Otherwise, you'd just be lying.

[K. R. J.] [?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ashley] The events that have been hanging over Chicago are going to come to a head soon. It won't be long before the Hermetic is exhausted, having ground herself down by throwing herself against Escudero's barriers, and it won't be long before Kage will find herself tangled up, caught like a fly in amber because Time just isn't as solid as it appears.

Today, though, they have some time to meet. Ashley's asked Kage over: maybe just wanted to see her before the Labyrinth, maybe she's just feeling sad, maybe she wants to attempt normalcy. It's always a little hard to say, with Ashley.

Regardless, at the time of Kage's arrival Ashley has fallen to dozing on her couch with a dog curled up against her feet and a kitten sprawled across her shoulder and a book open across her lap. This is how most of her afternoons go, of late, after Morgan has left or after she's through looking at the girl's essays. Things in the city might be busy but Ashley has had more time than she's had to herself in a while.

The brick walk up is the same as ever. It's looking a little gray, dimmed by the fall where most everything else has been brightened, dimmed by the promise of rain (or at least drizzle.) Justin is outside smoking. He grins at Kage, blows a cloud of smoke away and holds the door open with a foot.

[K. R. J.] The big back truck (baby, baby, I'm sorry to let you know, you're going to be towed, and it'll be a cold place, a bad place, a place with other forlorn cars that've been stolen from their owners, taken, and oh, I'm sorry, but never fear: you will be rescued) is parked nearish the apartment building today. Usually, Kage finds a spot half-a-block if-not-more away, and walks down the street, around a corner, sometimes cuts across a different alley, just exploring, pausing at windows, meandering, coming at her destination aslant. Today, though: she parks close; she smiles (courtesy [wry]) halfly at Justin when he hooks the door open with his foot, then assays the smoker's gauntlet, and heads on up.

Then she knocks three times on the door. Doesn't fidget, particularly, while she's waiting, although she does look down the hallway, studious of the emptiness, listening. Poised, in a moment: this is the moment; luminous-eyed watchfulness, and she doesn't look uncertain when nobody's looking, doesn't look vulnerable. She just looks watchful, in profile.

[Ashley] The first knock: unroots her thoughts from the sleep they're buried beneath, pulls her out of a dream where she's shuffling her feet through ash but doesn't know how or why or where or where to.

The second knock: makes her blink, makes Zane's ears twitch while he too blinks his eyes, makes Luka yawn and stretch out against her shoulder and dig his little claws in. The sudden sharp heat of blood welling to the surface brings her to full consciousness.

The third knock has her shuffling off the couch, has the book tumbling to the rug and fluttering open, rustling before it silences. Zane is at the door first, more used than Ashley to being roused out of sleep. She cups a hand underneath Luka, who does not seem so inclined to wakefulness at the moment and eyes the world from where he is against her shoulder, and opens the door for Kage a second or so after she arrives in front of the door and nudges Zane out of the way. And there's the Hermetic, rumpled and tired and careworn.

But Kage gets half a smile. "Hey," she says. "Come in. Tea?" Rituals. They creep up on you.

[K. R. J.] "Yes, thank you," Kage says, stepping over the threshold. The Orphan reaches out to stroke the tips of Luka's ear with her fingers, and then, if Zane is still around, sinks gracefully enough down to scratch the dog behind his ears. Kage does not go for any face-licking, and if there's any of that nonsense, the scritching stops; it stops soon enough, anyway, because she rises (still, gracefully enough) and gives Zane one final pat on the head. Her jeans are skinny jeans, her shirt is an elegant thing, worn elegantly, vaguely oldfashioned, and her summer's coat wants to be piratical (and is not [not quite]). Simplicity, see. Simple lines.

She wanders over to the kitchen counter, and rests her elbows against it. Her left hand makes a fist; she rests it in the palm of her right, and her chin on top of those. Her hair's all ravelled up, coronets, red, burnished, burning, smoulder-awaying of autumn, see? A brand. And she says, "You look pretty tired. Didn't get enough sleep last night?"

[Ashley] Face-licking is attempted; this is the danger of putting one's face down at a dog's level, and he's a friendly animal, Zane. Doesn't seem to be offput by the presence of another animal in the house (in fact, Kage got a picture text last week: the kitten sprawled between Zane's ears while the dog slept.) Luka stirs when touched, eyes enormous now - they grow fast, kittens - and his gaze trails Kage's hand when she steps away.

Almost apologetically, Ashley sets the sleepy kitten down on the floor and then goes to add tea to the kettle. Her jeans aren't skinny jeans; looks like she could stand to gain a little weight, perhaps. It's similar to that pale, peaked look she took on during the first six months of this year. Resonance, perhaps: it's odd, the way it can press itself upon a mage.

"I've been having nightmares," she tells Kage, and given that the Orphan has quite a few of her own sleepless nights, perhaps that explains well enough. A beat while she turns on the stove. "Did your family drama settle?"

[K. R. J.] "About what?" Kage asks, a questioning cant to her eyebrows, in the darkness of her eyes. The Orphan inhales, quietly; bellows, furnace: something's gotta keep the heart hot and strong and wyck. Doesn't realize she inhales like that, most likely; it's the opposite of a sigh, but essentially communicates the same thing. "The drama is never settled," she tells Ashley, rueful: "It merely decides to settle somewhere else for a while, and then migrates backward. The drama is a hunter-gatherer tribe. My dad thinks you're a sharp tack, albeit 'an indolent pragmatist.'"

[Ashley] "Daiyu," is Ashley's brief response to the question. "Death. You, Emily, Israel, Wharil. My dad and Bran and Justine. Hell, even the dog and cat." A vague gesture, something that could be cutting the air if her hand didn't curl, ends up scooping it instead, like it could be sealed away in a pocket. "I don't always remember them after I wake up."

The kettle is there, is just sitting for now but soon it'll get up and scream, and Ashley stares at it for a moment as though trying to remember what she's forgetting. After a second: yes, cups. Honey. And she pulls two mugs down out of her cabinet, goes to retrieve the jar and a pair of spoons. There's a corner of her countertop devoted to baked goods Morgan brings her, and there have been more of late, and she pulls down a small plate and adds to it some cookies from a plastic container. Passes the plate Kage-wards.

She smirks when Kage tells her what her father thinks of her. "Well, those are some of the nicer words that have been used to describe me, so I suppose I can't really complain." Still: she liked Kage's dad, but she told Kage that already.

[K. R. J.] "Nightmares'll ride you hard. I think forgetting them's best, for the most part." If Ashley's still having nightmares a year from now, if they're both still alive, still in contact, well - then Kage may say something about Doing Something for Ashley's nightmares. The woman's an Adept of Mind, after all. As it is, Kage considers them a natural, although unfortunate, manifestation of Ashley's worries, the things Ashey's seen. Nightmares. Her mouth curves (rue [shadow]) for a moment. Kage makes a fist of her right hand instead of her left; rests that fist in the palm of her left hand; her chin, on top (delicate [careful]). The simplest of exchanges. There's something that could be a line between her eyebrows; disappears, after a moment. "Have you talked to Justine recently?"

Kage watches the plate of cookies the way the statue of a demi-god or angel or saint might watch a platter of meats or a jug of fig wine or some other such offering, and she waits a beat before snagging one of the cookies. If someone wanted to physically injure Ashley, if they knew who she was, poisoning food seems like it would be a good route to take. When she takes one, she doesn't bite into it immediately. She just holds it, using it to gesture with, hand-speaking, speaking-with-hands.

"Morgan's handiwork?" Beat. "You should ask her to make some pumpkin macademia nut pie-cookies."

[Ashley] Ashley, too, does not yet appear inclined to Do Something about her nightmares just yet. It's been two and a half weeks: she might have them for quite some time to come yet. They are natural. Normal, even, after what she's seen and what's happened and what she fears could happen. If the truth has to be said most people who saw their lover die in front of them, bloodily, who heard those last faint words, might be doing considerably worse. She just makes a noise of assent to Kage. "I've talked with Justine. And Bran. Bran's coming out here for a day or two soon."

The cookies are studded with something that looks like it might be small seeds, some white chocolate. They are in fact lavender and white chocolate, and Ashley rather likes them. She takes one after Kage does, doesn't bite into it yet. "They're Morgan's," she says, amused. "I don't know how she makes so much food. She must spend hours baking every day."

A beat before Ashley finally bites into her cookie. "Wharil's going to be leaving. Going to travel to some other chantries. Just told me over the phone...I guess that's where he's been. I haven't told him about anything yet."

[K. R. J.] Kage has nightmares. This morning, she just barely managed to push away the (drought [sorrow]) weight of them when she kicked her covers off. Kage has always had nightmares. As she grows older, as she experiences more, some of those nightmares take from life; most of them don't. She had a bad day, once. A very, very bad day, and explained to someone that she couldn't take the prophecy, that she hated wading through what was going to happen, that she was afraid she was seeing slant truth, and that someone'd taken her head between their palms, pressed in, looked into her eyes, and read the fate of each dream for her and say: Trust me, you are not seeing your dark fate; these things will not happen. Daiyu hasn't featured in them, thankfully. The cops have, though. Not very often, but once. The feel of brains, sloshing into her white shirt, the dead weight of him: it's the simple things, that'll horrify you.

"Lavender," Kage says, and there's something in the word: a dawning pleasure. Lavender gelato is, after all, a favourite of Kage's. Then: "Bran? What for; or did you want him to speak to Morgan?" Kage takes a small bite of the cookie, and then a bigger bite: happy to wolf it down. The surprised tangible oo good silence is followed by this: Kage, going up on her tiptoes, to better lean on the counter, and - "Perhaps she is secretly already a Master of Time." This, clearly, the only way to explain Morgan's baking ability, of how in the world that (withering [discerning]) Hermetic finds time to study everything she must study for her mundane scholarly pursuits, her arcane scholarly pursuits, and also to make enough food to feed a convention of Martha Stewart wannabes (at least, during the pre-brunch buffet). "And has created a bubble of extra time in her kitchen."

But - pause. Wharil's going to be leaving, Ashley says, and a line appears between Kage's eyebrows. Stays. "Really," she says. "When you say 'anything,'" Kage says, careful, "what falls under that heading, exactly?"

[Ashley] At that surprised pleasure of Kage's, one might expect Ashley to hoard the cookies: she's hungry, after all, and doesn't particularly like sharing. Doesn't often extend things forward to others, even when they so often give her presents, give her food, in their meetings with her. Her people, though, they get things; they get taken care of, they get pieces of what's hers even if it's nothing more than food they happen to like. She glances at Kage, opens the container again and adds a few more cookies to the plate. An invitation, of sorts.

She pops the rest of hers into her mouth and chews, glancing toward the kettle when she begins to hear that soft hiss that indicates whistling is soon to follow. One gets familiar with these sounds after a while. She pulls the kettle away before that high pitched squealing can start, pours it out between the cups. Lighter white tea, fruity, goes well with cookies. "I asked Bran if he'd bind her ashes into something for me," she says. "We don't have a lot of people here who are skilled with the Ars Materiae. I don't think Morgan'd have a lot to learn from him, though." Perhaps there's nothing she wants Morgan to learn from Bran Summers.

Whether Bran knows exactly what he's doing, whose ashes he is binding, she doesn't say. Perhaps intends to fill him in later or not at all. A glance up at Kage, then, as she extends the mug toward her, nudges the jar of honey if it's wanted. "I haven't told him about Daiyu or Gregor," she says. "I couldn't find him. Guess he's been thinking about this for a while."

The Euthanatos is a man skilled at disappearing, when he wants to. Even when he doesn't want to, Ashley suspects.

[K. R. J.] Kage doesn't add honey immediately; first she tastes the tea on its own. Then she adds half-a-dollop of honey-gold, spins the brew around the spoon [waltz (dance)]. Kage also dips the corner of her first cookie in, to soften it; eats that. Maybe she'll have another, but not right away. Edible as popcorn, though, those cookies -- a forgettable disappearing act. We don't have a lot of people here who are skilled, Ashley says, and Kage half-frowns, says, "Henri or Atlas?" But: matter has been in her thoughts, often, of late. She wants to understand it. Then: "I figured that you would want Morgan to have more contact with her fellow Traditionalists. As it is, in Chicago -- what? There's you, and there's that Basil person." Neutral. "And that nice kid."

A beat. And: "That's a lot to have not told Wharil yet. That's a lot for Wharil not to know, yet."

[Ashley] Ashley adds a little honey into her own tea, just drops the spoon in and lets it sit, lets the honey dissolve away. Doesn't stir yet; she will when she goes to drink it. Then she picks up the cup and the plate of cookies and makes a transition over to the couch, feels the rug out with her toes before she makes her way across it. Easy, practiced: one gets accustomed to feeling their way around the environment without depth perception.

"I guess if you're working with two or more materials, binding and transmutation is a lot harder," Ashley says. "Bran explained it to me once, but I don't remember. He gets really geeked about the Ars Materiae." It had been charming to her once, seeing Bran take to something with so much enthusiasm, just pleasure in the Work. "Anyway. He can do it, they can't. So I asked him."

A pause, and she too is neutral as she sets the cookies in a place where they can both easily reach them, sets her tea on the coffee table so that she can sit down. "It would be good for Morgan to meet other Hermetics," she says, "but I kind of want to...I want to discourage her from just kind of...I don't want her to pick up bad habits," she says. "Or to learn the wrong things from Bran."

She's worried about Morgan, and Morgan doing that, and it isn't well hidden. A little sigh accompanies the thought of Wharil as she settles with her back against the armrest. "Yeah. I...he's been scarce lately." She bites the inside of her cheek. "I guess I thought this cabal was going to be like the old one."

[K. R. J.] "Justine mentioned that, too," Kage says, of Bran and Ars Matteriae, and that's all. Doesn't say, oh, but Morgan wouldn't pick up bad habits, or, oh, Bran doesn't have bad habits to pick up. After all, after all: she is an honest creature, Kage. Tells the truth. Tells it slant, sometimes, but always the truth. When Ashley sets the cookie plate down on the coffee table, Kage follows, and curls up in the very corner of Ashey's couch, back against the arm. She pauses, to unlace her shoes, and take them off; as he does, she is careful, cautious, of Luka appearing out of nowhere, bright eyed and diamond-clawed and needle-toothed and ready to (play) attack any stray thread or lick of redred hair. The mug, she balances on her thigh while she does this. There's still a line between her eyebrows, and she replies, "You can never have the same thing twice. Are you thinking about disbanding?"

[Ashley] Kage does well to be cautious; for as sleepy as he was when Ashley answered the door, fuzzy ball curled in the crook of her neck, he seems entirely alert now. She sees first his tail, the whip of it, hears a ringing note as its pointed tip inadvertently strikes against the leg of the coffee table. Luka, undeterred, collapses on a shoelace, tangles it about one of his paws, and brings it to his mouth. And chews.

Ashley watches the kitten, amused, and then picks up her tea. Holds it between her palms, cups her hands around it, and lets the hot ring of the bottom of the mug rest against her stomach. The amusement fades when she looks back at Kage. "I...well, he's not," she says. "And I guess Gregor will be back soon. I just didn't think I'd be alone in the city."

Bran and Justine: they were family. They still are, however estranged. "Wharil's lost a lot too. I'm not sure I could just drop him." There's this, too: she has nowhere else to go, and she is the Dean. Chicago's government is still in its infancy; this situation is not something it has planned for.

[K. R. J.] "You shouldn't feel like you're alone in the city," Kage says. She could mean: You shouldn't because you aren't. She could also mean: You shouldn't because you're in a cabal, and they're supposed to be the shouldn't for that kind of thing. She could also mean: You shouldn't feel alone because you've got yourself. Kage watches Luka attack her shoelace for a little while, and then she swoops in, and hoists him high, high above her in the air, watches him flex his claws and squirm his body, turn into a C, but keeps a grasp as firm as ballad-Janet's on Tam lin, and tells him - "Meow."

[Ashley] "I know," Ashley says, and whatever Kage could mean, whatever she thinks Kage means, she's picked one and who knows which of them she knows. Perhaps she just knows: she's all she needs, she can get by without any of them and eventually expects to have to. Maybe she just knows that her cabal is not by any means a measure of who she is close to, who she has here, and it's just that the losses are getting to her right now.

Luka squirms, Luka struggles, and there are panicked little cries as he's lofted into the air with the ground so far away. One of his claws still punctures the lace of Kage's shoe so for a moment the shoe travels with him, weighs down a toe, until finally it slides free. He opens his mouth at Kage when she meows at him, but no sound comes out. Ashley watches the distressed squirming with a faint smile, but it's a protective thing all the same. A vigilance, even if she knows Kage wouldn't hurt the kittten. Then she just says, "I'll wait until Gregor gets back, I suppose. It shouldn't be too long. Just delayed because of the Nephandi. I've been going out to talk to him still."


[K. R. J.] Kage isn't a heartless creature. Kage isn't cruel, for all she's familiar with the vagaries of cruelty; for all she's able to consider things, with seeming dispassion (no [not really]), with composure. Kage isn't a heartless creature, although she isn't precisely a caregiver; isn't ready to hug the world because it's so sad, doesn't want to. So, eventually, when Luka's struggling and squirming makes her feel sorry for the kitten (only a little sorry) she brings him slowly down and lets him go on her lap. The leetle gray kitten promptly flickerflashes off to one side, only to pause, and stare at Kage, consideringly. She spiderwalks her fingers across the cushion toward Luka.

And she says, half-glancing at Ashley, this - " - what do you want to happen?"

[Ashley] Kage spiderwalks her fingers across the cushion, and Luka watches for a moment as though this could not possibly be interesting. Except that he's a kitten, he can't keep up the act for long, and very slowly his ears perk, he drops down into a crouch. Doesn't stalk toward Kage or toward her traveling fingers. He just watches them, his shoulderblades poking up in front of the ridge of his spine. Just watches them, very. carefully.

Ashley's asked what she wants to happen, and she looks away from the kitten after a few seconds. Lets out a sigh. "I don't know," she says, and it's not because she doesn't know what she wants. It's because what she wants is impossible; it's because she wants Daiyu to still be alive, it's because she wants Gregor back, it's because she wants Wharil to be less detached, more of a partner. Mostly, she just wants the former.

"I guess get more used to the idea of a cabal working like a group of coworkers. I mean, it has its advantages." And she has friends outside the cabal; she doesn't need to go inside it.

[K. R. J.] Kage adjusts thus. The Orphan turns so that her back is no longer to the arm of the couch. Instead, her back is to Ashley, for one brief moment. Then Kage, she is lying on half-the-couch, her knees crooked on the couch's arm, legs crossed (demure [dainty]) at the ankle (chaste [sedate]). Kage frames her head (protective gesture, perhaps) with her left arm; her right hand she rests on top of her chest. Maybe all this adjustment makes it easier to dismiss the fact that Kage doesn't believe for a heartbeat not for one red cent not for a smile from Him or an inappropriate joke from the same or the stars in His eyes or Luka's weight in lavender cookies (let's make that Zane's weight) that Ashley doesn't know what she wants, and that it isn't sad.

"I should hope so," she says. Her mouth crooks, and she is looking at Ashley, upsidedown, and hoping not to be kitten-attacked immediately. Her lashes sweep 'gainst her cheekbones, kiss, stay kissing, and she's squinting at the Hermetic. "Otherwise, you'd just be lying."

[Ashley] Kage twists herself around, drops her legs over the arm of the couch and leaves Ashley there looking at her legs, looking down at her face once she's lying back on the couch with her hair atumble behind her, pooling on the cushion and spilling out over the edge of the couch. Luka, who had backed away at first, takes interest in those saffron strands now, crouching again, tailtip twitching back and forth. Then he springs into the mound of hair, scoops some of it into his mouth.

At which point Ashley picks him up and he mouths the strand of hair for a few seconds before releasing it. Ashley, too, throws her legs over the arm and drops back, folds her arm back beneath her head. They could both be looking at the sky if there was one to look at; as it is, there's just smooth white ceiling.

It's a little easier this way. She doesn't have to look right at Kage while she talks. She sets the kitten down atop her chest, and maybe that weight, light as it is, is the reason for the strained quality to her words. "I'd rather have a cabal that isn't a social contract," she says, perhaps because it was a lie and she knows it. "Bran and Justine and I were close. We sort of wanted to organize the city but that's done now, and I don't care as much about doing that as I did."

[K. R. J.] They could both be looking at the sky irregardless of the smooth white ceiling. They're both capable. Would be rankest decadence (yes, that's the word) to do so, of course, to send one's vision elsewhere, just to map out the constellations, whilst inside, safe and warm. Kage is content enough with the ceiling, although her head is tilted back enough that she can continue squinting at the Hermetic. When Luka made his move, she reached for him with that arm that's a frame for her face (for the burnished, bloody valentine's nest of copper-brightness), keep his little claws from her scalp. Ashley, to the rescue.

"I remember," Kage says, of we sort of wanted to organize the city. "And, well. I don't think the city is as - " a gesture ; invisible " - as it was. People know each other now. And they move, when something's wrong. Not a perfect system yet," musing, this; maybe wistful. "But still."

[Ashley] Luka doesn't stay on Ashley's chest for long. She keeps a hand on him, rubs his ears and his back, but it is soon clear that he still wants to play with Kage's hair. Ashley's just isn't long enough, isn't bright enough, nowhere near as interesting. He scampers up and hovers against Ashley's collarbone, crouched above the ridge her necklace forms beneath her shirt, slowly reaches a paw past her cheek and bats at the strands of Kage's hair that he can still see.

The Hermetic tips her chin, brushes her jaw against the warmth of the gray down that still covers the kitten. Kage is neutral, is careful; it leaves her floundering after a while, because she still expects other people to respond like Hermetics sometimes, like she would: don't complain, you're unhappy, do something or shut up. The solution isn't yet clear, and it might not ever be. Closeness is not something one can demand from other people; Willfulness does not matter.

"Yeah," is what she says, in the end. "I mean, there's still relevance. But we aren't really what's holding the city together anymore. I don't know what the three of us would have in common beyond that, though. Gregor's probably going to be pretty fucked up when he gets back."

[K. R. J.] Sometimes, it's difficult for Kage to keep her thoughts to herself. Other times, it's not difficult at all. It feels natural, for them to be secret, or at least silence, for them to stay between heartbeats, unnoticed, don't listen to the quiet, see? Kage drums her fingers against her collarbone. The sound is hollow. Later tonight it's very possible that the Guardian cabal will disappear into a maze and never appear again. And things will change, again, for the city. Luka is batting one of his lion's paws at Kage's hair, and Kage, while she notices, doesn't turn her head or move away.

" - well - " she says, and Ashley doesn't see the luminous edge of a smirk, touching the Orphan's mouth, disappearing just after. " - of course there's still relevance. Existence is relevance. Belief, or, say rather support, is relevance. Giving a shit is relevance." Beat. "I actually cannot imagine Gregor, how he'll be when he's on this side again. A lot to adjust to."

[Ashley] It's difficult not to think about what will be happening tonight; it's difficult for Ashley to tell herself that she should stay behind, that she may very well be more a danger than a help to the others if she should follow them into the Labyrinth. Such a place plays with grief and bitterness like strings on a fiddle, twists a song out of them. But should any of them die, she will regret not having done more. It's Temple she measures herself against: thinks of him like a Hermetic bastion, and she can hear him cursing her weakness.

So this is where her thoughts are, and part of her is envious that the Guardians have their cabalmates to stand beside them. "It'll take a lot of catching him up," she agrees. "He can't come back over yet. I guess I'll have some time to fill him in while I'm visiting."

She reaches over and runs her fingertips along the knobs of Luka's spine. It doesn't seem to stop him from batting, from chewing on another mouthful of hair, and now he's purring. And Ashley doesn't know what else to say; she doesn't know how to get what she wants. She never has, but being close to it and then watching it crumble to dust (burned to ash, brought home in an urn) has rather driven that point home. So she just says, "I met a Verbena at the Court the other night."

[K. R. J.] "Were they naked, shaking their thang to the moon, 'round the fallen king?"

[Ashley] Amusement colors Ashley's voice when she says, "No. She found me there when I was writing." Because Ashley does go out to the Court - not often, because Striding hurts, but she does - and she sits there at the base of the Throne and puts Words to the page. Sometimes she just goes there, these days, because the Court is a place where it's safe to feel lonely.

"She even had a cell phone. And an iPod, apparently." Ashley is passingly familiar with iPods, is aware that how people listen to music has shifted since she lost the ability. It's a little hard for her to imagine, keeping a large library on the computer instead of feeding a CD into the drive. "I'm not sure she thought much of my potential approach, though. I don't know if she's still around, anyway."

[K. R. J.] Kage isn't thinking about Caspian at all. Nor about Simon. They were her cabal; she isn't thinking about her cabal right now. They're not something she speaks about. They're secret, in their way; Ashley'd never know, if she hadn't been there. But then: there's this. Kage doesn't have anything to live up to. There are no expectations for Orphans, for Disparates. They're just there. They're trouble, if they're anything, or the ones who tend to disappear first, when something comes to a city and starts picking off solitary (alone [lonely]) mages. There's not a lot to live up to. There are no voices of Orphans past. Just herself.

"Oh?" Kage says, and also, "Why do you say that? What was her approach?" A beat, and, "Perhaps your presence distracted her from the dancing." There's a (feigned) callousness, there, because Kage doesn't cleave to stereotypes (necessarily). A beat. And, "Jarod took a look at those apple seeds Emily brought back. He said he'd let them grow at their own pace and in their own season, that they were special. Do you think they'd be like Jack's beans?"

[Ashley] "She talked a lot about balance, and balancing nature," Ashley says. "And responsibility." Obligation. Neither of those things are words that Ashley likes, never has liked. Perhaps it's with good reason: Wharil and Rene and Daiyu were all bound by obligation, all let it make them miserable, from time to time. She was working on Daiyu (do things because you want to do them). "She talked a lot about having a responsibility not to affect other people or what they Will or believe."

Which wasn't something Ashley liked to hear; while she might not throw the Ars Mentis about to change these things, she does certainly believe in a Right Way. She's an opinionated creature. Then, musing, "She didn't mention anything about stripping naked and dancing being part of joining the Tradition, but you never know."

She tips her head back to regard Kage when she talks about Jarod, about the apple seeds. "It'll take forever for them to grow enough to be useful if we wait, though. Apple trees don't bear fruit for...shit. Three or four years, I think." It might be longer.

[K. R. J.] "I won't be able to help, either way," Kage says, with a pang (sheathed). "Maybe we can grow one naturally, as the seasons want; the other, you and Emily can coax." Luka has decided to become a ball of thrumming, purring, innocence. He still has a strand of red hair, wrapped around his paw, tucked under his furry chin, while he himself is contained on Ashley's chest, her collarbone, her shoulder. A pause, and, "What is your approach, opposed to hers?"

[Ashley] "Maybe," Ashley agrees. "If I've learned by then." Which, at present, remains somewhat in doubt: she wants to learn from a Verbena, and she isn't sure whether Kae will teach her, and Jarod has refused. The Hermetic sounds a little disgruntled, and small wonder: she's not used to being refused as a student, is unused to being unable to impress people with her intelligence, her studiousness, her Will, her eloquence (because she does have it, in certain domains.)

A pause, and she looks over at Luka who has curled himself up, and reaches up to stroke her thumb over his head, behind his ears. "I don't have my approach figured out yet, really," Ashley says. "I know that conflict forces people - and ideas - to adapt and evolve. Jarod and I talked once, actually, and I think we were both surprised because he has a pretty similar take on things. Less about ideas and more about social darwinism, but..."

[K. R. J.] Ashley trails away, and Kage doesn't pick up the fallen sentence and remake it into something else. Kage is listening, and perhaps Ashley can hear that; the expectation of more.

[Ashley] Kage is listening, and for a few seconds Ashley does not really oblige by giving her more; she is indeed still working through how things are, how she feels about this, how it's going to work. Because she doesn't really know, yet: if she did she wouldn't require a teacher. Still, there are certainly things that make her feel pulled toward the Tradition.

"There were still similarities," she says. "And I guess I'd...keep with a lot of that, see it as important that I let myself adapt and let my Will shape me into something more. I..." A pause. "It's...it's hard to explain. It just kind of feels like something I should do. And I'll probably keep going with what kind of feels right to me." It's hesitant, that. It's an explanation other Hermetics wouldn't really accept.

[K. R. J.] Kage is decidedly (as in, the decision is writ in Enochian on her bones or something likewise permanent) not a Hermetic. Kage is also, for all her occult knowledge, all her training, her interest in ritual, decidedly intuitive. Her response is not the sort of response Ashley could therefore expect from another Hermetic. Kage: just an Orphan, after all.

"That's good," Kage says, although she sounds wistful. "You'll know to stop listening if it starts feeling wrong, after all. And you'll have explored the road."

[Ashley] It's good, not hearing criticism in response to this: not that she had really expected to. It's just a concern, there, when she was around only other Hermetics for so long, when Justine looked askance at the Word she had painted in woad on their faces. Hermetics: they just don't really trust their feelings, much, don't make decisions by them. It isn't enlightened.

"Yeah," Ashley says. Though there's a pensive, "The Jhor felt right, though." Because in its way, it did; her Avatar wanted it, her Avatar was receptive to it. Perhaps she caught something of the wistfulness in Kage's tone, though. She tips her head back so she can see Kage again, and she says, "I take it you don't really ever get pushed in one direction or other."

[K. R. J.] Kage looks sleepy, as close to Pre-Raphaelite [madonna (serene)] as it is possible for a plain redhead to look. Her eyes are closed, and she is listening. Both of her eyebrows rise: "Pushed in one direction or other," she echoes. Then, perplexed: "Depends on what you mean by 'direction.' What do you mean?" A beat. And then, "Why'd you struggle against it, then? The Jhor?"