But not afraid.

[Emily] It is a rainy Sunday, one of those days when everything is dripping wet. Stays dripping wet. Saturated. The wet falling from the sky ceases to make anything wetter, but rolls off the existing dampness in rivulets, in beads, in slow flows and larger torrents. The wet has coated her balcony in dark grey, washed clean the city grime from its railing. It has prompted her to leave a folded towel in her entry, to stamp off wet shoes and boots before removing them. The wood floors here are less scarred and bowed than the apartment before.

The Singer (no longer soon-to-be) has called them both in the early evening, to invite them over. A housewarming, she might say. First fire in the I actually have a fireplace. For cake and tea, she might say. There are reasons aplenty, but whatever they chose to acquiesce to, there is a warmer note to her voice: a rekindling. It is difficult to miss.

She'll give them each her new address. It's a handful of blocks from her old one. Emily has translate across Lake View, not left it. She is still on the top floor of a walk up, just a different walkup. Her flat is less penned in, less empty this time around. It may catch them by surprise to see a full living room (sparse but furnished this time around), with accents that trend toward the seasonal colors.

This is a place she could learn to call home. A place to stay. There are unpacked carrier boxes in corners, of course, and no pictures up yet on her walls. There is a crimson table cloth set out, and sunflowers perched above it held by a white pitcher. There is the smell of pumpkin bread -- spices and sweetness and Autumnal thoughts -- emanating from the small space. The door stands a little ajar. The downstairs door requires only that they call her flat (press a small button) and she'll buzz them up.

This exterior door keeps out more than then wind. It is a step up, a move forward.

[Kage]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 6, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)
to†Kage

[Ashley] Ashley's spent the last few days recuperating, burrowed away in her apartment with the dog and cat and a pile of books. It's been helpful in its small way, taking that time to stay inside. It's at least given her some time to collect herself.

Emily's promises of cake and tea were more than enough to entice the Hermetic out into the rain, and she's surprised to hear Emily has moved: she didn't know. Nevertheless, a glance outside suggests to her that she might want a ride, and Kage too has been invited. Therefore, she recruits the Orphan and her recently recovered black truck.

Ashley makes her way up to the new apartment while Kage goes to park. The scent of the pumpkin bread is already hanging in the hall, and she is pleased that it grows stronger around Emily's door - she rather likes it. The Hermetic knocks and steps inside and quietly takes in the furniture that is here, how much more like a Home this apartment appears.

It feels permanent. But she doesn't comment upon this.

She just says, "Hey, Em. Kage is parking." And she reaches up and rakes some damp hair away from her face, glancing once toward the younger woman. "I hear congratulations are in order?"

[Kage] Lake View is a pain in the ass to find parking in, even when baseball season is done and over with, unless you are one of the few, one of the blessed, who've forked out extra moolah for a permanent parking spot. Kage will not be following Ashley directly up; she is circling the block, windshield wipers on. She is possibly dipping her wheels through the deeper puddles on purpose, so she can send a wave of water rushing at the smaller cars, who have already found parking.

[Emily] It is true. Parking in Lake View is less than simple. And it being a rainy day, there are several unbudging, unyielding cars parked already and unwilling to give up their homes to the monstrous black truck. Perhaps it occurs to Kage that she might park atop them, and no one would notice overmuch. Maybe. Maybe.

"Hey, Ash," she calls back, picking herself up off the couch and heading to greet the Hermetic nearer the doorway. There is a cracking fire in the hearth; its warm chases out the cool edge of Autumn but does not dry the air out too much.

"I hope there's something nearby," she says, about Kage, the truck, and parking. She doesn't know that Kage is purposefully splashing the littler cars, but she might just approve of such things had she known.

"And thanks!" This is warmer. In fact, this is all but brilliant. It breaks through the cloud of the past few months and elevates her. Betwixt the three of them, Kage holds a monopoly on particular states of grace, but this approaches them. "I am... unbelievably happy to have that settled. I didn't realize it would mean so much to me, once it was through."

[Kage] [Magic Find Parking Spot Entropy/Corr 1 Rote. -1 practiced. -1 HAVE TO TAKE TIME DON'T I WHERE IS THE PARKING. -1 foci.]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 7 (Success x 2 at target 3)

[Ashley] There's a pleased glance toward the fireplace as she wipes her shoes off on the towel near the door. The bottoms of her pants are wet, so this wiping off won't do much good in terms of her comfort, but it will at least protect Emily's hardwood floors; with Ashley's apartment as it is she's sympathetic of such things. Her shoes and socks she leaves in a pile next to the towel, and then she steps inside and over to the fireplace.

The heat and dry air eats at the edges of the spots of moisture on her clothing, and she tucks her hands in her pockets as she basks in front of it for a few moments. As like calls to like, essence to essence.

She looks over her shoulder at Emily, noticing how her features have lit up, that she's proud, happy. That she's belonging. "I called it," is what she says at first. Ashley suspected that Emily would go to the Chorus long before they knew each other well, long before Emily had decided on it for herself.

"What'd they do? Drop you in a vat of water? Pour oil on your head and hit you with a censer?"

[Kage] Kage understands (after all, she, too, lives in Lake Vew, view of the lake, view of the steeples, all) that it could take her the better part of an hour to find parking. Sunday is not really a day of rest in Chicago. Sunday is a day of churchgoers all going out in their cars, and Sunday is a day of secret performances in hipster vinyl shops of new indie artists. Sunday is a day of special deals in restaurants, and it is also the day before Monday, the last day of errand-doing, and the afternoon has burnt itself out behind the rainclouds, people are dinnering. Kage adjusts her radio dial, and taps into fate, which she of course denies believing in until she needs it, and listens until it sinks its hook into her collarbone, until she can watch it running down the gutters, until she knows where (more or less) to go to find

There we go. A spot. Kage parks the truck at long last, and climbs over the passenger seat in order to jump down to the sidewalk. Because she is unfamiliar with this place, with Emily's new apartment, it takes her a moment to orientate herself. In that moment, Kage adjusts the sharp line of her raincoat, and then -- that-a-way. As luck would have it, she found a parking spot not too far away at all. Down a hill, and there's the building. Unless that, over there, is the building. But she dropped Ashley off in front of this one -- she remembers that fire hydrant, taking up a perfectly good parking space with its 'public safety' bullshit.

So -- yadda yadda, eventually eventually -- buzzer pressed.

[Emily] Emily well remembers the conversation when Ashley has asked her if she had met any Singers. She remembers the flicker of confusion that crossed her features at yet another mystically-repurposed word entered her lexicon. That seemed so long ago, now. She remembers, too, meeting Owen in the Sanctuary of St. James'. Asking after his Tradition. Leaving that be for awhile.

Emily sits on an arm of the couch, folds her arms over her middle. She is obviously waiting on Kage, but she is also remembering. Outside of a pizza parlour on the Mile, Owen told her that Ashley had come by the Church to check him out. To make sure he wasn't a bad influence.

(And are you? [I was. I was not so long ago.])

That had been March, when it was rainy and cold still. And this is September; the rains have returned, but not yet the cold.

"There was chanting. And singing. And vows." Emily tells Ashley in a similiarly wry tone. "But no corporal punishment -- Oh, that's Kage!"

She holds up her cellphone when it rings. Says Hello and Come on up. Adds in third floor, to the left, on the end. It's enough to navigate by. Then she presses a button and the downstairs door unlocks, and Emily's getting up to see to the door and the kettle.

"I've a chocolate chai tea. It sounded festive enough. What do you think?"

[Ashley] Ashley's process in finding a Tradition was nothing near so long and drawn out. She remembers fall evenings with her father when he took her home to Boston, when he tried to encourage her to learn how to meditate, when he told her that nothing physical exists and showed her how one Mind could connect with another. Perhaps when he'd seen her turmoil and disquiet and rage, he'd started to understand that she would go a different way (everyone finds their own.)

He'd redoubled his efforts before he'd accepted. She still went another way.

Tomorrow marks ten years since the day of her accident. She will observe it quietly, in her own manner: fall is a time that seems to suit those sorts of remembrances. She quirks a smile when Emily tells her what the rite consisted of but doesn't ask for her to elaborate, perhaps realizing that she might not be allowed to say, or that she is waiting until Kage arrives.

"Chocolate chai sounds good," she says. There's a glance toward one of the chairs, a moment's debate, and then she decides to sit down on the floor in front of the fire instead. She leans an arm behind her, stretching her legs in front of it.

[Kage] [Dex + Subterfuge. Whoa, what? I have nothing in my hands.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 4, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 6)

[Kage] [....accidentally throw present at Emily dex + athletics!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 6, 6, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily] [Incoming! Oh, no! Do I catch it? ... Dex + Ath; +1 diff for surprise attack]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Kage] Chocolate chai sounds good, Ashley says, and she has time to settle, has time to debate, Emily has time to say another thing, to busy herself doing busy things, before Kage makes it up the stairs, comes inside. Hot water on the boiler. Loose leaves in the pot. Whatever. The door is ajar, and Kage pushes it open with the toe of her left foot once she reaches Emily's floor. There are raindrops, dew-spangled, in her red hair; there is a single raindrop, caught on the point of her collar, tranlucent, translating the luminous, and it drops when she steps inside, a temporary dark stain on the coat.

" - so this is the new new place," Kage says, without wryness. Takes off her shoes, looks around for a closet or a coatrack to dump her coat. When she takes it off, she attempts to be smooth, to be suave, to hide something behind her back.

Kage has brought a prelude to a housewarming gift. The prelude isn't wine and it isn't ale and it isn't mellow mead spiced with pumpkins and cloves. The prelude isn't a rug or a book because those wouldn't be preludes. Those'd be the book of housewarming gift, itself. The prelude isn't a mug. The prelude is wrapped up in a box, with a lot of wet harvest-smelling rafetta and some indigo ribbon and some light baby blue ribbon and some coppery ribbon and pretty much any ribbon the storeclerk who did the 'quick' wrapjob could find in a ten square mile radius.

The ribbons are what did it. The ribbons, and some spectacular lack of coordination. See. See. The green rafetta catches on Kage's thumb, and crinkles most obviously. Quick, she adjusts her grip! And it makes another loud noise! To distract Emily, she scratches the back of her head and sort've waves, BUT ANOTHER RIBBON CATCHES ON HER BRACELET, hits her on the back of the head, and when she tries to ohsoquickly (oh man, oh man) drop her hand again, her wrist FLICKS, and the rafetta looses its deathgrip on jewelry and goes saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaailing in an arc toward Emily.

[Emily] There is a closet, just to the right of the door, once the door has been closed and you're looking at it. Away from the kitchen, that is. And the kitchen is where Emily is standing, now, so all of this happens while Kage-the-graceful and Kage-the-suave is just across the way, tangled up in raffia and ribbons, preludes and sleight of hands and ...

"Oh!" Emily startles when the package comes sailing, sailing, sailing her way. She reaches for it, lunges forward a little. Her fingertips find that tangle of ribbon, clasp on to it -- nay, let's be honest here, tangle in it just the same as Kage's had -- and pull the little prelude to safety. When her fingers are tight around its body, then does Emily register the pinch at her side, place one hand against it as she righted herself.

"Hail, well met and mind the rain?" she asks the rowan-haired Other. "For it is coming up ribbons?" A glanced at the ribbon-bedecked bit in her hand, all rafetta-musk and copper sheen and baby blue.

"And thank you!" This, a bit belated, after all the excitement. "There is a fire. It's a proper flat, this one, fireplace and all. I'm making tea -- chocolate chai. I hope you like it."

They tumble out, the words, and they are interlaced with joy instead of worry. The smile is genuine and reaches down to her marrow-bones; deep this brilliance is. It is a good thing, a healthy and hale thing, a mending and healing thing.

[Ashley] Kage appears in the doorway, and Ashley has seen Kage be graceful and suave in the past, saw the Orphan nigh on flip out of the back of her truck one summer night. She saw her flourish a knife before it was bent to the task of cutting up apples and fruit that went in pasta and sangria. But today, Kage is just not on her A game.

The package goes sailing and Ashley's attention is jerked toward the moving sparkly object, and the Hermetic blinks before she recognizes what it is, that the wobbliness of its trajectory means that Kage did not in fact mean to flip it in the Singer's direction. Ashley watches this and laughs. She isn't the picture of grace herself: it doesn't matter.

She doesn't encourage Emily to open it, though. Just leans back, and her eyes remain upon the new Traditionalist.

[Kage] The fine-featured Orphan looks startled, herself, by the turn of events. Her hand flattens against the top of her head; her dark eyes are wide [look, glint of green]. She blinks, once. And begins to sideglance Ashley's way. What are the chances ol' One Eye didn't -- and Ashley laughs.

Kage's shoulders sink (damn) a little, and her cheeks are ruddy, are apples and roses, flush that touches her neck, too, vanquishes the green in her eyes and makes 'em just all sorts've dark. She grins, lopsidedly: "The ribbons are relative to that Giant Squid sailors only speak of in rumor, and they will tangle you up and drag you down to the deep," serene. A beat. And:

"...You're welcome. Chocolate chai sounds delicious. And I see the fire!" Kage, still flushed, blushing, turns toward the fireplace, Ashley, and says: "So that's what those things look like when they don't have books in them."

[Emily] "I shall approach with caution, then," she tells Kage, setting the present on the table. She will bring the pumpkin bread (with chocolate chunks) and tea making things to the coffee table -- tea table -- in the living room, which is a more comfortable place to collect themselves than her IKEA table and chairs.

After they're settled in, comfortably she hopes, Emily will begin to untangle those little threads of squid-descendant, of sparkle-secrets and intrigue.

It's slow going, painstaking. She pauses to pour out tea for them all, there's milk and honey, no lemon. Small plates for cake (bread [whatever]) and napkins but not forks. They will have to eat like savages, with their fingertips.

"You could have books and fire in them, I suppose, if you wanted. But it seems rather a waste to me..."

Back to the unwrapping, interspersed with sips of tea.

[Ashley] Ashley perks when the pumpkin bread and tea are brought over toward the coffee (tea) table nearby. The diminutive Hermetic scoots along the ground until she's in front of it, until she can pick up a piece of bread without the danger of scattering crumbs along Emily's hardwood floors. She is untroubled by eating with her fingertips (like a savage.)

There is still a smirk fixed on Kage as the Orphan comes over to the fire. Impressed as she has been in the past by Kage's grace and balladry, by her natural ability for theatrics, she takes a sort of dark amusement in seeing her do things like hit her head with a package, with a request (would you say we're friends?) borne out of a phobia. Don't get too cocky, now.

The smirk falls away naturally. "You should take the books out and use yours," she tells Kage, with a glance toward the fireplace. "I'd use one, if I had it. I miss the one we had in Connecticut." And who knows how long ago that was. Half her life, easily: Ashley moved to Boston to be with her father early in her teenage years.

She looks over toward Emily again to see what is inside the package. Curious.

[Kage] Kage will drift smokily over to the table, the pumpkin bread, the tea. Which is to say, she'll glance around the apartment. She'll take it in. She'll stand, looking at it, for a moment or three, ignoring pointedly a certain diminutive Hermetic's smirk, and then eventually she'll sit on the ground. If there are pillows at a couch, she'll snag one of those to sit on, or to lean against. When she is settled, she will daintily take a piece of pumpkin-chocolate bread, tearing it into pieces with her fiddler's fingers.

"I will," she tells Ashley, while Emily runs into the knots the very enthusiastic store-clerk who did the wrapping job put into the ribbons, and perhaps begins to think about scissors. "I usually do in winter. Room is just at a premium; I may give away some of my books." No she won't. She'll think about it, though, and then go visit her home with a box, and the box will join other boxes in her closet, and her mother will complain, and they'll argue, and then she'll win. And buy more books.

"You sound happy, Emily."

[Emily] [I have been told the tangles are trickery, and to roll my dex, diff 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 4, 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)

[Kage] Underneath the ribbons, the box. The box opens fairly easily, but be wary! Because opening the box may deluge the lap with dried rose petals and apple bits and orange rinds and cloves. And in the middle of all that, another box. Wrapped. There's a definite clunk, clinknow.
to†Emily

[Emily] There are pillows on the couch. It is not at all an Emily couch, any more than the dining table is an Emily table, but it has been made more permissible by the addition of two burnt-orange colored silk-cased pillows. They're well made, perhaps Emily has taken fabric she had and measurements she wanted to a seamstress. Emily has lived in places where this sort of thing is more common. She doesn't flinch at the thought of having something made for her, to her specifications.

There is a moment, when Emily comes upon the tangled-knots and thorns the shopkeep has left behind, when she thinks on scissors, and kitchen shears, and single-bladed knives -- and then sets those thoughts aside and continues on.

She pauses, here, for a sip of tea. Or a bite of cake-bread. Or to tell them both: "You can come here and have fires, if you like. So long as they keep to the heart," a small smile, and an open invitation.

The ribbons are loosed, and there is triumph -- until Emily finds another box within this box of rose petals, and orange rind, and cloves (sugar, spice, everything nice?) and must press on to find what it is that makes that clunk, clink sound when she tips the box just so.

"And I am, happy that is," she tells Kage. It's still bright in her, the after-effects of the night before. She is still buoyed, a beacon, a warm thing, a lamp in the darkness. Her gaze flicks from Kage to Ashley, and back.

"I'm a Singer now," she tells the other (only) Orphan. "And I have a new flat -- tis a secret. You two know, and Solomon. Hopefully this will be a quieter place to lay my head."

Deft fingers are careful with the inner box, the wrapped thing that is being gently unshrouded now. Hopefully without more ribbons.

[Ashley] She catches the scent of the cloves when Emily unwraps the box, the orange peel, in the manner of someone whose two primary senses have been dulled. Her sense of smell, her fingers, aren't as sharp and sensitive as Israel's, but certainly moreso than those of the average person (compensation.) She thinks at first that Kage has brought Emily some tea, or some mulling spices for cider, until Emily keeps at the box.

"I'd offer some rental shelf space," she tells Kage, "but mine's getting to be at a premium too." With as quickly as she goes through books, she finds herself spending most of her spare money on them. It's all right, in her mind - what else would she spend it on? Paper and pens are cheap and so are evenings out late, watching the stars. Beer is less so, but she's starting to become aware that it's becoming more of a habit than it should.

A nod to Emily, at the invitation. She makes no promises though: the Hermetic's schedule is a chaotic thing now. She spends more time secluded away than she used to before. This will probably change in time, as she comes back to herself. But it's hard to imagine it right now.

"Solomon? Did he take you on as an apprentice?" she asks, and her eyes are on Emily's face now instead of what she is opening.

[Kage] There is a moment's blankness. This blank page of paper moment. And the word, Singer, the new title, the affiliation; it writes itself, and the blank moment ends. Kage, pensive-creature, and studious, who'd remarked on Emily's happiness; well, her mouth quirks, and it approaches one of her rare smiles, a thing that's all radiance, all gorgeousness shadowing the eyes, all quite ravishing, all, be stunned, transformation, delightful and delighted. The shadows of it stay, also staying, this: the curve of her mouth, just so, see?

"Good," she says, fervent. Kage is a creature of passion, although this isn't always obvious. Although she's generally so cool and careful, so detached and aloof, the observer, survivor, loner, rogue. Emily doesn't know that Kage has history with that particular tradition (ancient and old [promises to keep]), and there's no I called it. There's just that 'good,' and maybe a touch of relief. "What happened to make it official?"

A question, on the heels of Ashley's. Kage has yet to try the tea. She tries it now.

[Kage] and finally, at last out of the box-inside-the-box, a candle. Beeswax honeycombed, smells a little bit of sanctity, and also of spice, and it's tall, a pillar-drip candle, a mellow colour, honeyed. And a bar of soap, something that smells of apples, something that feels creamy to the touch.
to†Emily

[Emily] There is an order to these questions, how they find her, how they come to her. Emily disregards it upon answering. Her attention is first for the honeyed beeswax candle, for its spice and sanctuary scents that rise into the room when she liberates it from the box. For the apple-and-cream soap, smooth against her fingertips. She touches these, delicately, lifts them up to look at them, and then nestles them back in the box-within-a-box. These she sets on the table, so that Ashley may reach for them and inspect them as she wills.

"Thank you," first things first. Emily is pleased with the gifts, the prelude as they are, but she thinks them well enough to be a song on their own. A full act, needing nothing as follow up.

And then? On to talk of the Chorus. "There was a ceremony, last night. Solomon, another Singer I know, and two ranking members from out of town. I am now officially a member, and yes, I'll be finishing my Catechumenate under Mr. Ward," this for Ashley, though the wording is possibly unfamiliar.

"He's of a mind to teach me more than just how the Tradition works, though. I'll be busier than Morgan soon," she says, offering Ashley a wry grin. It is not, in the least, competative. It only pretends to be.

[Ashley] Ashley does indeed reach for them, not because they are particularly incredible objects or particularly fascinating but just because she likes to touch things, take them in as part of the seeing. She runs her fingertips over the ridges of the beeswax candle, the soap, smells the scent lingering on her hand. Curious and wondering.

Catechumenate is indeed an unfamiliar word, and it draws a quick glance from Ashley before she understands that Emily must mean a sort of apprenticeship. An induction, an explanation of what the Chorus is and how it works and what they do as Singers.

She waves a hand when Emily says she'll be busier than Morgan. "You probably won't have as much to study," she says, because while she knows that other Traditions have extensive training, she doubts that it is as extensive as what the Order does. As rigorous as their screening process. The condescension in such a gesture is inevitable, if unintended.

Then, curious, "What else is he planning to teach you?"

[Kage] [remember something obscure! academics + intelligence. that's right. ROLLING ACADEMICS.]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Kage] "How did you feel, during the ceremony? Were you frightened?" Kage asks, and, museful, reverie-touched (kissed [beloved]), "Yesterday. Let's see. Yesterday was Saint Joseph of Cupertino's day. He was clumsy, but contemplative, and people were jealous of the divine favors he received. Franciscan. Hardcore. I've always liked the anchorites, myself, and their mad visions."

A beat. "You should join the Celestial Chorus, Ashley, and find out," Kage deadpans, her expression one of perfect tranquility now. All hint of sardonicism, at wryness, tucked away, dammed up.

[Emily] She's sitting on the floor, now, across the table from Ashley, and pulling apart a piece of pumpkin bread into small bits and bites. They're talking about Tradition, about saints and studies, and it occurs to Emily that this might be what other cabals are like. Not her own, of course, as it's rather fractious and diffuse on the best of days. There is a pang, for a moment, a wonder. But it fades.

"Saint Joseph of Cupertino?" Emily lofts an eyebrow and casts Kage a curious look. "How do you remember those things?" Emily doesn't devote a lot of time or interest to patron saints and their protectorate days. But the smile is warm, wry and affectionate. It flirts with incredulousness and then backs away shyly.

"I was nervous," she tells Kage, "But not afraid. Afraid I might misspeak, somehow, or that we'd get to the end and they all say just kidding! and send me away. But afterwards, I was happy. I am happy. It feels nice to have that sorted now, not be waiting any longer."

Then the broader smile turns faintly rueful, smudged slightly but no less brilliant. "And it'll be right back to work for me soon. I think he mentioned cosmology, warfare, history -- both sacred and mundane. He has a long list of studies that fall to new Singers and aspirant Knights. I'll be busy, no doubt. Perhaps not as busy as a Hermetic, but just as saddled with bookwork. Mr. Ward is very Traditional," this is for Ashley. Because they are friends, she does not say hide-bound when she draws the connection between her friend the Hermetic and her Tradition-mate, the Templar.

[Ashley] Ashley's smile, too, is a touch sardonic. "I'm sure they'd be all over having me," Ashley says. The Chorus is one Tradition she could not see herself in; faith's never been easy and she gave up any semblance of it a long time ago.

She listens to the talk of saints, of Emily's nervousness and her private fears that she would finish and everything would be gone. She has nothing to say to assuage them: she suspects it's normal to be nervous. She had been upon her own initiation, though Victoria Kurtz in part had done quite a bit to feed that anxiety.

"I know Solomon's traditional. He and I have talked," Ashley says, and recalls that afternoon in Solomon's basement. More than a few points of agreement they'd had on methodology and how magic should be Worked. "He knows Enochian, actually. A lot of things most Choristers don't know...he's taken a lot of Hermetic thought and incorporated it into his own approach." Some Singers do this. They're rare, these days.

[Kage] [*sigh* I'm not jealous of people who know Enochian at all Manip Subt!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Kage] "I've always found veneration to be interesting," Kage says, of how she remembers those things, the shying away from incredulous. The Orphan quirks a suggestive brow at Emily, and then, "When I was younger, I was very interested in how randomness could be described as influenced by these symbolic associations people have built up over centuries, decades, even days."

"Perhaps it's just something you think a lot of Choristers don't know," Kage supplies, guileless. "Enochian is the 'language of angels,' after all." A beat, and when needling the Hermetic is done with, Kage says, gravely, "If you'd ever like to look through my more interesting, less mundane, books, Emily, you're welcome to come over and browse."

[Emily] Perhaps they have noticed that Emily now says Mr. Ward instead of Father Ward, when she was so careful over the title before. Perhaps it is odd to them that she has found some way of showing respect that does not border upon forced pleasantries. Maybe it isn't. They're tradition-mates now, for whatever that means.

She listens to the two of them, and sips her tea, and her eyes narrow curiously at Kage. Narrow because she is thinking about the tumble of words the Orphan offered; narrow because she isn't quite sure if Ashley is mocking her newfound tradition. Then she sighs a little, across the surface of the milk-paled liquid, and draws in the heavy scent of spice and sweetness.

"Either which way, it's clear I've a lot of catching up to do." She offers them a small smile. It is odd to hear Kage defend the Chorus, insomuch as she defends any Tradition. It is a thing to ask after, but perhaps not now. Kage knows the language of the Congregation, too. She's spoken it to Emily. Many strange things, many indeed.

"I'd like to look through your books. Maybe at a holiday break? Between school, and the recent things going on, and independent magical study I keep pretty busy. With Tradition studies atop that, again, and more heavily so than Owen ever insisted upon, I may not surface again til Thanksgiving. By then, maybe I'll know if Enochian is on my study-list."

A smile, here, for Ashley. She does not yet know how much the Hermetics pride themselves on the linguistic pursuit, so she cannot know that her glibness here might rankle.

[Ashley] There's no mockery in Ashley's voice: perhaps a little of the unintentional condescension she manages to other Traditions sometimes, which Emily is just now bearing the brunt of (only a to-be, before.) She doesn't mean to flaunt the Order of Hermes' superiority. It's just superior, more exclusive, and they are more careful about who they let in and what secrets they let out. This is what Hermetics are taught to think - what most Traditions are taught to think, in their way.

She breathes in the scent of spice as she listens to the others speak of Kage's library, which she herself has not yet been privy to. There's a curious glance toward Kage, to Emily, but she stays silent on the matter.

"Most Choristers have fallen away from that kind of study," she tells Kage, "but I don't doubt that a lot of them knew it, a long time ago." Generous. A glance toward Emily, then, and her statement does not seem to rankle; Solomon knows the language, after all. He learned it somehow.

"I'm sure you'll be pretty busy. Learning the Ars Mentis will help you retain things a bit better, though."

[Kage] Kage has in fact noticed that Emily is now speaking of Father Ward as Mr. Ward. Kage is unaware that Father Ward has become Mr. Ward, that he is no longer a priest, that he has given up the collar, that he and Israel are in love, that the lingerie she helped Israel choose was because of Father - no, Mr. - Ward. As it is, she notices this change in title, and muses over it, quietly and on her own, without asking for clarification. There may be a question in her eyes. That question mayn't be a specific thing. Just, a quest; the beginning of. Something dreamy.

She repositions herself, so she is leaning halfly against the couch with one shoulder, and her knees are demurely tucked to the side, her feet beneath mostly out of sight and out of mind, the pillow by the curve of her hip. The mug of tea is cupped with both hands, as if it were a goblet, something filled with [quintessence (to be quaffed)] something to be salvaged, savored. Kage is amused by Ashley's generosity, and she recognizes it as such. She says, soberly, "A long time ago, and once upon a time. Perhaps."

Then: of her books. She says, "Mm. If you think you need some insight, and the library at the White Fence House isn't quite doing the job." Another beat, and, sympathetic, "It can be difficult to juggle mundane studies with arcane studies. I wish you the best of luck, and an excellent approach to time management." Another beat, and although Ashley doesn't seem inclined to rankle, or to tell Emily how jealously the Order of Hermes can guard their secrets, that they view Enochian as one of them, Kage considers it: the warning. Decides not to, just now.

Instead, "This bread is delicious."

[Emily] This sort of evening was all but unimaginable a year ago. Sitting around, talking with friends of going-on-a-year about world-bending. Emily's fireside chats of yore did often dip into theological realms, but never in this direct a fashion. Never along the ideas of competing ideologies. The fireplace at the Manchester House had always been wreathed with monotheistic overtones, whenever questions of God or Will came up. The hearth there was largely for Singers, though Emily would one day be surprised to find how many Hermetics had stayed there, studied there, a long, long time ago.

Perhaps when the two Traditions were more tightly aligned, more directly fractious.

This rainy evening is, for her, about warmth. About friendship and fellowship; about the latter half of her vows, which troubled her faintly in the wake of such misery.

So it's somewhat of a nonsequitur when the Singer-now smiles over the rim of her mug and looks to each of them with an open fondness. The way she might glance at older sisters, or close friends -- had she kept more than Gregory on that list (the latter [for all her fondness of him, he was most certainly not a sister]).

"I'm grateful for you two," she says, all truth and verity, all soul-speak and quiet warmth, surety, firmity. There's no explanation of why, or lingering on the point, or even fussing about it now that it's said. Just that. And then she's filling everyone's teacups a bit more, warming them up so to speak, with this unfamiliar brush of happiness at the edge of her movements.

Emily sits back a bit and sips at her tea, watches them, watches the fire, and lets the near-argument go. The elitism or superiority. It doesn't bother her much, today. It bothers her less because she is happy.

"And I'm glad it's Fall. I've missed pumpkin," she tells Kage, about the bread, in a way that says there will be more where that came from and possibly hints toward pie.

[Ashley] This sort of evening was unimaginable a year ago for Ashley as well: the friends she's made in Chicago are not the ambitious, Willful Hermetics she'd imagined when she arrived. She'd gone out seeking something to fill two Bran and Justine shaped holes, seeing presences that were familiar and would carry her along the path she'd already been walking, like she could just cut new Hermetics out along the dotted line and fit them in.

That's not what happened. Maybe now she's even glad it didn't happen, though she'd be hard pressed to admit it.

But for right now, there's something approaching contentment, pangs that have been dulled for a while. Emily says she's grateful for the two of them and the Hermetic shoots her a bemused look, as though wondering what brought it on, as though wondering whether she should return the sentiment. As it is, there's just a bit of a smile there at the corner of her mouth.

"I missed cider," she says.

[Kage] I'm grateful for you two, Emily says, and Kage says, "Why?" The corner of her mouth hints at a smile; something that could be, that maybe is -- see, moonlight, scudding across dark water; that sort've almost gleam (smoke, and there's a burning tucked away, cupped out've sight). Beat. Blink. Her eyelashes divekiss her cheekbones, and stay, so she's squinting a little. "Because we complete a hair-colour accurate superheroine set, perchance? Who needs a blonde?" A beat. "Although I've done it before. Did not suit me." Her eyebrows angle upward, and she looks so earnest, so expressive, sometimes, that it's remarkable how much she isn't.

Kage has an excellent imagination. If she didn't imagine, a year ago, this kind of gathering around a fire, it's because she was squandering her imagination on Other Things. Nothing is unexpected. Not really. Because everything, and anything, is possible, and everybody, anybody, are all part of her life, the world she lives in, the darkness of it and the brightness. It's fine.

"Speaking of Fall," she says, and stops. Her throat clicks, when she swallows, and then tea, and then: "I think I'm going to head out of the city for a mini-vacation, around Thanksgiving. Who wants to come?"

A beat, and, wry, "I miss hot chocolate."

[Emily] She tries to imagine Kage blonde.

She tries, and fails. Kage is her rowan-haired Other, as surely as Ashley is Hunger. Kage as a blonde just doesn't work for Emily. Emily as a blonde hadn't worked for Emily either, praise be to God that had only been a wig.

"I can make some, of either. I've spices and juice, also chocolate and milk." Emily is a veritable culinary wish-fulfillment fairy today. She doesn't get up to start on either, unless someone perks up enough to warrant the effort.

"I'd like to go. I've been in the city since April, and it's starting to drive me buggy." Emily doesn't say Mad, not after Dylan. "I've got to go home, for a weekend or so, in early October. For a Christening." This is just a nod to her other life, the one not bounded by this city or their Awakened ways. "Other than that, I don't think I'm traveling much for the rest of the year."

A pause. Then, curious: "Where are you thinking of going?"

[Ashley] I miss hot chocolate, says Kage, and the moment the words leave her mouth something haunted creeps into the corners of the Hermetic's vision. Salient because of how recent it is, how recent the memory, and it's just as quickly blinked away. She doesn't comment on people who probably miss it more. It's not the time to dwell.

Ashley does indeed perk, though, at mention of cider. Maybe it's necessary that she perk then, that she nudge along the thought of something she wants in order to distract herself from other things. Magi who are skilled at the Ars Mentis develop all manner of coping methods. But she doesn't go so far as to ask Emily to leave her comfortable seat.

A look toward Kage. "I'd like to go," she says, "but I'd feel pretty bad leaving my dad alone on Thanksgiving. He's kind of by himself." It isn't her fault: Jim Novotny is a loner, keeps to himself these days other than to fight. He doesn't seem unhappy. But it's hard to say.

She too, raises her eyebrows at the question of where Kage is going, but she also adds, "You didn't say why, Emily."

[Kage] Kage (correctly) interprets the look Emily is giving her, and says, helpfully, "White blond. I wanted moonlight hair, hair some like vavavoom from an old movie." When Emily offers to get up, Kage just salutes her with the mug of tea, and says, "This is close enough; I'm fine." She may have noticed Ashley, looking haunted, as well; she doesn't dwell on it, doesn't say anything, or question her the way she questioned Emily. Instead, there are questions about travel plans.

And Kage, who is self-possessed, self-assured, replies with: "Well," and a glance toward Ashley, when the Hermetic calls Emily on not saying the why, and maybe that hint of smile deepens, becomes a half-smile in truth, at least for a flicker of a moment, "Actually, I was planning on choosing my route the interesting way. By - hm. Lots, I suppose you'd say."

"But we could go up and visit your dad on the day of," she says, to Ashley. "If Emily didn't mind." Beat. "Nor your Dad. I wouldn't want him angry at me."

Kage doesn't mention what her own family might think of this plan. They probably wouldn't like it, but then, they have each other.

[Emily] Ashley asks Why, repeating the question that Kage as stepped away from so quickly. Ashley also perks at the mention of cider. The Singer pushes herself up from the floor at that pique, that little perk of interest. It's not an easy thing, yet, but her body is mending. She moves more freely than she did a few nights before.

In that way of self-assured young people and infuriating parents everywhere, Emily looks to Ashley and says, "Just because..."

It's an affectionate answer. One that doesn't answer in words, but answers in tolerance and acceptance. It's warmer; she's warmer for these two than any others left in the city.

"I'll make you some cider," she says, to the Hermetic, now that she's found her way to her feet. "Are you sure on the cocoa?" she asks Kage. Then the wryness is back, tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Plantinum, eh? I hope you have pictures..."

Then it's back to talk of holiday travel and Emily's putting a small saucepan on the stove with juice and spices, and half an orange, to turn into cider for Ashley. "I wouldn't mind," she chimes in. Then later: "How do you choose a course by casting lots?"

Oh, oh Emily who plans and charts and packs with precision. This road-tripping thing is not a sort of wanderlust she has known, if that is what Kage is alluding to.

[Ashley] Emily says Just Because, in that way that one imagines Ashley heard rather often as a child. When she'd ask questions, ask why a thing worked, ask why why why, when she'd rebel, and her parents would say just because out of exasperation. Emily's using it now tugs at the corner of her mouth, but she doesn't press now where she might have then.

"Yeah. You should give up pictures voluntarily, or the next time I run into your family members I'll ask for them," Ashley says, and why yes it is a threat. One which she can be confident there can be no real retaliation for: she never dyed her hair blonde. No embarrassing haircuts.

Another look toward Kage, and she seems pleased to see Emily putting the spices and the orange into the cider, if a touch regretful that she made the Singer get up. Still: Emily did offer.

"I think my dad would like that," she says to Kage, and really she has no idea how Jim Novotny would react to hosting three twenty-something girls for Thanksgiving, but he has little choice in the matter. "So count me in."

[Kage] [The pictures all burned in a fire, guys. A fire that only got those pictures. ManipSUBT!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 6, 6, 8, 8, 8 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Emily] [Do I believe you? That seems like a very coincidental fire... Did anyone take paradox for it? Was it that sort of coincidental? Per + Subter]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 4, 6, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Kage] [No seriously, a fire.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Ashley] [Wut wut?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8)

[Kage] [Screw that! No seriously a fire.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 5, 5, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)

[Emily] [A fire you say? *squinty eyes* ... Reeeeeeally? Per + Subter]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 4, 4, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Emily] [Sod that. Kage got to re-roll. ... +1 diff]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (Botch x 2 at target 7)

[Emily] [A fire. A localized fire you say. How INTERESTING and specific and believable. *headdesk*]

[Kage] "I regret to say," Kage says, and truly, she does seem to be regretful; God Himself might think Kage were regretful, "that there aren't any visual records of this brief period of Jakes history. The pictures were burned; the files corrupted." A shrug, easy. "Margot destroys more computers."

And, then - a brief, blooming sort've grin: "I can show you." How to choose a course by lot [chance (fate)]. "Prelude to a Thanksgiving trip the hell away from this place."

[Kage] [roll credits!]