Witness

Gregor] There is a decided silence from the Basement, followed by a rustle of clothing and a brief clap on the lower stairs of the basement.



"...I'm down here. Keep quiet." Lucid and soft, they are the only words spoken before movement returns him to whatever it was he was doing.



[Ashley McGowen] Gregor's voice drifts up from the basement. A frown alights on Ashley's face as she looks toward it - perhaps he's busying himself with the guardian? - before she makes toward the stairs. Trying to stay as quiet as she can, despite the creak of the wood stairs and her poor balance.



The Hermetic pauses in front of the stairs, lifting one foot and then another to peel her sneakers off her feet and leave them by the stairwell. Her jacket she leaves hanging over the post at the bottom of the stairs, and then she heads up. She isn't sure which room was Marla's, but hopefully it will be at least somewhat evident.



She walks down the hallway, peering into rooms as she goes and hoping there isn't any sort of scene of the variety that greeted them when they first walked back in a few weeks ago.



[K. R. Jakes] K. R. Jakes does not like the chantryhouse [a safe place (no)]. But she is intrigued by it. No memory of blood for her to give her pause on the threshold of a room and this is an invitation to (before the clean up crew [this is it] gets to it) look through the secrets of a Traditionalist (nephandic) enclave. There is this: Kage is quick, clever, and thorough when it comes to foxing out information; when it comes to looking around, and figuring out a story (what went down here [where do we go next]). There is this: Ashley is relentless, thorough and full-up on the occult. Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.



They aren't disturbed by either Henri or Gregor in their quest. Kage, at least, falls completely into it. Hours later, they've sifted through junk, they've touched on things that may be of interest, that may not be of interest, and they've looked through a good number of rooms, only to get sucked into the gravitational pull of the library.



And Kage takes a deep silence [hush] breaking breath. "I'm getting hungry," she says. "You?"



[Ashley McGowen] This is a glorious library. One even bigger than her library at home, and full of eclectic titles, books she didn't think she would ever get a chance to see in her lifetime even. She handles them respectfully, cradling the pages and always careful not to bend the covers or dog ear anything as she slides them back on the shelves when she's done with them.



And hours later, when they're both bleary eyed but still full of the thrill of discovery, of a hunt of the variety they both enjoy, Kage says she's hungry. Ashley straightens out of her chair, taking a moment to rub at the corner of her eye, reddened from dust.



"Yeah, me too," she says. "Want to go get something? Probably better to leave the food down there for the two of them."



[K. R. Jakes] "I don't know what groceries you brought over," which was a kind and thoughtful thing for Ashley to do, and Kage, perhaps noticing this, gives Ashley a (serious) questioning look. The pale-skinned redhead wears poking into hideyholes and unknotting [unlocking] books well. Practiced, see. That isn't to say, of course, that these are the digs she's used to poking around in. So, suppressed [radiance (pleasure)] gladness, or something close to it -- something more clotted, something more knotted, something more prayer-labyrinth. "But that sounds like a plan; let's see if Gregor wants anything else?"



"He might be caught up in whatever he's doing, but he might be coming out of it, too. Actually, do you want to do that, while I check my voicemail?" Now that she's remembering Jon's voicemail, she's curious about what he wants. She doesn't disillusion herself: It's probably something troubling, something that has absolutely nothing to do with her, that is absolutely none of her business, outside of her paygrade, totally beyond her realm of experience, troubling. Or maybe he just ran into Dylan. Only voicemail, or a return-call, will tell.



[Ashley McGowen] "A bunch of soda and energy drinks, and junk food and frozen pizzas," Ashley says wryly, recalling the state of Henri's apartment and the boxes that she saw lying around the place. The Etherite didn't seem like the sort to enjoy either good clean living -or- cooking. "Threw in some bread and meat and stuff, though. Could probably have sandwiches if we wanted."



And, while Kage goes to check her voice mail, Ash heads downstairs, stockinged feet drumming out a steady rhythm on the wood as she hits first the first floor and then makes her way to the top stairs of the basement. "Gregor," she calls down, trying to keep her voice quiet, "you need anything? Or want something to eat? We're taking a break."



[Gregor] "...I see you found the book room."



Gregor emerges from the darkness of the Kitchen, his hand wrapped around the remains of a sandwich, hungrily consumed and probably meant for the trip down to the basement. It hadn't even made it that far, it would seem. He chews in small bites though, leaning against the trim of the entrance.



He's dressed in a simple white t-shirt and black track pants, bare foot and bare armed (pale and bandy), though his height is no less daunting. He looks clean. Freshly shaved, head down to a fine film of black stubble, eyes untouched by the darkness of exhaustion.



A first, it would seem. He stares with clear thought and clear mind, watching Ashley at the foot of the stairs.



"...These you?" He motions the last bit of the sandwich at the smaller woman, showing her the sandwich remains, before popping it into his mouth, dusting hands off and crossing his arms over his chest.



[Ashley McGowen] Ashley looks back over her shoulder, and catches the sound of Kage's voice on the phone - with Jonathan Kincade, probably. For a fleeting moment Ashley has to wonder why he called the Orphan, of all the names he has, but no matter really.



"Yeah," she tells Gregor, glancing at the remains of the sandwich he holds in his hands, extending them forward. The couple of weeks that have passed since they last saw each other haven't been particularly kind with Ashley, as evidenced by the continued presence of the dark hollows beneath her eyes, her hunched narrow shoulders, the way her clothes seem a little baggy on her frame. She's dressed in a black T-shirt, worn over a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.



And, after a second's pause, she wanders into the kitchen, though she makes no move for the refrigerator. "How's Henri?"



[Gregor] "...Sleeping."



And for a brief moment, it seems all he's willing to say, gaze following Ashley's smaller shape into the Kitchen darkness. The light is on the wall but he makes no move to flick it on, trusting in the comfort of the dark it would seem or...just not as nervous about it at the moment. His frame rolls on the edge of the trim, regarding Ashley from that same vantage. Then-



"...Hurt. Worn out. Grieving. Unstable, in more ways then one." He sucks in a deep breath. "Paranoid, Mistrustful, Weak, Sullied, Broken, Beaten, Vulnerable, Frail. A host of others, really." If one is wondering at the possible judgment in his tone, they'd be mistaken. Sarcasm was not his strong suit, nor did he seem particularly wrapped up in lacing his words with carefully prepared accusation.



For a moment there's silence. Then his jaw pushes forward and his tongue clucks.



"...She tells me that a lot of that's 'cause of you."



[Ashley McGowen] [I control my emotions.]



[Ashley McGowen] He lists off all of the things that Henri is feeling right now, many of them things that Ashley expected to hear. The kid was a wreck when she ran away down the street that night two weeks ago and left Ashley standing alone with the Armadillo, watching her get smaller and smaller and lacking the balance to think about running after her.



What she did not expect to hear was that Henri says that a lot of it is because of her. Ashley's jaw tightens, and for a long time, the silence between the two magi is heavy and oppressive, daring Gregor to try to fill up the silence.



"Henri," Ashley says at last, "would feel like shit regardless, because Dylan's gone. The only thing I did was break the news and try to get her to pull herself together. I'm sorry she feels the need to project all of that onto me because she needs someone to blame, but that doesn't change the way things are."



[Gregor] "She's grieving."



As if that were enough to mollify anything Ashley had said so far. He leans out to flick a hand at the light switch, a dimmer, that pulls the illumination up enough not to hurt the eyes (Gregor had been a street creature, wrapped in darkness for too long to appreciate proper illumination, thus, the House's relative darkness). He moves off the wall of the entrance and waves a hand.



"Save the explanations. I'm honestly not interested in acting as her intermediary. Wouldn't solve anything and I'm....not entirely sure we'd hear one another, really." A cupboard is reached and he pulls out one of the glasses, washing the rim off with his t-shirt before moving to the faucet.



"...You did something to her. Tried...to do something to her. It either didn't work or you didn't do it well enough. She says you..." A pause, confused, head shaking, faucet running with little movement made to correct any of it just yet.



"...Tried to get in her brain." He fills the cup up.



"My question is, why?"



[K. R. Jakes] Half of a conversation.



"Hi, Jonathan. What's up? And why do mysterious complications around the location of a potential disappeared person nexus warrant a call to my humble self?" A very long measure of silence.



"I see." A long pause. Then: "Patients? What kind of patients?" And if, when, he explains -- again: "I see. Listen. Don't do anything yet. I'll try and get you somebody. But until then, if you're going to take my advice, the advice is this: don't poke it, don't prod it, definitely don't let Kaya poke or prod it, and keep your head down." Another silence. Possibly a little longer. Things like this lengthen.



"Mm. Good. Look. I'm in the middle of something, but one quick question: Did this 'black out' you ran into feel like it had been there for a while? Fixed how-dare-you-sir zone? Or just thrown up like a tee-hee-I'm-changing-now towel?"



The redhead is outside the kitchen now, see; she is leaning up against a wall, looking unblinkingly at the point where the wall meets the ceiling, and musing over whether or not that shadow should move that way. Another silence.



"You didn't happen to get a sense of what this someone's particular signature sizzles like, did you?"



And we'll end with: "Hm. Don't apologize. Hopefully one of your people will get in touch; have a good night."



Then she snaps her phone shut. Pauses. To get into her brain. My question is, why,, Gregor is saying, and the Orphan turns toward the kitchen door, then glances sharply [cut me] back toward the stairs instead. "Shut it," she mutters, "I'm not. Unless you're going to be ... Helpful?"



And a step is taken away from the kitchen toward the stairs (who knows what she's seeing).



[Ashley McGowen] Kage is in the other room, now talking to something that is not Jonathan. Backing away from something, breathing life into the spark of curiosity that is ever lingering in the back of Ashley's mind. It's something she would nurture and pay attention to, if she weren't focusing so much of her attention on Gregor. On trying to formulate a response, a why, on reining in frustration and anger and hurt and despair and trying not to unleash it on him.



He says not to bother to explain and that he isn't sure they would hear one another, and she wets dry lips, cramming her hands into the pockets of her jeans and glancing over toward the opposite wall.



"She was going crazy and trying to run off, so I tried to keep her from doing it and figured I'd bring her home with me until she calmed down. It didn't work. But you know what? Henri's a fucking adult. She's grieving. That doesn't change the fact that there are things that have to be done and she could have put people other than herself in danger when she ran off. So I did what I thought I had to do."



Gregor had said to save her explanations, but she seems to have ignored that request. Her voice is steady even if her frame isn't; there's a minute shaking in her hands and shoulders.



[Gregor] "...Who made that your responsibility?"



Quick. Confused. Wondering. As ignorant of Ashley's inherent emotions toward this situation as She was to his lack of interest in explanations.



"...Did Wharil tell you to do that?"



[K. R. Jakes] [Enh. Resist His beckoning WP? ooc: y'all, skip me! *grin*]



[Ashley McGowen] "No. I just didn't want to have to deal with a -second- fucking Marauder," Ashley snaps. She looks as confused, for a moment, as he does, trying to read into that question and understand why he asked about Wharil. Whether she seems like the sort of person who -needs- to be guided and told what to do, or whether he just didn't expect her to feel responsible for Henri.



Her hands clench as though she's trying to keep a grip on stinging shreds of pride and dignity.



"Wharil didn't have a thing to do with it."



[Gregor] ....And Gregor looks unconvinced. The confusion turns into a frown, stepping toward the narrowed Ashley. She'd snapped at him the first time they'd met, too. He'd opted to ignore it, or, as seems more the case now, been oblivious to it. Beggars were like that. It's how you got over the world looking down on you.



"So you got scared?"



[Ashley McGowen] "I wasn't scared," Ashley tells him. Her tone is odd: certain, and yet it shakes, hesitates, as though she knew that she wasn't frightened then but she might be now. And there's a glint of defiance there when she looks his way. Fight, fight because it's all that you can do.



"I was...I didn't know what else to do with her," Ashley says, the last part of the sentence coming out almost as a sigh. "I couldn't chase her down or keep her from running and talking to her wasn't working. I had a tool at my disposal and I used it."



[Gregor] "You fucked up."



He's nodding, looking askance now.



"...You miscalculated and decided to act the only way you knew how rather then talking to someone else about it and when it went the way you expected...or didn't..." Head shaking, without his eyes leaving the small Hermetic. "...You decided to try force. That failed as well." Piece by piece by piece, putting together the more honest aspects of the situation. He builds the ladder to the way things work, taking from their conversation and construction a vision.



Gregor pulls back from Ashley for a second, gaze flitting across the Kitchen proper. It's almost as if he's applying it all, to something-



"-People aren't structures. Or projects. Or surgery waiting." Dismissive, almost, as if that last line of her defense weren't worth considering. As if what he said was common knowledge. Common fact. Common acceptance and she'd misspoken. He's pacing somewhat now a half dozen feet from her.



"Have you talked to Wharil about this yet?" Pausing, eyes lifting to regard her. He is serious. There is no malice there or underlying potential. He wants to know what Wharil thinks of this.



[Ashley McGowen] He tells her she fucked up, and, much like before when he said something similar - that she'd survive, that she failed - Ashley's expression crumples. She tries to summon anger, instinct, and a sense of indignance that would have a ready retort to throw back at him (Henri's an adult, Henri doesn't need you to white knight, what would -you- have done?) but maybe she's done that a little too often recently, because the response doesn't seem to come.



"Fuck this. And Wharil, and you. I'm done."



Ashley raises her sleeve to the front of her face as though to stifle the words, but they've already been said. And, blinking furiously, the Hermetic twists around and makes for the door.



Unfortunately the planned hasty exit is a bit interrupted by the fact that she left her shoes, crumpled and soaked and slightly tattered by the stairwell, and her coat too. In silence she tries to jam them onto her feet, not looking at Kage or back toward Gregor.



[Gregor] (Pardon?)



[K. R. Jakes] The Orphan looks up the stairs for a long time. No: the Orphan watches something [dustmotes and a fall of light; a shadow spins itself into a man; the man wears horns; his eyes are lightless; his smile, a devil's; otherwise, he's just so human; there's a scar across his wrist and his sleeves are thief-rolled-up] there. Listens, too. The light from the kitchen cuts across the hall, and cuts across the ground just before her feet. In the end, she doesn't follow (no). What sort've test was that? What sort've trouble?



And what sort've trouble is going on in the kitchen? Kage slides her cellphone into her pocket instead of her bag, turns to go see just what sort've trouble that is, and Ashley comes striding out and heading straight for the door. "Hey, 'ley, what's going on?" And Kage looks at Ashley and then back toward the kitchen at Gregor. She looks perplexed, of course.



[Gregor] "...No you're not."



There is anger.



The last few days. The last few weeks. They've been a blur of sleeplessness. Tracking. Effort upon effort upon effort and always with a grim sort of resolution. A Vision of the future. A vision of putting a stop to something that needed stopping. Despite the inhumanity. Despite the possible slaughter. Sacrifice. Sacrifice for something resembling a Greater Good.



"...there's a Plan-" his tone is a snowball at the top of a hill-



-Wharil had contacted him. Told him about the specifics. He threw in with traditions because they made a good case. Offered a good solution even if it was still uglier. Better then his. Better then the options. A sigh of relief in a still constricted world-



Gregor/Shut up-



"-And there are mistakes made and Fuck ups to be had-" Rolling down that hill-



There was a young Etherite. An Orphan's kindness and generosity. A Mistake that put a young Girl in tears of grief. A house of disorder and discombobulation. More sleep lost. More time wasted. More of the walking Inferno wandering around, opening doors-



Gregor, Stop/I Said. Shut. Up-



"-And You suddenly want to walk away? Leave this to us? Because you dropped a very big ball during a time that we can't afford it?!"



-Down the hill, gathering weight. Gathering momentum. Gathering force.



"-Why's that exactly?"



He's in the way now. A blockade, like the vagabond knows to be. Put your hand out. Thrust your body forward. Make them See You. Earn that quarter. He stands in her path and his strides are wide enough to carry him into any direction she might think to rise toward. Staring her down, face a livid quiver as the Vision begins to crack behind his eyes.



"You think your Fuck up is ours to fix?"



-Until it's an Avalanche.



That tone is quiet now. A breath more then a noise.



[Ashley McGowen] Gregor pursues her out into the foyer, and somehow (well, it's not hard, she's small, she can't move fast) he overtakes her. Intercepts her, comes to stand in front of her and block her path. Ash makes an attempt to get around him, a quick dart to his side while she shields her face, but he's tall and his arms are longer than her -legs- and the path toward the stairwell is very small.



They lock eyes, and hers are blue and red and barely containing the moisture that threatens to spill over and leak out. Her ears are red, burning with humiliation and barely shielded by the shock of dark hair that falls over them.



"Maybe -you- should have fucking manned up and talked to Henri in the first place, then," she tells him, her voice quiet and intense. Vicious. "I was the one that talked to Michael so that he knew that his son wasn't coming home. There's nothing here to fix. It's a shitty situation and Henri will have to learn to deal on her own. We can't do that for her."



[Gregor] (Keeping the voice dowwwwnn...)



[K. R. Jakes] [Lalala ME TOO... just ignore this...]



[Gregor] "This isn't about Henri."



Sharp. Caustic. His hands clap hard between them, the sound the loudest thing that's been made in the last four hours. The gesture does much to crack his descent into something worse. He starts slightly, eyes snapping shut for a brief moment. Long enough to think. Not long enough to make a move around. His voice remains oddly quiet (little mercies) whilst they are in the hall.



"Henri is a symptom of you running away because things are out of your control."



He pulls himself down to meet her face, the anger draining out of his features with supreme control, slackening to a slow breath out of his nostrils. He meets the glimmer of tears and doesn't waver. Honesty in each syllable.



"The Guardian's talking. It's ready to broker. I need help with that though. That means you, that means Wharil. That means everyone if we can manage it." A beat. "The Inferno-" He snaps his eyes shut. Reflex. "-The Marauder is walking around breaking things. Putting holes where they shouldn't be and things that normally wouldn't be able to affect this side-" Something surges. Threatens. Is pushed back down again through gritted teeth. "-Are finding these holes and doing things to people."



He stares at her.



"He's a Threat. Wide and large. Enough that our plans are at an If crossroads. Not a when but an if and you suddenly want to tell me that you're out. Walking. On Wharil. On me. On the idea of a..." Struggling for the word a moment "...Cabal. On the entire concept of fixing what's Right." He leans back, pauses, taking another breath, hands waving if she or Kage decide to try and say something.



"Because of this..."



He takes a breath, eying the walls, the ceiling and then the floor infront of them. Then, head shaking, he crouches lower and drops to his knees, sitting back on his ankles and looking up at Ashley, jaw clenched. That resolution. That resignation.



Convict(ion).



"We need you to stay. We can't afford to lose any bodies and Wharil has faith in your abilities. I don't know you enough to...to...say anything beyond that but I know we need you. Need what you can do and-" A hand waves at the air, eyes closing briefly.



"...Please don't go." A Beggar's pride. Worth the cup of coffee he gets for four quarters.



[K. R. Jakes] Kage is quiet (no need to touch on this) and Kage is horrified (you people). The young woman opens her mouth once [no: twice] to say a word (you people!), but doesn't. This isn't something that she's going to be able to help with -- and it isn't really something she should help, either. So she presses her fingertips to her mouth (kiss) and, shoulders relaxed, no tension coiling through her muscles, no wariness, made too visible by physical tells, and waits the yelling out. Mages: so damned Willful. Reserve judgment.



[Ashley McGowen] "I don't care." It's a statement that could be taken as a response that is pure in its callousness: there is a Marauder running amok in the city, tearing holes in reality and she doesn't care. The perceptive would notice the trembling jaw, the hands clenched in her pockets, and the way her feet twist and curl on the ground as though they want to run even though she can't, and the perceptive might realize that this statement extends (horrifyingly) farther than mere callousness.



He tells her that she needs to stay and fix what's Right and she shakes her head, a gesture that is too slow, too (lost) deliberate to be an outright refusal.



And then he finishes and Ash bows her head long enough to dash away salt and water, leaving a smear of darker blue on her sleeve. It is a situation in which she has few options: care, waste away or die. "...Fine," she says to Gregor finally, mouthing the word with only a wheeze of air.



That single word seems to help her shore up some of her composure again, as though by forcing herself into the decision she seems determined to make good on it. To summon up feelings from nowhere, feelings of which she didn't think she had any left. "Wharil knows that Henri ran from me. I didn't tell him anything else. So tell him if you want, and I'll deal with it."



[Gregor] He stares up at the woman as she speaks. Gregor's years have been spent watching. When they don't talk to you and stop noticing you, they give away everything and he's learned to watch. Them. Bodies. Faces. Those who could give out. Those who couldn't. Wouldn't. Shouldn't. Those who would rather die first. To give or not. It's the perceptions. Read the right face and put your hand out. Get that quarter. Get that thread.



Dance, Puppet?



His eyes close again, lips curling around something that is quashed in the dark of the Hallway. He breathes again, affecting something of a shoring. Repair old barricades torn down for a scrap of something. He climbs to his feet, once again towering, looking down at the vague wallow of Ashley's countenance.



He glances at Kage. Something there, briefly-



"Thank you." A short exhale. "Thank you."



His gaze flickers over his shoulder, regarding the door behind which huddles an Etherite.



"She's not your problem. Never was. Worlds apart. Me and Time will deal with it." And then back at Ashley again. "If you think Wharil needs to know then tell him. Otherwise, we should concentrate on our mutual problem. Agreed?" Olive branches and goals to orient on. Something outside this little spasm.



[Ashley McGowen] "Yes," she tells Gregor, just loud enough to be heard. Accepting the olive branch for...what, exactly? She doesn't have Gregor's sense of Right or Wharil's sense of duty or Kage's sense of compassion. Ashley is doing it because it's a reason to keep going.



Her frame is still wilted, out of embarrassment now, shame at the breakdown rather than those other complex feelings that sprang to life when Gregor first began to speak to her about Henri. Ashley looks toward her shoes, toward her coat, and contemplates leaving for the evening, but she and Kage were working on things, they took a break, and she isn't sure she could handle the sting of retreat too.



Ash lets out a quiet sigh, gives Gregor a nod and then prepares to go back upstairs. No longer hungry, apparently.



[K. R. Jakes] Me and Time will deal with it. Kage's eyebrows draw together. Her hand drops from her mouth; finds her pocket, instead, and her cellphone. If you think Wharil, Gregor says, and Kage looks at the short-haired, flush-cheeked Hermetic for another second. Ashley prepares to head back upstairs. Kage, who did not take her shoes off (no trust [or no respect] you're not going to catch me without my shoes again), now that the door is free and easy, opens it and leaves. (At least, for now.) She'll shut the door behind her with an air of finality.



[Gregor] He watches Kage leave, head canting to one side briefly as the door clicks shut behind her. No words or even a murmur. Just silence as the trio separate. Then-



"...Hey."



He calls out to Ashley, not turning immediately. There is consideration, as if he's searching for-



"-If you come across any books pertaining to Giant, Arrogant, Patronizing Arachnids among the hierarchy of Other-" Pause. Correction. "-Spirits could you jot the information down or set the books aside please?" He's looking at her now...and then dips his gaze to include Kage in that glance as well.



"I'm sort of at a loss with the thing downstairs and am getting a little tired of being referred to as a Peon and Insignificant speck." The last word carries a sharp 'click' for a syllable, but...there is a faint flicker of humour under it all. Faint, but genuine. Still.



[Ashley McGowen] "Yeah," Ashley says again, also barely audible. Kage leaves without so much as a word to either of them (she'd never taken her shoes off) and Ashley glances toward the door with a flicker of some expression - betrayal? or just hurt - and looks back toward the stairwell.



She doesn't turn back to Gregor. In fact she stands there in front of the stairs for a lot longer than she intends to, trying to compose herself and get her breathing under control before she goes back outside. Trying to decide whether she wants to take any of the books with her to read through but ultimately deciding against it. Folding her arms across her chest, hands gripping either side and huddling alone in the foyer until she thinks she's ready.



And then, when she thinks she is, she pulls her shoes on and slowly ties them. Buttons her coat. And pulls the door shut behind her, with the quietest rasp of the latch.