Check-Ups

[Israel Cohen] [[Doth quote Admiral Ackbar. Per+Awareness -- been hearing the woman's a little unhinged lately.]]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 9 (Success x 5 at target 6)

[Israel Cohen] [[Prime Sight. Diff: 4. -1 Foci.]]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 7 (Failure at target 3) [WP]

[Israel Cohen] [[Seriously? +1 diff extending. -1 practiced.]]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 7 (Failure at target 3)

[Israel Cohen] [[...okay now I'm just spooked.]]

[Israel Cohen] [[test?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 5, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 3)

[Israel Cohen] It's Saturday; the Sabbath for Israel and her ilk. A weekend and a day of rest, so she isn't dressed in tailored [more a necessity than a vanity given her shape and build: Too diminutive for most women styles, even some petites. Too curvy and mature of tastes for the adolescent department.] finery. While she never put a lot of stock in such surface concerns as what someone wears; how they look - and cares even less now that it isn't something she actively notices - her own habits have always been well manicured, tasteful, with a fashion sense that pays contemporary homage to the likes of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly. Thank goodness capri pants are considered fashionable again. Not that Capri's are much of an option today: Autumn is here, and the morning is chilly and overcast. Her garb suits the weather: A tunic length sweater in vintage rose hue, the neck formed in cowl fashion the wide-ribbed stitch of it appealing to her sensitivity to texture. Dark coloured skinny jeans with fawn coloured boots that rise up just below the knee. No overcoat - she's Chicago born and bred and it most certainly isn't that cold.

Of course the other accoutrements: the long white guide-cane made of fibreglass; the satchel looped over one shoulder, strap bisecting her chest diagonally nestled between jumper clad breasts. Barring the stand-out factor of being blind she's just another 20-something-year-old woman braving Bronzeville by daylight with perhaps more calm that another woman of her build might feel... for good reason. Anyone with ill intentions tends to deviate when they get close enough to catch the oddity of her Resonance, the sense of something amiss...

...amiss, much like the sense she gets when she comes close to where she remembers the entrance of the converted auto-shop is located. Enough to give her pause; to cant her head, alter [aware], bird-like, the mannerism, attentive in scent and touch and taste and sound and Other things, while blind hazel eyes gaze unfocused in some unintended direction. It takes some doing.. Reality resists her today even in this simple, well-honed Weaving so she must force her Will against it, grimacing slightly but then.. yes... enough to tell her the location of the Working though the Spheres involved are not a part of her repertoire -- which in and of itself gives her a good idea what it is.

...she nods, softly, to no one, to the building, to herself. Nothing wrong with being careful, after all, though god willing no unwitting Sleeper manages to trigger it. A poor hapless Census taker perhaps? Never mind... taking care to avoid the parameters of the 'spiked' doorway she feels carefully for a doorbell.

[Molly Quincannon] Had Molly known she had visitors, the perimeter cameras would have allowed Molly to spare Israel that level of caution, but Israel has her reasons. Israel can easily find the doorbell if she's careful to avoid the door and its frame; the button to ring the bell is warm under Israel's fingers, enough so to indicate that it's probably lit up to call attention to it. Hapless census takers, door-to-door salesmen and kids playing ding-dong-ditch have no excuse not to notice that lit button. (Though of course, if they ignore the discreet but visible lightning-bolt 'DANGER - HIGH VOLTAGE' sign on the front door, it's really their misfortune, and she's never had it up to lethal levels anyway. Currently, Israel can barely hear/feel the hum, as she has it set to 'static electricity shock' rather than anything truly painful.)

There's a pause after the doorbell is rung, and then there's a quiet buzz. Then the door opens and there's a Molly, sounding just a touch out of breath. "Oh! Hey, Israel. C'mon in; hope you found the doorbell okay. What brings you by? Oh, awesome sweater, by the way; where'd you get it?"

The garage that Molly calls home feels more occupied at the moment, as if more things are in it. Maybe she actually got more furniture. As Molly steps aside to usher Israel in, there's a skittery sort of noise overhead, moving to the right and down, where it becomes a quiet thump and then some kind of jingly noise ... and a chitter-squeak of something too big to be a rat.

[Israel Cohen] Given the tenure of life in the last couple months - hell, the whole of the Summer - she cannot help but feel a certain tingle of relief when the door opens and it's Molly's voice that greets her; Molly's familiar Resonance, things that map out her world in a depth that compensates for the lack of visual input. A flicker of it over her eyes, useless outside of the expressiveness they still mage for others to read; then a smile: Gentle. A little tired. Recovery in body was easily handled [well, outside of the need to obliterate nasty Qlippothic Entropy tied to embedded bullets -- minor details like that, right?] but other things took longer now that there was respite enough to tend to other wounds; deeper wounds.

"Hi, Molly. And yeah, I found it alright." There's no comment regarding the defensive Working. "Oh..." regarding the comment on the sweater; free hand smoothing over the lay of it along her hips, lips gracious of the compliment. "Anne Taylor. One of the few places I can sometimes find things that don't require tailoring."

The sounds and sense of motion; entrance and being allowed passage and her guide-cane leads the way. "Is it a bad time? I've been meaning to--" Chitter-squeak? Quiet thumps, stealthy movements overhead then a little distance away, closer to the ground... her right ear follows the sounds, expression curious and, well, a little wary... "-- do you have a cat?"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly blinks, then chuckles. "No, actually, a ferret. Name of Neal. Don't worry; he won't get underfoot. He's got a ... well, it's sort of a playpen, connected to a series of tubes that spreads through the house. Eating hutch in the kitchen, penned-off area for the litter tray in the bathroom, sleeping area in the bedroom and--" More jingling, and Molly's voice is sheepish as well as amused. "--well, playpen in here. Mostly for my own sake; keeps him from chewing on any cables. Which would be bad for him as well as me. Long story short, he's contained. But I can take him out so you can pet him if you want. He's curious about you." Sure enough, the jingling has stopped and there's a scrabbling at around Israel-knee-height some ways to her right, as a ferret climbs fencing to get a better look at the new arrival.

Then Molly goes on. "And no, it's not a bad time. I was just playing one of those dance simulation games. I'm a bit of a sucker for dee-dee-arr and it's a good way of getting some exercise. But I was due a break, so c'mon in. You okay? You look a bit fragged. Sit down; did you want anything to drink? And you've been meaning to...?" Molly matches her resonance perhaps a little more than usual at the moment; it seems that she is very keen to be doing things, more so than usual if the living arrangements for her house pet and the fervour with which she discusses her desire to get some exercise are any indication. But the curiosity is still there, and she finishes her high-speed auto-yammer with an encouragement for Israel to finish her sentence.

[Israel Cohen] One eyebrow rises steadily at the explanation of the veritable tube system and playground she's concocted for a ferret; the emotion behind it certainly amusement and curiosity, though not of the sort as... avid... as Molly's. Still, that would be rather hard to match. No, Israel is decidedly a steady and calm counterpoint to Molly's energy; but instead of being put off by it or disdainful the small woman seems to take a kind of simple pleasure in being around it; like there's quiet joy [hope. peace.] to be found in most anything around her. "Oh, sure... I had a ferret once, when I was.. oh... seven or so. We had a pair of them -- they liked the company." Soft-spoken as she is she does seem pleased at the idea of being able to interact with the animal.

There's talk of... dance simulation games and DDR? And, well, other things she clearly gets the gist of, the general context if not the specifics. By now Molly's certainly noticed a general lack of knowledge regarding... well, most things that someone of their generation should know about in terms of pop culture, shows, games and the like. No mind; the words are absorbed as they bombard, lips tweaking, demeanour attentive. "Oh, nothing that won't pass in time, given I work on it." No denials that 'no, no I'm fine' -- acknowledgement, without dissolving into details. With guide cane and queries regarding new furniture and lay out she'll find a chair to settle into, a place to set her satchel down -- from which she rummages and draws out a small pastry box. "That reminds me - the offer of a drink, I mean - I brought along some biscotti from a bakery I like. Great with coffee if you have some?" The last is more polite than anything, a good-humoured glint in her eyes. 'Coffee' is one of the smells she associates with Molly, one of the things that marks her out for Israel's benefit, pleasantly so.
And, at last, when she's settled... "I've been meaning to stop by and visit. I'm sorry it's taken this long... but I've thought of you often."

[Molly Quincannon] The new furniture isn't in the path between Israel and where she remembers the armchair being - it's off more to the left. While Israel settles, Molly moves towards the scrabbling and chittering, and there's a little squeak of hinges. "I thought about some company for Neal," she admits, "but I wanted to make sure I could take care of one ferret before I got a second. But I seem to be doing okay, and so does he, so I might get him a Peter. Or a Kate. Haven't decided yet." If nothing else, Molly's talkativeness at least marks out where she is in a room, so Israel can hear it when Molly moves in front of her. "Hold out your hands." Assuming Israel does, her fingertips are sniffled by cold ferret nose before the inquisitive, wriggly little thing is placed in Israel's hands. "And now that you've got company, I'll get coffee. There's a pot keeping warm."

When a coffee mug is placed - carefully and audibly - on the end table next to Israel, only then does Molly deal with the rest. "Yeah, I talked to Solomon a little, a couple-three days ago. He said it was rough. Glad you're coping, though. And don't worry about it; you've been busy, and I ... well, y'know, so have I, with bits and pieces." The tone of voice is the giveaway there; embarrassment, disappointment, a bit of stress, heavy regret ... but determination all the same. Complicated mix of emotions to be piled into a few small words, but there it is. "Anyway, I'm glad you stopped by. Not for any particular reason; just ... in general, y'know?"

[Israel Cohen] "Hullo there, Neal." Yes, she talks to the ferret -- soft as ever, but no baby-blather. A sniff at her fingertips and then wriggly-wiggly warmth of fur and sleek domesticated Mustelidae in her arms. A hint of a shallow dimple in her left cheek that echoes the broad span of her lips as she feels carefully over the inquisitive creature that no doubt sniffs and snuffs and prods away in kind. Molly gets some coffee and places it nearby [thank yous given, of course] and then she listens while continuing her tactile, companionable acquaintance with the animal... ear inclined Molly's way, her blind eyes slipping closed as she listens to tone as much as words and the spaces between what is spoken as much as tone.
"He mentioned talking to you. I'm glad you had a chance to chat with him," That her regard - and more - for Solomon is high to say the least goes without saying; a good person for most anyone to talk to in her estimation and good for him to engage with the locals more as well. "We were both impressed - and immeasurably grateful - for what you pulled off with the above-ground security and such that night. Outside of our own talents and the other Magi in the city with technological savvy... well, they've not proven as engaged as you are. It meant a lot to us."

A cold nose and fuzzy muzzle is exploring near her ear and neck and that illicit as close to a giggle from the woman as anyone is likely to hear and, "Goodness, Neal... buy a girl dinner first, hmm?" Then back to Molly, her expression compassionate but light; sincere. "I'm glad, too. It's good to be able to enjoy some freedom again. How about you? Have you been keeping in touch with friends?"

[Molly Quincannon] The exploration of Israel's neck by Neal gets a giggle from Molly. "Oh, he lives up to his name. I named him after a character on a show I like - White Collar? Neal Caffrey is a very attractive, very charming, very ... appealing con artist. When I went on the hunt for prospective pets, this one climbed the bars of his cage to get a better look at me, butted his nose against the bars for pettings and then? Squeaked piteously at me when I tried to go look at cages. Con artist. Just let me know when you want me to take him back to lock-up so you can drink your coffee in peace, okay?"

That said, she deals with the rest. "As I said to Solomon, you're welcome, any time, if I can be of some kind of help. Given the situation..." For which Molly still feels at least in part responsible, from the sound of her, though there's also a note that suggests she's aware that the group of Nephandi the field teams took down might have stayed there, festering and expanding their influence, for weeks or months longer had matters not been pushed to that point. "...I couldn't have been in the field. Least I could do was make sure those who could didn't have to deal with mundane law while they were at the business of city-saving. So ... y'know, any time."

The mention of friends gets a sigh. "I've seen a few people. Been out with Chuck a few times, talked to Kage and Atlas ... Emily and Nat were there when Neal adopted me. Thomas, obviously. It's..." She hesitates there, then sighs, apparently deciding to come out with it. She knows how Israel is with empathy, after all. "It's been tricky. It always is, when your friends have at least some control on reality and ... and you aren't being as they think you ought to be. There's ... only so much being yelled at somebody can take."

[Israel Cohen] Not surprisingly the reference to the show means little to her, but Molly provides adequate information to, again, understand the context and she responds with a contented half grin, nuzzling her cheek back against the inquisitive little charmer, heedless of mussing hair or makeup or getting fur on her jumper or anything like that. She likes to present herself well, sure, and blindness necessitates order in her life.. but neither is she overtly fastidious. A chittering little click of her tongue, hushed but playful. "Oh, I'll let you know..." regarding when she's ready to be ferret-free again. For now she is happy as is.

And, lips just slight dry in their reflected humour, "Trust me -- if it's one thing Solomon and I are good at it's putting available skills to good use. Solomon's notice and praise isn't so easily come by -- you made a good impression." Not spoken because she thinks the world should revolve around what Solomon Ward thinks, but rather because she believes people should be made aware of their accomplishments, their worthiness. She doesn't compliment idly, don't stroke egos for no better reason than the superficial -- a sense about her that gives greater weight to her words.

The mention of going out with Chuck is news to her - it'd be hard to meet someone more out of touch with the romantic relations of the local Magi. Many seem to be able to speak to Israel about important matters but coming to her for relationship advice or girlish banter? Not usually. So a flicker of interest there, but then it's the norm: That rare earnestness of attentiveness and empathy that Molly already knows isn't easily dodge for all of the woman's disability. Someone who actually listens rather than simply waiting for their turn to talk. Sympathy paints itself over her features; sympathy but not pity, let it be noted. Molly wouldn't thank her for that any more than Israel might from someone else. "It's not easy -- when friends are worried it manifest in all sorts of ways and, well... we so-called 'Enlightened' -- well, we tend to be a pushy lot. Understandable I guess, given what we do. But not as beneficial when there are some things that just take time... time and care." Understanding on both sides. "And what you're dealing with -- that raises all sorts of warning bells for most of us. Tempers flare and people dread the worst-case-scenario."
Gently, "I won't yell at you." A quirk of her lips, a little injection of levity. "For one thing my voice isn't built for it.. when I try I sort of go hoarse and croak." True enough, it's hard to imagine those breathy tones achieving much force of volume.
...and then, serious, low... "Tom mentioned you the other day. He's... worried. Agitated. He said you've been doing some yelling of your own." The words coax, but caringly so. Concerned, certainly, but lacking in judgement.

[Molly Quincannon] There's a quiet, thoughtful pause after Israel mentions that about Thomas; she's searching her memory. Then she shakes her head, and her voice is confident, if quiet, when she says, "I wasn't the one yelling. If it's the conversation he's thinking of, that would have been him, screaming that I'm too curious and too confident and kicking things ... because I was trying to ... get on with my life, I guess. You know, not let it get to me so much? I was not the one yelling, anyway. It was just ... it wasn't even about the circumstances that got me in that god-awful situation in the first place. I ... if you talked to Solomon, you might know I got ... inquisitive? About why the hell Nephandi want to destroy the creation they're ... y'know, in and part of and everything? But I told Nat I was that way curious - it came up when I asked Atlas what he knew about Nephandi because ... well, hell, I thought that understanding who had me and what they were standing for might help. Anyway, Nat freaked out. Completely. Started yelling at me to get it out of my head, then told me she was getting burned out and ... poof. She made with the distance for about a week to get her head together. Two days later, Thomas came over to sort out some stuff and I was trying to follow Nat's advice, y'know? Get it out of my head, carry on with life as normal because apparently that's the only way she really wants to deal with me. And so he freaked out because ... I dunno, I didn't seem to be acknowledging the trauma like he thought I should be. I honestly have no idea what anyone expects of me right now, and that's kind of set my internal clock at about half-past give-a-damn. I have nightmares, but the flashbacks are more or less under control. I have a bit of figuring out to do about where I'm going next in terms of ... y'know, me? What I want to do with myself, my abilities, where I want to stand in terms of the mages of Chicago, what I am? But I'm sick of people telling me how I should or should not be coping, and what methods I should use to do the coping." Slight pause in which a shrug would generally fit if it could be seen, and then: "I'm not 'okay'. I'm not as I was. But given everything that's happened, I shouldn't be. If I was ... then there'd be something wrong with me. My take on it, anyway."

The flicker of interest gets an addition: "Hey, no one really knows with me and Chuck. Not that anyone's been hiding it; just ... he takes things slow and I'm respecting that, so it doesn't look like anything's going on. Not like with some of the others, with the love pentangles and the sexuality crises and the drama. It's ... like something out of an Archie comic or a sitcom."

[Israel Cohen] For a long moment she doesn't say anything. Oh, she's listened, definitely. Absorbed. But given her druthers, Israel likes to think things over; take care with really trying to understand words and concepts and situations and people and all their complexities before jumping in with a response. The silence isn't heavy or burdensome or brooding; she plays with Neal as she thinks, somewhat absently but with endearing affection. Beyond that is the sense of empathy, indeed. Concerned and... well, disappointed at the sound of some of the reactions Molly's faced. When she does finally speak it's to the last statement, first, the lighter of the topics.. an agreeing expression. "I feel the same way regarding relationships... all around. I wish you and Chuck the best. I don't know him very well at all but he seems kind." And, in her book, that's important. She doesn't say she'll safeguard a secret or not run off a gossip... likely because she hopes Molly realizes that already.

Then, to the heart of the matter... "Of course you're curious. Given who and what you are; given what you went though. The human mind and soul seeks understanding -- some more so than others, but the impulse is there." Soothing validation. She can't imagine not being curious on some level. "But people; well yes, the volatile responses are common. And though few would admit it I think it's because those of us who know something about the matter -- know no one is really immune to it. And we fear that seed of darkness; that temptation - we fear it so many don't want to look at it, don't want to even think about it outside of need. Best to try and pretend it doesn't exist. To... 'move on'." Her lips purse slightly as she shakes her head, "There's some sense to it. Anyone looking into the matter should be exceedingly careful -- there's too much proof of out lack of total immunity to do otherwise. But I'll spare you the Nietzsche quotes and paraphrasing." Another quirk of her lips. "I'm sure that's been trumpeted ad nausea. The thing is..." Careful here. "You can't fight an enemy you have no knowledge of. But the risks... it isn't a path that suits everyone. There has to be discipline and moderation; careful steps."
Her tone doesn't say she thinks Molly lacks those things, not at all. She's stating the truth as she sees it.
Drawing a slow breath... "I won't ever tell you how you should or shouldn't cope: Though I'll be honest if I think you need something pointed out, as a friend. Because that's what friends do. But the individual struggle.. that for each of us to face in our own way. That said... I'd rather you not have to resort to unsafe means or stumble upon erroneous knowledge because those around you think even talking about the subject is too dangerous." A press of her lips, there. Unbelievable to her that people might see someone as curious and confident as Molly and think bossing her about would somehow make her step in line, head down. With another small shake of her head she moves on, "If you ever have questions, feel free to ask me. And if you ever just want to talk about anything or just... play with Neal with someone, whatever... I'll do my best to be available." No sense of obligation or duty there; the hushed words are in amiable earnest.

[Molly Quincannon] One thing that can be said about Molly; as impatient (frantic) as she often seems, she does actually listen when people talk. The bit about Chuck gets a murmured "Thanks," mostly directed at the well-wishes, but at least in part addressing that which was not spoken. It's not a secret, no, but since she doesn't know what it is with Chuck yet (she has been his 'maybe' for almost two months now with no signs of the 'progress' he seems so set on; it grates, for a Cultist, but it's an experience) it's probably best not to have it turn into the gossip that might come back and bite people in the ass later.

The rest ... Molly gives off frantic by her very nature, and it gives her the appearance of impatience. And she is impatient, in all fairness, about most things. However, when people talk to her, she does listen, rather than waiting for her turn to talk. Mostly it's because she's too curious about what people are going to say not to listen when that happens. So Israel speaks and Molly listens, and a tension she hadn't even been all that aware of drops away as the words sink in. To know that there is someone who understands - maybe doesn't agree with you, but at least understands where you're coming from and how to communicate with you ... well, it's become a rare commodity, and it's a blessed relief.

When Israel has made her offer of availability, there's a moment as Molly takes in the last of it. There's also a small, quiet, relieved sigh. Then she says, "I know the risks. Probably not as well as you do, but ... well, put it this way; the first person to quote Nietzsche in all these conversations? The very first? That was me. I know the one about the abyss looking back into you and becoming the monster and all that. But ... see, you'll tell me that you don't want me to have to resort to unsafe means or stumble upon erroneous knowledge, but offer your own wisdom, which I appreciate a lot. Others ... well, others seem to assume that the first thing I'm going to do after everything I went through was to find a Labyrinth to infiltrate and find out first-hand. Man, seriously." There's almost amusement in the exasperated frustration. "I know I can be a little reckless sometimes, but I'm far and away from stupid, y'know? If I want answers, I'm going to you or Solomon or Atlas or maybe Wharil, since he seemed fairly clued in when I talked to him before this mess. Maybe books, though I can't access the Chantry library as I'm still footloose and cabal-free so ... eh." She sighs. "All I know is that these ... I guess ... they're still people? And the things they serve? Those things want to destroy a world I was taught to love and cherish and enjoy. I ... can't just sit by and not try to do something about that, but I also wasn't going to feel comfortable with fighting them unless I knew what I was fighting and why. Feels too Mirrorshade an approach, I guess. Now I ... guess I know. I may not understand? But I don't think I'm going to. So I guess now all I want to know is ... well, three things. One: Do they come back? I mean, I was taught that energy can't be created or destroyed, so ... the twisted Avatars ... do they come back? And if so, are they still twisted-wrong when they do? I ... got the impression that they do and are, but nothing solid. Two: is there any way to ... untwist them? Can a Nephandus be ... I guess 'Healed'?"

Then, sheepish: "And three: what exactly did they do to me to keep me conscious and in pain? You left it without a lot of detail and I get why, given how I was at the time ... but now I ... kind of want to know what you left out. Saves my imagination working overtime on it."

[Israel Cohen] She lacks the ability to spot visual cues on how a person is responding to her words, that much is obviously clear. Which only really means she listens all the more closely; listens and feels; relying on senses most only use in passing, unconsciously. There's nothing truly magical about it, either, though she could certainly Weave a small Working to be able to see the shift and change of someone's Aura. As a rule she tries not to do that with colleagues and even most mundane acquaintances and strangers. Her sense of ethics are strong; her sense of discipline stronger in many respects. At the most pragmatic level relying on magical means to curtail her sensory disability is a good way to lose her edge.

Perhaps there's an audibly perceptible little sigh at Molly's first sense of relief; certainly a sense of it comes through when she begins to speak again; when she opens up and reaches out which in turn gives Israel a reflective sense of relief. Communication is important; veracity one of the greatest tools available to fill darkness with light... and it's her firm belief that real healing can only begin when the wounds are tended to instead of being left to fester because no one wants to deal with the stink, the ugliness, the pus and the gore. [and anyone who tells you that the very act of healing doesn't often involve pain is lying or living in a rich fantasy world.] So she listens; nodding. Open. Receptive. Neal, crepuscular creature that he is, is being lulled but clever fingers working over sleek fur, nestling down on Israel's lap and she seems quite content to welcome the soft weight of him, the increasing warmth. At any rate it leaves one hand free to finally reach for and carefully find her coffee.

The questions come then and the blind woman doesn't seem at all surprised by them, though it would be a stretch to say her gaze doesn't deepen, darken [her eyes are just one-way mirrors now; she sees nothing through them but others - perceptive sorts - can see the reflections they cast of thoughts and emotions within], a sombre response to a sombre subject; a subject that has had direct impact in her life for... a long, long time.
"Before I get to the three questions let me just respond to two things: First of all I'm not sure the Chantry library has much by way of resources regarding Nephandi. Many libraries don't: Resources are hard to find, some of the ones found are... dangerous in and of themselves... and, like I said earlier -- many of us tend to distance ourselves from what we fear. Human nature." Softly, always softly. "I may have a couple of texts of interest. I don't let them out of my own library but we can see about arranging something. Secondly," A hint of a sigh, "Not all of the Nephandic 'masters' are bent only on the annihilation of the world. Some seek goals no less destructive but perhaps even more sinister. To create a world that suits their diabolical tastes and twisted whims and fancies. Some think it better to rule in hell, yes? Like that, but far worse. And some.... well, some serve Beings whose ideas are so alien that... who can begin to know what they want? Except that whatever it is the means they are willing to use to achieve it as so utterly vile and anathema to anyone with the least bit of regard for humanity that we can safely surmise their goals are worth fighting against. As far as is known by those of us not Fallen ourselves, there is a trend of those three types of Masters: Those who are purely after destruction; those who are Infernal and Diabolical and those who are utterly alien."

Blessedly, Israel has a knack for 'teaching' in a tone that's factual but not overbearing; she doesn't stand and give droning lectures, at least. Or tries not to.

Then for the three questions and she pauses again before responding, considering her words [and perhaps working past her own wounds, her own memories to keep a kind of distance needed on occasion.] "Yes, they do come back. We don't know if they all do. We don't know the rhyme or reason to it, but they do, indeed, reincarnate." A bit of a flex of her lips, like regret, like she wishes she could tell Molly otherwise. Tell herself otherwise. Sorrow upon sorrows, but she doesn't let herself drown in it. "You may hear some of the, ah, 'old school' among us - the Relics," her lips quirk again, passing inside humour. She's been called a relic before; more than once, sometimes in not at all friendly tones. "Refer to Nephandi as Barabbi. Technically, though, Barabbi refer to the Fallen who had un-Inverted souls and made that decline and final choice in their own lifetime. Then there are Widderslainte."
Distaste. Anger. Lamentations. All in one. Distant but there; and a certain carefulness with her next words. "The 'boy'?" She doesn't have to clarify who she is talking about. She highly doubts Molly will ever forget the child-Nephandi who dictated her torture. "He was almost undoubtedly Widderslainte. One born with an Avatar already twisted by the deprivations of the initiations, the Caul and after. Nephandi... prize their Widderslainte. Covet and tend to them. A status thing."

She waits there for a moment to be sure Molly isn't having an extremely adverse reaction to the subject matter; the way it may hit home to her own brutal memories. Only if the woman doesn't seem on the verge of flashback or the like does she continue, "Can they be healed?" A flicker-flash again... but too much there to be easily discerned. But somewhere at the core of her that part of her Resonance that embodies undying Hope kindles. "Yes. Not many believe it, but yes. It isn't just a hope of mine, either. I've encountered enough evidence of the action to believe it true. But it's... insanely difficult. The Rotes involved take the working of an Archmagus, beyond even the scope of new Masters. And the process is, I think, not without danger to the person and soul undergoing it. I'm not expert on it, obviously, not being remotely near that skill myself. And some..." Oh yes, some. Many. "Believe even if it is possible it's nearly a moot point because it is so very rarely accomplished; so dependent on such extreme Enlightenment and potency."

A double edged sword for Israel: To know the hope is real and truly possible. But to likewise know it is so utterly beyond reach.

Then, yes, again: Hesitancy. Understanding -- she can understand why someone would want to know what happened to them. But hesitant as well; she's human and the memory of what was done to the other woman is enough to make her stomach clench; bile rising. But she composes herself... "The Magic the Fallen use is as twisted as their Avatars. We refer to it as Qlippothic magic. Are you familiar with Kabbalah at all? The word finds its root in Kabbalah, in the idea that for every Divine Emanation of God there is also a dark counterpart. Qlippothic Spheres twist ad rend all the Spheres we know and use in destructive, Entropic ways. Entropy is the excellence, though even then the remove the elements of good and naturalness from it. At any rate, I cannot give you the hows and mechanics since I can't truly understand it myself, but essentially they filled you with entropic, twisted parasites that stimulated your nerve endings and Mind, keeping you in that constant limbo of pain without the relief of obliviousness. I had to work on your Pattern for hours to trace it all and obliterate it - essentially unmake it - without damaging you further."

She doesn't say that to impress; the thought doesn't occur to her. It's meant to give her the truth of the situation in so far as Israel knows it.

[Molly Quincannon] It might be the opinion of some that Molly must have been a delight as a student, back in the days when she was one, given how she loves gathering, compiling and analysing information. It's not true, actually; she was also the smart-alec who second-guessed the teacher when they were drawing stupid, blinkered conclusions from available facts, called them out on their mistakes and let's not talk about phys ed, shall we? But some might be of the opinion all the same - at least, if it's someone she respects trying to give her information. She listens, quietly, though she smiles to herself at the sight of Israel and Neal, bonding.

"Anything I could read to ... get a clearer picture would be great, thanks. So ... let me know when and where and how and that. At your convenience, y'know?" Then, after a sip of her own coffee (it should be noted that Molly tends to go for very good coffee - strong but smooth), she goes on to explain, "Yeah, I got a general gist of the three types. Malfeans, Infernals and ... um, I never got a name for them but they were likened to Great Old Ones. I ... tend to think that removing everything good from creation is destroying it, I guess. Anything utterly without light can't stand for long. I ... that Riveira detective..." It's not that she can't speak of him; it's that she's trying very hard not to swear in front of Israel, though there's a fricative sort of noise that indicates that the first letter of the word she would use if she weren't being polite is F. "He enjoyed two things, and only one of them enough to smile about. The vague enjoyment was aged bourbon. The only thing that got a smile out of him was ... well, in that case, shooting me. Causing pain and aged bourbon is not enough to keep someone going as anything more than a ... husk. It's sick. Either way, it's sick."

Then: "I heard the term Barabbi, but Wharil didn't explain exactly what it meant. Atlas explained about that, but ... Widderslainte ... gah. I did wonder how a kid that age gets so wrong. Not that it's not possible, but ... it's hard to think that some people can, through no fault of their own, be ... 'born bad'. I always figured that ... well, the soul's the part of us that's divine. That someone can come along and turn it into that..." She shudders, though of course Israel can't see it. "It all just more or less solidifies the ... I don't even think 'loathing' is the word. It's ... sad and disappointed and angry and kind of sick and sure, scared, but ... resolved, maybe? Not to be that, and ... do something about it, when and if I can." The reaction is not extremely adverse; her voice is carefully controlled, because there's a lot going on there, and fear and loathing and memory is a part of it, yes, but it's being tempered with that resolve she's talking about. And information seems to make all things better for her.

After a bit of thought, she asks, "So ... it might be easier ... to do this ... with more than one person helping? I've always seen and heard that the really big feats of magic are best with a crowd. One bad Avatar, a lot of like-ish-minded magi ... it's possible but resource-intensive, time-consuming, difficult to actually try to do because trying to get one of these little--" There's that fricative noise again. "--these people to stand still long enough without them trying to kill you, and it's easier to just kill them. That ... sounds typical, really. It's ... a thing to work for, though. Healing without destroying, for once. Hope is good." It seems so simple, maybe, when Molly says it. But she's a confident sort of person, and that confidence seems to not just involve herself. When she believes in someone, it's wholeheartedly, and apparently, Molly believes in Israel. If it can be done, Israel will learn to do it - or at least, so says Molly's tone.

It's at the talk of Qlippothic magic and what it does that gets the nastier part of Molly's reaction. As should be no surprise. There's a shuffling sort of noise as Molly draws herself into a little curled-up ball on the corner of the sofa, and her breathing gets a bit ragged, but she listens, and what she says is, "...So ... they even turn magic to rot? Oh..." There just aren't words bad enough, apparently. Sure, what they did to her was bad. Yes, it shakes her up knowing parasites and all that, but it's what they do to Avatars and magic itself that really trigger Molly's upchuck reflex, apparently. The combination isn't good, and the coffee gets set aside. She takes a deep breath and then carries on with, "I ... you are simply awesome incarnate. I've thanked you, but ... it's frustrating that there aren't deeper words for that."