I want the perfect kiss.

[Kage] A sunday farmer's market. The farmer's market is by no means large. There are only a few vendors selling vegetables and spices, but there is a butcher, who does a brisk business this close to Thanksgiving. There is a token tent selling cheap but glistering jewelry, things that sparkle in the hair of teenagers and draw the eyes of twentysomethings, a tent where long swathes of 'tribal' fabric hang. There's a kettle corn stand -- the line is long. Also a stand where a woman is turning out apple pie and apple cider and apple crepes, and that is the line that Kage is standing in, her arms wrapped around a large recycled Ralphs bag from one of the other stands. [Enid Geraint] Enid had been wandering, not in running clothes but in jeans-too-long and Converse, a tshirt under a hooded sweatshirt. Her hair is down, and longer than it's appeared . . . ever, to most, and distracted by some little compliment, she'd stopped at the jewelry stall, where she'd been talked into two pairs of earrings, some hair sticks and a barrette before moving on to the next stall, and the next, until her nose led her to the apple stall and a place in line behind Kage. Well mannered, she waits her turn, though the shorter, curlier red hair in front of her is familiar, though she has to think for a bit to remember . . . "You're the one with the friend in the prosecutor's office," she half-asks, an eyebrow raised. "Aren't you?" [Wharil Choc] Eight degrees. Eight degrees. Wharil felt the urge to turn up the collars on his long wool coat just thinking about it. Eight degrees, and Chicago's near constant gusts of wind was an uncomfortable thought for naturally bronzed young man. He wasn't from here. He wasn't from anywhere near here. And where he lived, when it wasn't swelteringly hot, it was humid and wet. None of this crisp air bullshit. None of this eight degrees and colder with wind chill crap. No tornado season. No Blizzards. "Jeez. He whispers quietly. A few bodies ahead of him, two redheads chatted. One of them he recognized. Wharil stayed where he was, waiting for the line to inch along. [Kage] ooc: and, bam! percept + awareness roll, 'coz i'm feeling frisky. to†Enid Geraint [Kage] She turned, at Enid's question, and looked at the girl. Kage once again looked as if she hadn't slept very well. Her features are drawn and her skin is pale as a ricepaper lantern, when the candle inside just shows how thin the paper is and throws some shadows into relief. The shadows: a few around the eyes, which are dark, expressive. After a very tiny moment, the redhead, who is possessed of a certain poise if naught else right now, a moolight-and-vines sort've grace and languor, that etched edge of weariness that only some ghosts have, nods. Her gaze flicks past Enid, scoping out how long the line's grown -- resting on Wharil, then passing him to the woman and her kid who join the line just behind him. Back to Wharil, back to Enid. "Sure. Kage Jakes. And you were Enid Geraint, sitting with your friend." [Enid Geraint] "Yeah, Corran," she says with a shrug. "Though I don't know him all that well. Friendly acquaintance, or something, until I know him better." The resonance is subtle, weaker than would be right for an experienced mage, and a withering, energy sucking sort of entropic - but there's something else, too, that opposes it. This latter is with Enid but not of her, something a bit different, and no less subtle. Her lips twist into that crooked, quirked smile and hands shove into her pockets - not out of being cold, as she is the picture of health and comfort in a brisk autumn day, but just for something to do. "Kage, that's right. Nice to see you again." That all established, her eyes follow the older woman's (because Enid is all of seventeen - nearly everyone in the line, but for the child with the woman behind Wharil, is older than she) to land on the naturally bronzed fellow. Her brow furrows, trying to place him, but . . . "I think I know him. Maybe. Or someone who looks like him." [Wharil Choc] Wharil's gaze meets Kage the first time. And the second. And even as she looks away he's still there. Still staring or perhaps more accurately analyzing the woman from a distance. His eyes meet with Enid's as well, only this time he bristles, looks away quickly and uncomfortably, and turns his collar up once again. The line moves and he shuffles a that much closer to the front. [Perc+Awareness: Resonance check] [Kage] The line moves. There are now two people between Kage and the mistress-of-apple-goods. Three people between Enid and the mistress-of-apple-goods. Five between Wharil and the mistress-of-apple-goods. But this is not sesame street. Let's leave it there. "Do you want to know him better? Corran," she clarifies. Wharil's eyes are there when Kage looks at him the first time. And the second. And after. And Kage frowns, suddenly. As if there were a word she didn't like, as if there were grafitti on her shoes, and looks at him again as Enid gives hazy account of his reality. And now it's her turn at the counter, so there must be a break, while she orders: "Apple crepe. Whipped cream. A shot of espresso?" When that's offered, Kage looks puzzled -- someone who doesn't quite have time to puzzle out the shape of a joke. "Sure," she says, and pays, and steps to the side to wait for her crepe, to be a studious scholar of Wharil's warp and weft, and then it's Enid's turn. [Kage] Wharil is perceptive. He looks at Kage and this is what he senses: Magick. Kage's magick is amorous, a fever'd kiss; an impassioned come-hither; a shard of the luminous. But faint, still. And Kage's magick is: draining, leeching, cold, shrinking, emptying out in the center. Dynamic, Entropic: perfectly balanced, for now. And there are traces of Spirit magick, clinging to her eyes, recently used. to†Wharil Choc [Kage] ooc: lalala (decides to percept + awareness resonance roll TOO) to†Wharil Choc [Enid Geraint] "Donut," she says promptly, though the mistress-of-apple-goods is looking at her suspiciously; it makes her cringe, this look, and takes away the smile remarkably quickly. "And cider, please." It's quick, the exchange of money for goods, and Enid steps out of the way for the next person in line. The hood hadn't come up, though whether that's out of increased confidence or occupation of hands is unclear. As for Corran, there's a shrug. "He's alright. Has some interesting things to say. Is nice, and cute in that Harry Potter actor way, but I don't generally make a habit of hanging out with guys that much older." She doesn't know exactly how old he is, of course, but given that he has flight certification and is a paramedic, she's guessing that he's older than twenty-one or -two, which edges him into the realm of 'too old'. Wharil's investigation gets what he already knew - that light, subtle sucking of energies around her, the hint of entropy's favor, or perhaps her favor of entropy. It also gets what he didn't know - the feeling of another, more dynamic (growing) resonance that is with her but not of her, that glows in the vicinity of her collar, concentrated at the end of a gold chain she's been wearing every time he's seen her, even in her running clothes. "I want to know lots of things. And he has a different perspective than anyone else, you know?" [Wharil Choc] Wharil's eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He gasps, tugging at his collar and opening the front of his coat. That was...well...that was something. He clears his throat, eyes forward, and advances in line. When he's at the front he orders an apple cider, putting an audible emphasis on the phrase 'hot'. His ears perk as he listens, or eavesdrops depending how you look at things. When he has his cider and has paid, he steps to the side. The same side the girls have stepped to. "Hi." He says amiably, flashing them each a warm smile. "Hey Enid. Who's your friend?" [Wharil Choc] There's something about the Wharil that makes you nervous. Or perhaps he himself was nervous. Or perhaps that's just the way he made the very air around him feel. Nervous. Jittery. To the point that it was all beginning to come apart and unravel. to†Kage [Enid Geraint] "I thought I knew you," she says, though it's still puzzled - there's mental fumbling, trying to grasp details that simply won't behave and stay where they should, but then she just shrugs. "You have an advantage, though. I don't remember your name." It's a moment, then, of further looking; the smile doesn't come back, not yet, and it makes her face look sadder, more tired. They must be difficult, one imagines, the things she's going through. "Anyway, this is Kage. Kage this is . . . ?" [Wharil Choc] "Chuck." He says with a smile, and extends a hand to Kage. "Nice to meet you, Kage. So what are you two up to?" [Kage] Her opinions on Corran's different perspective must stay unrevealed for now, because Wharil is becoming more interesting. When he approached, Kage looked at the corner of the apple-lady's stand, just where the flat metal counter is she puts paper plates and cups on, rueful. Where is inspiration? "You don't look like a Chuck," she says. "Or any 'Ch' sound, really." A moment's meditation. After all, what did Wharil really look like? Maybe Chuck was as good as anything. But Kage clings to this: Chuck is a solid name, and Wharil, he felt anything but solid. So, "I love this farmer's market. They make the best brunch." Cue for the apple crepe and espresso shot to come up -- espresso shot being in a teensy paper shotglass, Sponge Bob Squarepants style, and sprinkled in chocolate and espresso powder, hot and the steam is curling in the air, making calligraphy. Too hot to eat, maybe it'll melt that plastic fork -- we dont know yet. The drink, though -- maybe she'd stop feeling so transparent once she downed it. [Wharil Choc] Wharil laughs at that. Its brief, but its honest. Perhaps the most honest thing about him so far. "Heh! Really? What do Chuck's look like? Matter of fact, what do I look like?" [Enid Geraint] "She's right, you don't," Enid says with a shrug, though she's less concerned with that than the thin styrofoam cup full of warm apple cider makes its way to her hands; the donut, covered with powdered sugar mixed with cinnamon, gets dipped immediately and bitten into, giving her a bit of a sugar mustache. Then, the question, and she's thoughtful. "Chucks look like boys at school, or balding middle aged men who really want that hot convertible, or cute, fat babies whose toes need to be nibbled. You look like . . . steam. Or fog." All of which is followed by a blush, and a look at Kage as if for reassurance. "Doesn't he?" [Wharil Choc] "Wow. I think you two are just trying to get me to blush. Keep it up, it might work. One thing though: I was a very cute baby. And...I might be that middle aged guy some day. You can call me Charles if it makes you feel better." His own cider arrives, and he's eager to wrap his fingers around the cup, blowing directly into it ad letting the steam whisp up around his face. "I uhh...couldn't help overhearing. Were you guys talking about that Corran guy?" [Kage] Kage starts to smile (moth to smoke, cowboy to sunset) when Enid expands on what a Chuck looks like. And the keeneyed will see a spasmic shudder [someone just walked over a grave] when Enid finishes off with: steam, or fog. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. Give me a moment. It'll come to me." A moment for the espresso to get into her bloodstream, she means; a moment for the adrenaline to spike through her brain like a murder weapon and make her see everything as clear as clear can be, including foggy-faced young men with an air of 'unibomber.' "Do you know him?" [Wharil Choc] "We've met. Seen him around a couple times. He's got a strange vibe about him. Kinda...sticks out." He takes a slow sip of his sider, enjoying it apparently. "Though...decent enough I guess." [Kage] "Try this." This would be the 'crepe.' Kage took a bite already, licked the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. There are plastic forks in a little pencil holder set out on the metal counter they're all standing next to. Enid knows, already, that Kage is free with her offerings of food. A compulsive habit, maybe; something she might not think about. "You've got a strange vibe, too. It reminds me of," a pause. "A schematic for the 'Big Bang.' Fusion. I confess, I've forgotten the proper term, but there is a distinct image in my mind's eye." [Kage] And, Let's Do Some Magick, Are We Not Magi? Sharpen Up, Girl. To heighten perception. Coincidental 3 + 1 Mind = Diff 4. + Foci (Espresso Shot) -1 = Diff 3. to†Wharil Choc [Wharil Choc] "Well...uhh...I'll take that as a compliment. I guess." And he eyed the crepe curiously for a moment, then reached for a fork and decided to cut himself a small piece, dipping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Savoring. "Hm. Thats...y'know that's not half bad. Not bad at all." [Enid Geraint] Enid does, in fact, take a fork to try a bite - she smiles, and clearly enjoys it. "That's good. I may have to get it next time." If there is a next time - if she can stand the idea of facing that suspicious look again. Both Wharil and Kage are likely to note that Enid doesn't meet anyone's eyes but theirs; in fact, she studiously avoids looking at most people around them at all. And there is, of course, the matter of Corran - she's certainly decided that his particular view is not for her, but, well. These things happen, and just because it's not for her doesn't mean there isn't something there for her to learn. "Nervous," she says, and it's apropos of very little until she adds, "like something's about to happen. The bruised air before a tornado, when everyone's holding their breath and waiting, but there's nothing solid to hold onto as reason for it." [Kage] "I guess that would make it wholly good," Kage says, maybe amused. She is definitely amused once Enid, sharp little study, furthers the definition. "That's not bad," she says, approvingly -- or maybe the approval's because of how readily they both took a bite of her delicious crepe. It's a good thing she doesn't eat people, suck flesh off bones -- get into dreams and leech away vitality through food. Then? Kage decides the espresso shot has cooled off enough, and she downs it, all at once, throat working -- then swallow, and watch it flush her skin and make her eyes go liquid dark lake all mysteries a mirror in a dark room tears. Blink, and she clears her eyes. No, really -- she clears her eyes. "You're a poet, Enid." [Wharil Choc] Wharil looked up at Enid with a look of shock. It slowly grows into pleasant surprise. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah, that's...that's good. That's what I'm talking about, Enid. There's so much potential in you." And he practically beams at her, but catches himself. 'Chuck' whipes at his face with his hands, literally wiping the smile off. "C'mon, ladies. Lets walk a bit. Maybe find somewhere a bit less crowded?" [Enid Geraint] "I was in a class," she says with a shrug; she does that a lot, but then, she's a teenager. She also walks somewhat slumped, shrunk in on herself so as to escape notice, though this doesn't help any more than it does with the average person. Even though she is not. The average person, that is. "Of course I've got potential," she adds, glancing at Kage to see if they're all going - she has nowhere else to be at the moment, and sucking down hot cider and eating a donut a little away from where it feels like everyone's staring at her sounds nice. "Everyone does." [Kage] "Why not," she says. "We could get out of the weather, if you'd like, go to the library." That was for Wharil, who Kage has made a study of again; one they start bringing out words like 'potential' and looking pleased with themselves, that's when you've got to be wary as the the sole of a boot used once too often to sharpen knives. But it was also for Enid, who is looking at her. "And, perhaps, Enid. But you've got pizazz with your potential." [Wharil Choc] "Some more than others. Wouldn't you say so, Kage? Yeah, Pizazz. I like that." He glances at the Kage, who's been glancing at him, and there's a brief smile there. "So you been around here long? Chicago, that is." [Kage] ooc: sorry, I'm going to brb! Need to get some food. [Kage] ooc: from the kitchen. well, no, I'll post first. but then brb. [Enid Geraint] "Weather's not that bad. Wuss," she says with a momentary grin, teasing as if maybe she has friends after all; never mind that she barely knows these people, and she'd just differentiated between that and friends earlier. Anyway, yes, there's a slump-slouched, foot shuffling walk that only teenagers can pull off. Over . . . there, yes. The library. "We can go in the lobby, at least. They glare if you bring food and drink in." [Kage] "You're a secret handshake, 'Buck'," Kage says, with another (wan, light fades) half-amused smile. Guess she would say. And Kage's walk is more've a mild feminine swagger, she knows who she is, where she's going, what sort've pavement she has to walk to get there, that sortve walk, something lyrical. Kage will eat her crepe as they walk, and keep sharing the wealth if anybody wants it -- the better to eat the sucker before it gets cold, the better to un-occupy her hands. The brown ralph's bag she crams awkwardly into her bag, where it half-spills out. "Chicago's been my home for a little while, but I've kept to myself." He knows what she means, even if Enid probably takes it to mean that Kage is usually holed up doing research. Which would also be true. [Kage] ooc: hmm, scratch the 'little' from the 'little while.' Doesn't scan! [Wharil Choc] "Hey, give me a break. Where I'm from this is pretty nippy. I don't do cold." And Wharil's walk is much like him. He's not used to going this pace, it seems, and starts out ahead of them every so often only to turn and circle and wait for them to go by. He's a little bit all over the place really. "So you haven't come out playing with the other reindeer? Any plans to now?" [Enid Geraint] "I'm good at Monopoly," Enid offers, though this is not to be taken as her not knowing what they're talking about - because she does, more or less. It's simply an offering for the conversation, even if it is a nonsensical one. And yes, she does take the occasional bite of Kage's crepe, though she can practically hear her parents yelling in her ear that she shouldn't take food from strangers. She also finishes her cider, and tosses the cup into a garbage can just outside of the library. Aside from that one answer? She's mostly watching, and listening. [Kage] "Where are you from?" The crepe is finally done, and all that remains on the paper plate and some runic swirls of cream and chocolate, cinnamon and apple sauce. Kage dumps the plate in the first trashcan they come upon. "And I really don't know: what are the reindeer games like and just how open is enrollment?" Kage pinches the bridge of her nose, slides her fingers (which are cold, stone that's soaked up the night) up and presses her knuckles against her forehead. Shakes her head, once. Then, to Enid, "It amazes me how many different Monopoly sets there are now. One for every movie and TV show, it seems like. I saw a Jonas Brothers monopoly set the other day." [Wharil Choc] "South. Further south the further back you go." That, in his mind, serves as an answer. He's the first up the brief library steps, opening the heavy doors for the ladies to enter. [Enid Geraint] "Thanks," she says, stepping inside and shaking out her hair just before tucking it neatly behind her ears and flipping it over her shoulders. "And. Don't laugh. I have the Disney edition. And the Here and Now edition." It's with a little laugh, and a bit of blush. And for Wharil, "So, like . . . Mexico, then? We swam with the dolphins there, my parents and I did." [Kage] The library's quiet inside, because it's a Sunday, so its hours are severely shortened. There aren't too many people, and it seems darker than it should -- the ambience of amber lighting, an old building wedged in between skyscrapers that have gloss. This is a place where in a crack between Magnificent Mile's gloss there is something older, wiser, visible. Stories, another time, a different city, and city that's going to be. And it is a little warmer, which is the main point. Their footsteps echo on the lobby's floor, once they've stepped off the mat that's put down during the rainy and snowy seasons. Winter is so cold, and fall is so tumultous. Kage doesn't add anything right now, just listens. [Wharil Choc] "Yyyyeah, more or less. You ever hear of the Caste Wars in Mexico? Hundreds of Families fled as refugees. They scattered around southern Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and all before any of these places had established borders. My family was one of them. Well, my grandfather's family was. My mom and dad were pretty much settled by the time I came around, y'know?" Wharil chooses a quiet corner to lean into, still supporting the cup with the last of his cider, still enjoying the warmth of the long wool coat. [Kage] Kage chooses to walk a few paces away from Enid and Wharil and touch the library's guestbook. The thing is heavy, the paper cheap, and rests on a pedastol. There is a pen at the end of a chain, dark as bronze stars, drowning in a muddy stream: that sort've color. The pen works, though, and she signs something in the book while Wharil explains about the Caste Wars. She's interested. She always, always interested in history; in where people are from; in the stories people tell about who they are. "They must have had some interesting stores. Any extant papers? Diaries and the sort?" [Wharil Choc] "From the wars you mean?" He shakes his head no, dipping slightly. "Colonialism is a sunovabitch. The spaniards burned all the writing. Only a few things ever got out, and they're all in European Museums. There are stories though. Y'know, the kind passed down from generation to generation." And then he seems to bristle, straightening his back as he pushed off the wall to face Kage. "Maybe...I can tell you some time." [Kage] And we'll have a Percept + Awareness roll for a how'you feelin', Charlie Brown. to†Wharil Choc [Kage] Wharil is inscrutable to Kage for the moment. The pale-skinned magi looks him over, as he pushes off the wall to face her; she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, then twines her fingers together, tightly clasping her hands. "I'd listen, as long as it wasn't breaking some covenant, story told out of the bloodline and all. Well," a pause, and a sudden -- really, startlingly dark/lovely/luminous -- lopsided smile. Kage isn't gorgeous, a rather plain woman all in all. "I'd listen anyway, deal with the consequences later." [Wharil Choc] And that makes him smile, bright and warm in the near dark. "That's great. Umm...can I ask? Are with any of the..." And here he pauses, eying Enid and then their surroundings in general before he whispers. "Traditions?" [Kage] "The Nine? No." A brief pause. Kage has also modulated her voice so that it is low, as sweet as a secret shared in the dark beneath covers; perhaps that is some of her resonance creeping in, amorous. "Not I. But," and here, another lopsided smile, albeit one without any of that gleam, "You are?" The point: not with the Traditions, but not a lost-little-magelet. [Enid Geraint] Enid is, in fact, a little magelet lost, and she doesn't remember having had this conversation - or one very like it, at any rate - only a day or two before. She doesn't remember bronzed skin and dark hair and sharing a hot dog where Pete wasn't, at the chess tables in Grant Park. Things pick at her, twinge, and her brow furrows. "Youth . . . Euthanatos," she says. "Not me." There's a shrug, and distraction as she tries to place who she knows that fits with that name - it makes her uneasy, the not knowing, and her nails (chewed to the quick, if anyone looks, and with scabs at some of the cuticles) scritch over the fiber of her jeans. Her head shakes, and eyes blink - she's heard the name, knows the basics, but can't make it fit with the mages she remembers talking to - not Ashley or Kage, not Corran or Charlie, not Silas. "Anyway. No. I'm a square peg, so far," she says. "And see no point in trying to jump into a round hole. I like to know more, to look at things from multiple angles." [Wharil Choc] He nods once, and with certainty at Kage before speaking "Euth--" But Enid has beaten her to it, which from the look on his face he's found very surprising. His lips purse as he squeezes back what he was going to say. Ashley told her, no doubt. But what else had she been telling her. "You might have to. At some point. You might need to find a place to fit in. To explain things to you." [Kage] Euthanatos. Enid and Wharil: in chorus. The baritone drops out and the soprano finishes the word. Kage's reaction to the name is to glance to the side -- as if there were something there; there's a note of inscrutability that smokes up her already dark eyes. "I see," she says, after a pensive hesitation. Then, another quick and lopsided smile -- something shining in the mud. "There's a lot of room in that club for different viewpoints. Of course, they'll probably explain things to you anyway, talk, talk, talk trying to recruit you. From what I've been told, it's nice to have a de facto group of people to 'take your side.' It's hard to really believe that, however; they're all an individual bunch." An individual bunch: Kage relaxes, slightly, at that. Had she been tense? Yes, a little. [Kage] ooc: mmm. strke that 'all' in 'they're all an individual bunch' and make it 'they're an individual bunch.' [Wharil Choc] Wharil lets out a huff of laughter at that. "I can promise you there's plenty space for individuality. I'm living proof of that. But that'll have to wait for some other time. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You see your friend Kage, she shines so brightly. But she seems alright. Here's hoping we can be friends too." And with that he raises his Styrofoam cup to the two of them, draining it of the last bit of cyder. "Mm. Now that's good. I'll see you two around, eh?" [Enid Geraint] Soprano pauses, watching Wharil. Waiting. Studying. She wants to know more, does the little quick study, and maybe she will before the conversation's done - but he can take comfort, perhaps, in knowing that she'll forget. They always do, when he's around, unless they have the ability to circumvent it - which Enid apparently doesn't. Or if she does have the ability, she lacks the know how. Interesting, really, and she blinks. And again. "Ashley tells me things. Corran too, though Ashley's things make more sense to me. I run, but that doesn't make me a jock. I'm smart, but that doesn't make me a nerd. Why do I have to pick?" [Wharil Choc] "Because if you want that letter jacket you have to become a jock, if I can borrow your analogy. If you want to excel and learn the big things, you'll have to choose sooner or later. Some secrets are for club members only." He shrugs, still heading for the door. "Plus, like Kage said. Its always good to know someone has your back. Erm...you had something else you wanted to ask, maybe?" [Kage] [Why do I have to pick?] "You don't." [Kage, she shines so brightly] Kage, she blushes so pinkly. Startled into it, actually. Blood under the skin, you know, and warmth; far too tired to stop the rush of heat however inappropriate. To Wharil's farewelling, "Where there are reindeer games. . . " A faint smile. "Chuck." She doesn't scoff at the 'excel and learn big things' line, but she does worry her hair back behind her ear, and she's in no hurry, so she just makes both Enid and 'Chuck' a study -- portrait of young mage and tradition mage, just before the what word to use here. [Kage] ooc: why is that bold? i don't know. *puzzled* [Enid Geraint] "I have a letter jacket. With all my letters and numbers, even. I also have a 3.85 GPA, and more than enough volunteer hours. Sometimes you can have it all," she says, with all the arrogance and security of someone who hasn't gone to college yet, hasn't stood in line for hours to be told no, she can't have exactly what she wants. It's coming soon, that, in theory - maybe, if things straighten out the way she wants them too. "I have time," she says, decided. "And. I suppose I should ask if you'd mind telling me things, too. Both of you, for that matter," she says with that smile - endearingly crooked, off center, left of perfect in her young, freckled face. "I said. I like covering the angles. But you're leaving, and I hear we run into each other a lot." 'We' being bigger than the three of them, of course. [Wharil Choc] "You've got time. You still have that address and number I gave you? In the park? I hope you do. Hope you can come by some time so we can talk." "Oh its Wharil, by the way." He finally corrects just before leaving. His lips and tongue do this strange dance that make his name sound like the beating of wings or falling rocks. Whoo-ahh-reel. Only with the ease and swiftness of a native speaker of whatever language that was. "Wharil Choc." Which did sound like 'Chuck'. Except that it didn't. And then he was gone. [Kage] "Beats James Bond," is Kage's final farewell. Then it's just the two redheads, again. This time, Kage is puzzling over Enid, a look in her eye that is most distant and deeply contemplative. Then she says: "What do you want more than anything?" [Enid Geraint] "Right Now This Minute, or Someday?" They're two different questions, after all; the wants for Someday are things to be worked for, maybe fought and bled and cried for, but the things for Right Now tend to be easier gained. Enid is a relatively logical girl, as these things go. [Wharil Choc] [Thanks for playing guys!] [Enid Geraint] (You too! [Kage] "Always." [Enid Geraint] "Growth." It's knee jerk, given without allowing herself time to think, to hem and haw. "You?" [Kage] "Do you think so?" Kage sounds surprised. Enid and Kage are hardly sister-close, but Enid does not taste like growth; maybe the girl just means change. Or maybe Miss 3.85, enough volunteer hours, a letter jacket and a problem at the prosecutor's is just so deeply on The Track that she's not completely off it yet, even with all the things life's thrown at her. "I want the perfect kiss." [Enid Geraint] "The one that pops your foot off the floor and makes your eyes close not just to roll your eyes and makes you want time to stop just so it never ends?" Enid's thought about this, too, it seems - and no, her one word answer doesn't fit her taste or smell. Those things change, have changed. "I love Brian. Loved him," she corrects, frowning and looking down, hunching in on herself again. It is, of course, for a seventeen year old's value of love, and she is the picture of a seventeen year old's value of pain. "But I don't know that we had that. Not yet, anyway." It was a distraction, and not a particularly pleasant one, and when Enid looks up again, there's no trace of that perfectly imperfect smile. "I don't just mean change, though that's part of it," she says, answering the unspoken thought. "I mean growth. Learning more, doing more, being more." [Kage] First. Kage's gaze lists to the left and her mouth quirks, wry and pleased. Then her gaze lists back to front and center, to the pale, fiery redhead schoolgirl who is murderess. Whose picture was in the paper, and you can bet that, after last time, Kage looked through her old papers, seeking the picture she'd half-remembered at the time until she found the appropriate article. You can bet on it, and be the richer. "Doing more what, being more what; just experience for experience's sake, see what happens?" [Enid Geraint] "Partly. I mean." Her brow furrows, and for all that she's so certain she has the eloquence (and everything else) of a teenager. "It's not all good, growth. There's this ivy, on my house? Both sides. It pulls at the bricks, and there's brick dust everywhere, all the time. And we can't grow grass, and I think the birch is probably dead, and the elm on its way. And there are parasites in various animals that grow so big they kill the host." She's trying to think this through as she's talking, and she's not sure she's making sense? But she forges on, regardless. "Growth . . . just is. And it touches everything, changes everything, and it's mutual, for better or worse. I want that." [Kage] "To be beyond morality?" - here, a faint smile. She isn't patronizing Enid, but she is (gently) probing her answers. [Enid Geraint] "Morality's subjective, confusing, and contradicts itself all the time. It varies from culture to culture. 'Do not kill' is altered to 'don't kill humans unless they really deserve it' at a whim. Which isn't to say I want to kill anyone," she says hurriedly, looking stricken. "Or . . . that I did." Except she had. Her face turns wry, though lacks the grin to lighten it. "It's easier when the question's just 'what do you want to be when you grow up', you know. I guess . . . I kind of mean growth like a sponge." By sucking up everything around her - as Kage has seen her do with every little bit of information presented. [Kage] "There's far more to righteousness then just when it is permissable to kill a human, plant or animal," Kage says, but she lets the rest of it slide and, once again, does not try to pry open the box that is Enid's mind. Then: "Knowledge is an excellent goal in and of itself. I believe it is, anyway." "Listen, Enid. Don't give my name out to other people in this context, okay? These people can be dangerous. But I'll give you my card, and you can e-mail me, if you like." [Enid Geraint] "Alright," the girl says, amiable enough. Then her nose wrinkles, and though her face still misses that customary little quirk of a smile, it's a bit lighter at this offer - she is a social thing, this girl, and one imagines the articles and the case have had their effect on that part of her life. "I ask a lot of questions. Y'know, so you're prepared." [Kage] "And I only answer the ones I want to, so I think we'll make do." Kage must take the brown paper bag out of her overlarge purse -- a thing of woven beauty. Then she must perforce find her wallet and a business card, but finally she does, and circles one of two email addresses. "The number is just a machine. I'll talk to you later, Enid." And with that, she hoists the ralph's bag -- and the vegetables within -- up, wrapping her arms around them, and sashays on out. ooc: a clumsy ending, but! i really gotta stop. hee.