: "Uh, HEY." Snatches his hand back and look at Wharil like he's a molestor. The boy who bit Seth starts to cry. The other child -- somewhere, somewhere by the television -- wanders toward the DVDs, wondering vaguely where everybody went.
The lights come back on. The people from without: they flood back inside. The police are here.
So is the fire department.
[Wharil Choc] Wharil only barely looks confused at all this. But power like that. Anything like that, anything so old...couldn't stay here very long. It was gone now. He could accept that. He could also accept a child just waking up from a dream and finding himself being led by a stranger.
"Uhh...shit..."
It was officially time to leave. There was an emergency exit back here, right?
[cartomancy] [Roll Credits]
[Wharil Choc] [Int+Investigation]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 7, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
Monday, June 14, 2010
Waffles
[Riley] [On a scale of 1-10, how hungover are we?]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Chuck] Geeks on the loose! Except Riley is a hungover geek, and Chuck is an over caffeinated geek. This is a recipe for comedy gold.
"Hey, we doin' something tonight? I have a surprise for someone in my laptop bag, dunno who yet. I'll know when I come across 'em. Maybe we should go swimming. Do you row? I'm in a race this weekend, you should totally come."
And so it goes, the six foot four guy with the jew-fro and the similarly amazonian Italian walking down the street. Yeah, it's totally like the start of a joke.
[Riley] Riley is...not well.
It started Saturday morning, when she found a 22-oz. Smirnoff Ice taped to the door to her condo. It continued when she did a quick search and found http://brosicingbros.com/?p=262. She dutifully took her knee, which was the position her father found her in when he went to ask if she wanted to go to the movies.
It went downhill from there.
Cut to today, and Riley has a splitting headache, just finished a grueling eight hour shift attempting to fix people's technological defects while nursing a killer hangover.
And now Chuck is over-caffeinated. How could this day possibly get any worse?
She walks beside Chuck, not quite able to keep up with his pace, one hand to her temple. Her dark eyes are squeezed shut, she placing complete trust in her partner to keep her from running into a pole or a person or falling into traffic.
"I don't know, are we? I could go for some waffles." The rest of his questions and comments wash over her. She'll have to ask him to remind her of this stuff later. If he even remembers.
[Chuck] "Waffles it is," he says, and leads her into one of those themed restaurants . . . whose theme happens to be 'middle American diner', except way upscaled for it's location. Said restaurant happens to serve breakfast during the entirety of its open hours, and so it's not difficult to get waffles if she wants them - or hashbrowns, or eggs any style, or all those breakfasts typical of such places at a higher quality (and cost). It's brilliant, of course.
This late on a Monday, the place is fairly empty and a waitress comes quickly enough to ask for their drink orders (Chuck asks for coffee and water) - and flirts with Chuck, though he's refreshingly oblivious to it, and of course mostly concerned with the health of his friend and apprentice. After getting Riley's drink order, she wanders away to get them.
"Someone was out drinking last night. You okay?"
[Riley] Riley orders water, and waffles. Just waffles with butter and maple syrup. Please, just whatever on the menu fits the description the most closely she doesn't care.
As soon as the waitress wanders off to figure out just what it is the tall slim Italian woman wants, Riley finally gets to stop trying to look sober. Which, as Chuck and anyone who's spent two minutes in her company will know, is not something she was able to convincingly pull off. At. All. She should have called in sick, but she's already taken two days off this year, once when she had bruised ribs, and once when she lost it fighting demonic imps. So now of course when she's genuinely sick she dragged herself in, anyway. It had actually improved her ability to deal with customers. She didn't have the energy to get angry at them for any of the stupid shit they tried to pull with her.
And Chuck was there. Dear, sweet Chuck, the best partner she could have ever hoped to be paired up with. The man puts up with a lot when it comes to the women in his life, and he gets nothing in return.
As soon as she stops attempting to pretend she's not as hungover as she really is, Riley drops her head to the Formica table top and rests her forehead there. She mutters something that Chuck can't hear, because it's being said to her lap. Maybe she repeats it, because a second later she rolls her head to the side and says quite clearly, "It sucks."
[Chuck] "Of course it does, honey. I can't do anything for the actual physical part, but I can help you handle it a bit better if you want?" That's spoken quietly, of course, and he's already pulling out his blackberry and pulling up an app, just in case. "I programmed this thing way back when I was in grad school - the colors and the sounds help line things up properly so you can deal with the disorientation better, and . . . I dunno, ignore the headache and upset stomach a bit. Almost like hypnosis, I guess."
It's an offer, given freely - she's his buddy, and he doesn't like to see her (or most people, for that matter) hurting. If he can help, he will - dear, sweet Chuck, indeed.
"More icing? I think I might get Ashley. Or the place, you know the one. Like the cookies, 'cept Smirnoff Ice."
[Riley] "Noooooo..." she groans, and drags herself upright. And she promptly leans heavily against the wall making up a corner of their booth. She looks at Chuck, and her face is pale beneath the faintly olive complexion, but she's a stubborn woman, Riley Poole is. This here that she's showing now is the strength and fortitude she's learned in her twenty-seven years on this earth. It helps her overcome her horrid temper, but it also is what allows her to deal with the hardships life throws her way.
Like best friends who keep trying to shut her out. Or the bad things that she keeps walking into, like the disemboweled bodies and the imps and the zombies.
Right now, that strength and fortitude is keeping her from losing whatever makes up the contents of her stomach. She's been drinking a lot of water throughout the day, trying to rehydrate herself. But she got so, so very wasted yesterday.
"I mean," she stops, because it takes her a second to fixate on what he says. "That might be really helpful, thanks," she says, holding out her hand for the blackberry device. She stares down at the app for all of a second, then her eyes widen and she looks up at Chuck again. She tends to gesture with the hand holding his phone.
"No, I mean, you're such a good guy, Chuck. I mean it, you really, really are. It sucks that you're single, man. Someone should've snatched you up forever ago."
[Chuck] [There's totally an app for that. Coincidental, -1 practiced, -1 taking time, extended!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Chuck] [Roll 2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 4 (Failure at target 4)
[Chuck] "Someone did. She left me and kept the ring," he says, and there's no angst or depression about it; instead, there's a shrug and the same matter of fact tones with which he informs people that no, the DVD-rom should not be used as a cup holder, and shouldn't it really be an HD blueray drive anyway? It's just something that happened, and he's over it. Usually. More or less.
There is, of course, that feeling of rather secure progress, and of her brain syncing just right - the pain isn't gone, nor is the upset stomach, but he's right. It's easier to function through, and the disorientation is, in fact, gone. With food in her, she may well feel almost normal.
"So seriously, you wanna come to my race on Saturday? It's ridiculously early in the morning, though. Like, sun up. I don't plan on going to bed before it - never do before races."
[Riley] Sometimes, Riley is perceptive. Sometimes, she's attentive to the feelings of her friends, tries to look through the fronts they put up to show the world, No really. I'm okay. I'm totally and completely fine.
Maybe it's good that at first, Riley is still too hungover to try to read much into what Chuck says about his ex. After all, it's become a lesson in futility trying to hold a conversation with Emily these days, or even trying to get a hold of her. So Riley's taking her time again, letting the younger woman come to her.
Again.
After she tells Chuck that he's too good for singlehood, she tries to focus on the screen of his phone. And she finds that after a few seconds, it's easier to focus. The fog in her brain clears like the sun burns the occasional mist over the lake. Her stomach will still be upset for a while - she should probably go empty it, she'll probably feel better, but every part of her rebels against that idea. The ache in her body is still there, but it's no worse than when she was hugged by a zombie.
Heh. She was hugged by a zombie. That's an actual thing that happened to her. Focus.
Chuck's question startles her, and she looks up at him across the diner table. Handing back his phone she says, "Oh man, of course! And that really sucks. She probably didn't deserve you, though." She reaches up a hand to massage her temple, the headache still there. The waitress returns with her water, and Riley automatically tells her to just keep 'em comin'. And she downs that first glass in one drink.
[Chuck] (*puts a pause on it!*)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 8
[Chuck] Geeks on the loose! Except Riley is a hungover geek, and Chuck is an over caffeinated geek. This is a recipe for comedy gold.
"Hey, we doin' something tonight? I have a surprise for someone in my laptop bag, dunno who yet. I'll know when I come across 'em. Maybe we should go swimming. Do you row? I'm in a race this weekend, you should totally come."
And so it goes, the six foot four guy with the jew-fro and the similarly amazonian Italian walking down the street. Yeah, it's totally like the start of a joke.
[Riley] Riley is...not well.
It started Saturday morning, when she found a 22-oz. Smirnoff Ice taped to the door to her condo. It continued when she did a quick search and found http://brosicingbros.com/?p=262. She dutifully took her knee, which was the position her father found her in when he went to ask if she wanted to go to the movies.
It went downhill from there.
Cut to today, and Riley has a splitting headache, just finished a grueling eight hour shift attempting to fix people's technological defects while nursing a killer hangover.
And now Chuck is over-caffeinated. How could this day possibly get any worse?
She walks beside Chuck, not quite able to keep up with his pace, one hand to her temple. Her dark eyes are squeezed shut, she placing complete trust in her partner to keep her from running into a pole or a person or falling into traffic.
"I don't know, are we? I could go for some waffles." The rest of his questions and comments wash over her. She'll have to ask him to remind her of this stuff later. If he even remembers.
[Chuck] "Waffles it is," he says, and leads her into one of those themed restaurants . . . whose theme happens to be 'middle American diner', except way upscaled for it's location. Said restaurant happens to serve breakfast during the entirety of its open hours, and so it's not difficult to get waffles if she wants them - or hashbrowns, or eggs any style, or all those breakfasts typical of such places at a higher quality (and cost). It's brilliant, of course.
This late on a Monday, the place is fairly empty and a waitress comes quickly enough to ask for their drink orders (Chuck asks for coffee and water) - and flirts with Chuck, though he's refreshingly oblivious to it, and of course mostly concerned with the health of his friend and apprentice. After getting Riley's drink order, she wanders away to get them.
"Someone was out drinking last night. You okay?"
[Riley] Riley orders water, and waffles. Just waffles with butter and maple syrup. Please, just whatever on the menu fits the description the most closely she doesn't care.
As soon as the waitress wanders off to figure out just what it is the tall slim Italian woman wants, Riley finally gets to stop trying to look sober. Which, as Chuck and anyone who's spent two minutes in her company will know, is not something she was able to convincingly pull off. At. All. She should have called in sick, but she's already taken two days off this year, once when she had bruised ribs, and once when she lost it fighting demonic imps. So now of course when she's genuinely sick she dragged herself in, anyway. It had actually improved her ability to deal with customers. She didn't have the energy to get angry at them for any of the stupid shit they tried to pull with her.
And Chuck was there. Dear, sweet Chuck, the best partner she could have ever hoped to be paired up with. The man puts up with a lot when it comes to the women in his life, and he gets nothing in return.
As soon as she stops attempting to pretend she's not as hungover as she really is, Riley drops her head to the Formica table top and rests her forehead there. She mutters something that Chuck can't hear, because it's being said to her lap. Maybe she repeats it, because a second later she rolls her head to the side and says quite clearly, "It sucks."
[Chuck] "Of course it does, honey. I can't do anything for the actual physical part, but I can help you handle it a bit better if you want?" That's spoken quietly, of course, and he's already pulling out his blackberry and pulling up an app, just in case. "I programmed this thing way back when I was in grad school - the colors and the sounds help line things up properly so you can deal with the disorientation better, and . . . I dunno, ignore the headache and upset stomach a bit. Almost like hypnosis, I guess."
It's an offer, given freely - she's his buddy, and he doesn't like to see her (or most people, for that matter) hurting. If he can help, he will - dear, sweet Chuck, indeed.
"More icing? I think I might get Ashley. Or the place, you know the one. Like the cookies, 'cept Smirnoff Ice."
[Riley] "Noooooo..." she groans, and drags herself upright. And she promptly leans heavily against the wall making up a corner of their booth. She looks at Chuck, and her face is pale beneath the faintly olive complexion, but she's a stubborn woman, Riley Poole is. This here that she's showing now is the strength and fortitude she's learned in her twenty-seven years on this earth. It helps her overcome her horrid temper, but it also is what allows her to deal with the hardships life throws her way.
Like best friends who keep trying to shut her out. Or the bad things that she keeps walking into, like the disemboweled bodies and the imps and the zombies.
Right now, that strength and fortitude is keeping her from losing whatever makes up the contents of her stomach. She's been drinking a lot of water throughout the day, trying to rehydrate herself. But she got so, so very wasted yesterday.
"I mean," she stops, because it takes her a second to fixate on what he says. "That might be really helpful, thanks," she says, holding out her hand for the blackberry device. She stares down at the app for all of a second, then her eyes widen and she looks up at Chuck again. She tends to gesture with the hand holding his phone.
"No, I mean, you're such a good guy, Chuck. I mean it, you really, really are. It sucks that you're single, man. Someone should've snatched you up forever ago."
[Chuck] [There's totally an app for that. Coincidental, -1 practiced, -1 taking time, extended!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 4) [WP]
[Chuck] [Roll 2!]
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 4 (Failure at target 4)
[Chuck] "Someone did. She left me and kept the ring," he says, and there's no angst or depression about it; instead, there's a shrug and the same matter of fact tones with which he informs people that no, the DVD-rom should not be used as a cup holder, and shouldn't it really be an HD blueray drive anyway? It's just something that happened, and he's over it. Usually. More or less.
There is, of course, that feeling of rather secure progress, and of her brain syncing just right - the pain isn't gone, nor is the upset stomach, but he's right. It's easier to function through, and the disorientation is, in fact, gone. With food in her, she may well feel almost normal.
"So seriously, you wanna come to my race on Saturday? It's ridiculously early in the morning, though. Like, sun up. I don't plan on going to bed before it - never do before races."
[Riley] Sometimes, Riley is perceptive. Sometimes, she's attentive to the feelings of her friends, tries to look through the fronts they put up to show the world, No really. I'm okay. I'm totally and completely fine.
Maybe it's good that at first, Riley is still too hungover to try to read much into what Chuck says about his ex. After all, it's become a lesson in futility trying to hold a conversation with Emily these days, or even trying to get a hold of her. So Riley's taking her time again, letting the younger woman come to her.
Again.
After she tells Chuck that he's too good for singlehood, she tries to focus on the screen of his phone. And she finds that after a few seconds, it's easier to focus. The fog in her brain clears like the sun burns the occasional mist over the lake. Her stomach will still be upset for a while - she should probably go empty it, she'll probably feel better, but every part of her rebels against that idea. The ache in her body is still there, but it's no worse than when she was hugged by a zombie.
Heh. She was hugged by a zombie. That's an actual thing that happened to her. Focus.
Chuck's question startles her, and she looks up at him across the diner table. Handing back his phone she says, "Oh man, of course! And that really sucks. She probably didn't deserve you, though." She reaches up a hand to massage her temple, the headache still there. The waitress returns with her water, and Riley automatically tells her to just keep 'em comin'. And she downs that first glass in one drink.
[Chuck] (*puts a pause on it!*)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
There's Power in a Paradigm
[Ashley McGowen] REPOST:
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley hasn't ever really spent much time on the computer. She utilizes it for business things, of course - e-mail, occasional shopping, reading when the whim strikes her - but it generally hasn't been the best way for her to meet and connect with people. In Boston there was an entire chantry of people just like her for her to make friends with. So Chuck's explanation of his former cabal just draws a pair of raised eyebrows.
"You worked with people you'd never even met face to face? But how...how does that work?" She blinks at him. "I mean, how can you trust someone whose face you've never seen, or..."
Not a technophobe, but not as comfortable as he is with technology, either, apparently. "Guess it's just strange to think that you'd never have met people that you worked with that long in person."
[Carmichael] There's that wry twist of his lips, a half smile. "When I was thirteen, I got busted. Wasn't allowed to have a computer or modem in my house until I was eighteen. Wasn't supposed to access the internet at all, even on the crap boxes at libraries and stuff." He shrugs, shifts his beer from one hand to the other and drinks from it, then continues. "That's the only reason I learned to deal with people face to face at all, I think - couldn't do what I wanted to, so had to find something else. Crew, mostly. Also, camping and orienteering, but shh, don't tell anyone. Someone might expect me to go somewhere without wifi access."
That garners the class clown expressions she's witnessed so many other times with him, though not so much recently - since Emily, in fact.
"Before that, the only people I knew outside of my family and classes at school were screen names. You learn to work together if you want to do something big, I guess, and being online kind of makes it easier. You don't have to worry so much about the distractions that come up if you're all in the same room."
[Ashley McGowen] Chuck is a friendly guy. He's friendly and open and seems comfortable when he's around other people...almost uncannily so. So when he tells her these things, Ashley raises both of her eyebrows, giving him an inquisitive look over her bottle as she raises it to take a long pull.
"Really?" she asks him, once she's lowered it. "I...wouldn't have guessed that, actually. I mean, you seem like you have social skills and stuff." Probably moreso than Ashley herself does, in fact. He doesn't have that awkwardness she sometimes displays, particularly when she isn't sure of what to do, how to treat other people. How to be kind.
"What kind of distractions do you mean?"
[Chuck Carmichael] "Sounds, smells, different ways of doing things . . . everything. If I'm coding in C+ and someone else is coding in C++, or java, or perl, or whatever, for instance, we're going to be able to make it work, with fairly minimal hassle in most cases. But if I'm coding and you don't even own a computer, it's a lot harder. And if we're in the same room, well. Like I said, there's that whole human contact thing that comes into play."
That gets answered first, as the more important thing, then there's a laugh borne of that wry twisting smile. "I wasn't always the well adjusted picture of late twenty-something American male-hood you see before you today, Ashley. You should have seen me before people taught me how to be outside and talk to other people, and before crew made me not look like a skinny little wimp. It was comical."
[Ashley McGowen] "It's probably better for you to have to deal with all of it, though," Ashley says, rolling the bottle between her palms. She watches the mouth rotate for a few moments before her eyes flick up towards Chuck again. "I mean, dealing with the hassle of us non-coders, that is. Helps you learn to assimilate other ideas and adapt yourself."
But this, she assumes, is something Chuck already knows: he seems to understand how much better off he is now than before. He seems to understand how good it's been for him to get out and challenge himself, to deal with something he wasn't familiar with. "You seem like you've made a good recovery, at any rate." There's a twitch of her mouth then, wry amusement: "I assume you had to be dragged kicking and screaming into it."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Oh, I was pissed off at the time. I hated everyone and everything, except my sister who'd let me sneak in some game time every now and then. I was a mess for a while. Now, yeah, I know," he says with another drink taken, "that the quickest way to progress is to be exposed to as much as possible. Which has it's problems too, frankly, but I don't think I'd go back to the way I used to be even if I could."
There's a smirk, then, and, "You'd like Ruth, I think, for a Sleeper. And she'd like a lot about you." He still makes his assumptions - he's never particularly paid attention to how Sleeper-centric situations go with Ashley, but she's Hermetic. He's guessing she dismisses them, at best.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley does indeed dismiss them. At best. Chuck says for a Sleeper, and she doesn't so much as bat an eye, much less correct him: she just assumes he's of like minds on the topic. A lot of assumptions, between mages sometimes. "Ruth? Is that your sister?" she asks him.
She lifts her bottle again, long enough to drain it, before getting up to go and get another one out of the refrigerator. She glances over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Chuck to see if he wants one; if he does, she'll crack the tops off of both and bring one to him as well before dropping back onto the couch next to him.
"Usually the toughest changes are the best ones, anyway," she says, of what he said earlier. She needed to think on it, unsure of what she should say, what he wanted her to say or whether he was just telling her something of himself. "It's good to expose yourself to a lot and fight hard for it, I think. As long as you have some time in between."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yep, pretty much," he says with a grin to the last - agreement there, between the Vdept and the Hermetic who . . . actually agree on quite a bit, for all their differences. "And yeah, Ruth's my older sister. Haven't seen her since I was twenty-five, though - long story."
That involves hacking, house fires and faux death, but that's neither here nor there, and not something that Chuck goes into. And it's final, that tone, in a way that very little Chuck says actually is - generally, he's open to questioning, to teaching more and thus learning more in the process. This, though? It's different.
"Though, there are some tough changes I wouldn't have made consciously, willingly," he adds with a shrug and polishes off his beer before nodding towards the fridge. "Want another?"
[Ashley McGowen] His tone is final, and she hasn't heard that particular tone from Chuck before. Truth be told, Ashley sees Chuck as a bit of a pushover most of the time: she forgets, really, that time when they faced down a ghost in a Cabrini basement, that time when Kaya popped into his house uninvited. It's easy to assume that that's the kind of guy he is, and forget that at the core he's a Willworker.
She doesn't pry. But she makes a note of this. It's the same tone with which Kage mentions Simon, with which Ashley herself tells people she can't hear music anymore. She herself doesn't usually volunteer information; others have to ask her for it.
"Yeah, me either," she says, raising her bottle as she sits back down. "But that's why it's good to get out and expose yourself to things. That kind of conflict shapes you and pushes you. I mean, it's hard to be aware of where you're lacking until you do it." She thinks for a moment, raises her bottle once more. "I hardly knew any Willworkers who weren't Hermetics before I came here last year. It's really made me rethink some things."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah? I knew a couple of everyone, I think. Never went out of my way to meet anyone, though - just kind of happened. Apparently, people notice me," he says with a shrug, amused as he tilts his bottle Ashley-wards in return. It's not a particularly pleasant thing, sticking out the way Chuck does, but one gets used to it. Or at least he has - where Ashley sees him as a pushover, he sees himself as adaptable, which is a good way to be. "Before here, I'd never hung out with other mages regularly - well, in person - only had Sleeper friends. So yeah. It makes you move."
Makes perceptions move, makes paradigms shift.
[Ashley McGowen] "I'd think you'd get bored, just talking to Sleepers," Ashley says, raising her eyebrows as she glances toward him again. "I've...I mean, I've pretty much only been around other people like us since I woke up."
She's leaning her head back on the couch, head tilted up toward the ceiling, blue eyes focused on some point in space that's difficult to determine. Maybe it's nothing at all. Ashley is aware, many times, of how far away she's growing from the Sleeper world. From everyone who's not a mage, from the people she walks by on the street from day to day. There's a rift there, and it's widening. Whether it bothers her or not - that's less clear.
"I mean, I went to Europe and did a lot of Work there. I've traveled a lot, seen a lot of things. Seems like you'd really miss out on a lot, just keeping to them."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Seems like you'd miss out on a lot by being just with us, too. I mean," he says with a shrug. "Not that you guys aren't great and all, but they have ideas too. It's a different kind of pushing, is all - a different kind of growth. And I wasn't just around them. There was Steve, and online."
That's with a grin, and he's watching her; these two are so far at opposite ends of the spectrum that it's comical, really, and the humor isn't lost on him. "And, like I said, I'm a bit of a magnet. People find me, we hang out long enough to learn something from each other, and we move on. I've already been with Em and Riley longer than I've been with anyone; I hope I don't screw this in-person mentoring thing up."
[Ashley McGowen] "Well," she says, after a beat, "I went to college after I got back from Europe and I'm in grad school now. And I had a job, up until last winter. So I haven't -entirely- been around Willworkers, I guess, it's just been most of the time." Of course, she lost that job as a consequence of something that happened in the Awakened world, a permeating soul taint that Sleepers wouldn't understand. "It's more like...I mean, I'm never going to be able to be honest about myself with them. I killed a guy six months ago, I've taken part in the War, I've...literally seen shit out of hell " - Hell itself, which she declines to mention - "so, I mean. I can talk with them, it's just never going to be about anything important."
Ashley has difficulty relating even to her Awakened colleagues, if she isn't talking about magic with them. It's possible that she doesn't really know how to be anything else.
Chuck mentions his mentorship and she turns her head, still letting it rest against the back of the couch. Some of her hair falls into her eyes; she blows it upward, letting it drift away from her face. "You'll be fine. Just make sure you keep growing yourself, otherwise she's going to be pretty disappointed when she reaches the limits of what you know."
[Chuck Carmichael] "I didn't fully Awaken until I was halfway through grad school, and then it was . . . you know, I already told you. Not that spectacular a show," he says, ruefully. "Just a better understanding, and the knowledge that there was more - both to know and to be. Different strokes, and all that."
There's a sigh, and a hefty swig from his beer, then, "There are levels of important. There are things that I wouldn't talk to even my closest Awakened world friends about, for whatever reason, that I'm okay with talking to Sleeper friends about. And vice versa, of course."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley shrugs one of her shoulders, at that. Brief, thoughtful, and then it falls again and settles. Her head rolls back up toward the ceiling, and she lifts the bottle and takes another few pulls from it. "I don't know. I mean, I talk about different things with them, but only because I have to. Like about my thesis and stuff. But it still feels like...I don't know. Like they aren't going to actually understand who I am."
She quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head to regard him again. "You aren't comfortable with one person knowing what there is to know?" Because that, perhaps, surprises her a little: that he said even his closest Awakened friends.
[Chuck Carmichael] "Security risk," he says with a shrug. "Doesn't work to have one place store all the pass codes, because if that place is breached, everything's fucked. So no, I'm not."
He is, after all, the security guy - everything he does is down to that, to moving data where it won't be found, and making damned sure it won't be. "I talk to them about work, or video games, or beer, or the races on the river, or lots of things. And they understand who I am as well as anyone else does, really. I don't talk to you about most of those things, because I figure you're not interested. It's a give and take, I guess."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley just raises her eyebrows at him, when he talks about security risks, and she smiles a little - but it's a bemused thing. For all of her flaws, Ashley is a trusting woman: she wants to be trusted herself, to be liked, and in her mind, offering things about herself is the best way to engender such things. It's a trade, something mutually beneficial. It's how she's comfortable. "It's like you think you're in a spy movie or something," she says, wry. "I mean, if somebody...breaches, so to speak, you get over it. One of those situations where you're forced to grow when you'd rather not, you know?"
Another thoughtful sip of her beer, before she says, "I don't have a lot in common with most people in terms of what I like. Or I probably would talk."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Hey, you like beer, I like beer, right? You're working on your Masters, I finished mine a couple years ago. Emily's got early acceptances to grad school all over the place. It's a start. Focusing on a negative never does anyone any good, I figure. Sure, I don't have a lot in common with most people on that front either, but if I focus on that, it gets big. My favorite things in the world, there's no way I could talk about that you'd understand, which is cool. Not everyone needs to be into computers and programming them. But, we do have things in common, so it's alright."
A long pull from his beer elicits a belch, and there's a bit of laughter before he answers the stuff that actually came first. "If it were just a personal thing, I'd be right there with ya - or, well. I don't know if I'd still fight against it or not. But, while I'm certainly not in a spy movie - though, man, how cool would it be to be? - there are people that could be hurt a lot if I were breached. So, I remain a fortress of relative solitude. Woe."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley's brow furrows at him, and now she does lift her head, looking over in his direction. "No, that's bullshit. If you -want- to communicate all of that stuff with people, you should, regardless of whoever you think it might 'hurt.' I mean, maybe somebody'd be hurt because you didn't communicate. You don't know, and it's pointless to guess. Do what you -want- to do." The Hermetic gives him a level look for a few seconds, and it might be one of the only times, if not the first time, Chuck has been fixed with that intent, hungry stare. "I think that's an excuse. Decide that whatever you do is because you want it, not out of some misguided sense of martyrdom, and own your decision."
That look subsides - as much as it can (it never really does) - as she eases back on the couch once more and takes another sip. "And I'm not focusing on the negative, I just don't...I mean, how do you bring that kind of stuff up, without it sounding awkward?"
[Chuck Carmichael] Look at that - a flash of temper. Chuck does have one, though this, Ashley's only seen the once. As then, it involves his 'space' being invaded. "With all due respect and our burgeoning friendship in mind, you don't know what you're talking about," he says coolly, and even more finally than he'd said 'long story' in reference to his sister. The rest of this beer, though he's been relatively slow about it, is finished now - it had been somewhere between a third and a half. And where Ashley's look is hungry, threatening to devour everything it touches, Chuck's is very much out with the old and in with the new, progress for its own sake.
It, too, subsides - more completely than Ashley's does, really.
"I don't know. I did alright with it when we first met, didn't I?"
[Ashley McGowen] [Take a hint, Ashley, don't poke!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] There's a flare of temper, and Ashley has to suppress her urge to keep up her inquiry, to argue, to tell him that she knows what she's talking about. The Hermetic is notoriously bull-headed, all too willing to push back when she notices some point of resistance just to test herself, to see who breaks. To see what she can get. He can see that returning flash of her eyes, the flare of curiosity, the temper mirrored back at him. But he mentions their burgeoning friendship, and she keeps a tight hold on her tongue. There will be other times. "What I'm saying," she says, firmly, "is that this is about your Will. If you do something, it's because you've chosen it, directly or indirectly. That's it."
Her beer, too, is drained with one more long swallow, and she frowns at him. "That's not what I..." Pause. "You did fine, when we ran into each other. I was more asking how..." Trail away, a disgruntled look at the empty bottle.
[Chuck Carmichael] "I agree - though, well, I'd say skill. And because I've chosen to take those things off the grid as much as is in my power to do so, talking about it would hurt - without the air quotes - a few people very badly." But that's enough of that, and the other topic of conversation is much more pleasant.
"'nother beer?" Never mind that his blood sugar's already starting to rise - he'll take care of it later. And assuming Ashley says yes, he grabs them, opens them, and brings them back, handing one over, and absently musses Ashley's hair in a fond, almost brotherly fashion before sitting back down. "How, what? Can't answer a question if you don't ask it."
[Ashley McGowen] She's frowning at him, skeptical, as he says it would hurt some people very badly. Ashley isn't always terribly responsible; perhaps if such a thing were to fall to her she'd talk about it anyway, just so she didn't feel held down. Just so some sense of duty weren't defining her Will.
He ruffles her hair and she tolerates this, giving him a nod when he asks her whether she'd like another beer. She doesn't have blood sugar to worry about. "I meant that...how can you tell whether someone -wants- to talk about that? Instead of just work, or..."
[Chuck Carmichael] Though he doesn't always - or even usually - seem so, Chuck is really very, very responsible (except, sometimes, about managing his diabetes, but that puts no one in danger other than himself, and Ashely doesn't know about that particular little problem). To nearly pathological heights, in fact, but this isn't something he really recognizes about himself, and is far from conscious.
The question, though, gets serious consideration from the terminal goofball, and then he shrugs as he reappears with two open beers. "You don't, always. It's trial and error and feeling the waters. I didn't know you'd want to immediately, you know." Though with her, it had been fairly easy to tell and he'd caught on quickly - with others, it's more difficult. "Even amongst us, not everyone wants to talk about the real stuff."
[Ashley McGowen] Trial and error, says Chuck, and a light frown sketches over Ashley's rounded features as he hands her the fresh beer. The Hermetic takes it from him and sips at it, and doesn't think much of that answer, it's clear. Like many introverts, many people that are a little nerdy, she doesn't always know how to handle the possibility of rejection - nor has she found ways to get around the problem, push on anyway in spite of it. "I guess," she says.
There's another sip at the beer, something thoughtful, before she looks over at him and shrugs. "Magic is most of what takes up my time, anyway, so it's usually what I focus on."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Social interactions aren't so different from magic, really, nor is understanding whether or not someone might want to talk about something more interesting than work and the weather. Body language. Tone of voice. Facial expression. You're a brilliant mind, both magically and - I'd lay a bet on it - in your degree program, this is just a different way of applying it, and could well help with the other as it gives you a better understanding." That's with a shrug; this is how he made himself get out of the house and start meeting each other when he lost his internet access, or very like it.
The other gets a smirk, a bit amused. "You're not so bad at the rest, you know - you have a lot going for you that helps. You're attractive and smart, and your intensity could be used to draw in at least as many as it scares away, if you tried."
[Ashley McGowen] He describes body language, facial expression, tone of voice, and Ashley grimaces, at that. "Well," she says, "I can do a lot of that with Sleepers, easy. It's actually...I have some pretty severe brain damage. I don't always pick up on that stuff that well. Magi are just a lot better at knowing when you're reading them." She learned this a while ago - reading the minds of mages has a lot of consequences.
To the rest, that she's attractive and smart, there's a sidelong look and another pull from the bottle before her gaze wanders off again. Dancing, the way a thinking gaze does. "I know people respect me," she says.
[Chuck Carmichael] "They're better at knowing if you're using magic to read them. Using your mundane senses, not always." That's with a shrug, though, and the rest gets a raised eyebrow - he hadn't known, though of course he knows about the bad side. "The brain damage would make it a lot more difficult though, I'd imagine. That's gotta be rough."
He is not being flirtatious, or any less respectful of her - he's just pointing out the obvious with what he says. It's refreshing, in some ways, how open and honest he is. "They do, yeah, from what I've seen. They just like me."
[Ashley McGowen] That it must be rough - well, all he really gets to that is a shrug. No frown, no agonized glances, no hidden pain. "You learn to live with it," she says. Ashley's learned to live with a lot of things; these things she uses to fuel her Will, to give her a reason to push and learn and adapt. "But I guess..." And here she lifts a hand, tracing fingertips beneath the line of her hair, through it as though along a line. "There are parts of it on this side - I forget what they're called - that determine how well you can read things like facial expressions. So says modern science."
If there's a touch of bitterness there, it's directed at the Technocracy, at the rise of the Order of Reason, and not Chuck. Ashley isn't a Luddite; she loves shiny gadgets just as much as the next twenty-something, but it has made her rather aware of what she might have been able to get away with, back when the Order of Hermes was at the height of its power. (Then again, maybe she'd be dead.) "But correctable with magic, yeah. I work around what I can, usually."
Pragmatic, practical creature she is, at the very least. She raises her eyebrows at him for a moment, as though trying to gauge whether he's troubled by this, and at the end simply reading his words. "Show your Will, and they would," she says, of respect. But it's hard for her to give any clear advice: she isn't sure of exactly what she does that makes other people respect her. It's just who she is; Willfulness is instinctive for her. Friendliness and tenderness are not.
[Chuck Carmichael] "I suppose so. It's one of those things, I guess - is it better to be feared or loved, or whatever. And it's not like anyone . . . well, most . . . disrespect me, so I've got nothing to complain about. I'll get there some day - 's what I'm here for." For progress. And security.
Then, though, it's earlier bits answered - they're important! "Hey now, modern science also has our hands in it. We've made remarkable progress with reprogramming synapses and bringing things back to proper - or at least close to - functionality after severe head trauma. And the research gets sounder and the methodology more precise every day. You've just gotta know the right people - of which I'm not one, sorry. Physical stuff isn't so much my deal."
[Ashley McGowen] "Respect doesn't have to go hand in hand with fear," she says, with a shake of her head. "My old cabal mate managed it." Bran, though, was a rare person: Ashley knows that, and her own talents most certainly lie along respect through fear, through flexing of power. Him, though, she'll have little to say about. Not the time.
Ashley raises her beer again, takes another thoughtful sip. "It's still just magic," she says. "It's just a lot less direct than what -I- do." Less pure, in a way, though she prefers to think of it as less pragmatic, less sensible, even if it isn't what she feels in her guts. "I wouldn't want them to fix it for me, though, anyway."
[Chuck Carmichael] "No, of course it doesn't have to. But more often than not, it does - and has throughout history, both mundane and otherwise. And as for direct . . . one focus or another, I suppose. Hacking a bio-mainframe and making it do what you want, or . . . I don't know, how do you do it?" This is curious more than anything else - maybe her thoughts will resound, maybe they won't. He already knows, though, that there's little they agree on magically.
[Ashley McGowen] "I Will something to happen," she tells him, simply, "so it does. I mean, it's more complicated than that, of course, but at its core it's that I'm pitting my Will against the Will of others around me and the Wills that have laid out the way things work. If I'm stronger than they are, well..."
A shrug, here, but those few brief sentences perhaps explain quite a bit about Ashley. It's not complicated, though she could give him quite a long explanation on the nuances of Will, on Pure Thought and that Wills alone exist, but it would take them into a late night. "If you want more detail than that, it'll have to wait for when I'm less tipsy."
The bottle is drained and set aside, and Ashley gives the empty bottles, lined up there on the coffee table, a look as though they've offended her. "You have to be up for anything?"
[Chuck Carmichael] There are three - or is it four? - each, and though Chuck seems sober enough sitting there as he is, the impression lessens considerably when he moves . . . and finds himself swaying a bit. Glucose levels. Too much beer, not enough food. These things happen. "Not too early. The days I have to be up before nine are few and far between, but I should still head out. Might walk a bit and get some air before I decide if I'm driving home or calling a cab, though."
That's with a rueful grin, and he stands. "It's been great, as always. We should do this more often," he says.
[Ashley McGowen] "Sure," she says, with another look toward the bottles when he gets up and finds himself swaying a little, as though she's counting them. She's half his size, and while she holds her alcohol well, it's clear that it's had some effect. "Give me a call sometime."
Friendly enough, and she's already stretching herself out on the couch, folding an arm beneath her head. Chuck is intending to head out, to get some air; Ashley seems intent on staying in. Trying to get through a book or two, maybe, stubbornly staying awake until she gives in to sleep. Should he ask, she'll walk him downstairs; otherwise, the VDept is left to make his way down and out, a step or two farther away from the shy kid he used to be.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley hasn't ever really spent much time on the computer. She utilizes it for business things, of course - e-mail, occasional shopping, reading when the whim strikes her - but it generally hasn't been the best way for her to meet and connect with people. In Boston there was an entire chantry of people just like her for her to make friends with. So Chuck's explanation of his former cabal just draws a pair of raised eyebrows.
"You worked with people you'd never even met face to face? But how...how does that work?" She blinks at him. "I mean, how can you trust someone whose face you've never seen, or..."
Not a technophobe, but not as comfortable as he is with technology, either, apparently. "Guess it's just strange to think that you'd never have met people that you worked with that long in person."
[Carmichael] There's that wry twist of his lips, a half smile. "When I was thirteen, I got busted. Wasn't allowed to have a computer or modem in my house until I was eighteen. Wasn't supposed to access the internet at all, even on the crap boxes at libraries and stuff." He shrugs, shifts his beer from one hand to the other and drinks from it, then continues. "That's the only reason I learned to deal with people face to face at all, I think - couldn't do what I wanted to, so had to find something else. Crew, mostly. Also, camping and orienteering, but shh, don't tell anyone. Someone might expect me to go somewhere without wifi access."
That garners the class clown expressions she's witnessed so many other times with him, though not so much recently - since Emily, in fact.
"Before that, the only people I knew outside of my family and classes at school were screen names. You learn to work together if you want to do something big, I guess, and being online kind of makes it easier. You don't have to worry so much about the distractions that come up if you're all in the same room."
[Ashley McGowen] Chuck is a friendly guy. He's friendly and open and seems comfortable when he's around other people...almost uncannily so. So when he tells her these things, Ashley raises both of her eyebrows, giving him an inquisitive look over her bottle as she raises it to take a long pull.
"Really?" she asks him, once she's lowered it. "I...wouldn't have guessed that, actually. I mean, you seem like you have social skills and stuff." Probably moreso than Ashley herself does, in fact. He doesn't have that awkwardness she sometimes displays, particularly when she isn't sure of what to do, how to treat other people. How to be kind.
"What kind of distractions do you mean?"
[Chuck Carmichael] "Sounds, smells, different ways of doing things . . . everything. If I'm coding in C+ and someone else is coding in C++, or java, or perl, or whatever, for instance, we're going to be able to make it work, with fairly minimal hassle in most cases. But if I'm coding and you don't even own a computer, it's a lot harder. And if we're in the same room, well. Like I said, there's that whole human contact thing that comes into play."
That gets answered first, as the more important thing, then there's a laugh borne of that wry twisting smile. "I wasn't always the well adjusted picture of late twenty-something American male-hood you see before you today, Ashley. You should have seen me before people taught me how to be outside and talk to other people, and before crew made me not look like a skinny little wimp. It was comical."
[Ashley McGowen] "It's probably better for you to have to deal with all of it, though," Ashley says, rolling the bottle between her palms. She watches the mouth rotate for a few moments before her eyes flick up towards Chuck again. "I mean, dealing with the hassle of us non-coders, that is. Helps you learn to assimilate other ideas and adapt yourself."
But this, she assumes, is something Chuck already knows: he seems to understand how much better off he is now than before. He seems to understand how good it's been for him to get out and challenge himself, to deal with something he wasn't familiar with. "You seem like you've made a good recovery, at any rate." There's a twitch of her mouth then, wry amusement: "I assume you had to be dragged kicking and screaming into it."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Oh, I was pissed off at the time. I hated everyone and everything, except my sister who'd let me sneak in some game time every now and then. I was a mess for a while. Now, yeah, I know," he says with another drink taken, "that the quickest way to progress is to be exposed to as much as possible. Which has it's problems too, frankly, but I don't think I'd go back to the way I used to be even if I could."
There's a smirk, then, and, "You'd like Ruth, I think, for a Sleeper. And she'd like a lot about you." He still makes his assumptions - he's never particularly paid attention to how Sleeper-centric situations go with Ashley, but she's Hermetic. He's guessing she dismisses them, at best.
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley does indeed dismiss them. At best. Chuck says for a Sleeper, and she doesn't so much as bat an eye, much less correct him: she just assumes he's of like minds on the topic. A lot of assumptions, between mages sometimes. "Ruth? Is that your sister?" she asks him.
She lifts her bottle again, long enough to drain it, before getting up to go and get another one out of the refrigerator. She glances over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Chuck to see if he wants one; if he does, she'll crack the tops off of both and bring one to him as well before dropping back onto the couch next to him.
"Usually the toughest changes are the best ones, anyway," she says, of what he said earlier. She needed to think on it, unsure of what she should say, what he wanted her to say or whether he was just telling her something of himself. "It's good to expose yourself to a lot and fight hard for it, I think. As long as you have some time in between."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yep, pretty much," he says with a grin to the last - agreement there, between the Vdept and the Hermetic who . . . actually agree on quite a bit, for all their differences. "And yeah, Ruth's my older sister. Haven't seen her since I was twenty-five, though - long story."
That involves hacking, house fires and faux death, but that's neither here nor there, and not something that Chuck goes into. And it's final, that tone, in a way that very little Chuck says actually is - generally, he's open to questioning, to teaching more and thus learning more in the process. This, though? It's different.
"Though, there are some tough changes I wouldn't have made consciously, willingly," he adds with a shrug and polishes off his beer before nodding towards the fridge. "Want another?"
[Ashley McGowen] His tone is final, and she hasn't heard that particular tone from Chuck before. Truth be told, Ashley sees Chuck as a bit of a pushover most of the time: she forgets, really, that time when they faced down a ghost in a Cabrini basement, that time when Kaya popped into his house uninvited. It's easy to assume that that's the kind of guy he is, and forget that at the core he's a Willworker.
She doesn't pry. But she makes a note of this. It's the same tone with which Kage mentions Simon, with which Ashley herself tells people she can't hear music anymore. She herself doesn't usually volunteer information; others have to ask her for it.
"Yeah, me either," she says, raising her bottle as she sits back down. "But that's why it's good to get out and expose yourself to things. That kind of conflict shapes you and pushes you. I mean, it's hard to be aware of where you're lacking until you do it." She thinks for a moment, raises her bottle once more. "I hardly knew any Willworkers who weren't Hermetics before I came here last year. It's really made me rethink some things."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Yeah? I knew a couple of everyone, I think. Never went out of my way to meet anyone, though - just kind of happened. Apparently, people notice me," he says with a shrug, amused as he tilts his bottle Ashley-wards in return. It's not a particularly pleasant thing, sticking out the way Chuck does, but one gets used to it. Or at least he has - where Ashley sees him as a pushover, he sees himself as adaptable, which is a good way to be. "Before here, I'd never hung out with other mages regularly - well, in person - only had Sleeper friends. So yeah. It makes you move."
Makes perceptions move, makes paradigms shift.
[Ashley McGowen] "I'd think you'd get bored, just talking to Sleepers," Ashley says, raising her eyebrows as she glances toward him again. "I've...I mean, I've pretty much only been around other people like us since I woke up."
She's leaning her head back on the couch, head tilted up toward the ceiling, blue eyes focused on some point in space that's difficult to determine. Maybe it's nothing at all. Ashley is aware, many times, of how far away she's growing from the Sleeper world. From everyone who's not a mage, from the people she walks by on the street from day to day. There's a rift there, and it's widening. Whether it bothers her or not - that's less clear.
"I mean, I went to Europe and did a lot of Work there. I've traveled a lot, seen a lot of things. Seems like you'd really miss out on a lot, just keeping to them."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Seems like you'd miss out on a lot by being just with us, too. I mean," he says with a shrug. "Not that you guys aren't great and all, but they have ideas too. It's a different kind of pushing, is all - a different kind of growth. And I wasn't just around them. There was Steve, and online."
That's with a grin, and he's watching her; these two are so far at opposite ends of the spectrum that it's comical, really, and the humor isn't lost on him. "And, like I said, I'm a bit of a magnet. People find me, we hang out long enough to learn something from each other, and we move on. I've already been with Em and Riley longer than I've been with anyone; I hope I don't screw this in-person mentoring thing up."
[Ashley McGowen] "Well," she says, after a beat, "I went to college after I got back from Europe and I'm in grad school now. And I had a job, up until last winter. So I haven't -entirely- been around Willworkers, I guess, it's just been most of the time." Of course, she lost that job as a consequence of something that happened in the Awakened world, a permeating soul taint that Sleepers wouldn't understand. "It's more like...I mean, I'm never going to be able to be honest about myself with them. I killed a guy six months ago, I've taken part in the War, I've...literally seen shit out of hell " - Hell itself, which she declines to mention - "so, I mean. I can talk with them, it's just never going to be about anything important."
Ashley has difficulty relating even to her Awakened colleagues, if she isn't talking about magic with them. It's possible that she doesn't really know how to be anything else.
Chuck mentions his mentorship and she turns her head, still letting it rest against the back of the couch. Some of her hair falls into her eyes; she blows it upward, letting it drift away from her face. "You'll be fine. Just make sure you keep growing yourself, otherwise she's going to be pretty disappointed when she reaches the limits of what you know."
[Chuck Carmichael] "I didn't fully Awaken until I was halfway through grad school, and then it was . . . you know, I already told you. Not that spectacular a show," he says, ruefully. "Just a better understanding, and the knowledge that there was more - both to know and to be. Different strokes, and all that."
There's a sigh, and a hefty swig from his beer, then, "There are levels of important. There are things that I wouldn't talk to even my closest Awakened world friends about, for whatever reason, that I'm okay with talking to Sleeper friends about. And vice versa, of course."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley shrugs one of her shoulders, at that. Brief, thoughtful, and then it falls again and settles. Her head rolls back up toward the ceiling, and she lifts the bottle and takes another few pulls from it. "I don't know. I mean, I talk about different things with them, but only because I have to. Like about my thesis and stuff. But it still feels like...I don't know. Like they aren't going to actually understand who I am."
She quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head to regard him again. "You aren't comfortable with one person knowing what there is to know?" Because that, perhaps, surprises her a little: that he said even his closest Awakened friends.
[Chuck Carmichael] "Security risk," he says with a shrug. "Doesn't work to have one place store all the pass codes, because if that place is breached, everything's fucked. So no, I'm not."
He is, after all, the security guy - everything he does is down to that, to moving data where it won't be found, and making damned sure it won't be. "I talk to them about work, or video games, or beer, or the races on the river, or lots of things. And they understand who I am as well as anyone else does, really. I don't talk to you about most of those things, because I figure you're not interested. It's a give and take, I guess."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley just raises her eyebrows at him, when he talks about security risks, and she smiles a little - but it's a bemused thing. For all of her flaws, Ashley is a trusting woman: she wants to be trusted herself, to be liked, and in her mind, offering things about herself is the best way to engender such things. It's a trade, something mutually beneficial. It's how she's comfortable. "It's like you think you're in a spy movie or something," she says, wry. "I mean, if somebody...breaches, so to speak, you get over it. One of those situations where you're forced to grow when you'd rather not, you know?"
Another thoughtful sip of her beer, before she says, "I don't have a lot in common with most people in terms of what I like. Or I probably would talk."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Hey, you like beer, I like beer, right? You're working on your Masters, I finished mine a couple years ago. Emily's got early acceptances to grad school all over the place. It's a start. Focusing on a negative never does anyone any good, I figure. Sure, I don't have a lot in common with most people on that front either, but if I focus on that, it gets big. My favorite things in the world, there's no way I could talk about that you'd understand, which is cool. Not everyone needs to be into computers and programming them. But, we do have things in common, so it's alright."
A long pull from his beer elicits a belch, and there's a bit of laughter before he answers the stuff that actually came first. "If it were just a personal thing, I'd be right there with ya - or, well. I don't know if I'd still fight against it or not. But, while I'm certainly not in a spy movie - though, man, how cool would it be to be? - there are people that could be hurt a lot if I were breached. So, I remain a fortress of relative solitude. Woe."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley's brow furrows at him, and now she does lift her head, looking over in his direction. "No, that's bullshit. If you -want- to communicate all of that stuff with people, you should, regardless of whoever you think it might 'hurt.' I mean, maybe somebody'd be hurt because you didn't communicate. You don't know, and it's pointless to guess. Do what you -want- to do." The Hermetic gives him a level look for a few seconds, and it might be one of the only times, if not the first time, Chuck has been fixed with that intent, hungry stare. "I think that's an excuse. Decide that whatever you do is because you want it, not out of some misguided sense of martyrdom, and own your decision."
That look subsides - as much as it can (it never really does) - as she eases back on the couch once more and takes another sip. "And I'm not focusing on the negative, I just don't...I mean, how do you bring that kind of stuff up, without it sounding awkward?"
[Chuck Carmichael] Look at that - a flash of temper. Chuck does have one, though this, Ashley's only seen the once. As then, it involves his 'space' being invaded. "With all due respect and our burgeoning friendship in mind, you don't know what you're talking about," he says coolly, and even more finally than he'd said 'long story' in reference to his sister. The rest of this beer, though he's been relatively slow about it, is finished now - it had been somewhere between a third and a half. And where Ashley's look is hungry, threatening to devour everything it touches, Chuck's is very much out with the old and in with the new, progress for its own sake.
It, too, subsides - more completely than Ashley's does, really.
"I don't know. I did alright with it when we first met, didn't I?"
[Ashley McGowen] [Take a hint, Ashley, don't poke!]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 4, 7, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] There's a flare of temper, and Ashley has to suppress her urge to keep up her inquiry, to argue, to tell him that she knows what she's talking about. The Hermetic is notoriously bull-headed, all too willing to push back when she notices some point of resistance just to test herself, to see who breaks. To see what she can get. He can see that returning flash of her eyes, the flare of curiosity, the temper mirrored back at him. But he mentions their burgeoning friendship, and she keeps a tight hold on her tongue. There will be other times. "What I'm saying," she says, firmly, "is that this is about your Will. If you do something, it's because you've chosen it, directly or indirectly. That's it."
Her beer, too, is drained with one more long swallow, and she frowns at him. "That's not what I..." Pause. "You did fine, when we ran into each other. I was more asking how..." Trail away, a disgruntled look at the empty bottle.
[Chuck Carmichael] "I agree - though, well, I'd say skill. And because I've chosen to take those things off the grid as much as is in my power to do so, talking about it would hurt - without the air quotes - a few people very badly." But that's enough of that, and the other topic of conversation is much more pleasant.
"'nother beer?" Never mind that his blood sugar's already starting to rise - he'll take care of it later. And assuming Ashley says yes, he grabs them, opens them, and brings them back, handing one over, and absently musses Ashley's hair in a fond, almost brotherly fashion before sitting back down. "How, what? Can't answer a question if you don't ask it."
[Ashley McGowen] She's frowning at him, skeptical, as he says it would hurt some people very badly. Ashley isn't always terribly responsible; perhaps if such a thing were to fall to her she'd talk about it anyway, just so she didn't feel held down. Just so some sense of duty weren't defining her Will.
He ruffles her hair and she tolerates this, giving him a nod when he asks her whether she'd like another beer. She doesn't have blood sugar to worry about. "I meant that...how can you tell whether someone -wants- to talk about that? Instead of just work, or..."
[Chuck Carmichael] Though he doesn't always - or even usually - seem so, Chuck is really very, very responsible (except, sometimes, about managing his diabetes, but that puts no one in danger other than himself, and Ashely doesn't know about that particular little problem). To nearly pathological heights, in fact, but this isn't something he really recognizes about himself, and is far from conscious.
The question, though, gets serious consideration from the terminal goofball, and then he shrugs as he reappears with two open beers. "You don't, always. It's trial and error and feeling the waters. I didn't know you'd want to immediately, you know." Though with her, it had been fairly easy to tell and he'd caught on quickly - with others, it's more difficult. "Even amongst us, not everyone wants to talk about the real stuff."
[Ashley McGowen] Trial and error, says Chuck, and a light frown sketches over Ashley's rounded features as he hands her the fresh beer. The Hermetic takes it from him and sips at it, and doesn't think much of that answer, it's clear. Like many introverts, many people that are a little nerdy, she doesn't always know how to handle the possibility of rejection - nor has she found ways to get around the problem, push on anyway in spite of it. "I guess," she says.
There's another sip at the beer, something thoughtful, before she looks over at him and shrugs. "Magic is most of what takes up my time, anyway, so it's usually what I focus on."
[Chuck Carmichael] "Social interactions aren't so different from magic, really, nor is understanding whether or not someone might want to talk about something more interesting than work and the weather. Body language. Tone of voice. Facial expression. You're a brilliant mind, both magically and - I'd lay a bet on it - in your degree program, this is just a different way of applying it, and could well help with the other as it gives you a better understanding." That's with a shrug; this is how he made himself get out of the house and start meeting each other when he lost his internet access, or very like it.
The other gets a smirk, a bit amused. "You're not so bad at the rest, you know - you have a lot going for you that helps. You're attractive and smart, and your intensity could be used to draw in at least as many as it scares away, if you tried."
[Ashley McGowen] He describes body language, facial expression, tone of voice, and Ashley grimaces, at that. "Well," she says, "I can do a lot of that with Sleepers, easy. It's actually...I have some pretty severe brain damage. I don't always pick up on that stuff that well. Magi are just a lot better at knowing when you're reading them." She learned this a while ago - reading the minds of mages has a lot of consequences.
To the rest, that she's attractive and smart, there's a sidelong look and another pull from the bottle before her gaze wanders off again. Dancing, the way a thinking gaze does. "I know people respect me," she says.
[Chuck Carmichael] "They're better at knowing if you're using magic to read them. Using your mundane senses, not always." That's with a shrug, though, and the rest gets a raised eyebrow - he hadn't known, though of course he knows about the bad side. "The brain damage would make it a lot more difficult though, I'd imagine. That's gotta be rough."
He is not being flirtatious, or any less respectful of her - he's just pointing out the obvious with what he says. It's refreshing, in some ways, how open and honest he is. "They do, yeah, from what I've seen. They just like me."
[Ashley McGowen] That it must be rough - well, all he really gets to that is a shrug. No frown, no agonized glances, no hidden pain. "You learn to live with it," she says. Ashley's learned to live with a lot of things; these things she uses to fuel her Will, to give her a reason to push and learn and adapt. "But I guess..." And here she lifts a hand, tracing fingertips beneath the line of her hair, through it as though along a line. "There are parts of it on this side - I forget what they're called - that determine how well you can read things like facial expressions. So says modern science."
If there's a touch of bitterness there, it's directed at the Technocracy, at the rise of the Order of Reason, and not Chuck. Ashley isn't a Luddite; she loves shiny gadgets just as much as the next twenty-something, but it has made her rather aware of what she might have been able to get away with, back when the Order of Hermes was at the height of its power. (Then again, maybe she'd be dead.) "But correctable with magic, yeah. I work around what I can, usually."
Pragmatic, practical creature she is, at the very least. She raises her eyebrows at him for a moment, as though trying to gauge whether he's troubled by this, and at the end simply reading his words. "Show your Will, and they would," she says, of respect. But it's hard for her to give any clear advice: she isn't sure of exactly what she does that makes other people respect her. It's just who she is; Willfulness is instinctive for her. Friendliness and tenderness are not.
[Chuck Carmichael] "I suppose so. It's one of those things, I guess - is it better to be feared or loved, or whatever. And it's not like anyone . . . well, most . . . disrespect me, so I've got nothing to complain about. I'll get there some day - 's what I'm here for." For progress. And security.
Then, though, it's earlier bits answered - they're important! "Hey now, modern science also has our hands in it. We've made remarkable progress with reprogramming synapses and bringing things back to proper - or at least close to - functionality after severe head trauma. And the research gets sounder and the methodology more precise every day. You've just gotta know the right people - of which I'm not one, sorry. Physical stuff isn't so much my deal."
[Ashley McGowen] "Respect doesn't have to go hand in hand with fear," she says, with a shake of her head. "My old cabal mate managed it." Bran, though, was a rare person: Ashley knows that, and her own talents most certainly lie along respect through fear, through flexing of power. Him, though, she'll have little to say about. Not the time.
Ashley raises her beer again, takes another thoughtful sip. "It's still just magic," she says. "It's just a lot less direct than what -I- do." Less pure, in a way, though she prefers to think of it as less pragmatic, less sensible, even if it isn't what she feels in her guts. "I wouldn't want them to fix it for me, though, anyway."
[Chuck Carmichael] "No, of course it doesn't have to. But more often than not, it does - and has throughout history, both mundane and otherwise. And as for direct . . . one focus or another, I suppose. Hacking a bio-mainframe and making it do what you want, or . . . I don't know, how do you do it?" This is curious more than anything else - maybe her thoughts will resound, maybe they won't. He already knows, though, that there's little they agree on magically.
[Ashley McGowen] "I Will something to happen," she tells him, simply, "so it does. I mean, it's more complicated than that, of course, but at its core it's that I'm pitting my Will against the Will of others around me and the Wills that have laid out the way things work. If I'm stronger than they are, well..."
A shrug, here, but those few brief sentences perhaps explain quite a bit about Ashley. It's not complicated, though she could give him quite a long explanation on the nuances of Will, on Pure Thought and that Wills alone exist, but it would take them into a late night. "If you want more detail than that, it'll have to wait for when I'm less tipsy."
The bottle is drained and set aside, and Ashley gives the empty bottles, lined up there on the coffee table, a look as though they've offended her. "You have to be up for anything?"
[Chuck Carmichael] There are three - or is it four? - each, and though Chuck seems sober enough sitting there as he is, the impression lessens considerably when he moves . . . and finds himself swaying a bit. Glucose levels. Too much beer, not enough food. These things happen. "Not too early. The days I have to be up before nine are few and far between, but I should still head out. Might walk a bit and get some air before I decide if I'm driving home or calling a cab, though."
That's with a rueful grin, and he stands. "It's been great, as always. We should do this more often," he says.
[Ashley McGowen] "Sure," she says, with another look toward the bottles when he gets up and finds himself swaying a little, as though she's counting them. She's half his size, and while she holds her alcohol well, it's clear that it's had some effect. "Give me a call sometime."
Friendly enough, and she's already stretching herself out on the couch, folding an arm beneath her head. Chuck is intending to head out, to get some air; Ashley seems intent on staying in. Trying to get through a book or two, maybe, stubbornly staying awake until she gives in to sleep. Should he ask, she'll walk him downstairs; otherwise, the VDept is left to make his way down and out, a step or two farther away from the shy kid he used to be.
