Emissary? HAH!

[Molly Quincannon] Molly still has her security work to do - most of the wiring is set up but the cameras need to go up, she needs to hook into the phone lines and there's the matter of the monitors. Which means that Molly has to drive the TARDISmobile in and start hauling all manner of electronic crap from car to Chantry house. The first load (two flatscreen monitors and a bag of webcams) is deposited gently on the floor of the entry foyer and Molly, while glancing quickly at the bulletin board, calls, "Security geek reporting for duty! Hello?"

[Solomon Ward] He's easily visible as soon as one walks in through the front door. It isn't often he's found simply relaxing, if you can call this that, but it seemed better to be visible than to be locked away in the library.

Of course 'relaxing' is a relative word for Solomon, who is dressed in the usual drab apparel of his stern black slacks and overly crisp white shirt. A black tie, leather belt and leather shoes (with the prototypical rubber soled gumshoe, so named for cops that tried to maintain both fashion and function). He's wearing a vest as well, and this is the suits only source of color. A silver and black diamond pattern on the front, solid black on the back. The usual jacket is hung on a knob by the door.

His shoulder holster is on, as it is most days. He doesn't bother trying to conceal the weapon or its rapid loaders here. Two books take up space on the seat next to him, the third is spread openly in his lap. A well worn Bible and some thing titled in Latin by his side. He's currently lookin gover the one in his lap through small, round framed, reading glasses. 'Treatises on the Boundry of Faith and Science, vol. 17' .

Of course he stands when Molly enters the room, watching her quietly for a long moment. Its an old thing, that, more habit than conscious thought. The unlit pipe is still bitten between his teeth, and he's busy juggling the open book with his right hand. His left hand, which is opposite of the shoulder rig, never holds any thing if he can help it. It's only once he has fully registered whom it is that he uses both hands to hold it carefully.

"Good evening"

[Henri Bean] *Blah blah blah, no prototypes in the chantry blah blah blah. Well, it wasn't a prototype now that she'd tested it, and since "rounds" seemed to be something she had to do these days, Henri Bean shows up with her pants making a break for her ankles, and an armful of dragonflies and a humming bird.

All clockwork robots of course. Armadillo curled into a ball on her belt.

Moving with the sort of carefree gaiety that only children and the mentally deficient have any right to possess, Henri nearly runs directly into Molly's back as she steps through the Chantry door, only narrowly avoiding her with a hasty sidestep that results in her pants far lower than is decent, and an eyeful of bright yellow "ferocious animal" underwear. Pinking as she notices (not) Father Ward as well as her cabal mate, the frizztopped teenager crows.*

Gah! A little help! With the drawers?

[Molly Quincannon] When Molly looks at Solomon, there's a look in her eyes that wasn't there before; it's a thing that goes beyond respect and while gratitude is a part of it, it's deeper than a simple 'you-saved-my-life' thing. To know the things Solomon did and went through at least in part to rescue her, to have seen the duty he took on in that horrible place...

She'd have hugged him, there and then, had Henri not nearly crashed into her on the threshold. As it was, that look breaks as Molly sticks her thumbs in Henri's belt loops and pulls her trousers back up to a more dignified position. "Henri? Invest in a belt. You could get one of those ones that you can attach the utility pockets to; like holsters for your tools. Hrm. I should get one of those. How's the AI for those things going, by the way?"

Then, back to Solomon. Somewhat glad she didn't hug him (the man has his dignity and it should probably be preserved), she settles for clenching her right hand into a fist, putting it over her heart, and giving him a discreet bow; the closest she'll come to a salute. "Good evening to you too," she adds with a bit of a smile, breaking some of the formality. "How're you keeping?"

[Solomon Ward] His head turns quizzically to Molly's gesture, or would have had the loud teenager, one of the few in this city that can give Solomon anxiety, came crashing in behind her and with her pants down, literally, no less. He averts his eyes quickly. Not shyly, blushing, or any thing as ridiculous as that, he's a grown man after all, but all the same the cant of his head ends up as a full body turn away from the door as Henri... sorts herself.

"Very well, thank you. And yourself, Ms. Quincannon? And good day to you, as well, Ms. Bean" he says. The rasp in his voice is apparent. Molly has never heard it other wise. Henri may or may not remember it wasn't always there.

He'd noticed the menagerie of ..things.. Henri carried, but his attention and eyes averted, he'd no idea what they were. Molly says A.I. and the anxiety begins. The former priest is far from the most technically proficient man in the world, but in this day and age the idea of 'A.I.' isn't a necessarily foreign thing.

[Henri Bean] *Its Henri's belt thats just the problem. Thick leather thing weighed down by 30 or 40 lbs of gadgetry and tools, easily pulling torn cargo pants off narrow hips. They're hiked back up, and the twiggy etherite beams in thanks, crinkling her nose as Molly mentions the AI. *

OI! Brillliant. Buggers are workin' like clockwork. Alls tested an operational! Figured they might help with patrols, eh?

*Rather than carry them around now that they're in the chantry, Henri's fingers fly over switches on her belt, and the clockwork mechanisms all take to the air in a unified buzz of wings. 5 silvery dragonflies. A single somewhat larger goldish hummingbird. Glass blue eyes lit with impersonal flickering light. Their creator steps away from the hovering swarm and grins proudly.*

Eyo Mr. Dub-you. Low and to the left?

[Molly Quincannon] "Oh, doing okay, thanks," is Molly's reply. "Apparently, if you check your sources online well enough, the advice on dealing with psychological trauma you get from said online sources isn't entirely bogus. So I managed to revisit the scene of trauma without going completely wigged." Which might, perhaps, explain at least some of what prompted Molly's gesture to Solomon.

It's all he's getting for the moment, anyway. Even Molly Quincannon, aka Info-Slut, has enough discretion not to mention that kind of thing willy-nilly. Besides, there are flying drone-bots to exclaim over. "Awesome! I'll run a few more tests on their encryptions while I'm encrypting the household phone lines. Just make sure they stay inside; that's a consensus violation we don't need and I have the outside covered with ... predominantly mundane cameras anyway." She looks at her bag of webcams. "Or I will once I get these set up on the roof."

Then she looks up at Solomon, apparently puzzled. "Why has no one ever encrypted the phone lines at the house? I mean, phone taps are so very easy it's untrue, and the conversations that happen here must be epic meat for Mirrorshades."

[Solomon Ward] "Because we don't use the phone lines here for any thing important," he says. At least he hopes people don't. He's told them not to, and any one that understands the Patriot Act knows what a phone tap is.

Molly's mention of trauma and the gallery go over looked slightly. It isn't an attempt to ignore her or be rude, but the question was a sudden turn of conversation and Henri just let over had a dozen... things... go flying through the Chantry, or at least inside the Chantry.

"You don't need to encrypt what doesn't need encrypting.. that said if we did so, because it was necessary, the 'ahem'...Mirrorshades have more resources for breaking and countering that sort of thing than we do. It's also an advertisement that we are up to some thing, should they decide to tap it for any reason. Also, a half dozen other means of audio surveillance exists, so why shut down the obvious one?"

Technologically proficient ? No. Very aware of Technocratic Doctrine? Exceedingly. It's an odd skill set he has, for an ex priest.

"Ms. Bean, I will remind you.. you are a lady, and while I suppose you have a much different opinion as to what that entails versus my own opinion.. there are limits, young lady. That said... what the hell did you just let loose in the Chantry?"

[Henri Bean] Wut?

*Perplexed. The owlfaced kid wears it well, head canting to the side as she blinks behind her goggles. Why was Solomon suddenly talking to her about being a lady? Her smile fades somewhat as she tries to fathom him, looking to Molly as though Maudlin might have the answer. Without one instantly forthcoming she does the only next reasonable thing.

Poptiss.

She cracks an energy drink.*

A few dragonflies an' a hummingbird. Dragonflies just scout, but its the bird you gotta watch out for, I say somethin's unwelcome like. He'll banjanx a baddie back to tuesday. Meanwhile we can sit an' play Clue in the library! It's in the hall closet! Top shelf! Want I should get it? We can install your cammie-rahs after a game?

[Molly Quincannon] Molly wrinkles her nose at Solomon's explanation. "Yeah, and people weren't supposed to bring other people in here without them meeting Ashley first, and Lara did it anyway. Things happen, people slip up, and when they do, it'd be nice if we didn't have to worry so much about the inevitable slips costing lives. Anyway, I wasn't thinking your basic scrambler so they couldn't hear anything, or even just gibberish; I've got a fair few conversation samples I've picked up and can rig something to get anyone tapping into the line hearing randomised conversation along the lines of 'Hey, can you stop by the store on your way home and pick up some milk?', but they can't even get a voice print off any of us if they suspect something at the house and decide to try an ident that way. Subtle as anything. But if that's off the cards, I can at least monitor it for taps. Nothing's better than keeping an enemy misinformed." Then she ponders. "I guess an ee-em shell to short out any taps they try to put in the line really would be overkill."

She then addresses the question Solomon posed to Henri, in as non-tech a way as she can. "They're security drones. They're like little flying cameras, they feed information back to the central hub I'm setting up, the hummingbird is capable of combat but the dragonfly scouts really are just flying receivers. Their transmissions are encrypted and they'll self-destruct if caught, and probably blow any tech the enemy's carrying to hell in the process of that self-destruct. Electromagnetic pulse deal. Anyway, they're no real substitute for a few well-prepped magi on premises in an emergency, but they're a great early warning system. Also good to send into an enemy stronghold if they're not too tech-savvy."

[Solomon Ward] if they're not too tech-savvy

Solomon blinks twice, looking between the two young women as if he'd just been pole axed. His anachronism is showing through. Whether you want to call it old guard or old school, its sitting there under the skin and slowly making itself known across his scarred and ruined face. An expression that slowly changes from confusion to a stern, not quite condescending look.

"On the same note as Lara, God willing that girl be flogged from all I've heard of her, if she is as much trouble as folk make out, don't you also think some of this is a little bit drastic... ? I'm all for increased security. Don't get me wrong. But part of security is coordination. The phone taps sound much more reasonable, explained as you have. The flying robots?"

He doesn't quite scoff.

"Whom was this mayhem approved by? And no, I've no wish to play Clue... . Anyway, central hub? The Dean and, or, the Sentinel approved this then? Flying critters designed by a less than stable teenager, operating on a non closed circuit, when we've had an increased level of technocratic activity in the city?"

He isn't condescending. It's an honest question put forth at a very level tone. Almost too level how ever. Disciplined, schooled, exceedingly serious.

[Henri Bean] HEY!!

*Solomon's statements have the thin girl puffing up like the bantan rooster her static styled hair so quickly brings to mind. Goggles pushed up as both pointy fists come to rest on narrow hips.*

No need to call folks names! I'm stable as fuckin Helium I am! Or any other of them noble gases!
Don't be a shitface about how I do my rounds, I won't be a shitface bout how you do yours!

[Molly Quincannon] The mention of Lara gets Molly wincing. "Oh, don't get me started on Lara. My best friend and crewmate is living with her as bedmate and Lara has a history of ... well, Israel probably told that one already. If Nat goes the way of one of Lara's previous bedmates, there'll be flogging at minimum in her future, believe me. As for the precautions ... well, the phones and cameras were approved - I spoke to Ashley and Emily about both, and they gave it the okay, and ... well, Henri came to me to get the ay-eye on the 'bots a couple of days ago so I figure she must have..."

Wait. This is Henri Bean we're talking about.

"...Henri? You ... did clear the bots with Ashley and Emily and the others on the whole Emissary Council thing, right? You at least cleared it with Ashley, didn't you? I mean, you did actually make sure the Deacon was okay with the dragonflies and hummingbirds so she could run it past the node, right? I mean, you wouldn't just ... run off all unaccountable so that I as the Emissary for our cabal would end up being run over the metaphorical coals for letting you have these unauthorised things buzzing through the house? You wouldn't do that to me ... right?"

[Solomon Ward] "Stable are you? As a noble element, you say? You, child, are out of control..." he never raises his voice. His tone never changes. That is the worst part of it. He neither yells in anger or speaks sharply to her. He keeps his tone clear and even, calm and precise. Restrained. The way one might when addressing a child who has done wrong, explaining some thing to them in a manner meant to keep them from losing track of the conversation while attempting to correct their actions.

"You are uncouth and undisciplined. You're uninformed, and that makes you ignorant. You're highly emotional, you take things personally, and that makes you unstable. You tried to keep a Technocratic weapon as a pet, for Christ's sakes, Ms. Bean. I'd have taken it from you myself where you not in hiding and I had, amazingly, more important matters at hand at the time. You are heavily experienced with the Conventions then, Ms. Bean? I imagine you were perhaps eight, potentially nine, when the Pogroms ended, so please do excuse my intense feeling of paranoia to have unexplained and unapproved robots flying all over the Chantry. Please do collect them..."

"Now."

He glances between the two women again... His expression for Molly is the sort of curious look one gets, as if to say 'told you so', but not quite. He's genuinely curious about the dynamic here.
Then, because he is most definitely waiting for Henri to collect her gadgets, he speaks to Molly.

"I'm not opposed to a camera system and a security network at all, but I would like you sit down with me prior to installation so that we can go over some details. Is that acceptable with you, Ms. Quincannon?"

...back to Henri "Don't sulk off like the last time other, Miss. Once you're done come and have a seat so we can discuss this..."

[Henri Bean] *Solomon and Molly are ganging up on her. (Because more than one person disapproving of you is "ganging up" of course.) She can't seem to decide if she wants her purple goggles up or down. A security blanket for her eyes, or something in the way of her Angry Death Squint (tm) at none other than Father Solomon Ward.*

I WAS IN HIGHSCHOOL AT NINE! And I din't sulk off! I ran away from a BEE.

*For all intents and purposes it looks like she stopped progressing socially around nine as well. Henri's voice does rise. Squeaky and shrill. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. One oversized boot stomping abruptly as she opens her arms for her bots and flicks a button on her belt. Gathering the objects of such debate to her chest, soda since holstered roughly in her belt.*

Fine. To hell with your bloody Chantry. Patrol all by yourself you great shit.

*A wide eyed look up to Molly as the Bean turns to leave, struggling to keep pants and bots in order. Hadn't she said the Chantry was run by prats? Hadn't she said?*

[Molly Quincannon] When I am the voice of sanity, the world is in trouble.

"Okay, hold it right there!"

She turns to Henri and puts a hand on the girl's shoulder, face calm. "Look. This is not a problem. This is a communication issue. This is something that can be fixed. I thought you ran this past people. I was apparently wrong. There is a communciation breakdown in this Chantry and that needs to be addressed. This just flags it up and it is nothing against you. Just ... chill and let's talk about this, okay? Think about it. We discuss this with other people and we can make your idea better. Okay?"

Then she turns to Solomon. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here? Really? But this is a communication issue, not necessarily a cause to get personal about Henri's methods. Right now it's not helping. It's something we can deal with later. Preferably with Atlas, as he is her Tradmate and her cabalmate and he understands how she works. So do I; believe me," she adds, turning back to Henri, "I know how you feel. But right now, let's stick with the actual issues and let the core methodology be dealt with when everyone's not so ... het up. Okay? For now, Henri, look at it as time to draw up reasons why they'd be awesome to have in the Chantry, and maybe make some improvements. We have notes from when I was looking at the ay-eye; use the time to incorporate what you can of those. And don't rush off; I could use a second techie on the cameras and phones. C'mon, guys; we're a Chantry here. A house divided, and all that. Can we at least try not to attack each other's core methods, and not throw in the towel the second we don't get our own way?"

Yes, she is chastising them both. Sort of. Gently. Even if they both decide to attack her for it ... well, at least they're working together.

Then she turns to Solomon. "I'll be happy to go over what I plan to do with you, Solomon. It's already approved, but having someone understand it who can maybe explain it better to a ... layperson, I guess; someone not so heavily geeky ... would be good. Thanks."

[Israel Cohen] she really has no idea what she's about to step into, almost literally.
Her purpose for arriving at the Chantry was simple and readily discernible, given she's got a bag of take out held in her right arm as she opens the front door and steps in; guide-cane leading the way per usual. It was Solomon's night for sentry duty and most people who know them wouldn't be the least bit surprised that she's come to share a meal with him and perhaps a spot of company into the night. She's dressed in her usually manner: Fashionable without being 'trendy' - Fashionable and well and tailored in a classic sort of sense. From the way her light coat it a touch longer than her skirt that falls an inch or so above the knees; to the just-over-the-knees length of her camel coloured boots. There's nothing provocative about it: It's tasteful, fetching; the lines classic and flattering. Some may assume a blind woman wouldn't care about that sort of thing...
...they'd be wrong.

Of course, walking in just as Henri starts truly yelling is about enough to make her drop the bag and whirl into what might either have turned into a nicely done crouch -- or a sprawling hit on the floor, depending on fortune and the heels on those boots. Only two inches of heels, but that can trip you up at the best of times.
Suffice to say she wasn't ready for it and her immediate response is to tense up; her unseeing eyes shifting a touch wildly; trying to assimilate as much information as she can without vision; trying to decide is the situation warrants magic or not. She even goes a little pale.

Right on the heels of everything else this summer she's a touch... jumpy. To say the least.

"Sol?" Because she feels him nearby - they share a blending of their Patterns; they always 'feel' each other - and then, quietly, mastering some control over herself... "Henri? Molly?"
Whether it's just their voices or their Resonances as well is anyone's guess: It's usually a mixture of both, heaviest on the former.

"...what's going on?"

She can at least manage to summon up enough balance of mind to close the door behind her -- a bit belatedly -- taking a cautious step forward.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon raises an eye towards Molly's chastisement of himself, mild as it may be. "I don't mean to upset you Ms. Quincannon, but this is a little deeper than a communication issue. I'm not heated. I'm the exact opposite of heated, ma'am, but this case and point proves exactly what I said to her.."

He waves his arms towards her little tantrum, the fact she was going to stalk off and leave if no one stopped her. "She's a genius, I imagine. She'd have to be to make such intricate little artifices, no? I imagine on an I.Q. level she exceeds me by far. I've nothing against her core methods. I have some thing against her reliability... "

He waits for a moment, to see if she's going to argue her apparent cabal mate's sanity, but its some thing else Molly says that has him moving. "Also, the Dean approved them. And most of the time I will take the Dean's advice or recommendations. That said security falls under the purview of the Sentinel. I have concerns about the camera system, possibilities you may, or may not have, considered. So I would like to sit and discuss them with you. If you've already have my concerns well in hand, most excellent. If not, then it requires discussion I believe"

He's trying to be diplomatic about this. It isn't a rank or title or power thing. Solomon isn't that sort of person, it could be too easily read on him if it were such. He has honest concerns about Chantry security and wants to talk, plain and simple. Molly's 'its approved, too bad' moment, polite though it may be, is simply stared at. Literally, until Israel calls to him.

"Israel, do come in... We were just having a discussion about Chantry security and maturity levels. Oddly enough, the topics are related tonight."

[Henri Bean] Oi. Your mate's bein' a prat again, whats goin on.

*Churlish, and not so quick to simmer down as she is to anger. Gadgets clank loudly against one another as the Bean tugs her pants back onto the hips they're diligently escaping. A scowl shot to all present through purple lenses. A shake of Henri's frizzy head to Molly, even as the Etherite struggles over to the blind woman to try and "assist" her. As she was wont to do.*

Ain't stayin to listen to this one call me names Moll. Nothin doin. I'll rattle me dags out of here. Ain't ~my~ bloody Chantry.

[Molly Quincannon] This is the sort of thing that gives Molly a headache, but the first thing she says is, "Sorry, Israel. It's ... probably not as bad as it sounds." This is followed by, "And ... really? Urk. Sorry, Solomon; again, communication issues. No one told me that this whole thing was contingent on the approval of the Sentinel." She glances back at the bulletin board, looking a bit put out. "Great Google, what do we use that bulletin board for; decoration?" Then she shakes her head. "Whatever; I should've double-checked. I'm sure I'll be able to deal with any questions or problems you might have with the plans I've made, and we'll work on it." The rest of it gets a sigh. "I didn't say you specifically were heated anyway. But it's pretty clear that what you're saying - or how you're saying it - isn't getting the desired effect, which is to get past the aggro that the initial comment provoked to a place where everybody can talk and reach a happy medium. Hence ... communication. It's the cornerstone to fixing anything, I've always thought."

Then Henri, and Molly slaps her hand across her face, sending her glasses askew. "Henri, please. You're a part of my cabal, and thus this is your Chantry. The whole point is you have a voice. And you're calling him names, anyway. And let's not get into 'who started it', okay? That way lies playground arguments."

[Molly Quincannon] [[To clarify: the face-slapping = facepalm. Hand over eyes. Not slapping herself across the face. Because Molly is not into self-harm, really. Whatever suicidal tendencies half the planet thinks she has. I PLAY MY FLAWS, DAMNIT.]]
to Henri Bean, Israel Cohen, Solomon Ward

[Israel Cohen] Israel, do come in... We were just having a discussion about Chantry security and maturity levels. Oddly enough, the topics are related tonight.
She can't help but wince slightly at the words; showing more than she tends to usually in times of stress. Oh, she's calmed down now that she's piecing more together; but all the same there seems to be a brief desire that she'd been held up a little longer in getting here tonight.

Words shift back and forth. Solomon is calm; collected: Solid and stoic and unyielding. But he isn't angry which is good for everyone. Henri is... well. Yes, a different story. And Molly -- well an expression of outright sympathy flicks over her delicate features as Molly speaks. She knows the diplomatic role isn't a 'fun' one.

"Molly's right, Henri... storming off without trying to communicate doesn't fix much of anything, honey." Israel isn't the sort to toss about pet names like 'honey' and 'sweetheart' -- she is compassionate and kind but not quite of that usual sort. But with Henri it feels more natural; it speaks of the form of the blind woman's fondness for the teenager, for better or worse.

To Molly, then, "Oh... well, mmm. We're really just building up this Chantry from the ground up, Molly." A bit of a smile; she's not getting defensive. "Mistakes in communication are going to happen. It'll get better, though as we get better at this..."

Shifting the bag she's still holding she inclines an ear in Sol's direction. "Intricate little artifices?" Oh dear... the head shifts a fraction, towards the direction of Henri's voice. "Did you make something for the Chantry, Henri?"

[Solomon Ward] He doesn't say any thing more for the moment, instead moving over towards Israel to take the small bag from her. Half because it is intended for the both of them and half because his archaic sense of manners require he do so. Again, its so old and ingrained he doesn't even consider doing this. It simply happens as a matter of course.

He holds the bag up and inhales, sniffing is vulgar, taking in the scents of flat bread and cheese and lamb, amongst other things, but those are the strongest. And the baklava. Israel would never buy Greek and forget the baklava (she is utterly convinced Jews invented it though, silly girl...) small kiss lands on her cheek. "You shouldn't have. Thank you. I'll place it in the oven until we can dine together..."

He heads towards the kitchen, both to place the food and also to let the women speak amongst themselves. Let the diplomatic ones sort it out. Solomon is much the same as his Resonance announces. Old and Unyielding. Hard. Assured in a cause, a firm belief in some thing. It echoes from the man, and the man responds to the echoes. It's self perpetuating, and he knows that in many matters it is self destructive to cooperation. Even he and Israel have had fought this one out, him simply being how he is.

A small glance over his shoulder to Israel, he says some thing in..Greek, maybe. Then its too the kitchen.

[Henri Bean] *A hiss of sound from between thin lips, one grimey hand on Israel's elbow as Henri responds to the blind woman with an animated shake of her head.*

Balls it don't fix a thing. No offense 'Zrael mate. I dun wanna stay n' fuss with nobody. Rather jus' take my bots'n'go home. Sides Molly, you din't mention nothin bout the chantry bein "ours" in your club-pitch.

*She'd cross her arms were she not trying to guide the Orphan and keep both her bots and her pants under control at the same time. A faint whirring from one she apparently hadn't shut off correctly, its metal wings flicking against her stomach uncomfortably. Still, Israel's presence seems enough to keep her put for the moment, Etherite shifting from foot to foot with a scowl.*

[Molly Quincannon] The glasses actually have to come off now as Molly presses her thumb and forefinger to her temples. "Henri ... if you weren't a part of the Chantry, would you have access to the whole Chantry house? Which you do; it says on the bulletin board. Would we be asking you to take sentry duty? Which you obviously know about because you built the sentry-bots. That just doesn't make any sense, Henri. You had to have known from the point I started talking about doing the Emissary bit and representing Stormwatch at Chantry meetings. Picking and choosing what parts of being a cabal you actually like just because you've got a problem with the bureaucracy that you now might actually have a say in guiding, as Israel is saying how we're building from the ground up so every voice counts now ... well, that doesn't work, Henri. I know you're driven and brilliant; try applying that to ... general worldview logic as well as your devices of awesome? Please?"

Then, Israel's question. She doesn't know what Solomon said (yet; but there are translation programmes and a Memory and a lot of trial and error), so she says, "Security drones. Flying sentinels, some vaguely battle capable. More an early warning system and a way to buy time in an attack than anything else. Probably best to be kept indoors. Still, pretty awesome if we need to go to code red over something."

[Israel Cohen] The bag is taken - she doesn't tense at the increased proximity as she does sometimes when touched out of the blue. Perhaps she had enough warning in sound: In truth it hearkens back to the simple fact that the man's very being is intricately tied to her own. She'd just as soon tense to find her own hand touching her face. A slight inclination of her chin and cheek, receptive and welcoming of the brief kiss to her cheek. It's about as 'showy' as these too get, if that's saying anything. Even then it's something more than what it used to be when they first came back to Chicago several months ago.

The comment in Greek is understood as well; she nods slightly -- and only just barely twitches when Henri touches her, though she doesn't seem remotely adverse to it. Just a little surprised whereas she wasn't with the former Priest. At the hyper, fidgety, still-pissed-feeling Kiwi speaks, Israel's lips quirk slightly, gently: As Gentle as is the shake of her head. She doesn't say anything right off the bat though -- Molly is speaking and Israel isn't the sort to bulldoze ahead and interrupt. It's only after Molly speaks to Henri and then answers her own query that she nods... there's a moment. A beat. She likes to think over her words if she has a chance to though she knows better than to take too long.

"Sometimes, yeah, you do need to step away. Take a breath. But just saying 'no' to communication and discussion of any sort. Hon, that's like slapping a band-aid over a dirty cut. It might cover up the nasty look of it but it won't keep it from festering."

To both the women then - her face turning towards each in turn: "Did Solomon say he wouldn't allow it at all?"

Then, shifting her grip on her guide cane... "C'mon. Let's take a seat at least, these heels start to bother after walking around most of the night in them and I slipped a little on something someone spilled in the El." A look of brief distaste more than embarrassment -- she's accepted such mishaps a natural occurrence in her life, given her disability. "And Henri, you can put down some of the stuff you are juggling.. something metallic? Is it the 'bots themselves? I'm not very knowledgeable about that sort of thing but I'd love to hear about it." Somehow, just the way she says it, says this is more than just lip service or diplomacy. Oh, she wants a way to work this out, certainly. But it seems entirely in earnest; curiosity and concern both.

[Solomon Ward] Sounds emit from the kitchen. The stove opening and closing. A cabinet. The refrigerator. Little things, normal sounding things, down the hall way in a muted fashion as Solomon goes about what ever it is he entails to do in there. When he comes back its wordless for the moment.

He takes the books up off the couch, better for every one to sit and be comfortable should they choose to do so. He watches them of course, a a glance as he enters and another as he leaves, but there is no stare down or evil eye. For all intents and purposes the man is completely unruffled by name calling or tantrums. Israel usually takes these things well in hand, and he knows better than to interrupt.

So the books are scooped up and taken towards the kitchen, once more out of sight and mind for a brief period.

[Henri Bean] Oi! Who ~asked~ for access to the bloody library? I certianly din't. An' I aint ever wanted to go in there sides from to play Clue jus' now before Ole Solomon got his dungarees in a twist about my bots -WHICH were only here to make things easier for we lot what's been corralled into protecting this damn place.

*As Israel begins to move, Henri lets the grubby fingers on the woman's elbow slip away, instead pulling her own sagging pants up and tossing the still moving bot into the air, unable to help a quirk of lips at watching it hover. Her inventions were awesome. Whatever stodgy old Solomon had to say about them. Goggled eyes swivel to Molly, sharp and squinted.*

Sides, thought we was just to eyeball badness comin up on the horizon an' let folks know not to muddle pellmell in the middle! Din't think you bein' Emissiary meant we was all towin the party-line, n' obeying Fuckin Ashley. That bitch tried to TAKE OVER MY BRAIN! That what this is all about, count me out. I'll find another folk to help my widgets brains out.

*No, it would appear that Solomon had pegged it when he had called the girl unreasonable. Henri remains by the door.*

[Molly Quincannon] Molly has mended very well, considering. Still, there is only so much a person can take. "This is not about arbitrarily doing what Ashley says! I've been trying to arrange everyone's schedule for a meeting to look over the Chantry rules and see what issues we as a cabal want to see brought up! You've just been locked in your lab with the sentry bots and haven't kept in touch beyond asking for help with your ay-eye, so I haven't exactly been able to try to work out a time when we could all four of us have a say! The point is to try to make sure everyone gets a say so it's not just 'toeing the party line'! And that's not addressing the fact that you knew you had responsibilities here or you wouldn't have built the bots in the first place! Anyway, there are rules set up so that she can't take over your brain in this building. And why the hell did she take over your brain in the first place?" --Sorry, Israel." She seems, in fact, to be apologising for her language. Then, back to Henri. "I don't know if you're deliberately missing the point because you're enjoying the rant - and I get that; I love being on the delivery end of a good rant myself - or if I'm really speaking Urdu."

Then, deep breath, and she turns to Israel. "No, Solomon did not say a definite no to the bots. What he said was that he thought they were overkill but he'd like to actually talk about why they're necessary before they get deployed in this house. From what I understand, that's his right as Sentinel. But he never said that it was a definite 'no'. Admittedly," she adds, trying to be fair, "I can see how that might have been the impression received, given how it was all phrased."

[Israel Cohen] Ahh... no, it can never really be easy can it.

"Henri!" The exclamation isn't loud - her voice isn't the sort built for volume. And the chords of it are... shocked more than scolding. And, beneath it all, a little hurt as well even if it wasn't Israel herself Henri just called a bitch and the like. Oh, there's no lip quiver or wide eyes a'brimming with emotion. She's too damned quiet in her nature for that sort of thing. It takes a lot to truly rile Israel up in any manner.

She doesn't make it to the living room after all. [epic fail, she might say did she know of any such jargon] Instead she turns back towards Henry, maneuvering the guide cane about. Outside of that little interruption, she lets Molly speak again. The Cultist's apology doesn't seem to register entirely: The meaning of it, at least. Nevermind that she just seemed scandalized with Henri it was never the language so much as the vehemence - and venom? - behind it. So she looks a little quizzical for a second before putting it together and actually half-chuckling, shaking her head in a motion of No, don't worry about it.. Then nodding in regards to what Sol had to say about the 'bots. And how it might have been interpreted.

Stepping closer towards Henri's voice and feel [probably smell, too] she reaches out her free hand to search out for the girls.. okay, that's a shoulder... neck. Cheek. There we go, yes. Cheek.

"Henri, please... this just won't do. Now if you have things to work out with Molly and your Cabal that's all up to you guys and I wouldn't interfere. But... the rest of this. Come on now. You say you made those robots to make things easier for all of us. That's admirable and if we can find a way to make it work, lovely. But when you have nothing but insults and wanting to storm off instead of discuss things.... that doesn't make it sound like you want to help out with anyone or anything." Licking her lips; she's not being acidic - lord no, she's cupping the girls cheek [if Henri allows it] and speaking softly, not as one would to a child but as one would to someone they hold dear. "Genius and passion for creation are wonderful things, Henri. I'm constantly thrilled at your energy and exuberance and capabilities. But at the end of the day the people we are trying to help with our abilities must mean more than our creations and inventions and 'awesomeness'. Or it's hollow. We're none of us an island, hun. Just... think about that, alright? No one here is trying to attack you... just work with you and trying to ask that you do the same, okay?"

[Solomon Ward] He returns quietly, though it would have been hard to not over hear what every one was talking about. If the man cared or knew what Henri spoke of about Ashley, it didn't register. It was duly noted, tucked away for later, but it was first time news to him... Still, he could understand where such a thing, if it happened in the manner the excitable girl said, could lead plenty of room open for enmity towards Ashley or this place in general.

"What is Urdu?" he asks in the pauses at some point. The statement is two fold. One, it shows he heard every thing. A polite way of letting them know none of it, if ever intended, had been private. Secondly is genuinely curiosity. It isn't an old, dead, occult, or arcane language he has heard of.

The dinner placed for later, it would be rude to eat after all..there was only enough for two... maybe it would have fed four, stretched thin, but apparently they had never dined with Israel if there was any hope of such. The girl ate her body weight in a day.

[Henri Bean] I didn't build these for the Chantry!!

*Her voice has risen another octave, expression one of purest frustration as she fights not to actually hop up and down. Stomping was acceptable. Hopping was pure cartoon fury.*

I built them for the Lafette! Where I live! I -

*A sharp gasp. Israel's warm hand on her cheek having the sudden and inexplicable effect of making the girl wonder want to curl into a ball and bawl her eyes out. Her face crumples, electric blue eyes squeezing shut against the impulse as the twiggy teenager drags her shoulders forward and shrinks further into herself. Silent for a time before she finishes muttering.*

I only care bout the damn chantry Gregor's livin here. An' he's in goddamn Taihiti anyway right now... An Ashley tried to take over my brain to get information or some such right about the same time she an' Whoo-are-eel found my best friend an' then fuckin killed him. Until he was dead mate. Din't even get to bury him propers. All because the folks what were at this chantry in the first place did somethin awful-bad to him.

*A sniff. Solomon's appearance has her hastily snatching her flying bot back out of the air like a kid caught having opened a christmas present weeks too soon. Israel's hand gently pushed away from her face. She was too an island. Din't need nobody anyway. Screw em. Another sniff. It was widely known that genuises did not cry. And so neither did Henri Bean.*

So just. Nevermind then.

[Molly Quincannon] There's a lot Molly could say when Henri says that she didn't build the sentries for the Chantry (things like, Well, then why did you bring them here and have a tantrum when Solomon suggested that they were not welcome?, for instance) but then ... well. Molly's been briefed on Dylan, and she steps over (just loud enough to let Israel hear her approach, so that she doesn't startle with proximity) and places a hand on Henri's shoulder. "...Henri ... if we'd had your sentries ... and the safeguards that we're trying to build for this place now ... no one would have done anything awful-bad to Dylan because they could have been stopped before it went too far. And all Dylan wanted was for Chicago's mages to work together, to protect this place and each other. That didn't happen, and that just fed the awful-bad that happened to Dylan. This ... arguing and not-listening and ... and abandoning this place ... it's not what he would have wanted." No, Molly wasn't there when it happened. However, she apparently knows enough to at least draw a parallel or two.

Then, because farbeit from Molly to let a question go unanswered (even though this is a moment of pathos and the temptation is there to tell Solomon to Jay-eff-gee-eye ... if that wouldn't lead to questions about what those letters stand for, at least), she says, "Urdu's a Hindustani language, as spoken by Muslims. One of the two official languages of Pakistan."

[Israel Cohen] Impulse. Empathy. She cannot see Henri's expressions - the crumbling face, the brink - but she hears the gasp, senses the motion of the teenager drawing in on herself. And it's echoed somewhat in Israel's own expression: The ache. The deeper sense of what is needed here.

"She's right," is what she says in regards to Molly's words. But you can't expect a child [ and Henri is, in so many ways, a Child. A child burdened by too much, too soon, too fast, too hard. by intelligence and Enlightenment she hasn't the emotional maturity to struggle through well] to simply acquiesce to such things.

To Henri. "C'mon.... I haven't stopped by to see Atlas in a while and sometimes I get a little edgy navigating the gangplank on my own. Want to head over there with me?"

Then, to Molly and Sol: "It'll give you both some time to talk about the surveillance things, yes?"
There's the barest spike to her Resonance; not alarming but enough to denote a Working: Brief and Solomon probably reacts to it in some visible manner as it's geared towards him. Telepathic communication most likely.

[Henri Bean] Kay.

*Simple enough. A hard swallow and a scratch at the back of her head, bots gathered closer as she counts them quietly to herself. Six in all. Ok. Everything was ok in her world. Goggles adjusted dismally as she moves with Israel towards the door, jelly suddenly taken out of her donut. Molly gets a twitch of fingers in good bye. Henri leaving grubby fingermarks on the door as she goes, whatever else she was going to say swallowed by sudden meloncholy.*

[Solomon Ward] Solomon, wisely, keeps silent. There is no proof what so ever this demonic little robots built at the hands of a mad man might have saved that kid from going over Marauder. He could say some trite thing about how the boy was already dead, as Henri knew him, before any one else did the literal deed... but he knows Henri, and people in general, and no one likes the truth. Or the man that bares it.

No, better that he let the women folk reassure the girl and take it out of his hands. He'd help her, if he could.. he has for others... but he doubts she wants it and others are more emphatic to her situation, more in tune with the girl's personality.

A sharp glance to Israel... watching her intently, nodding to himself as though she had said some thing. There's a bond between them. Not some thing as casual as love or friendship or other verbal expressions of such things... there is a literal mystical bond between them, and as her Resonances touches against his own it flares back.

Receiving, processing, replying.

"Of course. It is getting late. Ms. Quincannon, if you'll take my number... we can get together very soon. Tomorrow even perhaps, and go over this. I don't with to intentionally delay you, my concerns aside. That suit you?"